Mulligan Read online

  marker.

  Smack!

  Smack!

  Darn it! Sixty yards with a nine-

  iron!

  "You know, this game’s got a lot of

  funny rules, but there isn’t one

  that says you can’t use a seven-

  iron to get you 75 yards."

  Louise roiled at the comment,

  frustrated at her own loss of

  distance, and further exasperated

  by this stranger who suddenly

  found her game so interesting.

  Turning, she eyed her tormentor,

  a short stocky woman of about 60,

  with bright green eyes and a

  shock of sun-bleached hair poking

  every which way from the top of

  her visor. The darkly tanned face,

  arms and legs suggested that this

  woman had spent many, many years

  on Florida’s fairways.

  "Do you mind?"

  "Not at all," the petite blonde

  answered matter-of-factly.

  "Usually, I get paid to say things

  like that, but I have the discretion

  to waive my fee in certain

  circumstances."

  "Perhaps you should save your

  sage advice for someone who

  wants to hear it so badly that

  she’s willing to pay for it." She’d

  be sort of cute if she weren’t so

  arrogant!

  "It’s your lead arm, by the way.

  It’s not pulling through, so you’re

  getting the slice from pushing the

  ball with your trailing arm. If I

  had to guess, I’d say you’ve had an

  injury of some sort."

  "You can tell that by my swing,

  huh? The difference in the tan

  didn’t give away the fact that I’ve

  been wearing a cast on this arm

  for the last six weeks?"

  "Well now that you mention it…"

  "Right. Now if you don’t mind, I’d

  like to continue my rehabilitation,"

  she said, emphasizing the last

  word with no small measure of

  sarcasm.

  "Of course," the woman said, not

  yet ready to walk away from this

  intriguing newcomer. "By the way,

  you have a beautiful…” face,

  figure, behind, "… swing."

  Louise turned around and dropped

  her chin to her chest so that the

  shower massager could send its

  hot pulses to her aching shoulders

  and neck. In retrospect, hitting

  only a small bucket of balls would

  have been a better idea, but she’d

  felt ambitious when she arrived at

  the range. Hopefully, the soreness

  would be gone by tomorrow, and

  she’d try it again.

  Petie was quite confused at the

  order of business today. His

  mistress usually showered after

  their walk, not before… and she’d

  hardly spoken to him at breakfast,

  her mind seemingly somewhere

  else.

  "Hmm… I wonder if…" Turning off

  the water, Louise wrapped her

  hair in a towel and quickly dried

  off. Donning her robe again, she

  walked into the study and booted

  up the computer, twisting back and

  forth impatiently in her office

  chair as she waited for her icons

  to appear. Four minutes later, she

  had her answer.

  "Martha Beck." The web site for

  the Pine Island Country Club

  boasted two pros, Jim Conrad and

  one Martha Beck, the pompous

  woman who had practically

  accosted her at the driving range

  yesterday. "Marty" had joined the staff at Pine Island 14 years ago.

  "Probably when this picture was

  made," Louise sneered, taking in

  the photo of a much younger,

  much thinner woman. Not that

  Louise minded a few extra pounds

  on a woman - Rhonda had been a

  size 16. Deciding that she in fact

  preferred the stockier version of

  the little blonde pro, she caught

  herself wondering why on earth it

  mattered to her one whit whether

  Martha Beck was skinny or stout.

  Her muscle soreness gone by the

  next day, Louise resumed her daily

  routine. She’d been thinking for

  two days about that rude woman,

  the cute one with all those laugh

  lines, the one who had

  complimented her swing. It would

  probably be a good idea to go hit

  another bucket of balls…

  Briefly, she contemplated going

  somewhere besides the Pine

  Island Golf Club so she would

  avoid another encounter. Now that

  would be silly, Louise concluded;

  I’m a member there. So instead,

  she showered and put on one of

  her most flattering outfits, pulling

  her collar-length salt and pepper

  hair back; it was barely long

  enough to clamp with a barrette.

  She didn’t need the stylish straw

  hat, as the range tees were

  situated underneath a canopy, but

  she looked good in it, so she wore

  it anyway.

  Louise walked into the pro shop at

  exactly the same hour as she had

  on Monday, proceeding to the

  same set of covered tees, even

  waiting for an older gentleman to

  finish so she could use the same

  mat.

  Smack!

  That slice wasn’t quite as

  pronounced as it had been the

  other day, but there still wasn’t

  much distance.

  Smack!

  Slow down, she admonished

  herself. What’s the big hurry?

  The familiar voice of the golf pro

  sounded, this time from behind

  and directed at a woman of about

  50 who obviously colored her dark

  red hair and wore entirely too

  much makeup.

  "That’s it, follow through," the

  blonde instructor encouraged.

  "I don’t know, it still doesn’t feel

  right," the woman whined. "Maybe

  you could… show me again, you

  know, holding the club with me?"

  Louise picked that moment to

  switch from her driver to her

  five-iron, unable to resist a peek

  at the personalized lesson the pro

  was giving this Tammy Faye Baker

  look-alike.

  Settled behind the woman, the

  short muscular arms reached

  around and closed over the

  woman’s hands as they gripped the

  club. In tandem, they drew the

  club overhead.

  "That’s right, parallel to the

  ground," she coached.

  Together they swung through,

  sweeping the club head in a

  perfect arc past the trailing

  shoulder.

  "Just like that."

  "That felt great," the woman

  gushed. "Let’s do it again!"

  "That felt great. Let’s do it again,"

  Louise muttered in a low squeaky

  voice.

  Smack!

  Now she was hooking her five-

  iron.

  Smack!


  Smack!

  Good distance, though. Louise was

  hitting the ball harder than usual,

  but she knew that she was pushing

  it, not letting the club do the work.

  Too much of that, and she’d be

  sore again tomorrow.

  Smack!

  Smack!

  "You know, we’re open till dark.

  You can take your time if you

  want."

  "You again!" Why does this woman

  always show up when I’m screwing

  up?

  "Now don’t get excited. I was

  giving a lesson and saw you over

  here. Thought I’d just say hello

  and properly introduce myself. I’m

  Martha Beck, Marty to my

  friends."

  "Hello, Martha." Louise

  emphasized her choice of names.

  She and Marty were not friends.

  "Hi." Marty looked over her

  shoulder at her struggling student,

  then back at this beautiful woman

  who didn’t like her yet. "Uh, nice

  hat."

  Smack!

  Darn it!

  It was Marty Beck’s nature to be

  friendly and outgoing, but those

  who were more serious sometimes

  had trouble accepting her

  offhanded sense of humor. She

  also had a penchant for handing

  out compliments right and left,

  looking for something she liked in

  everyone she met. That habit had

  gotten her into trouble more times

  than she could count, and had

  eventually caused the ruin of her

  relationship with Angela, who

  simply didn’t trust that her

  flirtations were innocent.

  Of course, there was that one

  time that they weren’t, and that

  made all the others pretty hard to

  accept.

  On Friday morning - same mat,

  same hat - Louise didn’t encounter

  the annoying golf pro on the

  driving range, though she did

  catch a glimpse of her twice riding

  by in a golf cart. The second time,

  the little blonde was headed

  toward the pro shop.

  Louise hurriedly hit most of her

  remaining balls, scuttling five or

  six into the grass in front of the

  tee. She entered the clubhouse

  just in time to see the blonde blur

  heading out the door on the other

  side into the parking lot. Since she

  didn’t really need anything from

  the pro shop today, the tall woman

  proceeded straight through,

  exiting just in time to see Martha

  get into a waiting car and plant a

  kiss on the cheek of a younger

  woman - a much younger woman!

  People should act their age! Louise

  groused, clacking across the

  pavement in her spiked shoes.

  "You really ought to come with us.

  We’ve gone two years now, and

  both times were so much fun."

  Linda and Shirley implored Louise

  to consider coming with them to

  the Valentine’s Dance the next

  Friday night. "There’ll be lots of

  women there, many of them

  single."

  "I’m not looking to meet any single

  women. I’m not ready for that sort

  of thing." The way she’d been

  missing Rhonda lately, Louise

  sometimes doubted that she ever

  would be ready.

  "You should at least come and

  make some friends. Wouldn’t it be

  nice to get to know people who can

  just pick up and go to the beach in

  the afternoon, or who can run up

  to Sarasota with you for the

  symphony?"

  Louise conceded that having

  friends for just such occasions

  would be nice, but she was

  adamant that she didn’t want to

  meet someone who had other

  things in mind.

  "But those other things…

  sometimes, they just come along

  when you aren’t looking," Shirley

  suggested.

  "Not for me, they don’t." Since

  Rhonda died, there hadn’t been

  anyone who was even remotely

  interesting from a romantic

  perspective. Well, except in an

  odd sort of way… Now that’s just

  ridiculous, Louise!

  "By the way, Lou, we got a tee time

  for Tuesday at 10. If you’re up for

  a round, I’ll call out to the club and

  see if they can find us a fourth."

  "Yeah, I think I’d like that. But I

  have to warn you that I’ve been

  hitting the ball all over the place

  since I got my cast off."

  "You know, you ought to call Marty

  Beck. She’s the golf pro over at

  Pine Island, and she’s really good.

  Family, too. I bet she could give

  you a few pointers."

  Louise stiffened, remembering

  the sight of the golf pro getting

  into the car with that… that child!

  "I think I can manage just fine,"

  she answered, barely able to

  check the hostility she felt. "I just

  have to get my strength back."

  "Yeah, you’re probably right,"

  Linda said, looking at her partner

  curiously. What was that about?

  "But if you change your mind…"

  "I won’t."

  Tuesday finally came and Louise

  got a special thrill out of reading

  that Greensburg was getting eight

  to 10 inches of snow today. Here

  in Cape Coral, they would hit 83

  this afternoon,

  For her first day back on the

  links, Louise selected yet another

  flattering outfit, this one a white

  sleeveless shirt with red plaid

  trim on the collar and shoulders to

  match her long shorts. Again, she

  pulled her hair back in a barrette

  so it wouldn’t blow in her face,

  this time adding a pair of gold

  hoops and just a touch of lipstick.

  The hat finished the look.

  After a brief stop at the club

  drop, Louise found a rare parking

  place in the shade, next to a

  familiar car. It was… yes, it was

  the one Martha Beck had gotten

  into last week. Obviously, her little

  girlfriend was a golfer too.

  Probably in the children’s league!

  Not seeing Shirley’s station

  wagon, Louise opted to wait inside

  the clubhouse, that is, until she

  spotted the cradle-robbing golf

  pro behind the counter. Hoping to

  avoid the unwelcome advice-

  dispenser, she immediately

  drifted into the racks of golf

  shirts by the door. If the short

  woman got distracted, she could

  slip back out and wait for Linda

  and Shirley, maybe even sending

  them in with her green fee.

  "You know, we have some women’s

  clothing over on this side, if

  you’re into that sort of thing, that

  is."

  Louise cringed at the annoying

  voice.<
br />
  "I was thinking about a gift," she shot back. "But never mind." She

  really needed some golf socks, but

  she’d be darned if she was going

  to buy anything in here.

  "Hi, Lou!" Linda breezed into the shop. "Shirley’s parking the car.

  Hi, Marty," she grinned at the golf

  pro, who had obviously just made

  a very delightful connection.

  "Why Linda, I didn’t know you and

  Lou were such good friends."

  Marty grinned back at the tall

  woman, who was now slinking

  deeper into the men’s wear.

  "Oh, yeah, we go way back. We

  taught in the same school district

  up north. Say, did you get us a

  fourth?"

  "Sure did! She’s waiting for you

  already at the driving range.

  Name’s Pauline Rourke. Red hair,

  extra makeup," she whispered the

  last bit conspiratorially.

  Louise blanched. Not that woman!

  Indeed, Tammy Faye was her

  partner today, and if that in itself

  wasn’t bad enough, the woman

  practically chanted every mantra

  of golf mechanics on each and

  every stroke. Line it up. Head

  down. Eye on the ball. Left arm

  straight. Follow through. See it in.

  Her best hole all day was a double

  bogey.

  Louise was still slicing her driver

  and hooking her long irons, but

  her short game saved her. She’d

  have played much better with new

  socks.

  At Pauline’s insistence, the

  foursome stopped in the

  clubhouse for a quick drink after

  their mediocre round. Louise

  admitted to herself that she liked

  Pauline just fine, despite her

  annoying golf habits and the

  sometimes distracting abundance

  of makeup. People did what they

  did to feel good about themselves,

  and that was more important than

  anything else in the world.

  "Isn’t that Marty Beck just the

  cutest thing!" Pauline exclaimed.

  "Marty’s great," Linda agreed.

  "Don’t you think, Lou?" She had

  been surprised to learn that the

  two knew one another. Clearly,

  Marty had taken a shine to their

  tall, beautiful friend, but for some

  reason, Louise was gruff and

  disapproving when it came to the

  little golf pro.

  "She seems very… knowledgeable,"

  Louise conceded.

  "What can I get you ladies to

  drink?" The server perched over

  their table, familiar green eyes

  smiling a welcome.

  That’s her, Louise realized, the

  one who picked up Marty - I mean

  Martha - in the car last week. She

  can’t be more than 25 years old!

  "The first round’s on the house,