Mulligan Read online

Page 3


  Katie." The golf pro pulled up a

  chair between Pauline and a

  dismayed Louise. "And could I get

  a club soda?"

  How rude could this woman

  possibly be? Now she has her…

  girlfriend fetching her drinks

  while she sits down to flirt with

  one of her protégées.

  "So when are you going to get

  back on the fairways, Marty?"

  Shirley’s question surprised

  Louise. Back on the fairways?

  "Three more weeks," she

  answered. "Wouldn’t want to pop

  those stitches."

  Oh my! Louise hoped whatever it

  was wasn’t serious.

  "Marty had that same gall bladder

  surgery Linda had six years ago,"

  Shirley explained.

  "Aw, you poor baby!" Pauline

  gushed.

  Aw, you poor baby! Louise

  mimicked the women in her mind,

  but not without unconsciously

  crinkling her lips and bobbing her

  head back and forth mockingly. It

  seemed that the golf pro was fine

  now, and for that, she was glad.

  Katie returned, passing out the

  drinks, saving Marty’s club soda

  for last. "Here you go, Mom."

  Mom?

  "Thanks, hon. Have you guys met

  my daughter Katie?" Marty made

  the brief introductions, and Katie

  returned to her work behind the

  counter.

  Her daughter?

  "She and my grandson moved down

  to help out after my surgery, but I

  think I’ve convinced them to stick

  around," Marty explained,

  obviously glad to have her family

  close by. "So how was the round?"

  "Not bad," Shirley answered. "Lou usually kicks our butts, but she’s

  been gimpy with her arm lately, so

  I managed to beat her today by a

  couple of strokes."

  She has a daughter and a

  grandson!

  "Yeah, I’ve watched her on the

  range. I can see that she’s a

  natural," she went on, as though

  the tall woman with the most

  beautiful blue eyes she’d ever

  seen wasn’t sitting right beside

  her. "By the way, welcome to the

  Pine Island Golf Club, Miss

  Stevens. As a new member, you

  get one free lesson with the pro -

  that would be me - any time you

  want."

  "You mean I haven’t gotten that

  over with already?" Louise asked

  almost jokingly… almost.

  The golf pro chuckled. "Well, the

  complimentary lesson isn’t

  mandatory. You do seem to be a

  very good golfer, but if you ever

  decide you want any help, just let

  me know." With that gracious

  remark, Martha Beck picked up

  her drink and walked back out to

  the pro shop.

  The three ladies scowled at Louise

  as if she’d just been caught

  cheating on her score card.

  "What?" she asked defensively.

  No one answered, but their

  expressions remained unchanged.

  "Fine!" Louise answered, storming off after the little blonde.

  Marty thought this was as good a

  time as any to rearrange the

  sweater display. Inventory was

  down until Thursday’s shipment, so

  there wasn’t any sense in having

  things up on the top shelf.

  Stretching on her tiptoes, she

  reached in vain for the folded

  stack.

  "Let me," a low voice behind her

  said. Long arms stretched over

  her head and lowered the

  sweaters into her waiting hands.

  "Can’t have you popping those

  stitches."

  "Thank you," the red-faced pro

  muttered as she turned toward

  her benefactor. Sometimes she

  hated being so short. "Is there

  something I can do for you, Miss

  Stevens?"

  "My… friends call me Lou."

  "What should I call you?"

  "Touché." Louise was ashamed of

  how she’d treated this woman

  since the moment they met. "How

  about you call me Lou?"

  "Okay. Is there something you

  need, Lou?"

  Louise sighed, knowing that it was

  her turn to make a friendly

  overture. "I’ve been having a little

  trouble with a slice, and I thought

  maybe you could…"

  "You call a hard right turn little?"

  she joked. Oops! The blue-eyed

  glare was back. "I mean, you

  wanna… maybe meet me at the

  range tomorrow and see if we

  can… work it out?"

  "Ten o’clock?"

  "Ten is good."

  Early the next morning, Louise

  made a special trip to the country

  club at Burnt Store, hoping to find

  a really nice outfit that wasn’t

  hanging in the pro shop at Pine

  Island. Satisfied with the solid

  blue shorts and blue and white

  striped sleeveless shirt, she

  finished the look with a barrette,

  this time leaving a few wisps on

  each side to frame her face.

  Louise had always been

  comfortable with the way she

  looked. She was regularly

  complimented, and got her share

  of second looks. Most important,

  though, Rhonda had raved about

  her beauty every day.

  "But the game’s a different one at

  63, isn’t it Petie?"

  The dog’s tail twittered happily, as

  it did every time his mistress said

  "Mmmmpppffff, Petie."

  These days, Louise paid a good bit

  of attention to covering the

  wrinkles that gathered around her

  eyes and the corners of her

  mouth, and to moisturizing her

  neck and chest. Though her hands

  sported a few of those unsightly

  age spots, they were for the most

  part still soft and elegant looking.

  A weekly manicure was her one

  indulgence.

  So what was it about Marty Beck

  that had her preening in front of

  the mirror like this? Something

  about that cute little blonde had

  clicked for Louise; she barely

  recognized the feelings of

  attraction that were stirring

  within. In her 31 years with

  Rhonda, she’d never had another

  woman turn her head, not even for

  an instant. And in the years since

  Rhonda died, no one had

  interested her that way at all. But

  undeniably, attraction was what it

  was. If Marty just weren’t so…

  Louise arrived early to warm up

  before her free lesson with the

  very cute golf pro.

  Smack!

  Wicked slice.

  Smack!

  That one was a little better, with

  more distance.

  Smack!

  Smack!

  Smack!

  The slice was gone.

  Smack!

  A hundred and forty yards,

>   straight down the middle of the

  range.

  Smack!

  Again.

  "So was there anything else I

  could help you with?" The blonde

  golfer had slipped up quietly to

  observe her student unobtrusively.

  "You appear to be quite the

  accelerated learner."

  "I, uh… I seem to have come out

  of my slump."

  "Well, I’m very glad I could be of

  assistance, Lou." She was

  disappointed that there didn’t

  seem to be any reason for the

  lesson.

  "But… but I have this hook on my

  long irons!" Louise exclaimed with

  unusual braggadocio. Quickly, she

  drew her three-iron from the bag,

  smacking her first shot 115 yards

  out, sans hook.

  "Hmm…"

  Smack!

  Still no hook.

  Uh-oh! On her next shot, Louise

  played the ball off her front foot,

  executing a neat dog-leg left.

  "You should play the ball a little

  more in the center of your body,

  hands slightly in front," Marty

  corrected gently.

  "Like this?" she asked,

  overstepping so that the ball was

  in fact closer now to her back

  foot. This time, she shanked it,

  sending it over the fence into the

  ninth fairway. "Oops! I know,

  that’ll cost me 50 cents."

  The golf pro chuckled, almost

  certain she was being played,

  though why the proud woman

  would want to do that was a

  mystery. "Tell you what. You line

  yourself up the way you think you

  ought to be, and I’ll come over and

  fine tune your position."

  Louise obliged, settling slightly

  off-center with her hands behind

  the ball.

  Marty stepped up behind her and

  reached around. Lou was sort of

  thin - a tall drink of water, but not

  too thin, she thought. "Okay,

  here’s the problem. Let go of the

  club."

  Louise did as she was asked,

  focused completely on the

  muscular leathered arms that

  encircled her waist.

  "To start with, you want the grip

  to rest against your stomach like

  this."

  "Uh, my stomach’s a little higher

  than that, Marty."

  "Oh, okay." Glad her red face was hidden, the coach continued. "On

  taller people, it sometimes…

  rests… lower. Now on your irons,

  there’s always going to be just a

  teensy lilt in the shaft. You know,

  if you let go of it, it would balance

  only a second, then fall to the left.

  And the ball sits right in front of

  your nose with your feet spread

  even. Got it?" She could feel the

  lanky woman shifting her hips and

  arms. Marty wondered what it

  would be like to dance with Lou

  Stevens.

  Now acutely aware of the woman

  who was pushed up behind her,

  Louise suddenly took stock of

  what was happening. Here she

  was, acting juvenile over Marty

  Beck, just like Pauline Rourke had.

  Furthermore, she was making

  fools of both of them with her

  put-on girlish ineptitude. "I think

  I’ve got it now," she interjected,

  stepping forward to escape the

  seeming embrace. "Why don’t I

  give it a try?"

  True to form, Louise proceeded to

  loft four shots in a row more or

  less down the middle, all falling

  about a hundred yards away.

  Marty felt the retreat and

  floundered for her most

  professional demeanor, genuinely

  embarrassed by what she’d been

  thinking only moments earlier.

  "Well, as I said earlier, you’re one

  gifted learner."

  "Uh, thanks," the tall woman

  stammered. "I guess I should be

  going." Not making eye contact

  with the pro, Louise stuffed her

  club back into the bag, heaving it

  onto her shoulder and turning

  quickly toward the parking lot. Air,

  I need air!

  "Wow! You look great, Lou! I’m so

  glad you decided to come with us

  after all." Shirley had on black

  slacks with a red and white polka-

  dotted shirt; her partner wore a

  deep red party dress, with short

  puffy sleeves and a skirt that

  twirled.

  But all eyes tonight - all eyes over

  50, anyway - would be on Louise

  Stevens, dressed for the occasion

  in a long-sleeved black dress that

  tapered to just above the knee.

  The plunging v-neck called

  attention to the tantalizing hollow

  between her smallish breasts; a

  similar v-cut reached to the

  middle of her back. The gray-

  streaked hair - actually she had

  finally admitted to herself that it

  was now mostly gray with only a

  few remaining black streaks - was

  swept back on the sides with

  wispy bangs, and pearls adorned

  her ears.

  "You are so beautiful, Lou. I bet

  you have to beat them off with a

  stick tonight," Linda added.

  "Well, if that’s the case, maybe I

  should take my own car. I might

  welcome a dance or two, but if

  somebody hangs around too long,

  I’m outta there!" She had only

  agreed to come when Shirley

  offhandedly mentioned that there

  might be a few people there who

  played golf at Pine Island. That got

  Louise to wondering…

  "Don’t worry, we’ll rescue you. But

  you try to have a good time. These

  dances are great, and there are

  lots of nice women there. And men

  too, if you want to make friends

  with some of the guys."

  "Is there a liquor limit?" she

  deadpanned.

  "No, but we’ll cut you off if you

  start to undress," Shirley joked.

  Ten minutes later, the threesome

  arrived at the VFW Hall, which

  was decorated tonight in Valentine

  themes. There were hundreds of

  red, pink, and white balloons, and

  each of the red-papered tables

  held a vase of roses, with glitter

  hearts and ribbons scattered

  about.

  Linda led them to a table near the

  dance floor, but Louise gestured

  toward one a little further away,

  less well-lit and completely out of

  the traffic area.

  "Now nobody’s going to see you

  over here, Lou."

  "That’s fine with me. Maybe I’ll do

  the watching tonight."

  "But will you ask someone to

  dance?"

  "Only if I can’t stop myself," she promised sarcastically. These

  sorts of soirees had been so much

  fun with Rhonda, who always

  danced with everybody in the

  room.
They didn’t go to many,

  since it was important in their

  jobs to keep a low profile in

  Greensburg; but from time to

  time, they would go to the larger

  events in nearby Pittsburgh. Louise

  would usually sit at the table and

  entertain their friends, dancing

  every fifth or sixth tune with her

  vivacious partner. This was only

  her third such party since Rhonda

  died, and while it was difficult,

  Louise had to admit that it did her

  good to get out. She liked

  dressing up, and knew it was

  important to meet people,

  especially since she was new to

  the Southwest Florida gay and

  lesbian community.

  They had arrived somewhat late,

  but new arrivals kept pouring in.

  After accepting an early offer to

  dance with a stylish woman in her

  mid-50s - and politely declining a

  second dance - Louise settled in to

  watch the crowd, content to sip

  her wine unnoticed. At the urging

  of her friends, she took a couple

  of turns on the dance floor with

  each of them, who were now

  wrapped around each other,

  swaying to a slow romantic tune.

  The tall woman checked her watch.

  They would leave soon, as Shirley

  never, ever missed the maritime

  and fishing reports on the 11

  o’clock news; besides, her friends

  were headed out early tomorrow

  to go grouper fishing off Marco

  Island.

  "Are you having a good time?"

  The question startled Louise, but

  not as much as the sight of Marty

  Beck standing at her table. The

  golf pro was dressed in pleated

  black gabardine slacks with flat

  black shoes; her red silk shirt

  opened at the top to reveal an

  ample cleavage. Louise had never

  actually seen the woman without

  her visor, and was pleasantly

  surprised to find a rather

  flattering hairstyle, layer upon

  layer of the sun-bleached strands.

  "I… my friends… we…” she

  stammered. "Won’t you please sit

  down?"

  Marty smiled and pulled out a

  chair. "You look very nice tonight."

  "Thank you."

  "Actually, that isn’t true."

  Louise rolled her eyes. Here it

  comes, a smart remark. Why does

  she have to do this? She’d be so…

  "What I meant to say is that you

  look stunning tonight. I saw you

  dancing earlier with Linda, and I

  doubt anyone else in this room

  could do justice to that dress

  you’re wearing."

  Louise couldn’t believe her ears.

  Marty Beck had just paid her one

  of the nicest compliments she’d

  ever heard.

  "Why, thank you Marty. You look

  very nice too." She really did. Red