Four Ball
The sky didn’t look good for golf as I drove my Cadillac under thecover of the clubhouse extension. Tommy sauntered out to pull my heavybag from the trunk. I tipped the young man very well so we both cameaway happy. He really wouldn’t like my bag today because of the addedweight of the rain gear, but then again he wouldn’t want to schlepp mypurse either.
I left the keys in the ignition and slid outside.
”True golfer’s weather, Dr. Cantwell,” Tommy quipped.
”Contrary to what my students used to think, it won’t melt me,” Ianswered with my usual tight smile.
”Well, Mrs. Beltran is having a fit inside and…” here a gruntpunctuated the sentence as he lifted the bag, “Mrs. Taylor ain’t toothrilled and Mrs. Beltran’s daughter isn’t sayin’ anything.” Tommychucked the bag onto the back of the electric cart. “Situationnormal.”
”Thanks for the briefing,” I said as I passed over some cash. ” Nowdon’t screw around with my car!”
Tommy let out a good country guffaw as he plopped on the plush seatand slammed the door. As I went to the cart to get my shoe andtoiletry bag I heard the electric window on the Caddy slide down.
”Hey prof,” Tommy called out.
I looked back at him.
”You think Toni would go out with me?”
”I’ll put in a good word, but that doesn’t mean she’ll listen.”
”Cool.” Tommy drove the car out to the parking lot.
Elena Beltran’s daughter wouldn’t give him the time of day. He was anamiable enough person, but Antonia was not his type. She was a sullenand quiet girl. I carried my little duffel into the spacious andelegant clubhouse. Roy and I had treated ourselves to this membership,and after his death I adopted the course as a second home. Within afew carpeted paces I could hear Elena’s staccato voice emanating fromone of the lounges. All I had to do was follow the tone. As I drewclose enough to hear snippets I thought how nice a cloudy, dreary daywas when your skin was as pale and sensitive as mine. I still put onthe cremes, lotions, and balms and wore proper caps, but in theFlorida humidity shorts were still the only choice.
My three co-competitors were triangled at a round table. All haddrinks, but I suspected Joan’s was the only one with alcohol. Joan andAntonia sat silently as Elena complained about the weather.
”Fran, we can’t play today!” Elena said upon seeing me. “It is filthyout there and it’s about to pour.” Elena spoke as much with her handsas her mouth. I couldn’t believe she’d go to the trouble of applyingbright red nail polish before swinging away with a golf club. Therings would bother me too.
”Mama, just stay here.” Antonia sounded perpetually disinterested. Herplain appearance contrasted with Elena’s heavy makeup and Joan’sbrassy red hair, brightly colored polo shirt and gaudy vest. Toni’ssimple white blouse and light blue shorts were decidedly different.
”Antonia, mind your tone.” Elena waved a finger in her daughter’sdirection. I dropped my bag and sat between Toni and Joan.
”What do you think?” Joan asked between sips of whatever her pleasurewas today.
”She thinks we should stay inside and talk or play cards,” Elenainterrupted as she stared at me and arched her black eyebrows.
”I’m playing.” That was pretty matter-of-fact. “I didn’t drive out tosit in the lounge.”
”Let’s just give it a try, huh?” Joan took a deep drink and clinkedher glass on the table. “The air’ll do me good.”
”They’re right. You drug me out here so let’s play golf while Daddy’spartying in California.” Antonia was not a happy camper.
”Basta! Enough with the insults about your father. He is a hardworking doctor who provides for his family and keeps you in college.”
”OK. Let’s get to the tee and take it out on the golf ball.” I wantedto nip this argument now. After I had changed shoes and put my thingsaway in the locker room - if you’d dare degrade the place by callingit that - I drove the cart to the first tee. Antonia was my passenger;this was best since her mother and she would fight and Joan was numbedenough not to be bothered by the chatter.
We all hit the ball about the same distance so the group made a goodfoursome. Elena swung very slowly on the backswing in imitation of herfavorite golfer with whom she shared a similar build. Joan was thetallest, but her shortened swing took away distance. If she’d use herslender hips and long limbs to full advantage she’d outhit us by amile. She hit the ball straight even after (and while) drinking.Antonia was her mother’s height, but she was petite. Her long swingarc and silky smooth turn led to good ball striking. I hit withstrength, but I tend to have a jerky motion that I’ve tried to correctfor years.
”Good one blondie!” Joan said after I really tore into one. We’d knowneach other long enough that she remembered my platinum blonde hairbefore the shift to bright white as I passed 50. Elena grumbled aboutthe steadily increasing drizzle and kept to her cart or her umbrellawhen she wasn’t hitting. Antonia didn’t speak much as I steered thecart through the first three holes. She had brought no accessories forrain so her outfit became damper with each stroke. I did the sameuntil the fourth tee when I relented and put on my rain jacket. Elenawas becoming more discontented as her jet black hair with gray accentsgot a little wet; her partner had been sipping furtively from a flaskthat she kept in a pocket on her bag. I sighed. Jo was Jo, andlectures didn’t do any good anymore.
As we proceeded to the fourth green the drizzle crossed that fuzzyborder into rain. Elena glared back at me and motioned resignationwith her arms. “Mama is such a whiner,” Toni said. She had her feetpropped on the front of the cart and a crease showed on the undersideof her light brown thighs where they had pushed down on the seam atthe edge of the synthetic seat cover.
”Your mother is opinionated and strong-willed, but she’s a goodperson.”
Antonia looked at me patronizingly. “You’re her friend and you have tosay that. She’s always bragging about ‘Fran’s money’ and ‘Fran wrotethis!’ Bullshit. So you taught English - big deal.”
”Alright then. I had to say it. Your mom’s a bitch and her daughterinherited it.”
A cynical smile. Toni turned to face forward and stretched her armsabove her head. She habitually did this, and each time her shirt wouldrise just enough to reveal her midriff. Her skin was just a littlebrowner over her knees and elbows - what causes that?