Live Large

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

The exchange gave Billy pause. “Course management” was one of Forsythe’s mantras. Play it safe, weigh risk and gain like a bean counter. If Billy pulled the ball left, with his distance he was out of bounds. The story of his life. Five hours ago, he had been telling himself to correct his mistakes; trading the driver for a three iron, he split the fairway. Forsythe went with a driver but as their carts rolled down the fairway Billy noted Malcolm had gained less than ten yards on him. This old dog can learn new tricks, he thought gleefully. His cautious new attitude paid dividends for two holes; he stayed even with Forsythe. But on the third, Billy shamefully four-putted. For him, putting was like a visit to the dentist; he just wanted to get the pain over with as quickly as possible. The double bogey cost him a hundred bucks.

With all the Sunday traffic the next hole, a par three, had backed up. There were two foursomes ahead of them on the tee, giving him time to regroup. Also, sexy Joanne arrived on her refreshment cart. Nobody else wanted anything, they were keeping a Presbyterian Sunday, but Billy sauntered over.

“Where you been, Mr. C? Haven’t seen you in ages.” Joanne always called him that; Billy was a great favourite of hers. Knowing she was a single mother, he had always tipped her outlandishly and made a point of asking after her little boy.

“I guess you didn’t hear. I quit the club. Too much business on the go. No time for golf …” He faltered. “Except now and then.”

“That’s a crime. Otherwise, how are things?”

“I’m down a hundred to Forsythe. They could be better.”

“He’s so tight he squeaks when he walks. Just get up on him, he’ll choke.” She seized her throat, crossed her eyes, and mimed Forsythe’s strangulation. Billy laughed until his eyes ran. She was a great girl, even if she was what Marva called a “trailer tramp.” Billy happened to like saucy trailer tramps. They were the reason that he had always volunteered to take the twins to the Exhibition when they were kids. Marva accused him of lusting after corn dogs but it was the young women in high heels and ankle bracelets, little crescents of jiggly white bottoms peeking out from under cut-off blue jeans, that drew him to the midway. Boner city.

“What can I do you for?” asked Joanne.

“I’ll take two beers. Any brand, whatever’s coldest.”