“Hey, Mr. C., that’s mighty big of you.”
“So you don’t forget me,” Billy said. “Keep them coming.”
Billy hadn’t eaten breakfast or lunch; his guts were too twisted up over Jenkins’s phone call. On an empty stomach, the beer gave him a mild buzz. His arms felt boneless and loopy as he prepared to hit to the fourth, a green surrounded with water blinking hot light like a pinball machine. Normally, fear of sending his ball into the drink would have tensed Billy up, but the beer was smoothing the wrinkles out of him and he took an easy, relaxed swing. The ball landed with a feathery hop, settling four feet from the hole. Miraculously, Billy overcame his yips, made the birdie putt, and pulled even with Forsythe.
This mellow, comfortable feeling carried over to the next hole and he won it too. Joanne was right. Seeing Billy’s taillights, Forsythe started to whine and moan about bad breaks; his forearms bunched up into knots when he gripped his club. By the time they made the turn to the tenth, the King of the Car Dealers was two hundred down.
Glancing at his watch, Billy was surprised to see it was already three o’clock. The course was congested but he hadn’t realized they were moving so slow. Now he wondered if he’d make it home in time to catch Jenkins’s phone call. Feeling uneasy, he considered packing it in, walking back to his car. Forsythe would certainly be happy to see him go and save two hundred bucks. That was enough for Billy to shake off the idea. After all, who did Jenkins think he was, expecting him to sit by the phone all day? And besides, here was Joanne waiting for him just as promised, parked in the shade of a stand of poplar, flashing a big toothy grin. Taking care of him.
“Well?” she said.
“You were right. He’s wilting. I’ve got him by the short and curlies.”
“Good for you. Two more?”
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