Tuesday's Caddie

by Jack Waddell

  “Ma’am,” Conor offered just above a whisper, “Excuse me, but I would hope you might consider another shot.” He pointed to the sand and gestured. “You see, there is very little lip to yon bunker; the sand is almost level with the ground. If you pitch it, the ball will not stop. Take your putter, give it just a little more weight than you might be inclined, then roll your ball over the ground, through the sand and up onto the green. You’ve the touch of an angel, I can see that, so you can make this shot.”

  Annie looked at him quizzically, perhaps a bit too long for Conor’s comfort. Then, without saying a word, she handed him back the niblick and pulled her putter from the bag. She made three practice swings with the putter while looking at the flagstick. Then she stepped forward into her stance and made her stroke. The ball darted forward then rolled into the sand where it slowed. As it left the sand it hopped a bit onto the grass collar, then hopped again as it left the collar and rolled onto the green. By then the ball had slowed to a crawl. Then it began to trickle. It came to rest a foot from the hole.

  Conor stood to the side, watched the shot finish and then looked back at her. Still bent in her stance she looked up at him. She smiled. Then she winked. Conor’s heart nearly burst from his chest.

  "That was a beautiful shot, Ma'am," Conor said. "Truly a beauty."

  Annie responded as he handed her the putter, "Well, what you told me to do was the true thing. 'Beauty is truth, truth beauty'.''

  "Aye and ‘that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.'"

  She looked surprised. "You know Keats?"

  "Yes ma'am, a bit. Even though he had not the luck to be Irish."

  Annie grinned.

  The fourteenth hole was a par three of moderate length playing westward to the edge of the property. A stand of cedars and junipers formed a hedge behind the green shielding the view of the greenkeeper’s barn and maintenance yard. Franklin skulled yet another shot from the tee, his ball skipping over the green toward the hedge line. Annie’s shot came up just short.

  As Conor stood with Annie at her ball discussing her chip shot, Franklin stalked by and removed a club from his bag and continued over the green to look for his ball. Annie played her shot to within six feet of the hole. As she did so, Franklin called out, “Found it! I’m okay!”

  With that, he managed to pitch the ball inside Annie’s to three feet. As Conor walked past the balls to take out the flagstick, he stopped and addressed Franklin just walking onto the green, “Mr. Burke, I’m afraid I have some bad news for you.”

  “What? What is it?” Burke demanded.

  “Well, sir, you teed off on this hole playing a Spalding ball. I’m afraid the ball here on the green is a Dunlop. That would mean you played a wrong ball and thus, unfortunately, have lost the hole.”

  Burke immediately reddened. “I know what ball I was playing! I don’t need some caddie to remind me. If you’re calling me a cheat you can drop the bags right now and walk off the property. Stupid Irishman!”

  Conor chose to stand his ground. “Sorry, sir, but ‘tis what I saw.”

  Annie jumped in, “Oh, Franklin, don’t be such a pig. It’s only a game. I’m sure it’s an honest mistake. Go ahead and play out. We both lay two.”

  Franklin walked toward Conor, tossed him his club and snatched his putter from the caddie’s grasp, then stood to the side as Annie crouched down behind her ball lining up her putt. She rose, addressed the ball, and with little hesitation stroked it dead into the heart of the hole.

  Burke then spent considerable time lining up his putt to tie the hole. “Too much time,” Conor thought to himself. Finally ready, he stabbed his putter at the ball then watched it scoot past the cup to the left.

  “My hole after all!” Annie chirped as Burke glared at her, then once again at the caddie, then turned and quickly stalked off the green.

  As Conor followed Burke to the next tee, Annie came up behind him and gave his arm a nudge with her elbow, looked up at him and gave him another wink. And again Conor melted.

  Despite all his creative arithmetic and skullduggery Burke was closed out by the time they reached the last hole. Annie and her husband finished the round in silence.

  Replacing the flagstick after they had both holed out, Conor asked, “Should I be returning your clubs to the bag drop or are you to be leaving them here at the club?”

  Annie spoke up. “You can leave Mr. Burke’s clubs at the drop. I’ll be keeping my clubs here.”

  “Very good, ma’am,” Conor responded. He stood with the bags just off the green waiting for his fee to be paid. Burke walked up to him and handed him two silver dollars. There would be no tip.

  Conor was not surprised. He took Annie’s clubs to the bag room and then Burke’s clubs up to the bag drop at the clubhouse entrance. Then, curious, he decided to wait to see them leave. He walked behind the hedge near the front gate and waited.

  It wasn’t long before he saw the big black Packard leave with Franklin driving and Annie in the passenger seat. She had taken off her hat and let her hair down.

  * * *

  The conversation in the Packard had been brief and unpleasant. Franklin, both hands on the wheel, eyes on the road; Annie with her head turned away watching out the side window as houses and trees and telephone poles flew past.

  Franklin started it. "I hope you enjoyed your golf today. All I got were blisters and sunburn."

  "Honestly, Franklin, you can be such an ass sometimes.”

  "What do you want from me? And why did we have to leave so fast? We had time for a little drink, you know."

  "There's never just a little drink with you. We don't need to kill anybody going home. Drink when you get home."

  "Go to hell. As far as I'm concerned you're on your own at that place. You wanted it, you got it and I'm done with it. I've got better things to do."

  "I'm all too well aware of that."

  "And what was with that caddie? What a smart ass. I don't need…"

  "Stop it," Annie interrupted, turning her head to Franklin. "Enough. It wasn't the caddie, it was you."

  "Yeah, right. That's always it with you, isn't it?"

  "I said enough!" With that she turned away and again cast her gaze out the side window. She let her thoughts drift. Soon she found them drifting back to her caddie.

  * * *

  Conor didn't know what to make of her. She was beautiful, yes. And she could play golf. But what to make of that husband? How were they a match? Who were these people?

  Conor wandered back to the caddie yard. Maybe he could pick up a bag for a late nine holes.

  There were only a couple of caddies left there waiting for loops. Gino was leaning out his door to catch the light, elbows on its shelf reading a newspaper. He glanced up as Conor came through the gate then shut it behind him.

  "How'd your loop go?" Gino asked, his eyes returning to his paper. "They any good?"

  "She surely is, but not him. Stiffed me the tip he did."

  Gino smirked. "That's cause you're such a lousy caddie, no doubt."

  Conor let the jab go by. "What do you know of them? You said they were new members?"

  "Yeah, joined a month ago or so. Weekday members. He's some sort of Hollywood movie type. Sort of a big deal I hear. Don't know anything about the wife."

  "Well, she can play, I can tell you that." Changing subject, he added, "I'll be waiting for another loop if one should come along."

  "Suit yourself, but I've got two ahead of you I promised."

  Conor nodded, "Fine, then." He walked over the bench and sat down. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. He gave it a shake, pinched one out and put it to his lips. He struck a match and lit it. He took a long pull and then leaned forward, elbows on his knees and exhaled. He watched the smoke curl away and thought to himself "What had she said her name was? Annie was it? Yes, that was it. Annie."

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  Chapter 6

  Mary


  Tuesday, April 22, 1930

  Conor waited until almost six o'clock for a loop to show up but none did. The other two caddies had gotten bags and Conor was the last one left in the yard. Finally Gino appeared at his door. "Hey Mick. You're welcome to stay and try to pick up something on your own, but I'm calling it a day."

  "Thanks, Cap'n. But I should be on my way. Not enough sun left anyway."

  "All right then, buddy, see you tomorrow." And with that Gino closed the top of the Dutch door and locked it. Conor always marveled at how Gino treated him when there was no one else around.

  Conor gathered himself from the bench and ambled from the yard to the service entrance on the north side of the clubhouse. He sometimes would wait for Michael’s wife Mary to get off work and then walk her to the bus stop where she'd catch a ride home to Pasadena. Michael worked at the Kellogg horse ranch in Pomona and kept exhausting hours. Their respective schedules were different enough that Conor rarely had a chance to visit them for dinner and a chat. Walking Mary to the bus stop was the best way to catch up with what was going on in their lives. But tonight wasn't so much about listening. Conor wanted to talk.

  Mary came out a little after seven and a typical twelve-hour day. A tiny freckled brunette with a sweet doll face, she carried a bag full of her uniforms she would launder and iron at home. She always was surprised when Conor showed up for the walk and always pleased when he did.

  "Aw, Connie! So good to be seeing you! And you're looking to be fine and fit as usual,” she squeaked in her little mouse voice. And with that she gave him a hug and kiss on the cheek.

  "And fine it is to be seeing you!" Conor replied. "I see they're to be working you as hard as ever!"

  "Aye that they are. But the work is good Connie. Michael and I are even starting to be able to put away a little something every month. He's talking about moving to San Diego to work at the track in Tijuana. He wants to rent a bigger place and start a family, saints be willing."

  "'Tijuana, huh? I know he likes his racing, so 'tis good to hear that, Mary. You both deserve that. And I, for one, can't wait to see your little ones. I'm sure they're to be as beautiful as you. And hopefully not as bad-tempered as our Michael."

  Mary laughed her little high-pitched titter and gave him a little shove. "Oh Connie, stop that now."

  With that Conor took the bag from her, she took his arm and they set off for the bus stop. It was perhaps only a mile away and they continued their chat as they went along.

  Finally, Conor got around to what he wanted to ask. "Tell me, Mary, I caddied for a couple today that I wonder if you're to know anything about? Mr. and Mrs. Burke, they are. Franklin I think he is. New members I'm to be told."

  "Oh, the Burkes, yes I heard about them. And not in a good way, I'm afraid," Mary said, turning a bit pensive.

  "What do you mean?" Conor asked.

  "Well, I'm told the first night they came to dinner at the club, he got himself unholy drunk. Started a yelling, screaming fight with his wife he did. Two waiters had to be called to escort him to his car. The wife had to drive home. Very ugly introduction, I would say. Members that night were not pleased, nor the staff. He ended up stiffing them their tips."

  "That sounds familiar," Conor interjected. "Did the same to me, he did. Hear anything else?"

  "Not really. It just started the old members complaining again about the club having to open up to new members, weekday members and the like. 'New money' they call them. 'Tis a pity, too, because they're not all like your Mr. Burke."

  The conversation wended its way to other topics as Conor and Mary waited for the bus. When it appeared, Mary gave Michael another hug and kiss, took her bag and boarded the bus.

  "Take care of yourself, Connie!" she called from the bus steps.

  "You too, Mary. And give my best to that ne'er-do-well cousin of mine!"

  Mary laughed and waved and disappeared into the bus.

  * * *

  The air was still frigid when Franklin and Annie returned home. Annie went straight to her room, took a shower, changed into her silk lounging pajamas and robe and went into her study to read. Franklin went to the bar and poured himself a drink. When it was finished he poured another and started upstairs to pack his things.

  Just then the telephone rang. Opal the maid answered on the downstairs phone. "Mr. Burke," she called out. It's a gentleman asking for you."

  "I'll take the call upstairs," Franklin replied and continued up the stairs to his room. He shut the door behind him and then picked up the receiver.

  Downstairs, Opal waited to hear his voice before hanging up the phone she was on. When she did what she heard sounded like a voice hushed and angry. She slammed the receiver down quickly so Franklin would know she'd hung up.

  When Franklin emerged from his room with his bag in hand, his face was still red. In his other hand he carried his empty drink glass. He walked down the hall to the other side of the house and into Annie's study.

  "I'm leaving now," he announced. "Off to Santa Barbara. I should be back later in the week. May stop in Malibu for a day at the beach if the weather's right. I'll call if I get any later than that."

  Annie, reclined with her feet up on the sofa, did not look up from her book. "Fine," she said. "I'll be busy. You needn't call."

  Franklin smirked, then turned to go downstairs and pour himself one more drink before he left.

  Annie kept reading until she heard the sound of the Packard starting up. She rose, went to the window and watched it pull away. Then she turned, closed her book and put it on the desk. She walked to the bookcase taking up one wall of the room and began looking for a particular volume.

  It was a difficult search. The book would be small and the bookcase had never been organized properly. Finally she found it and took it back to the sofa. She sat down, opened the book and began leafing through The Collected Works of John Keats. Halfway through she found what she was looking for, Ode on a Grecian Urn.

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  Chapter 7

  Second Round

  Tuesday, April 29, 1930

  As was her habit, Annie rose early to work on the screenplay. This one was to be a romantic comedy about a Boston socialite caught up in a love triangle with a rich financier and a poor newspaper reporter. Like most of the screenplays she authored she wrote to a basic plot and specific characters conjured by the producer and the studio to showcase their stars. As a result she never felt like it was the most creative of endeavors, but she still took some satisfaction in making the characters come alive in their dialogue. She wrote to her vision of the story, the settings and the characters but once she handed over the screenplay the producer and the director took over. "Franklin" was called upon often to rewrite parts of the script while the movie was being made as the directors and stars imposed their own creative flourishes. Thus the finished film was usually far different than the one she originally imagined. But that was the business.

  She spent most of the morning typing away breaking only for some coffee and a little oatmeal. Around eleven o'clock she'd had enough. Thankfully Franklin had not yet returned from his wanderings so she'd been able to work undisturbed through the weekend. Her work was more or less on schedule and now she had time for herself. She wanted to play golf again. Actually, she'd thought of nothing much else the entire week.

  It was a little awkward making the phone call. Franklin's rude behavior and the fact he'd only accompanied her once on the golf course had given her no chance to find any golfing partners at the club. When she called the pro shop to see if there was any opportunity to play that afternoon they told her there was another woman playing alone and perhaps she could join her to make a twosome. It was late though, three o'clock. Would that be all right?

  Annie was happy to say yes. She loved playing late in the day. The wind died down, the air began to cool and the shadows lengthened. Sometimes it was just magical. And this might be a chance to make a friend or even just a golfing partner. She'd had few o
pportunities to make friends since meeting and marrying Franklin. All their friends had been his friends, and most of them just business acquaintances.

  She found herself suddenly energized. She couldn't wait for three o'clock.

  * * *

  Even giving six strokes a side, Conor had still been able to handle Dogface and Pissquick handily in their match that Monday. It had been one of those rare days when the ball always bounced the right way and the putts all seemed to find the hole. He'd actually shot two under par for the round, his best ever at Biarritz. They'd only played seventeen holes because the grounds crew had been busy working around the fourteenth green. But he reasoned that even a double bogie on that hole would still have left him with a good score.

  Of course, his play caused no end of grousing and carping from his two vanquished friends who only increased their vitriol when he declined to play another game of gin rummy the next day. But he did have an excuse. He picked up a single bag with a foursome of men by mid-morning that would have kept him from playing very long anyway.

  The round had been uneventful. The players were all friends and really didn't have any sort of match going on among them. They were just stealing a beautiful morning from their respective workplaces and their easy demeanor and their relatively close-matched abilities made it an easy loop for Conor.

  When he returned to the caddie yard his two antagonists were gone, out on loops of their own. Conor settled onto the bench, took his buttered roll from his pocket and had his lunch. He took his time. The yard was still full and he knew it would be a while before he'd have any chance to go out again, if at all.

  * * *

  Annie drove her own car to Biarritz. It was a brand new red Cadillac coupe that they bought after Franklin had opened the accounts in her name. She loved the car, the first she'd ever owned. It was a symbol of her independence and self-sufficiency, something she couldn't reveal to the rest of the world. The hood ornament said it all, she thought; a nude-to-the-waist chrome mermaid, hands clasped behind her head, elbows spread wide, leaning forward into the wind. Even though it was a forty-dollar option and thus a month's mortgage payment, she had to have it. Driving the car she felt like that ornament, almost as free as she did when she was outside playing her way through a golf course.