Tuesday's Caddie

by Jack Waddell

  He eventually acquired all the trappings his fortune could buy – a mansion, luxury cars and a country club membership. He chose Biarritz because it was close to his new home and it welcomed a variety of new members, people like himself with relatively newfound wealth. It therefore lacked some of the snobbery found in other clubs, although not completely.

  He was not an accomplished golfer, but he loved to play for high stakes with the friends he had there. It was the action, not necessarily the money, which drew him in to their weekend games where hundreds of dollars might change hands with a single putt made or missed. The gambling was, by and large, his only major vice. That he never lost or won that much money, in balance, perhaps meant it wasn't a vice at all. Or so he reasoned.

  But his greatest ambition in golf lay not in his weekend games. It was to win the annual Calcutta tournament where thousands and thousands of dollars could be wagered and won.

  The Calcutta at Biarritz involved two-man teams that were auctioned off to the highest bidder. Pari-mutuel wagering had been outlawed in California so the pot was a simple split: seventy percent to the winner, thirty percent for second place. The event was played over two days as better ball of partners at scratch, without handicaps, so only very good golfers were enlisted for the teams. Each team had to have at least one Biarritz member while the other player could be a member of another club. As many as two dozen teams took part in the event. The competition was so fierce and the potential winnings so huge it drew hundreds of people to watch.

  The year before Graves had come close to cashing in. He'd bought a team he had arranged himself. He paired the son of his best friend at the club, Charlie Compton, with one of the other members he played with regularly. The son, Billy, was something of a playboy. Never working much, he did little but play golf and chase women and had become quite good at both. He'd played brilliantly in the Calcutta but the other member had folded under the pressure the second day and the team had finished just out of the money.

  Since then Graves had been on the lookout for someone he could match with young Billy in this year's event. He'd heard talk in the locker room about a caddie at Biarritz who was said to be good, often matching par on his Monday rounds. He was an Irishman they called Mick. Graves intended to find out for himself if this caddie was as good as they said.

  * * *

  Meg bubbled over with excitement at dinner relating the events of the day. She went on and on about Annie. Young and pretty. Very smart and funny. Wore the most gorgeous outfit. Wife of a Hollywood screenwriter. Lives in the Hollywood Hills. Drives the most beautiful Cadillac coupe. From the Midwest just like they were. Incredibly good player. A new friend and golfing partner. Playing together again next Tuesday. Want the same caddie, too. So much fun. Can't wait.

  Robert listened attentively. He loved his wife and he loved her voice. She could be saying almost anything and the sound would fill his heart, not that he didn't take in every word she said.

  "That's wonderful, dear," he interjected as she finally paused to take a few bites of her dinner. "I'm so glad you had such a good time. She sounds like a perfect golfing partner for you. And you want the same caddie again?"

  "Oh my, yes!" Meg burst out gaining her second wind. "He was just incredible. He helped us on so many shots. He even taught Annie how to hit the most amazing hook shot around a tree." She paused to laugh, "And then I made him hit that shot himself. Really, I did. And he did it differently than how he told her to do it. He said he just 'thought left.' Then he hit it so close to the hole he almost made it."

  "Really? Who was he?"

  "I think he's the one I heard you talking to Charlie Compton about. Young Irishman named Mick. Handsome too. And charming. I think Annie is a little taken with him. And he with her."

  "What do you mean?" Robert asked now with more interest.

  "Well, there are looks and there are looks. And I saw them exchange some, if you know what I mean."

  "Yes, well, that's not good. A married woman and a caddie? Not good at all. That shouldn't be happening."

  "Oh, I'm sure it's all right. They're both too smart not to know their place. It's just a bit of fancy I'm sure. I think it's sweet. Did I tell you he was handsome?"

  Robert chuckled. "Yes you did. And I'm sure he is. But he'd better be careful. He'll be gone from Biarritz in the blink of an eye if anybody sees what you saw. So you might want to keep what you saw to yourself. It takes nothing to spark a rumor around that place and a rumor is all it would take to ruin them both."

  "I know. You're right. I'll be as careful as I'm sure they'll be."

  It was then their youngest daughter Lilith came down from her room and her homework to join them at the table for coffee and dessert. The conversation moved on to her day at school and the dramas of a teenage girl.

  * * *

  Conor had finished the round with Annie and Meg too late to walk Mary to the bus stop. He had really wanted to talk to her. Alone in the dark walking back to his room in the boarding house he struggled to make sense of what he felt. He needed someone to help him sort it out. The situation was impossible; he knew that. But he also knew that he wanted this woman more than he had ever wanted anything. It wasn't just that she was beautiful. It was more than that. It was something he felt so strongly he could almost taste it and touch it. It was something that he saw deep in her eyes and heard in her voice. She was everything right and good and wonderful. Except that she wasn't. She was married. And he was but a caddie. And he cursed himself for all that he was not. His thoughts twirled like a carousel all the way home.

  * * *

  When Annie got home she was dismayed to find Franklin there. She had wanted the night all to herself and her thoughts of her caddie. Now, not only was Franklin there, he had been drinking.

  "Where've you been?" he demanded in a slur. "I was trying to get you all afternoon. The studio called. They have changes they need done right away. You have a job now you know. What kind of a stupid bitch are you to take off like that?"

  Annie remained calm. He was drunk. There would be no reasoning. "It was Tuesday. I played golf. I met a friend. I'm sure I can handle the changes tomorrow."

  "Oh yeah? What kinda friend? Some lowlife playboy that wants to get into your pants? Yeah, that would be just like you. Stupid whore. 'Cause that's what you are, ya know? I know you. Stupid whore. You women are all alike. I know…" Franklin's rant trailed off as his liquored mind lost its grasp of the thought.

  Annie had enough. "We'll talk about the changes in the morning. I'm going to my room. Good night."

  "Yeah, you walk away. That's what you bitches do. Fucking whores. All of you." A hiccup stopped the tirade.

  As Annie climbed the stairs Franklin stumbled to the bar to pour himself another drink.

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  Chapter 9

  Billy

  Wednesday, April 30, 1930

  The next morning Robert Graves arrived at his factory with three important calls to make. His secretary called out to him as he walked past her telling him he had messages and phone calls to return but he waved her off, went into his office, closed the door behind him and took his seat behind the desk. He picked up the phone.

  The first call was to his friend Charlie Compton. Charlie owned a trucking firm, a construction company and many of the buildings along Rodeo Drive in Hollywood, not to mention racehorses and a string of polo ponies. Charlie was always at work early. He would be easy to get.

  The phone rang. The secretary picked up. "Hello, Marcia. This is Robert Graves. Can I speak to Charlie, please?" There was a pause and then Charlie picked up. "Charlie, how are you?"

  "I'm good, Bob. What can I do for you? You must need something to be calling this early. But before you say anything, you're not getting any more strokes this weekend, sandbagger that you are."

  "Ha, yeah, well I don't need them, duffer that you are. Listen, I may have a partner for Billy in the Calcutta. But I want to check him out. You have any idea wh
ere I can get a hold of Billy? I want him along."

  "Billy? Well, that's a tough one. You can bet he's still asleep. So the only real question is in whose bed. Last he told me he was hanging out with some divorcee over in Santa Monica. I think he left me a number. Hold on while I look."

  Robert waited while Charlie rummaged through the piles of paper that littered his desk. Finally, after a time, he came back on the line.

  "Found it. Her name is Cloris. Have no idea what the last name is. She probably can't remember either. Anyway it's Klondike 5-0751. I wouldn't call before noon, though. No chance either of them are alive yet. That help you?"

  Robert scribbled down the number then replied, "That's what I needed. Thanks, Charlie. See you on Saturday, right?"

  "You bet. And bring cash. And if you get Billy, tell him to show up at the office and pretend to work one day this week."

  Robert laughed. "Yeah, right. Well, he's your son. And you'd best be the one bringing the cash. See you." He hung up the phone and rose from his desk to go see what his secretary had for him.

  It was just after noon when he called the number for Cloris. A female voice answered sounding drowsy. Her "hello" was enough for Robert to guess she was likely still prone.

  "I'm calling for Billy Compton. Is he there?"

  "Hold on." Then after a pause, "Who's calling?"

  "Robert Graves."

  "Hold on."

  After a much longer pause during which Robert imagined Cloris rousing Billy, his voice came on the line. "Hello? Who is this?"

  "Hello, Billy. It's Robert Graves."

  At the sound of the name Billy's voice perked up. "Oh, hi! Good morning! Or afternoon. Or whatever. What can I do for you?"

  "I may have a partner for you in the Calcutta. I want you to check him out with me. Can you get away for a round out at Biarritz Friday afternoon, day after tomorrow? Say two o'clock?"

  "Who is it?"

  "Nobody I think you know. Or maybe you do. You'll meet him. Can you make it?"

  Friday was a difficult question for Billy in his current state. He was silent as his brain tried to calculate. Then, finally, he replied, "Yeah, that should be all right. Friday at two, right?"

  "Right. I can count on you to be there, okay?"

  "Oh sure, sure. I'll be there. See you then."

  "Okay, see you then." Robert hung up the phone. He had one more call to make.

  "Good afternoon, Biarritz Country Club. How may I direct your call?"

  "Give me the pro shop, please," Robert responded.

  "Certainly. One moment please."

  A pause, then, "Biarritz pro shop. Brian speaking."

  "Hello, Brian. This is Robert Graves. I'd like to make a tee time for Friday at two o'clock. A twosome. Billy Compton and myself. That shouldn't be a problem, should it?"

  "Not at all, Mr. Graves. I'll put you down."

  "Good. Now it's going to be something of a match. So make a note for me. We want to go off as just two. All right?"

  "I will do that. Friday at two, just a two ball."

  "Thank you, Brian. Now, if I can, I'd like to speak to Gino. Can you get him for me?"

  "Sure. Let me go find him. I'll be right back."

  Brian put the receiver down and went off to look for Gino. Robert had known that play at the club was usually slow on Friday afternoons, especially as late as two o'clock. And that served his purpose, as he didn't want the round to be observed by other members. Presently Gino came to the phone.

  "Hello? Mr. Graves? This is Gino."

  "Hello, Gino. Listen, I have a twosome Friday at two – Billy Compton and myself. You have a caddie there, somebody called 'Mick,' an Irishman?"

  "Yes sir. And he's a good one, too."

  "That's what I hear. He caddied for my wife yesterday. So I'd like you to arrange for him to carry for Billy and me on Friday at two o’clock. Can you do that for me?"

  "Well, sir, you know how unreliable these caddie types can be. They are very difficult to pin down in advance like this. And in the case of this Mick, well, he's often spoken for early in the day. So it might not be that easy."

  Robert smiled to himself. This was a familiar dance with Gino. "I can appreciate that, Gino. Would the standard gratuity, say five dollars, make it any easier?"

  "Well, Mr. Graves, I wish I could say yes. But this might be a special circumstance, you know?"

  "You pirate. All right. Ten dollars."

  "Well, now. Thank you, Mr. Graves. As a matter of fact it just occurred to me that this Mick just might be out in the yard now. I imagine I may be able to make him available Friday. In fact, Mr. Graves, I will go so far as to say I guarantee it."

  Robert shook his head and smiled. "Good. I knew I could count on you, Gino. I'll see you Friday. Good bye."

  Gino hung the receiver back on the hook. Brian, a young assistant pro at Biarritz, had been standing at the counter listening to the conversation.

  "Gino, I don't know if you're a thief, a liar, or just some sort of con artist," Brian said in some wonder. "I just don't know how you get away with what you just pulled. Maybe you could teach me some time."

  "Well, son, it's all about giving people what they want and knowing how bad they want it. And, of course, knowing what they can afford makes it possible to know what its worth. Its just good business."

  "Well, seems like a pretty shady business to me," Brian said.

  "You'll learn," Gino tossed over his shoulder as he walked back to the caddie yard.

  Conor had just finished a morning loop working a foursome with Stovepipe and two teenage caddies he and Stovepipe had been asked to mentor. The round had started off cool, but now in the midday it was warm. He took off his jacket, folded it and put it on the bench. Before he could sit down he heard Gino's voice behind him.

  "Mick… get over here!"

  Conor groaned inwardly. He didn't want to go back out again so soon. He needed a bit of a breather and something to eat. But he turned around and walked to the door to see what Gino had for him.

  "You're going to be around Friday, right?" Gino asked.

  "Well I surely wouldn't be knowing that given I am to have such a busy social schedule. You know, the parties, the polo matches. I may have to check with my secretary don't you know."

  "Cut the crap, Irish. Simple question."

  "Yes, I can be here."

  "Okay. See I got a loop for you Friday at two o’clock. Robert Graves and Billy Compton." Gino leaned forward, his elbows on the door shelf. He motioned with his finger for Conor to move closer. Lowering his voice he continued, "I'm not sure but I think those two may be up to something. Graves wanted you bad. So I want you to make sure you're ready to go. Might be something good for you."

  "What do you mean?" Conor asked.

  "Just what I said."

  "Can you get me out in the morning before that?" Conor wondered.

  "Don't think that's a good idea. I think you need to be fresh. Just get here by one o'clock. Make sure you get something to eat beforehand. Capisce?"

  "Aye. Will do."

  "One more thing," Gino added now in a whisper. "You won't need that morning round. I'll throw you a couple bucks to make up for it. Like I said, they want you bad and I want you here."

  Conor was taken aback. Money flowed to Gino not from Gino. "Thank you, Cap'n. 'Tis good of you. I will be here one o'clock."

  Gino nodded "Good," rose up and moved to his desk to resume The Sporting News.

  Conor returned to the bench. He could not figure why all the intrigue with Gino, nor Gino's largesse. He took out his roll and contemplated it. Maybe there would be something in it for him. Maybe Friday would be a good day. Then he ate his roll and waited for another loop.

  (back to top)

  Chapter 10

  Tryout

  Friday, May 2, 1930

  It was another in a string of sunny and exceptionally windy afternoons at Biarritz. These weren’t the vicious Santa Ana winds that howl through the area in autumn an
d winter, but they were close, gusting to twenty-five miles an hour from the west. Per Gino’s orders Conor had arrived in the caddie yard on time at one o’clock after an unusual late breakfast at the little café near his boarding house. He had no idea why he was splurging so or why he had to show up so early for the round, but Gino had been clear. Maybe, Conor thought, the two players have very heavy bags.

  It was very warm, so as had become his custom this week he took off his jacket and laid it on the bench. He rolled up his sleeves and sat down waiting for the round. After a bit Gino appeared at his door. Conor saw him and Gino waved his hand to summon him over.

  “Mick, you’re a good boy to show up on time. And here’s what I promised.” And with that Gino reached his right hand across the door to Conor as if to make a handshake. When Conor took the hand he felt the folded dollar bills against his palm. He took them and put them in his pocket. “Now, go rest yourself, Gino said. “Your players are going to be here in a little while.”

  Robert Graves was the first to show up. He walked down from the clubhouse the cleats on his golf shoes crunching against the paved path. The sound woke Fred the starter from his nap atop the stool in his hut. It had been a slow afternoon.

  “Afternoon, Fred, you alright?” Robert asked as he could see the old man still trying to rouse himself and focus.

  “Why wouldn’t I be? I’m fine I tell you. What can I do for you?”

  Robert smiled. “Still a crotchety old codger aren’t you? When you wake up could you go get Gino for me?”

  Fred shook his head. “Bah! I’m awake! Wasn’t asleep, just thinking.”

  “Well, think about getting Gino for me, okay?” Robert laughed.

  "Humph," was all Fred could utter as he wiggled himself off the stool and tottered off to the pro shop. Presently he returned with Gino in tow. As he walked past Robert he gave a little look of disdain and tossed his head back indicating Gino had been delivered and his mission fulfilled. Then he returned to his stool.