Tuesday's Caddie

by Jack Waddell

  Billy put his hand on Conor's shoulder. "Listen, buddy, you said it yourself. It was your cousin's bet, not yours. Come on, let's get out of here."

  They had just stepped into the parking lot when they heard the pop in the distance. Both of them flinched. "I'm thirsty," Billy said. "Let's get a drink on the way out."

  "Aye. Use one I could."

  They stopped in town at Hodge's Bar & Café, a "De Luxe Cabaret" according to the sign. When they entered Conor smelled something he hadn't smelled in years: stale beer. They walked up to the bar that stretched the length of the establishment. Billy ordered. "Two beers, two shots of tequila. Give us the good stuff."

  They turned and looked at the crowd. They were mostly men and mostly American. The women scattered about at the tables with them were a mix of Mexicans and Anglos and if they were dressed for work their work was such that it didn't occur in daylight or in public. The bartender put down their drinks. "That's a buck," he announced.

  Billy turned to him and threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar. "Keep 'em coming."

  "You're to be joking!" Conor blurted.

  "Bad days call for good times. Come on, let's go grab a table." They carried their drinks to an empty table at the back of the bar and sat down facing the door. "Always want to have your back to a wall in a joint like this," Billy instructed and then threw back the tequila.

  Conor took a sip of the tequila and spat it out. "Ugh! 'Tis awful!”

  Billy laughed. "You're not supposed to taste it, just knock it back. After a couple they go down pretty smooth. Listen, if you don't want that I'll take it."

  Conor pushed the shot glass over to Billy. "Better you than me." Conor nursed his beer until a barmaid came to the table. He ordered a scotch, as did Billy. They sat quietly working on their drinks and watching the crowd.

  After his fourth drink Billy announced they were staying for dinner. After the steak and beans and another drink, Billy announced they were staying the night.

  "Where are we to stay?" Conor asked.

  "Hotel just a couple doors down. They always have rooms. And it's cheap. Even if you stay the whole night." He grinned and winked.

  Conor tried to pace himself. He got up twice to visit the excruciatingly foul bathroom and both times stopped at the bar on the way back to drink a glass of water. Billy had gone beyond mellow much earlier and had given the barmaid another five dollars to keep the drinks coming.

  It was getting late when the women started visiting the table. They would come two at a time and would make an unspoken choice between them about who was going to sit next to Billy and who would sit next to Conor. They would talk to Billy who knew enough Spanish to get their drift. Some would quickly frown and get up and leave. Others would stay long enough to have a drink. Then they too would make faces and leave. Conor realized Billy was holding auditions. Finally two women came along who were much younger than the earlier ones. They smiled a lot. Billy smiled back and talked. He told Conor the one sitting next to him was Inez and that Pila was the one next to him. The girls were quite animated and laughed often at whatever Billy was saying. They stayed through a couple more drinks. Conor was having trouble staying awake but he could make out the fact Billy was fully loaded. Finally after an exchange with Billy the one called Pila slipped off her chair and disappeared under the table. Inez started to do the same but Conor grabbed her arm and stopped her. Billy took on a vacant stare and kept hold on his drink. Inez took Conor's hand and put it between her legs. She was wearing no underwear. Feeling somehow obliged, Conor stroked her wetness as she cooed and gently squirmed. Finally Billy coughed and took a pull on his drink. Pila reappeared smiling and sat in the chair and wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. Conor took his hand back as Inez tried to pull it back to her. These were among the last things Conor remembered. He would later recall leaving the restaurant and relying on Inez for balance as they made their way down the sidewalk behind Billy and Pila. But he would never remember entering the hotel, checking in or anything else.

  When Conor awoke he was lying naked on top of the bed, the covers pulled off and lying on the floor at the foot of the bed. His head threatened to burst with its every throb. The room was lit by sunlight. He thought that not good. It took all his energy to raise his head and look around. He was relieved to see he was alone. After a few minutes trying to gather himself he sat up. He could see his clothes had been neatly draped over the back of the chair. He got up and went to the chair and retrieved his under shorts. After he nearly fell down trying to put them on standing up, he sat on the arm of the chair and finished the job. He got up and then sat on the edge of the bed and rested. Moving around had made him nauseous. He leaned over on his side and fell asleep.

  When he woke up the second time he panicked. He jumped out of the bed and moved to the chair and grabbed his trousers. He rooted through the pockets and found his wallet. He opened it. It was empty. He screamed a curse and threw it into the chair. He spun around in frustration flailing the air with his fist.

  * * *

  He sat waiting for Billy in an uncomfortable wrought iron chair in the lobby for more than an hour. He was angry with Billy and angrier still with himself. He didn't want some cute little conchita he could remember nothing about; he wanted Annie. And he needed the twenty dollars that once had filled his wallet. The whole trip had been nothing but a waste; Michael lost his savings, he lost his self-respect and the goddamn horse was dead.

  Billy finally came down the stairs. He gave Conor a wan smile and small wave and went to the front desk to check them out. Conor stood up and waited while their bill was settled. Then he followed Billy out to the car. They got in without exchanging a word and headed back to California.

  The silence lasted many miles. It wasn't until they got past Newport that Conor spoke up. "You know that whore up and took twenty dollars from me."

  "Is that so?"

  "Aye."

  Billy took one hand off the wheel and reached into his front pocket and pulled out several folded bills. "Here," he said handing them to Conor.

  "What is this?"

  "Your twenty dollars."

  "I don't want your money."

  "It's not mine. It's yours. I took it out of your wallet last night after you passed out."

  "I was to pass out?"

  "Yeah. Created some excitement too. Your little girlfriend undressed you and got you all ready and then you go and conk out just when she starts to get you going. She got scared and came and got me. I checked you over, took care of your clothes and your wallet and then took her back to my room. So thanks for that. She was fun. She and the other one got along very well. You missed a good time."

  Conor turned his head and looked at Billy and then looked back out the windshield. "Oh," was all he could manage.

  They rode the rest of the way back in silence.

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  Chapter 21

  Consequences

  Monday, May 19, 1930

  She sat the typewriter with nothing to move her fingers to the keys. Her mind would not focus, form a thought or think of a word. She had forced herself to sit at her desk lest she again get in the car and drive to Biarritz and further delay any chance at resuming her work on the screenplay revisions. Saturday and Sunday afternoons she had driven to the club, parked behind the maintenance barn and waited behind the hedge for Conor to appear. He never did. With each passing hour she waited she became more frustrated and anxious. She told herself that all she wanted to do was see him and talk to him. But she also knew that what she really wanted was Conor next to her in the Bogey House again making love to her and holding her in his arms. Where was he?

  Sunday she'd gotten a scare. It was nearly dark when she gave up on him. As she walked back to her car another came rolling down the lane, its lights on. It crunched to a halt in the gravel next to hers. She couldn't see beyond the headlights but she heard a man's voice call out to her, "Hello! What are you doing here?"

 
"Who is it?" she called back.

  The man stepped halfway out of the car and spoke to her across the hood. "Are you all right?"

  "Oh, I'm fine," she said trying hard to sound fine. "I thought I lost a club out by this green and came out to try and find it. But it wasn't there. Silly me."

  "Oh, okay. Just wanted to make sure everything was all right." He slid back into the car.

  She gave a little wave and got into her car. She backed up past the other car and turned up the lane. She watched in her rearview mirror as the man got out of the car with a woman and started walking toward the Bogey House. The man put his arm around her waist. Her faced still flushed in embarrassment and fright Annie cursed under her breath. Where was he?

  She scooted her chair back away from the desk and stood. It was four o'clock and even if she were able to write she told herself it was too late to get anything meaningful done. She decided she would not go again to the club. Even if he were there he would probably be with Billy Compton and there would likely be no chance they could get away alone. She would have to wait for Tuesday. She stepped around to the back of the desk and lit a cigarette. She looked at the telephone. She picked up the receiver and dialed. The maid answered.

  "Hello. This is Annie Burke. Is Margaret available to take a call?" The maid asked her to hold.

  Shortly she heard the receiver being picked up from the table. "Hello. This is Meg. Is this Annie?"

  "Hi, Meg. Yes, this is Annie. I just wanted to make sure you were still planning on playing tomorrow." They had talked on Thursday and again on Saturday. But Annie just wanted to make sure. It was the only thing left at the moment to connect her to Conor.

  "Oh, yes, dear. The plans haven't changed. I'll see you there a little before three o'clock. Just like we spoke about." Meg sounded a touch impatient. "Is everything all right?"

  "Yes, yes. I'm sorry to bother you again. I just am so busy I'm losing track of things. I'll see you tomorrow then."

  "And I'm looking forward to it, dear. Goodbye."

  "Goodbye." Annie hung the receiver back on the hook. Maybe she could pick out her clothes for tomorrow.

  * * *

  Their practice session had gone well. They'd met up at three o'clock and played eighteen holes as if they were playing in the Calcutta; no practice shots, no conceded putts. Their best ball was six under par, a score with promise for the event. Billy had joked a lot about their Tijuana adventure early in the round. Conor was abashed but good-natured about it. Then both turned serious. There was too much riding on it for both of them. They began to develop a pattern of talking over each other's shots much the way a player might discuss it with his caddie. They'd discuss the wind, the conditions and the best strategy given each other's position on the hole. And then they'd play their shot. Most of the time it worked and their shots came off as they'd planned. They began to relax in each other's company and trust one another. They were a team.

  As they walked off the eighteenth green Billy said to Conor, "Listen, I had an idea. This weekend you shouldn't have to hike back and forth to Glendale. I want you staying with me over at my parents’ house. We can go to the course together. Would keep you fresher. And I think you'd like the food over at their place. They cook everything to death just like you like."

  Conor stopped, surprised at the invitation. " That's to sound grand. You're to be sure it would be all right with your parents?"

  "My mother will love you. Don't worry about that. And my father knows what this tournament means. He'll be more than happy to help."

  "Then I'm to appreciate that."

  "What are you doing tonight? Want to grab something to eat?"

  "I'd like to, but I really am needing to see my cousin. He's surely to be in a bad way after what happened."

  "Where is he?"

  "Pasadena."

  "How about I drive you out there and then we'll get some dinner?"

  Conor thought for a moment. "Yes, 'tis a good idea that is. You can tell him what you saw."

  * * *

  Michael answered the door. Mary was out at the market. After the introduction to Billy he led them back to the kitchen where they sat down. Michael poured them drinks. Conor lit a cigarette.

  "So what was to happen?" Michael asked. "I'm to know he went down."

  "'Twas my mistake and I'm sorry," Conor offered. "I shouldn't have bet your money."

  "What is it you're to mean by that?"

  "Billy here saw something before the race. He told me not to bet."

  "What?"

  "Tell him, Billy."

  Billy took a sip of his drink. "The horse showed a bowed tendon in his right front. We saw it in the paddock. They never should have let him out on the track."

  Michael went quiet for a moment. Then he moaned, "Aw, Connie. I told you to be careful. I told you that were all we had. The rent money too was in there."

  "I know. And I'm sorry. I didn't know what else to do."

  Michael got up from his chair. "I should have known better, that trainer is to be an idiot. But still. A bowed tendon? The horse was to be fine when he left the ranch, Saw him go into the trailer me self, I did."

  "Who knows what they were doing with him down there in Tijuana," Billy said.

  Michael sat back down and shook his head. "'Twas such a sure thing. A sure thing it was… as sure as they come."

  "I'll make it up to you if I can," Conor offered. 'Twas truly my fault. I should have listened. Billy here knows his horses."

  "You've no more money than I do, Connie. So don't be sayin' such a thing."

  "No, really. Billy and I have a chance at some money in the Calcutta this weekend. I don't know what I'm to possibly make out of it, but I'm sure it'll be enough to repay you. We just have to win."

  "Ha! You and your golf. I'm to tell you the bet on Copper Cal, God rest his poor horse soul, was to be a damn sight better than a bet on the likes of you two."

  Billy laughed. "No, no. I can promise you we won't be doped up and lame. And we'll at least get to the finish line win, lose or draw."

  * * *

  Billy took Conor to Angelo's explaining he had to drop off some money and, besides, the food was good. The restaurant was bright and small with but a dozen or so tables with red and white checked tablecloths and cruets of olive oil and bentwood chairs and two ceiling fans twirling slowly overhead. It was empty when they walked in. Conor followed Billy past the tables and through a swinging door at the back. The light was dim and only seemed to illuminate the smoke that filled the room. Conor could just make out a bar against the back wall with some patrons on stools. They made their way there past two round tables of men playing cards. They took their seats as the bartender came over to them. "Hello, Billy. What'll it be?"

  "Two scotches, rocks. Is Tony around? I need to see him."

  "Lemme see." He made and served their drinks and then left through a door next to the bar back. When he returned he told Billy, "He says he'll be out in a minute."

  Conor turned on his stool and looked back into the room. His eyes now adjusted to the dimness, he could see several couples at tables on either side of the room. Everyone was quiet, speaking in hushed tones. Even the card players kept it down.

  "We can eat at the bar if you like," Billy said. "They have something they make with eggplant that’s great. You should try it."

  "No. Only like me eggs with ham and potatoes."

  Billy chuckled. "Damn you are Irish. What am I going to do with you? You don't know how to eat!"

  Conor smiled. "I know how to eat. And I'm to know eggs are not to grow on plants."

  Billy shook his head then looked over as Tony came through the door. He turned on his stool to greet him. "Hello, Tony. Got something for you." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a roll of bills with a rubber band around it. "Half a yard like I promised."

  Tony took the roll and appraised it before putting it in his pocket. He looked at Conor. "Who's this?"

  "A friend. He's fine."
r />   "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, then you don't mind him hearing your business," Tony said with no expression.

  "No. What is it?"

  "We saw you in Tijuana. That was not good. We told you to layoff until we get paid."

  "Hey I was just down there with a friend… with him. Only bet a couple bucks. Just ask him."

  "You got trouble learning. You need to come with me."

  "Hold on. You have your money. I'm clean."

  "You're not coming?"

  "No. I'm jake I tell you."

  "Okay, we'll take care of it here." Before the sentence was finished Tony threw a roundhouse right that caught Billy on the temple at the word "here." He flew from the stool his head making a loud crack on the edge of the bar before he fell to the floor. He lay motionless crumpled in a heap. Tony stood over Billy and barked Conor an order. "Now get this worthless piece of shit out of here."

  Conor jumped from the stool his fists clenched. Tony spun around and pulled a revolver from the back of his waist. "Don't be stupid, kid. Get your pal out of here while you can."

  Conor knew it was over. He moved to Billy and laid him out. He checked for a pulse. There was blood from the head wound. He grabbed him under his armpits and dragged him out of the restaurant. No one in the place looked at him as he did.

  (back to top)

  Chapter 22

  Succor

  Tuesday, May 20, 1930

  It wasn't until morning that Billy woke up lying in a ward at St. Vincent Hospital, his head swathed in a bandage. The first thing he did was roll on his side and vomit over the edge of the bed. A nurse heard him and came over to roll him back. She wiped him clean with a towel and then went to get an orderly to clean the floor. The commotion woke Conor in the chair next to the bed. He stood and stepped closer. "You all right?" he asked.

  Billy mumbled unintelligibly.

  Conor had driven him straight to the emergency room and stayed with him and watched as they stitched the wound closed and packed ice bags around his head. Nurses came into the cubicle every twenty minutes to take his pulse, push back his eyelids and check his pupils. It wasn't until well after midnight that they moved him upstairs into the ward.