Tuesday's Caddie

by Jack Waddell

  * * *

  Conor tried not to say too much. His heart was pounding so hard he was afraid they would hear a quiver in his voice and wonder what was wrong. The sight of her had been overwhelming and even after eleven holes he still couldn't quell his emotions. She still got to him. She certainly was older. But she was still beautiful. The book jacket pictures had not done her justice. She still moved with a rare grace he could never forget. He'd gone through the duties of a caddie silently; tending pins, cleaning clubs, raking bunkers, wrangling the putters. He was thankful they hadn't asked him to read the greens, even though he knew every inch of them. He was terrified that he might give himself away.

  He was getting tired, too. The shoes had been part of the clothes he'd borrowed from Terry the caddie master when he'd sworn him to secrecy, paid him a handsome sum and arranged to caddie for these two visiting golfers. He'd changed clothes in a shower stall so no one would see him then sneaked out behind the pro shop and down to the first tee at the appointed hour. The shoes didn't really fit and his feet hurt. He wished he'd worn his golf shoes. He thought in hindsight that they probably wouldn't have noticed the difference.

  When in their proximity he'd listened attentively to the conversation. Much of it had been about their grandchildren and Annie's book tour. But he had heard snippets of her remembrances of her time at Biarritz and how much she had enjoyed the golf.

  Their play slowed on the eleventh hole when they caught up to the groups of mixed foursomes that had gone out ahead of them. Conor was grateful for the breather as the three of them stood on the twelfth tee waiting to tee off. Suddenly Annie turned to him and spoke, "Tell me, Duff… that's your name, right, Duff? There was a caddie here many years ago. Early thirties. They called him Mick. He was Irish and would probably be about our age now. He and his partner won a Calcutta. Is he still around? Did you know him?"

  Conor could feel himself tense up. He tried to choose his words carefully. "No Ma'am. There aren't any caddies still around from those days. And I'm relatively new here myself." He wished he could say more, but knew he couldn't.

  Blanche spoke up. "I think I hear a little lilt in your voice. You aren't Irish are you?"

  "No Ma'am. I came over from Scotland a long time ago. That must be what you hear,"

  Then Blanche turned to Annie. "Was the caddie you had back then someone special?"

  "No," Annie lied. "He was the regular caddie a friend and I shared on our Tuesday rounds back then. He was a good caddie and an even better coach. It would have been nice to know whatever happened to him."

  "Well, maybe someone up at the clubhouse would know," Blanche offered.

  Conor was now frozen in terror. He hadn't considered that possibility and so had made no arrangements to cover his charade from that angle. He inwardly cursed his own stupidity.

  "Oh, that's all right. I was just curious," Annie said dismissively. "I'm sure nobody up there has any idea. There's nobody there I knew back then."

  Conor was too frightened to relax immediately at her response. While he was disappointed in her answer he understood she would never be disposed to owning up to the whole story. He hoped that was what had been behind such an offhand remark. He hoped she held him in higher regard than that. But maybe she didn't. The book she wrote said she did but that was a work of fiction. He just didn't know.

  Their play resumed at a snail's pace and Conor found himself walking slowly and hanging back to avoid any more conversation. He gave them their putters and drivers at the twelfth green and walked ahead to forecaddie for them on thirteen, then walked ahead to the green to watch their incoming shots. All the while he studied her. She was obviously no longer rich based on what he knew from Mitchell, but she still carried herself with obvious class. His mind raced at the possibilities. After all, she had been married when they first met.

  He watched her especially closely as she played the fourteenth hole. Her tee shot found the green and he looked on as she walked around it while Blanche played a pitch shot and then a chip shot to the putting surface. He saw her look at where he'd practiced, then gaze back at the hedge behind the green. Then she walked to the place at the back of the green where they'd lain that night looking at the stars. She stopped at the spot and turned and looked up at the sky. She did remember, he thought.

  As they stood waiting on the next tee Annie spoke to Blanche. "You know, the last time I played here I didn't finish the round. And I thought about that for a long time, about how I didn't get to finish much in those days. Since then I've tried to make a point of it, of finishing things I mean. So these last few holes are kind of important to me."

  "Why didn't you finish?" Blanche asked.

  "Oh, I forget. Something came up I guess."

  Conor turned away to smirk at the unintended reference. Then he heard Annie address him.

  "Duff… another question. There used to be a place beyond the hedge back there. Bogey House it was called. Is it still there?"

  "No, Ma'am. They tore it down a few years ago. Put up some rooms for the help on the greens crew."

  "That's a pity," she sighed.

  "What was this Bogey House?" Blanche asked.

  "Oh, it was just a little bungalow the members used from time to time. It was just cute. I always thought it a quirky little thing about this place. I guess its time had passed."

  Conor wished for a moment he'd never had it razed. Then he thought about walking the last four holes, most of them going uphill. He hoped he could make it. Adrenalin had been pumping through his body from the beginning of the round and now he was starting to crash. He wanted this round to last forever, to be able to be in her presence even if only as a voyeur. He'd vowed to himself not to think anything or do anything beyond this round of golf. But he found himself again and again considering the possibilities. He couldn't stop thinking there could be a chance. He began to wonder if he shouldn't introduce himself and offer to buy her dinner. Or maybe even follow her to Dallas for her next book signing. As quickly as he would dismiss such thoughts, angry with himself, a similar thought would appear. His only saving grace, he thought, was that in the end he wouldn't have the nerve.

  When the round was finished the women took their wallets from their bags and each handed the caddie a five dollar bill and two ones. He gave a quick bow of his head and thanked them. Then they asked him to leave the bags up at the bag drop by the front entrance. Conor smiled and nodded a yes. He unstrapped the bags from the cart and hoisted them to his shoulders and started up the path. Behind him he heard them talk.

  "So you do have time for dinner tonight, then?" Blanche asked.

  "Absolutely," Annie laughed. "If it's to be on Mitchell's tab I'd say we've earned ourselves a very healthy dinner."

  "Right you are!" Blanche chuckled back.

  The two then carried their wallets with them into the locker room. Conor continued up the path with their bags forming a plan.

  * * *

  He sat on the bench in front of his locker, a towel wrapped around his waist, wondering whether he dare go through with this. He'd shaved off the week-old stubble of beard and showered. He'd splashed on the Lilac Vegetal aftershave he thought she once said she liked, although he couldn't quite remember for sure. He decided he didn't want to approach her as she ate in the dining room. That would be too awkward with members around and Blanche sitting there too. No, he would wait for her outside. He would walk up to her as she left as though meeting her by chance. And what would he say? "Hello Annie. Remember me?" "Hello. Are you the Annie I remember?" "Hello Annie. Glad you could find your way back." "Hello Annie. And where did you get off to?" "Hello. I'm Conor O'Reilly the father of your child?" He finally decided on simply "Hello Annie" and would then let the rest just happen.

  He dressed in his suit and tie and then went to the sinks to check himself in the mirror and comb his hair again. He made his way upstairs and out onto the front portico. He took a seat in one of the wrought iron chairs, crossed his legs and lit a cigarette
. The sun was setting behind him and he watched the shadows grow longer out over the parking lot until the dusk settled in over everything. There was so much to say to her. She needed to know that it was Mary who had jumped into his arms at the Calcutta. She needed to know that he could forgive her for running away and leaving him. She needed to know that he loved her still.

  He was on his third cigarette when Blanche came through the door. She stopped and took a pack of cigarettes from her purse and lit one. She stood there smoking as if waiting for someone. Conor sensed his chance to get Annie alone. He stubbed out his cigarette and walked past Blanche to the front door. He was relieved she didn't recognize him. As he entered the foyer, he could see Annie in the small alcove by the office door that served as a phone booth. She was intent on her phone conversation and did not see him walk past. He stopped a few paces beyond the opening and leaned his back against the wall. He would wait for her to come out and then introduce himself.

  He couldn't help but eavesdrop her call.

  "Yes, yes we had so much fun… no, I'm still at the club. Blanche and I had dinner here… it was good, I had abalone for the first time in years… it just got too late to call last night… I miss you too… no, more than that… ha ha… no, like I said, I just needed to put an end to this place… ha, yeah, well the ghosts are gone… are you eating enough?… good… I can't wait to see you in Atlanta… no, really… meet me earlier in Detroit then… oh, okay… well, I should go… I miss you like crazy… I love you more… bye... love you.

  As he listened he could feel his heart grow sick. This was wrong. He was wrong. She had a husband. He wasn't Franklin. She loved him. She had her life. He shouldn't ruin whatever happiness she had found. And for what? A chance at romance in the twilight of life? Life had already passed by and any chance with her along with it. He let the bitterness grow so as to dam up the pain.

  As she came out of the alcove he turned his back to her and moved away. He heard her walk through the foyer and go out the door. He waited a minute before following her out. He took a position in the shadow of one of the columns on the portico and watched them get into the car chatting and laughing. The car backed out of the space then turned and made its way out to the gate. Conor watched the taillights stop as the gate rose up and then move forward and disappear. Against his will his eyes welled up. He blotted them with his sleeve. He would go back inside once he had a grip. He needed a drink.

  (back to top)

  Chapter 40

  Reckoning

  Sunday, February 23, 1969

  Annie watched out the window as the snow flurries started to accumulate on the cars parked on the street six floors below. The sliver of gray daylight in the sky between the apartment houses was fading. The cab bringing Bridie from LaGuardia would be arriving any minute. She couldn't put aside the anxiety she felt. When Bridie had called from California to say she was coming out for a visit, she had deflected the questions about her reasons. She had done the same thing when she called from the airport to say she'd arrived safely ahead of the weather and would be getting to the apartment soon. Annie couldn't imagine what it was that would bring her daughter to New York in the dead of winter. And there was the fact she'd asked to meet her mother alone. Poor Nigel had been dispatched into the cold early evening to have dinner with some friends and then catch a movie. It was unlike Bridie to be so evasive. She hoped there wasn't any trouble with Mitchell or the children. It had been a couple of years since Bridie had come east. She couldn't imagine what was going on.

  Finally she saw the battered yellow Checker cab stop in front of the apartment house and Annie get out from the back door. She saw her motion toward the entrance for the doorman as the cab driver got out and opened the trunk. He took out two bags and what looked like a golf bag in a travel cover. She couldn't imagine why Bridie would bring a golf bag to New York this time of year. And two pieces of luggage for a two-day stay? She moved from the window to corral Dylan and close him up in the bedroom. She waited nervously by the door for the knock. When it came, she opened it to see Bridie smiling and Mario the doorman behind her carrying the bags.

  Bridie came through the door and hugged her mother. Mario set the bags inside and waited for his tip. Bridie had the two singles ready in her hand, turned from the hug and gave them to him. He smiled and nodded. Annie closed the door on him then turned to Bridie "So you're here! What a treat! How was your flight?" she said excitedly. "And what's with all the bags?"

  "Oh it was just long, that's all. Luckily I was able to get on a direct flight at the last minute. But it's a lot of time in the air. It smells good in here. You making dinner?"

  "Just some spaghetti. I thought you'd be hungry when you got in. But the sauce can keep simmering until we're ready. Would you like something to drink in the meantime?"

  "How about a martini on the rocks? And you can hold the vermouth. I could use a drink." Bridie said as she took off her coat and put it on the chair next to the door.

  Annie smiled. "I bet you could. Come with me into the kitchen and I'll make us a couple." The two went into the kitchen as Annie tried again to fathom the reason for the visit. "So is everything all right out there? Is Mitchell okay? How about the children?"

  "Everybody's fine," Bridie assured here as her mother made the drinks. "Mitch's been very busy. Reagan's been talking about having him chair some committee or other. The kids are doing well in school. Aimee's really blossomed with this teacher. She's almost like a different child, not so clingy anymore. And Tommy is looking forward to Little League starting next month. He loves his baseball."

  "That's nice to hear, dear," Annie said. "Come, let's go sit down." They took their drinks back into the living room and sat down next to each other on the couch. "And so how are you? Are you all right?"

  "I'm fine. Great, I suppose. Just a little confused at the moment."

  "What do you mean, dear?"

  "Well something happened I just don't understand. Actually Mitch and I quarreled about it a little. I mean it's a wonderful thing. But I don't understand. And apparently it involves you somehow."

  "Me?" Annie said in great surprise. "What are you talking about?"

  "I should start at the beginning. It gets complicated."

  "Okay, go on. Take your time."

  "Well, we met this man a few years ago during the Goldwater campaign – so nearly five years ago – very wealthy corporate type, president and CEO of some conglomerate. Nice man. He helped Mitch with his campaigns and I worked with him on a couple of fundraisers. He became something of a family friend. We'd see him at Biarritz occasionally. He had us out to his ranch a number of times. Well, the thing is, he died a few weeks ago. Heart attack."

  "Oh my, that's too bad."

  "Yes it is. And very sad. I liked him a lot. But what happened next is amazing. It turns out he had set up trust funds for me and the children back when we first met. Mitch was sworn to secrecy and he was the administrator. I knew nothing about it. But not only that, when he died he left us more than half his fortune. And he made Mitch the executor. We're talking millions. I'm still in such shock I can't believe it. It's just unreal."

  Annie shared her astonishment. "That's just amazing. How wonderful and unexpected! But why would he do such a thing?"

  "That's what I don't know. And Mitch won't tell me the whole story. I told him if the guy was his client he's dead so there's no reason for client confidentiality but he says he vowed to stay silent on the story. We actually fought about it a bit. But he said that it was part of the deal he made."

  "Why on earth would he do that?"

  "Who, Mitch?"

  "No, the man."

  "Well that's where it really gets strange. I don't know. But here's what happened. As part of his will and as a condition of his bequests he specified that I personally bring this bag and these golf clubs out to you. I haven't looked inside either one because Mitch told me not to. He said it was part of the instructions that only you open them up."

&nb
sp; Annie was becoming more and more uncomfortable as this turn of events obviously involved her in some way. She just couldn't imagine how. But it was coming from California where she'd left too many secrets, too much tragedy. Now she was getting frightened. She needed more information. "So who exactly was this man? What was his name?"

  "Like I said, he ran a corporation. He was wealthy. His name was Conor O'Reilly."

  Annie gasped and brought her hands to her mouth.

  "What's wrong mother? Did you know him?" Bridie asked.

  Annie sprang up from the couch and moved to the window, her back to Bridie, unable to speak.

  Alarmed, Bridie stood up and turned toward her mother. "Mother, are you all right? What's the matter? What did I say?"

  "Just give me a moment," Annie pleaded as she tried to gather herself and get some control of the situation. Her mind was racing back to a time and a truth she had tried to purge from her life forever. She had worked hard to do so. She had even gone to analysis over it. And now her own daughter had brought it into her home to haunt her. It was back and it was alive in a leather satchel and a golf bag sitting in her living room.

  "Can I get you anything? Some water?" Bridie asked feeling lost in her mother's reaction. "Please tell me what's wrong."

  Annie quickly decided the only way to deny the truth was with half-truth. "I'm sorry," she said. "It was just such a shock. We were great friends once."

  "Really? I think I mentioned you to him and he acted as though he didn't know you."

  "What name did you give him?"

  "Anna Hyde. And your pen name."

  "Well, perhaps that's why he said what he did. He didn't know me by those names back then. Especially the pen name."

  "But still…" Bridie objected.

  "No, he was someone I knew well. That's all. Let's see what it is that he had you bring me. Let's start with the golf clubs." Annie moved across the room and stood the golf bag up and unzipped the cover. She pulled the bag out of the cover and let out a soft, "Oh my."