The Perfectly Good Lie

by Rose Gonsoulin

  When Buck lifted his head, there was a smile on her lips.

  But then she broke free of his grasp. “You are the most conceited, pushy, abrasive, overbearing, self-centered man I know.”

  She looked away for a moment, then said, “Okay. If you win I’ll come for the first two rounds, but that’s all. I promised I’d be at the tournament Saturday for Jasmine and Roberta.”

  “Deal,” Buck said and held his hand out.

  She put her hand in his, and shook it with a vigorous grip. “I hope you brought your best game today, Mr. Buchanan.”

  #

  The No. 10 tee box was five hundred fifty yards from the pin. Trees banked the right of the fairway. The cart path hugged the left, curving around pockets of rough and more trees.

  Carla teed up her ball.

  Small clumps of clouds drifted slowly above them, languid in the afternoon sky. Buck stood behind her and marveled at her legs. Slender ankles, full calves, trim at the knees, and thighs both muscular and lean, soft and strong.

  She took a few practice swings, beautiful and fluid. Then she addressed her ball. Her stroke was clean and the metallic ping announced a solid hit to the sweet spot. Her ball rose, streaming into the sky, landing past the two-fifty mark, center right in the fairway.

  “Nice,” Buck said.

  She picked up her tee, still standing tall. “Thanks.” She strolled by him, saying, “You’re up.”

  Buck hesitated. He knew he could out-drive her distance-wise, but could he out play her? He rubbed his hand against his shoulder, wiping the sweat from his palm.

  An old but familiar demon rose within him and the thirty seconds it took him to move into position was a plank walk moment. Could he live up to her expectations? The impulse to chuck it all and leave passed through him like a ghost, causing a shiver, and goose bumps to rise on his arms. Why was he wasting his time here?

  But he sensed that if he couldn’t master his emotions now, like she’d said, he’d never find the success he’d craved all these years.

  He eyed his target, teed up the ball, took his stance, and let it rip.

  The ball flew out fast and low, rising into a high arc that curled to the left, landing near the cart path. He’d outdriven her, but she had the better lie.

  Carla and Buck walked down to the two carts where Jasmine and Lexi waited.

  They stowed their clubs and Carla took out a fairway wood. “Jasmine, take our cart ahead and then bring your 3-iron.”

  Buck jumped in beside Lexi. “What’s your favorite club?” he asked.

  “I don’t have one,” Lexi said.

  Buck drove ahead and stopped thirty feet behind his ball.

  The trees obstructed the view of the green. He could hit through the narrow strip of open space between the trees, but his aim would have to be near perfect. A safe sideways pitch would cost him distance. Or, he could try to draw the ball around the large pine tree.

  Buck pulled his 5-iron.

  “Which club do you hit most consistently?” he asked Lexi.

  She shrugged and looked hopelessly at her bag of clubs.

  Buck grabbed her 7-iron and handed it to her.

  They waited for Jasmine to take her stroke. Her ball fell into a sand trap. Carla’s second stroke landed on the green.

  Buck pointed his club about a foot away from his ball. “Drop your ball here,” he told Lexi. “You’re going to aim for the fairway. Nice and easy. Don’t try to muscle it.”

  Lexi placed her ball. He took hold of her shoulders and adjusted her alignment. Then, when she grabbed the club like it was a hammer, he said, “Loosen your grip a little.”

  She backed off, looking frustrated. “Miz C says to hold it like a baby bird, but I’ve never held a baby bird. I don’t know what it feels like.”

  “Me neither.” He moved closer to her. “This is what I do.” He held his club straight out, perpendicular to the ground. “Hold it tight and then relax your fingers, and do like this.”

  He waggled the club loosely between his hands, letting it bounce from palm to fingers.

  “You try it,” he said.

  Lexi replicated the motion, stilted and clumsy.

  Buck moved behind her.

  “Is it okay if I help you?”

  “Yeah.”

  He draped his hands over hers, and waggled her club with her.

  She tried it on her own.

  He stepped away and let her take her stroke.

  Unfortunately, she hooked the ball and it flew straight into the trunk of the largest pine tree and flew back, catching the cart path and bouncing out of bounds near the fence line.

  “You got under the ball that time,” Buck said.

  But she slouched her way to the cart.

  Buck took a couple of practice swings. He aimed right and his ball came up high, cleared the large tree, and then moved left.

  Carla gave him a thumbs-up sign.

  Buck joined Lexi in the cart and steered towards her ball. He slowed, allowing Lexi to lean over and scoop up her ball without leaving her seat.

  “I like playing this way,” Lexi said.

  “Why’s that?”

  “I don’t have to keep hitting my ball twenty times in a row.”

  “Once you find your swing, it’ll be a whole lot more fun.”

  “How long did it take you?”

  “I found mine pretty quick, but later, there was a time when I lost it and I had to fight to find it again.”

  “How’d you lose it?”

  “Too much shit in my head.”

  Lexi frowned and muttered, “Then I’m never gonna find mine.”

  He laughed. “If you keep at it, you will.”

  “That’s what Miz C says.”

  “Do you believe it?” he asked.

  “Maybe for some people,” she said.

  “But not for you?” He looked across the fairway at Carla helping Jasmine rake the sand trap.

  “Is that why you didn’t sign up for the tournament?”

  She shrugged an answer.

  Buck stopped the cart. They carried their putters to where his ball sat on the edge of the green, inches from the fringe. He was furthest out, forty feet from the cup. It was an eagle opportunity.

  Buck put his hand on Lexi’s shoulder. “Now you’re going to help me out.”

  “How?”

  He walked several feet along the imaginary path to the hole and stopped when there was an obvious change in the slope. “It’s gonna break right about here. I want you to aim for this spot,” he said. “Don’t worry about getting it in the hole. Relax, all you need to do is show me the line.”

  He moved off and let her take her stroke. Her ball held the line and found the break, but ran past the hole by a foot.

  “That was nearly perfect.” Buck gave Lexi a high five. “Go pick up your ball.”

  She smiled and scampered towards the hole.

  Buck looked over and saw Carla nodding her head with approval. “Nice shot, Lexi.”

  Buck took his stroke. The ball found the break and looked like it had enough speed but came to a stop a few inches short.

  “Tap it in,” Carla yelled.

  Buck tended the flagstick while Carla made her eagle putt, taking the first hole.

  He plucked her ball from the cup. When he placed it in her open palm, his fingers brushed her skin, sending a tingling flush through him.

  Carla didn’t shy away from him. “Whether you know it or not, that was a big deal for Lexi. It means a lot to me that you helped her do it.”

  That got to him, making his heart throb in his chest but before he could say anything, she moved off toward the next hole.

  The eleventh hole was a straight up and down par-3.

  “Everyone takes a tee shot this hole,” Carla announced.

  Buck and Carla each scored par, Jasmine had a respectable bogey and Lexi picked up her ball after three attempts to reach the green.

  On the No. 12 Carla’s tee shot found t
he water. She didn’t get upset, no histrionics about knowing better or displays of anger. All she said was “Looks like you’re taking the hole.”

  After three holes they were even for the match.

  Jasmine and Lexi drove the carts ahead.

  Buck caught up with Carla.

  Her hair was pulled into a ponytail. He looked at the nape of her neck, the feathering of dark hair against creamy skin. He sucked in his breath and touched her arm, brushing the back of his fingers up and down, stroking lightly.

  “You know, if you come with us,” he said, “we could take a walk on the beach tonight.”

  “Just because I’m grateful about Lexi, doesn’t mean I’m giving you a pass today. Save the testosterone for your game. You’re going to need it on this next hole.”

  “Oh, that’s a low blow.” Then he laughed. “I must be getting to you.”

  Jasmine and Lexi waited for them at the No. 13 tees.

  “This hole plays like a pinball machine,” Carla said. “Unless you aim your drive twenty yards left, you’ll end up at the bottom of that gully on the right. Too far left and you’ll be over the fence and out of bounds.”

  He smiled at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You want me to win,” Buck said.

  The girls giggled.

  “I want it to be a fair match. I’ve played here dozens of times. You haven’t.”

  A wave of tenderness swept through him. “How about we put a side wager on this hole?”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “My next exemption,” Buck said, “is in San Antonio. If I win this hole, will you come with me? You don’t have to caddie, just be there with me.”

  “When is it?”

  “March twenty-fourth.”

  “The Mission Hills tournament is that weekend.” She turned her head towards him, “If I win, would you caddie for me?”

  He took a step back. “I thought you weren’t competing anymore?”

  “I said I don’t travel overseas. Doesn’t mean I’m out entirely.”

  Caddie for her? He’d never thought about it. “Are you asking me to give up my career for yours?”

  She laughed out loud. “I’m just asking you to earn it. Exactly like I’m doing.”

  Then it sunk in. This wasn’t about who was the better player. It was about whether they could make a life together as equals, on the course and off.

  Something clicked and Buck could see where the ball needed to go. He made birdie to Carla’s par.

  He was one up now, but it was the thought of her in San Antonio that propelled him off the thirteenth green with a smile. The world around him seemed to expand and those dreams from childhood, when Buck could only see his life through the lens of a selfish teenager, zoomed out to encompass so much more. He put his arm around Carla’s shoulder. “Have you ever been to the river walk in San Antonio?”

  “My parents live there. Did I tell you that?”

  “Uh, no.” Buck’s arm dropped from her shoulder.

  “I guess you’ll have to meet them.” She picked up her pace, saying over her shoulder, “Maybe I should let Art explain us to my father.”

  Buck hurried after her. “Did you throw that hole on purpose?”

  “I would never do that, Buck Buchanan.” The sound of her laugh made all the weight in the world drop away.

  The next hole was a par-4, three hundred forty yards with a wicked dogleg right.

  “I’d like a chance to even the score,” she said as they waited for the fairway to clear. “The Phoenix LPGA is the first week in April.”

  “The Austin Open is that weekend. Same wager?”

  She nodded and said, “You have honors.”

  Buck overshot the fairway, landing in a large sand trap.

  “A little more yardage,” Carla said, “and you might have hit a windshield.

  Buck grunted. “Too much club.”

  “Too much adrenaline.” Carla pushed the bangs away from her forehead. “Step aside and I’ll show you how to play this hole.”

  With her 5-iron, she widened her stance and nailed the ball. It launched low and fast, hitting the ground two hundred yards out, but running another thirty feet until it caught the break and rolled to a stop exactly in the center of the bend in the dogleg. It was as though the ball had been trained to go there.

  An easy pitch shot for her second stroke and Carla won the hole with a birdie. They were even again.

  Lexi and Jasmine waited in the carts. After Buck and Carla traded out their putters for short irons, the carts drove ahead without them.

  A side path led to the blue tees.

  On the way up, Buck took Carla by the elbow and stopped her. “Now that we’re going to be in Phoenix, Art’s not going to want to stay anywhere else but your place.”

  Carla smiled. “I’d hate for Art to have to sleep on the couch again.”

  “That won’t bother him,” Buck said before he understood her meaning.

  Carla hurried along the path. Buck stood in a stupor for a moment and then caught up with her when they reached the top.

  “Is it what I think you meant … about the sleeping arrangements?”

  She had the same sly smile was on her lips. “What did you think I meant?”

  They were by themselves, hidden from the forward tees. He took his free arm and put it around her waist, pulling her to him. “I think you meant this.” He leaned in and this time she rose to meet his lips in a long, luscious caress that made his heart melt into a languid delirium, until after what seemed like an eternity, she pulled away, looking him in the eyes when she asked, “Does that answer your question?”

  He embraced her again, this time soaking up everything he could, the tenderness of her body against his, the fresh scent of her hair, the desire he’d felt on her lips.

  She eased out of his embrace. “We’d better play this hole.”

  The tee ground overlooked two hundred yards of steep, scrubby desert arroyo. There’d be no hunting for lost balls.

  They stood together. Buck used a tee to scrape dirt out of the grooves on his 8-iron. “This is the type of hole Art loves.”

  “I can see that.”

  “You know,” Buck said, “in December and January, we played closest to the pin almost every afternoon at this little pitch and putt. Art could hold his own against me. Used to piss me off.”

  Buck dropped his club by his side. “Actually, it still pisses me off.”

  The foursome ahead cleared off the green.

  Carla moved to tee up her ball. Before she took her stance, she turned and looked at him. “Where’s the third exemption?”

  “Houston.”

  “When?”

  “Late April.”

  She took her stance and without looking up said, “There’s an event in Las Vegas that week. I wasn’t planning to play, but if I knew I had a good caddie ….” She let the thought drift like a butterfly.

  Her ball landed on the green but rolled down and away from the hole, leaving her with a long uphill putt.

  Buck took her place on the tee ground. He placed the ball directly on the turf. The flagstick was his target. He gripped the club and then cocked his wrists in a mini practice swing.

  He stepped back again, then he stood his stance, letting his eyes zero in on a single dimple. Taking his club back high and straight, he swung down with a swoosh of motion. As he struck the ball, a gust of cool, dry air blew across his face.

  He finished the stroke before letting his eyes scan the sky. The ball looked as though it would overshoot the flag, and it did, landing ten yards behind the pin. But, it kicked back and bounced erratically and unpredictably, hitting the flagstick before dropping in the hole.

  He heard Lexi and Jasmine scream.

  Carla’s hands were pressed over her heart. “It’s in the hole.”

  At his feet lay a sliver of bare dirt where the club head had carved out a slice of turf, tossing it a few inches away. Buck picked up the
divot—an exquisite piece of precision—and returned it to the bare spot as though he was replacing the final piece to an enormous jigsaw puzzle.

  Carla came to him, laughing and her eyes dancing.

  He dropped his club and took ahold of her in both his arms, pulling her to his chest. “You know how to find the best in me,” he whispered.

  The past moved a millions miles away, no longer holding any immediacy. The pressure to perform was still there, but it was from the air beneath his wings, not a ton of bricks on his shoulders.

  He picked up his club but kept one arm around her shoulders as they walked down to retrieve their balls.

  They halved No. 16 and then moved on to the seventeenth hole. The tee ground offered an expansive view of downtown Phoenix, and in the nearer distance he could see Art and Roberta on the driving range together. They were talking, not practicing.

  “Is that why you had Roberta go with Art instead of playing with us?” Buck pointed at the driving range.

  “Roberta needs a caddie on Saturday. Think Art would do it?”

  “Why? I’ll need him on my bag Saturday. Unless you change your mind and come with us.”

  “Buck.” Carla touched his arm. “No matter who wins the match, I still don’t think it’s a good choice to play in the Riviera. You have Houston and San Antonio now. If you don’t take a break, you’ll burn out before you’ve given yourself a fair chance.”

  Instead of feeling defensive, all the possibilities in the world seemed to unfold before him and he could see his life beyond the next event. All the hassles and hardships fell away and in their place he felt a gathering of hope and happiness and love surrounding him.

  When they took their drives on No. 17, it was as though their games had synched up, balls landing in the same area in the fairway, and the same quadrant on the green.

  After halving the hole, Buck was still one up for the match as they approached the No. 18. He took off his cap and brushed his fingers through his hair.

  “You have honors,” she said. “Let’s see if I’m going to California.”

  He hesitated. “This amateur tournament on Saturday. You said Jasmine and Roberta are playing.” He looked over at Lexi in the cart.

  “She’s afraid to sign up.”