The Angel of Black Friday

by Shawn Keys

  A burst of laughter escaped him. “You’re joking!”

  The reporter shook her head. “Never. They would love to see you down there, I’m sure. That would make for quite a story. Even better if you repeat the whole thing again. It’s an SUV up for grabs, this time around.”

  Once again ducking the compliment, Rick answered, “Odds are against me. I’ve heard they managed to attract six different pros this year. Gus Hanlen. Lyle Turcotte. Nick Farris. I think I heard the last PGA one was Geoff Whittaker. Then two off the LPGA tour. Sandra Kinning and Laura Stanton. I’m a fair shot, but they’re the real talent. But I’ll be giving it a shot.”

  Sasha shrugged. “We’ll see. You won’t mind if we’re there to film your tee shot?”

  Rick chuckled. “Considering those others will probably be on camera all day long, only seems fair I have to deal with it, too.”

  She nodded. “Sounds fair to me. Well, good luck out there.”

  “Thanks.” Rick touched his fingers to his forehead to mimic a salute, then strode for the door to the clubhouse. Sasha and her camera-man trailed behind, looking like they were trolling for any last interviews they might be able to snag.

  Standing under the awning, holding an official looking clipboard, was Miriam Dale.

  Rick groaned inwardly as he bounced from the friendly face of the reporter to one of his least favorite people on this Earth. Miriam was somewhere in her mid-fifties, had a waspish face and an attitude to match, and figured anyone under a certain social station shouldn’t be involved in the ‘gentlemanly art’ that was golf. Rick could hardly believe that such old school attitudes existed in this day and age, but Miriam was living proof that elitism was alive and well in some circles.

  She was also, unfortunately, one of the lead organizers for the charity tournament. She was not someone he could avoid as often as he wanted. She was one of the main reasons he never tried to get a membership at Parkwood, even though it was his favorite course in town. She was a long-standing member, and hanging out in the clubhouse bar while she was around would taint the whole experience.

  Miriam caught sight of him, and a look of supreme, snide delight rose on her face as she anticipated giving him some bad news.

  Rick planted his golf bag onto one of the holding racks, not about to break the rules of bringing it into the clubhouse in front of Miriam. He wasn’t going to give her any excuse to exclude him. Doing his best to be civil, he nodded a simple greeting, “Afternoon, Miriam. Are you checking the names in?”

  The smug satisfaction lingered on her face. “Indeed I am. I’ll be assigning starting holes to all the qualified players.”

  Restraining himself from sighing, he suspected he knew where this was going. This kind of petty move was right up her alley. Making an effort to take the sting out of her attack, he joked, “Going to make me walk all the way to 14 to start, aren’t you? Guess I get the furthest walk for showing up so late. That’s only fair.”

  Rather than lose her smirk, Miriam’s smile only grew crueler. “I’m sorry, you can’t get a starting position unless you are a qualified applicant.”

  This is new. Rick couldn’t see what game she was playing. “I signed up for this at the end of last year’s tournament, Miriam. I already have my charity’s approval to play on their behalf for the next three years. You know all this.”

  “Mmm hmm, mmm hmm. Yeah, that’s nice. But I simply can’t allow anyone to participate who isn’t meeting all the requirements. You know, Dress code…”

  Rick gestured at his slacks, golf shirt and light jacket: all of them were well within the guidelines for playing at Parkwood.

  “…your own clubs…”

  Trying not to be too sarcastic here, Rick didn’t gesture at his leaning golf bag.

  “…and a caddy.”

  Rick’s eyes narrowed suddenly. “Excuse me? You don’t need a caddy. I’ve used a push cart every other year. And don’t tell me there aren’t any left. I can see the stable of them from here.”

  Miriam made a simpering sound of mock sympathy. “Oh, sorry, there’s been a rule change.”

  “Since when?”

  “Oh, last week. Surely you got the newsletter about it? It’s been posted around the clubhouse the whole time. Members certainly got the word. I guess if none of them bothered to let you know, then no-one likes you all that much around here. I swore I included all our favorite outside attendees on the email I sent out, but I guess it’s possible I forgot your name. Or did you just ignore it since it came from me?” She asked with false sweetness.

  That made Rick clench his teeth, biting back the insults flaring to the surface. Worst thing is, she might be right! I probably would have deleted anything I got from her. Unless it was marked ‘important rule change’, but she probably buried it under another title.

  Aloud, Rick insisted, “If you aren’t allowing any carts at all, that’s fine. I’ll carry my own.”

  “I’m sorry, no, you won’t. Rules are rules.”

  Rick caught sight of a few kids in Parkwood vests hovering around near one of the outbuildings. “Fine. I saved a bit of money earlier today anyway. I’ll hire one of the course caddies.”

  “Ohh, see, that will be a problem. They’ve all been spoken for. This is a televised event, Mr. Angelo. We’ve had a better draw than expected, and we’re really trying to look like a professional tournament. That will bring even more media and attention for next year. To do that, we need our invited professionals standing out. We need them winning the prizes. We need them in our top ten on the leader board. Understand?”

  Rick leaned in closer, voice falling to a fierce whisper, “For goodness sake, Miriam, this is a charity tournament! I’m playing for orphaned children!”

  Miriam snapped back at him, “Then volunteer at their shelter.”

  “Shelter? They aren’t dogs!”

  “Whatever. You cost us a lot of money with your fluke last year. Nick Farris almost didn’t come back when you beat him by a couple inches! I’m not allowing a repeat performance. Maybe you’ll finally get the hint that you aren’t wanted around here.”

  Rick wondered if she had a point. There were around twelve other courses scattered over the area. Did he really need this grief when he could play at the others next season? But damnit, I like this course! If it wasn’t for this shrew…

  Before he could say another word, Sasha appeared at his side. “Excuse me, I couldn’t help but overhear. Am I to understand the man who won the charity drive last year won’t be allowed to compete?” She was tapping her hand-held microphone against her other hand thoughtfully, as if wondering if this story was worth turning it on to capture.

  Miriam’s scowl transformed into a matronly smile in the span of a heartbeat. “Oh, hello Miss Wilson! Have my staff been giving you the access you need? Have you had time with all of the celebrity players? They were –”

  Sasha interrupted so smoothly; it was like she subverted Miriam’s own sentence for her own purposes. “– most accommodating and I think I have everything I need from them. But if I recall, much of the air-time this tournament got last year was Mr. Angelo’s winning of the ‘Park it through the Woods’ competition and how he gave away the prize to needy children. Such a feel-good story. Seems strange to me to keep him from playing this year.”

  To her credit, Miriam didn’t fold at the subtle threat of Sasha turning this into a story. However horrible she could be, she wasn’t an idiot. She had set this up, and she played to win. False sympathy dripped from her reply. “It is such a shame, Miss Wilson. I feel terrible! But Mr. Angelo is refusing to conform to the contest rules. We need to make sure there is fair play with so much money on the line. I’m sure you can understand that.”

  Rick growled, “It wouldn’t benefit me to carry my own bag!”

  Miriam hmphed. “That is not my call to make. The fact is, you need a caddy. Otherwise, on any of the television shots, you’d look like a joke. And we’re not turning this event into a joke! We won’
t let ego trips rule the roost around here. Even the returning champions had to check all the boxes. That’s all there is to it.”

  Once more, her pointed comment set Rick back on his heels. She was right, and he would have backed her up in an argument. Fair was fair, and he usually abided by the rules. The fact that she hid the rule until it would freeze him out should change things. But he was the one who had missed the announcement, even if it was her that had engineered the best conditions for him to miss the change.

  He rifled through his list of friends. Even if one of them could leave work, none of them lived close enough to be there before the cut-off time.

  Sasha surprised him by calling out, “Jack?”

  Her camera-man came over in response to her call. “What’s up, Sasha?”

  She held out her microphone to him, then set about unraveling the power pack from behind her belt. She plucked out her ear-piece and handed that off as well. Jack looked mildly confused, but he crowded all the small items into his palms.

  Once liberated, Sasha walked over to the rack and slung Rick’s golf bag over her left shoulder. Returning to the group, she gave him a confident nod. “Register Mr. Angelo. I’ll be his caddy.”

  Miriam gawked at the display. “You can’t be serious!”

  Rick snorted inside, absolutely sure that Miriam would consider being a caddy as ‘unladylike’ somehow. That fit her personality perfectly. “What’s the matter? Is there a huge list of critical qualifications for someone to be a caddy today?” He wasn’t mocking the position. He knew a caddy could make or break a professional golfer’s performance during a tour event. But at a charity event like this, restricting caddy credentials probably wasn’t something Miriam thought about.

  Caught without any formal restrictions on paper, Miriam wavered, “Well, no, but there is…” Her retort faded off. She had nothing.

  Rick leaned in, whispering to the reporter, “I really appreciate the offer, but are you sure about this? Won’t you get in trouble? You have coverage to do, right?”

  Sasha shrugged. “We already have most of what we need. Jack can wander around and get some footage of the others. I’ll spout off some commentary and do a little voice-over later. I’m not gonna let this officious woman lock you out.” She smiled. “Besides, could be a hell of a story, depending on how well you play. Any issue with having me as your caddy?”

  Rick glanced her up and down. At the moment, she looked more like a golfer than a reporter. She was a lean-and-sexy sort of fit, like she did aerobics to keep in shape. She knew she was going to be judged for her television appearance, and had spent time giving herself the edge that a celebrity needed by looking attractive. It was damned unfair, perhaps, but she had crushed that professional challenge nonetheless. She was even wearing sneakers rather than any impractical footwear that might disqualify her.

  Frankly, she was a bigger name than him. Having her as a caddy wasn’t a liability; it would be an honor. He told her as much, “We’re certainly going to make a splash with all the other media. You know they’ll recognize you.”

  Sasha grinned. “I know. Should be fun.”

  Miriam was having similar thoughts, looking far less pleased about the turn of events. “Don’t do this! Don’t you understand? It will draw away from the celebrities again! Think of our clubhouse! Think of the future of the event!”

  Sasha leveled with her, “There’s no such thing as bad press, Mrs. Dale. If you were better at marketing, you might remember that.”

  Her reminder of that golden rule removed the last of Rick’s concerns. He really didn’t want to put the charity event at risk, but apparently, he wasn’t going to. This was just Miriam’s last, desperate ploy to get him to back off. “Sign us in, Miriam. Where’s my starting point?”

  The old matron bit back, “Hole 14!”

  It was petty, but expected. Rick turned to his benefactor. “Fancy a walk to start things off?”

  “I love walks in the woods.” Sasha flashed him a smile and fell in beside him, carrying the golf bag without much strain at all.

  * * *

  The afternoon was going incredibly well.

  With Sasha by his side, Rick was shooting one of the best games of his life. It wasn’t just the unconscious need to look capable in front of a beautiful woman. Alright, so it’s a little bit of that, he admitted to himself.

  But she was honestly good company. She’d travelled the world more than most people, and had a genuinely positive attitude that was infectious. He found golf relaxing at the worst of times. Her sunny outlook evaporated any lingering stress. As soon as they hit the course, she’d asked him more about his involvement with supporting orphaned children. That kicked off their conversation, and they hadn’t looked back. Their talk had wandered over a dozen different topics, floating easily and freely as they explored common interests between his shots. He didn’t even need to fall back on talking about his work, which allowed him to leave that bit of stress even further behind him as well.

  Meanwhile, Sasha was totally unstoppable. Rick had seen people worn down by walking a full course. The distance added up over time. If you included the crossing back and forth over the fairway, they put in around 5 miles. He was hitting the ball, but she had the bag slung over her shoulder the whole way. And yet, her cheerfulness never lost its stride. She might as well have been out for a walk in the sunshine. She had complained about the chill in the air at the start, but by the end the exercise had warmed her blood. Her spirits actually got better. Other reporters did recognize her, and she got her fair share of air time waving at her colleagues. Whether they were laughing with her or at her, she didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

  The other two golfers teeing off with them at the same time were also pleasant. Both were outsiders to the club, probably exiled to the furthest starting point for pissing off Miriam in their own way. They were a couple whose caddies were another couple that didn’t play golf but wanted to spend the day with their friends. They were nice enough, but ended up spending most of the time chatting with each other. That just gave Rick more time to get to know Sasha.

  Having started at 14, that meant they would be playing the whole course before he got his chance at the infamous Hole 13, the source of all the controversy. There were plenty of other sub-events to keep his attention. All of the Par 3s had ‘closest to the hole’ competitions, along with smaller prizes for anyone who stuck the green at all. All of the Par 5s had ‘longest drive’ competitions, with additional smaller prizes for anyone who shot past a certain minimum distance. Hole 2 had so much sand that almost everyone eventually ended up in a bunker. There was a prize for those few who didn’t ‘go to the beach’. Then there was Hole 6 with a huge lake on one side as well as two creeks crossing the fairway. That hole featured a prize for anyone who kept their ball dry the whole time. The idea was to collect as many of the prizes as you could, each one adding to the amount given to your charity.

  Rick was doing well enough. He had a decent chance at the Hole 17 ‘closest to the pin’, and had a sizzling drive on 7 which was well over the minimum. Along with Sasha’s entertaining company, he was in good spirits when he walked onto the tee box of Hole 13.

  Sasha wasn’t much of a golfer, though she had picked up a lot of terminology over the afternoon as she helped Rick. She gazed down the fairway, then gave a thoughtful, “Humm. I think this is what you called a dog-leg to the right.”

  Rick returned a pleasant smile, “Yup.”

  “So why do they call this contest ‘Park it through the Woods’? I mean, I get the pun on ‘parking’ since they are giving away an SUV. And I get the play on words with the name of the course. Is that it?”

  Rick shook his head. “It’s also a clue on how to win. The hole is a little over 400 yards. That’s impossible to drive anywhere outside of the movies. But the yardage is measured along the fairway, which bends like a dog’s leg. This bend is fairly severe. If you cut the hypotenuse, you can get the distance a little under 320
. That’s still a hell of a drive. Not many professionals can do it consistently, and very few amateurs while keeping any sort of precision. See that small copse of trees right near where the course bends? Well, you have to hit a great drive right between that group of trees and the rest of the forest. Plus, a bit of a fade. So that’s the last bit of the pun: you have to ‘park it’ through the woods.”

  “Ahh.” Sasha whistled, impressed. “That all sounds difficult.”

  Rick chuckled. “It is. Which is why I haven’t been spouting off too much about repeating my performance. I can hit a long ball pretty well, but there is as much luck in this as skill.”

  Sasha gave him a bright smile. “I believe in you!” She went on her tip-toes a second, planting a sweet, not-quite-chaste kiss on his cheek. Flashing him a flirtatious wink, she walked back over to stand with his bag.

  George and Rachel, the other two golfers he was competing with, tossed him a grin. George quipped, “I believe it’s your honor anyway, since you out-scored me on the last hole. After a good luck charm like that, why don’t you lead off?” Laughing softly, the couple retreated from the raised tee-box and gave him space.

  Rick chuckled ruefully, realizing that he was in a really good mood. Things had totally turned around since Sasha spoiled Miriam’s plans. The last four hours walking the course had been a delight. He wasn’t even feeling the pressure. A small crowd had gathered to watch each golfer take their chance at the super drive contest, but Rick didn’t even notice them all that much.

  Planting his ball atop a tee, he settled into place and took a couple practice swings with his club. Whiff. Whiff. Whiff. He felt smooth. Good. Relaxed. Golf’s all about the attitude, he reminded himself like he always did when lining up a drive. Eye on the ball. Slow is steady. Steady is smooth. Smooth becomes fast. Fast is…