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Golf Match
Scene 1
“The usual,” said Neri, as she lifted her shapely frame onto the stool at The Slice and Hook. The bar at the Knottybush Golf Club was empty, save for Nellie the starter’s wife who was folding napkins at the far end.
“I saw ya comin’,” said Jeanette, a sturdy redhead with a slight Scottish accent. She placed a Bombay and soda on the polished mahogany. “I’d ask how the game went but that ain’t regulation attire.”
Neri followed Jeanette’s fisheye to the conspicuous cleavage blooming from beneath her blue sundress, then smiled.
“You are correct,” she said, examining her makeup in her cell phone camera. She fingered her curly blonde bob and smacked her cherry lips. “I’m here to meet someone.”
Jeanette leaned on the bar.
“Anyone I know?” she asked, snaking her serpentine braid around her index finger.
“Let’s just call him Golfer #1,” said Neri, “I met him on Golf Match.”
Neri pressed the icy rocker to her bottom lip and bent to take the first sip. When she peered up through her long mascaraed lashes, she noticed Jeanette looking at her with raised eyebrows.
“Golf Match. The datin’ app?”
“Yes,” said Neri, “Why do you look so surprised?”
Jeanette huffed.
“Because if a woman like you has to go online to find a man, there’s no hope for a woman like me.”
“Don’t be silly,” chuckled Neri, “Lots of people find love online, and Golf Match guarantees they’ll find me a mate or my money back.”
Neri gave two semi-sarcastic thumbs up, but despite her playful delivery, she was certain her small investment would pay off.
“Bet ya got a lotta hits.”
“Well naturally,” said Neri, “That site is 90% men. I’ve got dates lined up every Friday for months, and that’s after I disqualified all the cougar hunters.”
Jeanette snorted.
“Whaddaya have against younger men? I mean, when it comes to the bedroom rodeo, they got the giddy-up.”
She winked.
Neri shook her head.
“Been there, done that, Jeanette, and I’m the poorer for it. I’m not going to support some young buck just because he can do all night what it takes an older man all night to do; Cialis and Viagra will take care of that. I only have a few requirements, but I’m sticking to them.”
Jeanette nodded.
“So he’s gotta be a golfer and he’s gotta be rich.”
Neri stared up at the stamped metal ceiling as she carefully considered her answer.
“Not rich, necessarily,” she said, “but definitely established; a true peer. Someone I’d be proud to have on my arm. Oh! And he has to make me laugh!” she added. Then noticing they had company, she hushed, and Jeanette turned to face mini-putt Pete and his brother - her old flame.
“The Brothers Barlowe, right on time,” she said, hoisting two empty pint glasses in the air on her way to the Guinness tap. “Hey, do you boys know Neri Germaine?” she asked, over her shoulder, “Scratch golfer and new President of the Ladies Golf Association?”
“Of course,” said Peter Barlowe, “Hi Neri,” then he turned to point at his younger, scruffier sidekick, “You know Charlie, right? Greenskeeper extraordinaire?”
Charlie ran his work-worn hands through his sandy brown hair, then nodded Neri’s way. He always felt inadequate at times like these, although he knew that didn’t make sense. Knottybush wasn’t the most exclusive club in the Jupiter area, but it was inarguably the most manicured, and in no small measure that was due to Charlie’s extensive knowledge and tender loving care of all things green. Still, he couldn’t help but compare himself to the high rolling members and especially to his brother. No one commanded more respect at the club than Pete, a self-made man who’d turned a single mini-putt business into one of the most well-known franchises in the State of Florida - Wee Putts.
“Actually, we’ve never formally met,” said Neri, stretching towards Charlie. He wiped his sweaty palm on his olive drab boilersuit, then accepted her athletic hand.
It was true, they hadn’t formally met, but of course he knew who she was - everyone did. She’d only been a member for 6 months or so, but had already earned the nickname. The Blonde Bomber, due to her take-charge attitude off the course and a quiet confidence buoyed by natural ability when on it. Every Tuesday morning when the ladies played a scramble, Charlie made sure his office window on the south side of the cart barn was open so he could hear Neri approach the first hole. He never got tired of watching her flow through her tee-off routine. A sway of her round bottom, a glance at the target over her left shoulder, a gentle arch in the small of her back and a slow steady takeaway. Then FWAP! As nimble as a forest creature and as accurate as a marksman.
Neri pulsed Charlie’s hand and he realized he’d been staring at her. He cleared his throat.
“Nice to meet you, Ms. Germaine,” he said, “Your reputation precedes you.”
Neri slapped her knee, threw her head back, and laughed.
“Oh gee, I hope not.”
It was such an unrestrained and joyous outburst, it made Charlie laugh too, and he immediately relaxed. And as the friendly banter bounced between the four, the narrow back and forth between Neri and Charlie became increasingly and conspicuously effortless.
“I’ve heard that one,” she said, giggling at Charlie’s inept attempt to tell a racy golf joke, “You know what a condom shot is?”
But just then, her reason for being there tapped her shoulder.
“Sorry to interrupt. Are you Neri?”
Startled, Neri spun on the stool. She blinked. Tall, dark, and dressed smartly in a navy sports jacket and khaki pants, was Golfer #1. He looked nervous.
“Yes I am,” she said, with a formal bow of her head, her ceremonial manner an indication she considered this serious business. She gestured to a table along a wall of glass overlooking the 18th green and they walked away without further introductions.
“I have to head out too,” said Peter, patting Charlie’s shoulder and feeling him deflate with Neri’s abrupt and unexplained departure. He rose from his barstool and placed his cap on his head, “Put Charlie on my tab,” he added.
And just like that, what had felt like a celebration of sorts, was now just a lonely landscaper sitting at an empty bar.
“Can I get ya somethin’ to eat?” asked Jeanette, filling the awkward silence.
“Um yeah,” he said, “Just a hot dog with mustard.”
Jeanette headed for the kitchen, and Charlie fixed his scrutiny on Neri and her animated companion; he appeared to be explaining something complicated and profound. Initially, Neri had been leaning on the table, nodding, as if attempting to digest his narrative, but now was slumped back in her chair with her arms folded in front of her. And shortly thereafter, the two were out of their seats shaking hands, and Neri was on her way back to the bar.
“That was fast,” said Jeanette, placing Charlie’s lunch in front of him, “Guessin’ you won’t be teein’ off with Golfer #1.”
“A complete waste of time,” said Neri, reclaiming her seat next to Charlie. He smiled, although he had no idea what they were talking about. He pretended not to care, turning all his attention to his meager feast.
“He’s married,” Neri added, throwing her hands up, “Talked about his wife and her deficiencies the entire time.”
Unintentionally, Charlie snorted, prompting the two women to glance his way.
“Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” he said, wiping mustard from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, “Golfer #1?”
“Neri went on Golf Match - the datin’ site,” said Jeanette, “Can you believe that?”
Charlie furrowed his brows.
“No I can’t,” he said, meeting Neri’s beguiling baby blues, “I mean you’re so . . . well, it’s hard to believe you can’t find a date.”
“It’s not that I can’t find a date,” said Neri, wringing the juice from the lemon wedge into her gin and soda, “It’s finding the right date. No point hooking up with someone who isn’t a serious golfer; obviously, it’s more than a hobby for me. Golf Match just helps narrow the field.”
She shrugged.
“Hey, too bad Golf Match doesn’t specify the size of the putter,” said Jeanette, and Charlie joined the teeheeing with a weak chuckle.
“I’m more interested in the size of the bank account,” said Neri.
Charlie winced with her words. Clearly, any pair-bonding between them that he’d considered late at night with his dick in his hand, was not in the realm of remote possibilities. This afternoon she’d gone to his head like a strong drink, but he’d have to guard against any further scope-creep in his feelings for her - he’d already suffered one such soul-crushing defeat at Knottybush.
“Maybe you’ll have better luck with Golfer #2,” said Jeanette, taking Charlie’s empty plate from him.
“Here’s hoping,” said Neri, lifting her drink.
“To Golfer #2, then,” said Charlie, halfheartedly. He tapped his dwindling Guinness against her glass, then swallowed the last few inches.
“To Golfer #2,” said Neri. |
