Katie." The golf pro pulled up a
chair between Pauline and a
dismayed Louise. "And could I get
a club soda?"
How rude could this woman
possibly be? Now she has her…
girlfriend fetching her drinks
while she sits down to flirt with
one of her protégées.
"So when are you going to get
back on the fairways, Marty?"
Shirley’s question surprised
Louise. Back on the fairways?
"Three more weeks," she
answered. "Wouldn’t want to pop
those stitches."
Oh my! Louise hoped whatever it
was wasn’t serious.
"Marty had that same gall bladder
surgery Linda had six years ago,"
Shirley explained.
"Aw, you poor baby!" Pauline
gushed.
Aw, you poor baby! Louise
mimicked the women in her mind,
but not without unconsciously
crinkling her lips and bobbing her
head back and forth mockingly. It
seemed that the golf pro was fine
now, and for that, she was glad.
Katie returned, passing out the
drinks, saving Marty’s club soda
for last. "Here you go, Mom."
Mom?
"Thanks, hon. Have you guys met
my daughter Katie?" Marty made
the brief introductions, and Katie
returned to her work behind the
counter.
Her daughter?
"She and my grandson moved down
to help out after my surgery, but I
think I’ve convinced them to stick
around," Marty explained,
obviously glad to have her family
close by. "So how was the round?"
"Not bad," Shirley answered. "Lou usually kicks our butts, but she’s
been gimpy with her arm lately, so
I managed to beat her today by a
couple of strokes."
She has a daughter and a
grandson!
"Yeah, I’ve watched her on the
range. I can see that she’s a
natural," she went on, as though
the tall woman with the most
beautiful blue eyes she’d ever
seen wasn’t sitting right beside
her. "By the way, welcome to the
Pine Island Golf Club, Miss
Stevens. As a new member, you
get one free lesson with the pro -
that would be me - any time you
want."
"You mean I haven’t gotten that
over with already?" Louise asked
almost jokingly… almost.
The golf pro chuckled. "Well, the
complimentary lesson isn’t
mandatory. You do seem to be a
very good golfer, but if you ever
decide you want any help, just let
me know." With that gracious
remark, Martha Beck picked up
her drink and walked back out to
the pro shop.
The three ladies scowled at Louise
as if she’d just been caught
cheating on her score card.
"What?" she asked defensively.
No one answered, but their
expressions remained unchanged.
"Fine!" Louise answered, storming off after the little blonde.
Marty thought this was as good a
time as any to rearrange the
sweater display. Inventory was
down until Thursday’s shipment, so
there wasn’t any sense in having
things up on the top shelf.
Stretching on her tiptoes, she
reached in vain for the folded
stack.
"Let me," a low voice behind her
said. Long arms stretched over
her head and lowered the
sweaters into her waiting hands.
"Can’t have you popping those
stitches."
"Thank you," the red-faced pro
muttered as she turned toward
her benefactor. Sometimes she
hated being so short. "Is there
something I can do for you, Miss
Stevens?"
"My… friends call me Lou."
"What should I call you?"
"Touché." Louise was ashamed of
how she’d treated this woman
since the moment they met. "How
about you call me Lou?"
"Okay. Is there something you
need, Lou?"
Louise sighed, knowing that it was
her turn to make a friendly
overture. "I’ve been having a little
trouble with a slice, and I thought
maybe you could…"
"You call a hard right turn little?"
she joked. Oops! The blue-eyed
glare was back. "I mean, you
wanna… maybe meet me at the
range tomorrow and see if we
can… work it out?"
"Ten o’clock?"
"Ten is good."
Early the next morning, Louise
made a special trip to the country
club at Burnt Store, hoping to find
a really nice outfit that wasn’t
hanging in the pro shop at Pine
Island. Satisfied with the solid
blue shorts and blue and white
striped sleeveless shirt, she
finished the look with a barrette,
this time leaving a few wisps on
each side to frame her face.
Louise had always been
comfortable with the way she
looked. She was regularly
complimented, and got her share
of second looks. Most important,
though, Rhonda had raved about
her beauty every day.
"But the game’s a different one at
63, isn’t it Petie?"
The dog’s tail twittered happily, as
it did every time his mistress said
"Mmmmpppffff, Petie."
These days, Louise paid a good bit
of attention to covering the
wrinkles that gathered around her
eyes and the corners of her
mouth, and to moisturizing her
neck and chest. Though her hands
sported a few of those unsightly
age spots, they were for the most
part still soft and elegant looking.
A weekly manicure was her one
indulgence.
So what was it about Marty Beck
that had her preening in front of
the mirror like this? Something
about that cute little blonde had
clicked for Louise; she barely
recognized the feelings of
attraction that were stirring
within. In her 31 years with
Rhonda, she’d never had another
woman turn her head, not even for
an instant. And in the years since
Rhonda died, no one had
interested her that way at all. But
undeniably, attraction was what it
was. If Marty just weren’t so…
Louise arrived early to warm up
before her free lesson with the
very cute golf pro.
Smack!
Wicked slice.
Smack!
That one was a little better, with
more distance.
Smack!
Smack!
Smack!
The slice was gone.
Smack!
A hundred and forty yards,
straight down the middle of the
range.
Smack!
Again.
"So was there anything else I
could help you with?" The blonde
golfer had slipped up quietly to
observe her student unobtrusively.
"You appear to be quite the
accelerated learner."
"I, uh… I seem to have come out
of my slump."
"Well, I’m very glad I could be of
assistance, Lou." She was
disappointed that there didn’t
seem to be any reason for the
lesson.
"But… but I have this hook on my
long irons!" Louise exclaimed with
unusual braggadocio. Quickly, she
drew her three-iron from the bag,
smacking her first shot 115 yards
out, sans hook.
"Hmm…"
Smack!
Still no hook.
Uh-oh! On her next shot, Louise
played the ball off her front foot,
executing a neat dog-leg left.
"You should play the ball a little
more in the center of your body,
hands slightly in front," Marty
corrected gently.
"Like this?" she asked,
overstepping so that the ball was
in fact closer now to her back
foot. This time, she shanked it,
sending it over the fence into the
ninth fairway. "Oops! I know,
that’ll cost me 50 cents."
The golf pro chuckled, almost
certain she was being played,
though why the proud woman
would want to do that was a
mystery. "Tell you what. You line
yourself up the way you think you
ought to be, and I’ll come over and
fine tune your position."
Louise obliged, settling slightly
off-center with her hands behind
the ball.
Marty stepped up behind her and
reached around. Lou was sort of
thin - a tall drink of water, but not
too thin, she thought. "Okay,
here’s the problem. Let go of the
club."
Louise did as she was asked,
focused completely on the
muscular leathered arms that
encircled her waist.
"To start with, you want the grip
to rest against your stomach like
this."
"Uh, my stomach’s a little higher
than that, Marty."
"Oh, okay." Glad her red face was hidden, the coach continued. "On
taller people, it sometimes…
rests… lower. Now on your irons,
there’s always going to be just a
teensy lilt in the shaft. You know,
if you let go of it, it would balance
only a second, then fall to the left.
And the ball sits right in front of
your nose with your feet spread
even. Got it?" She could feel the
lanky woman shifting her hips and
arms. Marty wondered what it
would be like to dance with Lou
Stevens.
Now acutely aware of the woman
who was pushed up behind her,
Louise suddenly took stock of
what was happening. Here she
was, acting juvenile over Marty
Beck, just like Pauline Rourke had.
Furthermore, she was making
fools of both of them with her
put-on girlish ineptitude. "I think
I’ve got it now," she interjected,
stepping forward to escape the
seeming embrace. "Why don’t I
give it a try?"
True to form, Louise proceeded to
loft four shots in a row more or
less down the middle, all falling
about a hundred yards away.
Marty felt the retreat and
floundered for her most
professional demeanor, genuinely
embarrassed by what she’d been
thinking only moments earlier.
"Well, as I said earlier, you’re one
gifted learner."
"Uh, thanks," the tall woman
stammered. "I guess I should be
going." Not making eye contact
with the pro, Louise stuffed her
club back into the bag, heaving it
onto her shoulder and turning
quickly toward the parking lot. Air,
I need air!
"Wow! You look great, Lou! I’m so
glad you decided to come with us
after all." Shirley had on black
slacks with a red and white polka-
dotted shirt; her partner wore a
deep red party dress, with short
puffy sleeves and a skirt that
twirled.
But all eyes tonight - all eyes over
50, anyway - would be on Louise
Stevens, dressed for the occasion
in a long-sleeved black dress that
tapered to just above the knee.
The plunging v-neck called
attention to the tantalizing hollow
between her smallish breasts; a
similar v-cut reached to the
middle of her back. The gray-
streaked hair - actually she had
finally admitted to herself that it
was now mostly gray with only a
few remaining black streaks - was
swept back on the sides with
wispy bangs, and pearls adorned
her ears.
"You are so beautiful, Lou. I bet
you have to beat them off with a
stick tonight," Linda added.
"Well, if that’s the case, maybe I
should take my own car. I might
welcome a dance or two, but if
somebody hangs around too long,
I’m outta there!" She had only
agreed to come when Shirley
offhandedly mentioned that there
might be a few people there who
played golf at Pine Island. That got
"Don’t worry, we’ll rescue you. But
you try to have a good time. These
dances are great, and there are
lots of nice women there. And men
too, if you want to make friends
with some of the guys."
"Is there a liquor limit?" she
deadpanned.
"No, but we’ll cut you off if you
start to undress," Shirley joked.
Ten minutes later, the threesome
arrived at the VFW Hall, which
was decorated tonight in Valentine
themes. There were hundreds of
red, pink, and white balloons, and
each of the red-papered tables
held a vase of roses, with glitter
hearts and ribbons scattered
about.
Linda led them to a table near the
dance floor, but Louise gestured
toward one a little further away,
less well-lit and completely out of
the traffic area.
"Now nobody’s going to see you
over here, Lou."
"That’s fine with me. Maybe I’ll do
the watching tonight."
"But will you ask someone to
dance?"
"Only if I can’t stop myself," she promised sarcastically. These
sorts of soirees had been so much
fun with Rhonda, who always
danced with everybody in the
room.
They didn’t go to many,
since it was important in their
jobs to keep a low profile in
Greensburg; but from time to
time, they would go to the larger
events in nearby Pittsburgh. Louise
would usually sit at the table and
entertain their friends, dancing
every fifth or sixth tune with her
vivacious partner. This was only
her third such party since Rhonda
died, and while it was difficult,
Louise had to admit that it did her
good to get out. She liked
dressing up, and knew it was
important to meet people,
especially since she was new to
the Southwest Florida gay and
lesbian community.
They had arrived somewhat late,
but new arrivals kept pouring in.
After accepting an early offer to
dance with a stylish woman in her
mid-50s - and politely declining a
second dance - Louise settled in to
watch the crowd, content to sip
her wine unnoticed. At the urging
of her friends, she took a couple
of turns on the dance floor with
each of them, who were now
wrapped around each other,
swaying to a slow romantic tune.
The tall woman checked her watch.
They would leave soon, as Shirley
never, ever missed the maritime
and fishing reports on the 11
o’clock news; besides, her friends
were headed out early tomorrow
to go grouper fishing off Marco
Island.
"Are you having a good time?"
The question startled Louise, but
not as much as the sight of Marty
Beck standing at her table. The
golf pro was dressed in pleated
black gabardine slacks with flat
black shoes; her red silk shirt
opened at the top to reveal an
ample cleavage. Louise had never
actually seen the woman without
her visor, and was pleasantly
surprised to find a rather
flattering hairstyle, layer upon
layer of the sun-bleached strands.
"I… my friends… we…” she
stammered. "Won’t you please sit
down?"
Marty smiled and pulled out a
chair. "You look very nice tonight."
"Thank you."
"Actually, that isn’t true."
Louise rolled her eyes. Here it
comes, a smart remark. Why does
she have to do this? She’d be so…
"What I meant to say is that you
look stunning tonight. I saw you
dancing earlier with Linda, and I
doubt anyone else in this room
could do justice to that dress
you’re wearing."
Louise couldn’t believe her ears.
Marty Beck had just paid her one
of the nicest compliments she’d
ever heard.
"Why, thank you Marty. You look
very nice too." She really did. Red