Take off your hat, I want to stand up.

Chapter 32. Let's go Golfing.

Chapter 32. Let's go Golfing.

Let's go golfing?

The monster hangover was over and a new resolve of activity came upon Ev. Let's go golfing. The course is right out behind our beautiful Dunes hotel, she said.

I looked out the patio window I could see the third hole from the room. Why not I thought and we all went out to sign up.

We walked over to the club house, it was about ten in the morning. The early birds had gone already and the noon heat was still hiding away. Ev asked the pro about clubs, green fees, ball cost, tees and carts. The answer was yes you can rent clubs, electric carts are mandatory, and the cheapest balls are $3.50 each, tees are complimentary. Three bucks for each ball rankled my mom. She hesitated, and added in a low voice, we will take four. She figured one each and a spare. We saddled the clubs into the cart and proceeded to the first tee.

Ev had on a strapless top, Eddie Baurer shorts, half sport socks, Nike runners and sunglasses on a string. I drove to the first tee, she walked. After an moment of surveying the course she said now isn't this nice? The fairway was indeed a work of horticultural art, green manicured lawn stretched out in the distance. A stone fountain and pool relaxed about fifty feet in front of the first tee. The Roman fountain was a beauty mark and not considered a golf hazard. The palm trees shivered as the early mid-morning wind caressed them. They swayed ever so gently and peacefully.

Ev thanked the golf assistant, who showed us the way, smiled broadly, and walked to the first hole.

I will go first, I paid. She glanced around, on the first tee new faces sat behind their golf carts. A few golfers had sidled up behind us. They lit giant cigars and waited patiently, feet extended and legs crossed. Moments later more carts had joined us at the first tee. Two more carts of middle aged gentlemen stopped, now we had a gallery. We would be teeing off next, no worries. What could go wrong?

I had an idea that they may distract her as she always enjoyed playing to an audience. Years before when both my mom and dad travelled to Vegas they took in a spectacular Elvis Presley show. They were in the front row, thanks to the maitre D who seated them. Mom swore that Elvis sang to her the entire set, naturally.

Now she was about to tee off, anything could happen. She dropped her sun glasses, let them dangle. She did not like this, so she put them on again. Placed the tee in the ground. Next she took the tee out and placed it back a bit and to the side. Once done she stepped back, surveyed the field, approached the ball, took a couple of air swings, back and forth. She addressed the ball. At this point she dropped her smoke she was holding on the ground, took in a deep breath, focused and swung a mighty swing.

She had looked up. Deadly in a golf swing. We watched the ball dart off the tee. In an instant, like a laser, it hit right into the middle of the fountain, splash. She said, I can see the line it took, I can get it.

What? You cannot go into the, but it was already too, too late, she had taken off her foot wear and was ready to go wading in the Roman fountain.

No, was all I said in protest. She said it was my only ball, I need it. There is no use arguing the point. She hustled over to the fountain holding onto her chest to stop it from articulating even more, she scampered over the low rock wall, waded up to her knees and pronounced the water not too bad. She walked two or three steps and said oh, I have found it, pulled it out, inspected the brand, then she said no this is not my ball.

I said take it. I want mine she said, I know it is right here. She proceeded and stepped on ten balls retrieved each one individually and with the same excitement, I found another. She could not hold them all so she started shoving them down her top. She found that after about six being put away she had to cradle them with both arms crisis crossed across her body. I tried to protest one last time. She came back with some serious logic, of her own. Listen, she said, you are going to want to use one of these golf balls I found when you loose your own. True. I was silent.

I looked around and now there were about six carts in line waiting, all men and all eyes glued to this lady thrashing about in the fountain. Incredible no one said a word. The cigar smokers seemed particularly amused. They nudged each other with an elbow and a nod, back to the tee she went.

It was her turn again, same routine, same mighty swing this time the ball hit the statue in the fountain, ricocheted over the spray, straight down the fairway. She unfurled her back swing and met me with a huge smiley faced grin, your turn.

I hurriedly chunked one over onto the other fairway. We climbed into our cart and we were off the first tee, great start, simply marvellous. I was absolutely sweating bullets until we had gotten clear of the clubhouse. Luckily the beer cart girl was coming over the bridge right into view. Ev made golfing an experience.

I hailed the beer cart girl and we settled down to play a little golf and drink a few Coors. We looked like the Catinjammer triplets, each moving in a different direction with each errant shot. We were on the same course, but we all played different lines down the fairway. Occasionally we met at the green and putted out. We had such a good time