Vic Durant opened his eyes and looked at the ceiling.
He blinked.
He turned his head and looked at the alarm clock. 7 am.
7 am?
His caddy was supposed to have wakened him at 6 am. He had to be on the tee by 8 am or forfeit his entry into the golf tournament.
Vic Durant galvanized out of bed. He didn't have time for a shower, he didn't have time to brush his teeth. He stripped off his pajamas and pulled on his golfing clothes and grabbed his wallet. He burst out of the door and sprinted the few steps to the door to the room where his caddy was sleeping - probably dead drunk. But his clubs were in that room.
Vic banged on the door. "Charlie! Charlie! Wake up! I need my clubs!"
No response.
Vic slapped is forehead. There was a connecting door between his room and that of his caddy.
Vic ran back into his hotel room. Charlie had come through that door the other day - they'd been discussing strategy and Charlie had tried the door and had gone through it... and had not locked it.
Vic looked at Charlie sprawled on the bed. He was dead to the world - but not really dead - he was snoring loudly. There was a bottle of Jack Daniels near one hand.
Vic didn't even try to wake him up. He grabbed his golf bag, went out through the connecting door - took the time to lock it, and then out of his hotel room and into the lobby.
"I need a cab to take me to the golf course right now," he told the reception clerk briskly. "Right now."
"There's one outside, sir," said the clerk. "We always have cabs here during the golf tournaments."
Vic carried his golf bag outside. A cabbie immediately came up to him.
"Do you know how to get to the player's entrance of the golf club?" Vic demanded.
"Of course, sir."
The cabbie stowed his clubs in the trunk, then started driving with his pedal to the metal.
Striding into the clubhouse 20 minutes later, Vic accosted the clubhouse manager.
"I need a caddy. Right now. Any caddy you've got."
The clubhouse manager gaped at him. "I'm sorry, sir...all our caddies have the next four days off because of the tournament. They always leave town and go gambling."
"Find me a caddy!" shouted Vic. "Not even a caddy. Just someone who will carry my damn bags! I've got ten minutes to get on the tee!"
"Right," said the manager. "You go to the tee, I'll find you a caddy."
The manager ran out of the clubhouse...then stopped. Hadn't he seen Emma Bravo just a few minutes ago. She was their token female caddy, and she hadn't gone with the guys on their gambling trip...she was on the first tee already.
Even as the manager fumbled for his phone, he ran back into the clubhouse and jerked open her locker, grabbing up overalls and golf shoes.
"Hello," said Michelle over the phone. (He had all his caddies on speed dial.)
"Michelle, you have got to do me a big favor. Vic Durant needs a caddy, and you're the only caddy we've got. You're at the first tee, right?"
"Yes."
"He's headed down there. Duck down to where the public toilets are and I'll bring your gear to you. Okay?"
"Sure, boss. I'll be right there."
"Thanks, Michelle. I'll be there in three minutes."
No comments:
Post a Comment