Things were not going well with Vic Durant.
He bogeyed the first hole, he bogeyed the second.
He hadn't said a word to Michelle at any time. She'd taken out clubs for him that she thought he should use, he'd ignored her and deliberately taken out a different club, even though he must have known it was not the proper club for what he needed.
As they waited just off the third tee, Michelle decided she had to take a stand.
"Mr. Durant, I appreciate that something is bugging you, but you're not doing yourself any good by deliberately tanking this match."
Durant glared at her, but she went on.
"I work at this course, I know this course. I am a caddy and it's my job to help you. So why don't you stop pouting and let me help you?"
"Pouting?" demanded Durant.
Michelle just stared at him.
Durant took a deep breath, and looked like he was counting to ten. Then he said, "Okay, fine. Tell me what I should do here."
"Well, the wind swirls about a great deal on this hole. So I'd say don't drive it as high as you've been doing. Drive it low and straight."
Durant nodded, took the driver she held out to him, and went out onto the tee.
He took several more deep breaths to calm his mind. Had he really been pouting? But she was right - he didn't have a chance to do well in this tourney but if he played conservatively at least he could make the cut and bring home a few dollars.
Durant stepped back from his tee as his lips twitched. Quite spunky, his caddy. Pouting, indeed.
He returned to the tee, assumed his stance, and hit the ball in a low drive - that went straight where he intended it.
So far, so good, he thought as they headed, not speaking, onto the fairway.
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