“The goal is to get there in thefewesthits,” she says.
So I guess this one is short range.
Benny glares at me. Peter chuckles.
Amusement dances in Morgan’s eyes. But there’s a subtle challenge there, too.
I could fret around, trying and failing to act like a real caddy, eager to prove myself to my CEO. Or I could just enjoy myself and this gorgeous day and this ridiculously nice golf course.
“Which one do you want?” I ask.
“Five iron,” she says.
“And what does that look like?”
Benny pales with secondhand embarrassment.
“Smaller triangle, has a five stamped on it.”
I rifle through the clubs, and it’s not so hard now that I know what I’m looking for. I hand the club to Morgan, and she takes the shot, getting the ball within a couple feet of the hole.
Keeping score isn’t much harder than counting, even if Morgan and Peter keep talking about birds as they shit-talk each other. I’m not really sure when the business meeting part starts, but as far as the golf game goes, Morgan and Peter are neck-and-neck.
By the sixth hole, I’ve gotten the hang of cleaning the clubs and placing the tees and markers.
I’m enjoying myself. I’m glad Morgan dragged me along, and I think she’s glad too. I have zero opinions as a caddy, which means I just hand Morgan what she asks for.
Sure, she’s kind of bullying me, but… she’s also teaching me about the game in that sarcastic way of hers. And I kind of like being bullied by Morgan.
Meanwhile, Benny and Peter bicker over each shot, I think because Benny wants to prove his worth as, like, an actual caddy. In contrast to me.
The only problem is that I’msweating. I amnotdressed for this, not even remotely. Other than my sweater, I’m only wearing a mesh undershirt. Ironically, its purpose was to prevent me from overheating, but it means taking off my sweater isn’t exactly an option. I didn’t plan on being in the sun.
As we hit the halfway point and stop at a small cottage for refreshments, and I chug an entire bottle of water, I worry I might be at risk of heatstroke.
When we start the ninth hole, I can’t see straight. I finally decide that if I embarrass Morgan, it’s her own fucking fault, and I strip my sweater off while she’s taking her first shot.
Morgan turns to hand the driver back to me, and she stops short.
Her eyes graze my chest, my arms. The mesh is sheer, and I know I’m a disgrace. I brace for a scolding comment.
“I wondered how long that would take,” she murmurs, and it can’t be right, but I swear there’s an edge of hunger in those words. They skitter down my spine, leaving tingling in their wake.
I’m struck by the ludicrous idea that Morgan brought me out here to sweat just so I’d strip a layer off, and the air feels another ten degrees hotter. But I push the notion aside as wishful thinking, and try to shift my focus back to golf.
Could Morgan really have invited me here because… shewants to spend more time together?
We finish the sixteenth hole and Morgan’s in the lead, with tensions between Peter and Benny rising. It seems less likely that Morgan wanted to spend time together than that she’s proving she doesn’t need anyone’s advice to win. It’s clear I’m not contributing much.
And sheisgoing to win. Except she hits the sand trap on the last hole and takes two chips to clear it, then misses her first putt. It’s a close enough game that Peter takes it right at the end.
“Ah, almost,” Peter teases, shaking her hand. “Unlucky.”
Morgan should be furious, but she’s as poised as ever.
They rattle through a quick conversation I can’t hear, but as Morgan returns, I get the sense that she got exactly what she wanted.
Benny follows Peter towards the country club, looking back like he wants to rescue the poor clubs from my clutches. Morgan signals to leave them in the golf cart, and a staff member from the course comes to pick them up as Morgan says, “Time for lunch.”
