Great, he thought. The local councilman and that civil rights attorney, not the best tippers in the world. He went off and met them at the cart. "Hey guys," he said, wiping from his ritualistic morning black coffee.

"Mornin’, caddy," the councilman said. He was short, a squatty Latino man who enjoyed his position in society, especially when he got the opportunity to demean others.

"Good morning, Vince." The tall attorney’s condescension was subtle but it was evident like wearing glasses that were out of focus, even in his greeting.

"Morning." He wished he could have worn shorts but it was against club policy. The smelled thick and the kikuyu grass was overgrown and needed trimming. The humidity was uncharacteristic for Southern California and the thirst foliage soaked it up.

"Who we waiting for?"

"Jenkins, and I think they got us paired with that new member, that guy from Texas." The attorney was putting a green dot on his golf ball and the councilman sat in the cart scuffing up the plastic dashboard. Vince wasn’t sure what to do so he went into the proshop. Gary and Bill were there.

"Hey guys."

"Hey Vince."

"Nice shirt," Gary said. Vince looked down and saw a coffee stain just below the pocket on his blue and white Ashworth golf shirt. It must have happened on the drive over, he thought. Vince said nothing. He didn’t like either of them but still found himself going in there every morning and taking their attititude. He looked at the new, overpriced golf shirts and expensive putters, and ridiculous hats, all under the umbrella of Muzak that sprayed from overhead. It was sleepy in the proshop. He turned and looked through the swinging saloon doors and walked into the sleeping restaurant. Two golfers were sitting at the bar and another two were at a table near the window that overlooked the eighteenth. He said good morning to one of the guys cleaning the bar and walked into the kitchen and that’s where his day began.

"Que paso, guero?" Alejandro asked. The two men shook hands, one with wet dishwashing hands. Alejandro was the friendliest of the Mexicans and they often spent their afternoons teaching each other Spanish and English. "When I learn more Engles, I’m no gonna work here no more," he had told Vince one day.

"I’ll teach you, Alejandro," he had replied.

As for the others, they never realized that he knew that guero and gabacho meant ‘white guy’. He also knew what guero mamon meant too and he didn’t like it.

"Que honda, gabacho?" he asked again. He was standing in front of a huge pot of boiling water and with the hairnet and wispy black mustache he really did look like a vato.

"Nada mucho," he said. Vince told him he was tired and then asked what he did last night. "Fuiste con mujeres bonitas?"

"Claro, claro," he said and they laughed. At seven in the morning all you can talk about with Mexicans is women. They love it but as the same time there is a contempt between the Mexicans and the white waitresses that work there. They want to talk to the waitresses but their English is poor and the waitresses think they’re disgusting and gross. Sometimes after the first round of the day Vince would sit and eat lunch and listen to the waitresses.

"They’re assholes," Kate would say. "They never help me and they’re kind of creepy."

"Come on Kate," Vince pleaded, they just want to talk to you."

"Then tell them to learn the language." And she would walk away.

"Quieres chorizo, gue?"

Vince said that sounded good. Mexican food made by Mexicans was as good as a homemade meal by Mom. He followed Alejandro into the waking kitchen where Alejandro put some reddish chorizo, and some scrambled eggs, and a tortilla onto the small white plate.

"Gracias."

Alejandro told him not to worry about. The two men leaned against a cold oven and ate. They could hear a few of the other cooks talking around the corner. Underneath that was boiling water and the early morning clanging of pots and pans.

"Muchas gracias, amigo," Vince said. Then he told his friend that he was going to find a woman for him.

"Ay, cabron, muy bien."

They shook hands again and Vince walked back into the country club restaurant. A few more golfers were in there and coffee steam rose from the fresh cups being poured for a guy with a cowboy hat. This must be the Texan, he thought.

"You from Texas?"

"Well, what gave that away, son?" the Texan asked. He had an easy, sun-beaten smile and his face was tanned. He looked at Vince and he pointed at the hat. "Oh yeah, this damn thing," and he took the hat off. He blew on his coffee and took a healthy bite of his eggs. "Wanna join me?"

Vince laughed. "I’d love to but I think a couple of guys outside are waiting for ya to see off, sir." Vince’s father, before he had run off with his secretary had taught him a few things about being a man. "Always call a man sir the first time you meet him, ok? OK? He always made sure Vince responded too because (lesson #2) "You should never leave a man hanging. Always tell him where you stand, always, ok? Alright, Vince?"

"Waiting for me?" and the Texan laughed, hard. He wiped some egg from his lip. "They’ll be all right. Have a seat."

Vince sipped at his coffee and looked at the Texan. Oil, he wondered. Maybe old money, or…

"What’s on your mind?"

"Just tired."

"Even the tired mind works."

"Yeah. I was just wondering how you got your money."

"My money?" Vince smiled as the Texan wiped his mouth of more egg that had come while he laughed. The guy had some much of whatever people wanted that excess came out in the form of egg. "Let’s just say I invested wisely."

"All right." Vince dropped it but the Texan was still smiling.

"You’re a good kid," he said to the twenty-five year old. "Today should be a good time, I haven’t played here since I bought my membership last month." The Texan stood up and dropped a ten on the table. "Come on."

It was warmer and more humid now. The councilman, the tall attorney were still near the first tee taking practice swings when Vince and the Texan walked up. They looked peeved. "It’s about time Vince, where have you been?" The Texan was a large enough man that they weren’t about to question him on his tardiness.

"I found the Texan."

"Oh great," they said and walked over to introduce themselves. Vince was putting the Texan’s clubs on a cart when he stopped him.

"I’m walking son, don’t need a cart in this beautiful weather." Vince insisted that he carry the bag and after a moment the Texan agreed. "All right kid, all right, carry my bag."

"The name’s Vince though," he said. Vince felt more on the level with the Texan than he did with the other two. Those guys assumed the world was there because of their jobs. The Texan knew the world was his because it was. And now Vince knew it too.

The fourth of their group, a retired judge with too much time and money never showed. The other voiced their displeasure but the Texan smelled the fresh air. Vince liked him and it made his distaste for the other two even greater.

"Vince, you’re still gonna have a chance to caddy for us too?" asked the attorney. He assured them he would and looked at the Texan who was smiling and shaking his head. Vince gave him the driver and their round began.

By the fourth hole, it was apparent the Texan affected everybody on different levels. Both the councilman and the attorney bought a beer when the Texan got one from the cart girl that came by. They both commented on how they never drank while they were playing golf. The Texan just laughed and laughed an drank. Vince was cleaning the other two’s clubs when the Texan walked over.

"Beer?"

"Sure," he said. The councilman voiced an objection and Vince handed it back.

"What are you talking about?" the Texan. He’s a human being like us, and he’s working so he deserves one even more." The Texan’s voice was full and commanding. He handed the beer back.

"Thanks."

"Don’t worry about it. Everybody needs a beer and I could tell you wanted one." And for the rest of the day it as Vince and the Texan versus the other two.

At lunch, after an eighty-three, and eighty-seven, and a surprising seventy-nine from the Texan, the four of them sat down for lunch in the more crowded restaurant. Vince had never been invited to stay for lunch before and it was only at the Texan’s insistence. "Come on, Vince, ya’ll worked hard for it, my treat." Since college, Vince would never turn down a free meal. As four more beers came to the table, discussion commenced.

"The percentages are up, Jim, you can’t deny that."

The attorney scoffed. "Carlos, that’s bull and you know it."

"It’s not."

"Sure it’s the not."

Then the Texan intervened. "Boys come on, let’ not talk shop, at least not yet, all right? All right? His smile was reassuring. Vince went into the kitchen while three important men discussed unimportant issues. All the world’s solutions existed in the kitchen of country clubs. He said hi to Alejandro who was cutting green peppers deftly. He looked up when Vince came in.

"Muy ocupado, mucho trabajo." The short Mexican smiled when he looked up from the sliced peppers. He was aware of his lot in life that nothing bothered him. It was all part of his lot. Its’ the rich and the famous that don’t know where they stand because people are always advising them. They enver get to make up their own mind.

Vince told him that he was eating with three crazy guys.

"Si?"

"Un abogado, un politician, y un hombre de Texas," Vince said.

"Un abogado? Dios mio!" he exclaimed, lauging. Lawyers are the butt of a joke in any language.

Vince told him that if he didn’t talk to him later to have a good day.

"Egualmente, amigo." They shook hands again and Vince went from the hot and bustling kitchen to the cool and collected restaurant. Another round of beers sat patiently at their table.

"Look, if you weren’t in the pockets of the contractors maybe I would listen to you."

"Jim, you don’t know what you’re talking about."

"Vince, you hear these boys? They both need a dose of what we Texans call the Brothel Bulge." His laugh sent his head back and jiggling. The Texan loved his own jokes.

Vince was still quiet. He wasn’t sure what to say. They all had real jobs and careers and he was a caddy. He ordered a cheeseburger with green chilis and drank his beer amidst the arguing.

"I saw you boot that ball into the fairway on sixteen. I’m not stupid, ya know?" And on it went, through their food and there more beers. Vince finally loosened up towards the end. The attorney and the councilman kept bickering like horny adolescents and Vince and Texan talked about other things.

"I took her horseback riding, out past the dirt road that led to her ranch and over a hill. It was great Vince. Blanket, sunset, and a bottle of wine. That’s all you really need to get any girl." The Texan was gnawing on a cigar he couldn’t smoke, drinking brandy now.

"It was in a golf bunker for me," Vince said. "Seventeen years old, she was sixteen and we didn’t have any of those things that you had. It was dark, and there were people at the other end of the bunker and we only had an old sweatshirt for protection. You should have seen her ass, it was so red and scraped up." They were laughing.

"You’re all right, kid, you’re all right."

"Yea, well how about another drink then?" he asked.

"All right, what do you want?"

"How about a Mai Tai?"

"What the hell is a my tie?"

"I’ll get it but can we put it on your tab?"

The Texan laughed. He appreciated honesty. "Go right ahead. Now that’s a boy that knows what he wants," he said to the still bickering men. They weren’t listening to him.

Vince got home in the late afternoon, almost drunk. There was no mail and messages but the Texan remained fresh in his mind. He was a mysterious character, that was for sure. But it was more than that; it was the way the attorney and the councilman had acted around him. Usually they were friendly and cordial but today there had been arguments and derisive remarks. The Texan had just laughed it all off. Vince turned on the TV, at some leftover Chinese food and slept on the couch.

He wokein the dark still on the couch. The TV was still on but it was too early even for the news. It was a kid’s show about some muppets that solve crimes. Vince walked into the small dirty kitchen and looked in the fridge. The milk was expired. There was nothing else edible in the house. He went to the Seven-Eleven.

"Good morning sir," the cheerful Seven-Eleven employee said. The man was born in another country but was enjoying his opportunity at the American dream. Vince bought crumb donuts, milk, coffee and a pack of Marlboro Reds. He drove over to the golf course before the world had declared itself awake. The sun was trying though, and Vince was sittingat a table in the little restaurant with the good green view and the new sunrise that pierced through the brown valleys and hills that weren’t irrigated. It was going to be hot again today. As he sipped his coffee and toyed with a cigarette in his hands, Alejandro came out of the kitchen with his black and white checkered pants, white apron, white chef’s hat and black shoes. He black moustache straightened as he smiled.

"Que honda, Veens?"

"Cansado otra vez," he said, wiping crusties from his eyes.

Alejandro asked him why.

"Cervezas."

Alejandro laughed and told him to be careful.

"I know, I know," he told him.

"Ju only get one life, Veens."

"Y tu tambien," Vince replied.

"Estoy apprendiendo mas ingles y tengo una novia bonita. Que mas necesito?" he asked Vince.

He didn’t know. A good looking girl and a future sounded pretty good to him too. Vince told Alejandro that he had enough for a happy life.

"Simon." Alejandro looked behind him. One of the more unfriendly cooks was peaking out through the lightly swinging doors. He told Vince he had to go. "I half work to to."

"Okay, amigo, I’ll talk to you soon. Adios." And then Alejandro scurried back to do a boring job he loved. Vince sipped his black coffee and the sun was golden now, spears that sparkled and poked long purple shadows along the eighteenth hole and now into the restaurant as well. He went to see who he was caddying for that day.

"Hey Bill."

"Vince man, you look beat. What did you do last night?"

"Nothing."

"Damn dude, take a shower, dress nicer," he said, and Bill matted down his golf shirt so it looked now.

"Yeah, whatever." Gary wasn’t around. Vince turned the teetime sheet around and it looked pretty open today. He might even play eighteen later if he was up to it.

He spent the morning caddying for a foursome that were all at least seventy years old. They were nice but cheap. It was boring too, watching them hit four in a row into the water and then watching them hit four more from the drop box into the same fake lake. Vince was hungry by the time they climbed the hill and he spent almost half of his tip money from the Glanville foursome on a burger, ice cream and two beers. The Texan walked into the restaurant.

"Well howdy, Vince," the hatless Texan said. Vince almost didn’t recognize him.

"Hey."

"You working or playing today?"

"What do you think?" Vince held up his beer and the empty bottle next to it.

The Texan laughed.

"Well, I’m about to hit the links , wanna join me? After a drink of course."

"Of course," and Vince smiled at him.

The course was wide open that afternoon and the twosome flew through the front nine. Vince still hadn’t learned anything about the Texan but he just knew he was cool. He wasn’t a bad golfer either, but Vince happily took thirty dollars from him on the front nine. They sat at an umbrella’d table in the heat of the humid afternoon.

"So how do you like it here?"

"It’s not bad, Vince, not bad. Benn to lots better and even more worse." The Texan smiled his easy smile. The reddish brown face was aged with wrinkles that made him look wiser, stronger, somehow more of a man than Vince was. "How do you like it?"

"It’s all right."

"Well, what do you wanna do?"

Vince admitted he didn’t know. "I’ve never really found anything that held my interest. Pretty pathetic, eh?"

"Says who?" The Texan made a gesture for the waitress to bring two more beers.

"I don’t know."

"If you don’t know then who gives a shit?" The Texan asked.

"I don’t know."

"Exactly." He pointed his ciagarred hand at Vince. "Exactly. Only you care about, ‘cept for maybe your momma and she ain’t around. It’s Vince’s world now." Vince listened and then cracked his new beer. He thanked the Texan. "Don’t worry about it, if you can’t get your friends drunk, who can ya get drunk, right?" He laughed. "Come on, you gonna take more of my money on the back, kid?"

"Probably."

"Great, let’s not postpone it."

The course was still dead. Anybody that could be there was already home in the air-conditioning, or at the beach. Vince and the Texan had three more beers out on the course and both played accordingly.

"As they walked to their cars in the late sweaty afternoon, Vince told the Texan he should try and join the attorney and the councilman on Monday’s and Wednesday’s. He always caddied for them and it would be nice to have someone cool there.

"Already set it up for Friday," the Texan smiled. "I’ll see you then."

Vince, buzzed and sunburnt, got into his early model Honda Accord and headed home. There he sat in front of the television again but this time the mind nagged. There was something about the Texan. He had no idea what it was but he wanted to find out. He was asleep before he really cared.

Friday morning came slowly. Vince had anticipated it like Christmas and he was one of the first people at the course that purple morning. Even Alejandro wasn’t there yet. He sat in his car, drinking coffee, eating ding dongs, a banana and listened to Howard Stern. They were talking how perfect a girl’s breasts were. They were in a small black room looking at perfect breasts and he could only listen to it. A large Chevy truck pulled up a few spots away. It was the Texan and this time he had his hat on. Everything was back to normal it seemed.

"Mornin’," Vince called to him from his car.

The Texan bent over and looked into the small dark cab. "Well mornin’ Vince. How are ya this beautiful California morning?" The guy was always in a good mood.

"Haven’t decided yet."

"Yeah, me either. ‘Cept I’m playing golf so I know it’ll be all right." The Texan gave the early morning version of his laugh; it was much more reserved, a little brother of the original.

This time it was the attorney who was late. Jenkins, who had been unable to make it last time was there waiting for the attorney also. Jenkins was old, a recently retired judge that deal with the court system at least. And he liked to talk about them. He and the Texan bonded right away.

"Jenkins, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about."

"Prove it," said the Texan, stirring the pot with juices.

"Wait ‘till Diaz gets here, he’ll tell you." Jenkins walked away to get a coffee.

Diaz got there and the discussion and fervid. The Texan soaked it up and Vince had many private laughs. He had never seen the other golfers talk to each other that way before. And by hole thirteen, there were four drunk golfers and an unsober caddy. All five of them were sweating.

"Jenkins you telling me never took any of that money?"

"Once," he said indignantly, "and that money went to put my daughter through college so screw you guys." Jenkins hadn’t been drunk since Thanksgiving and here is was mid-July.

"Boys," said the Texan, "boys. It’s all right, we’re all men here, we all have to do what we do to get by." The tension leaked away and there were a few holes of peace. Vince asked the Texan a question.

The Texan walked closer to Vince and away from the three drunks on the tee, "I’ll tell you Vince, but it will be the last time you see me and I’m not quite ready for that. Let’s meet after next Friday’s round and I’ll fill ya in. All right?" The Texan smiled and Vince was nodding his head.

"Ok," he said.

"Ok." The Texan walked over to the tall attorney, the short squatty Latino, and the old man. They were bitching about something but Vince didn’t hear them. He was looking at the Texan wondering what the hell he did to make his money.

Caddying at a prestigious country club was like working at a fine restaurant. Everyday is the same except different faces. Vince’s week flew by. He saw the attorney and Latino councilman twice but without the Texan. He was nowhere to be seen except the tall attorney mumbled something about having a tee time with him on Friday. Friday. It came, like any day and Vince was there. The country club was cool that morning and a fine mist veiled the aged trees and green fairways. Vince banged the fresh pack of smokes on his hand. The Texan arrived with the orange and poking sun but said nothing out of the ordinary for him. Vince was watching him like a hawk but what he didn’t know was the Texan wasn’t an animal a hawk could chase.

"Mornin’, Vince."

"Morning."
"It’s going to be a glorious day for golf."

"Hmm," Vince said. He’d never been so aware before, not since his dad had sued belts for the wrong reasons.

"We have time for breakfast, ya think?"

"Let’s go."

The Texan’s hat sat next to the two ham’n’egg breakfasts and orange juices and coffees. Vince had wheat toast and the Texan sourdough. The view of the rising sun and the never changing eighteenth hole overlooked their morning. Vince waited for the Texan to tell him something. But he didn’t. Vince said thanks when the Texan paid the bill.

"I owe ya one."

"Don’t worry about it, Vince. I remember when I was younger. It’s fun but ya can’t do much."

Vince was watching him.

Out on the first tee, the Latino councilman, the tall attorney and old judge sat in their carts waiting. Vince and the Texan walked up.

"Mornin’."

"Good morning," one of them said.

The councilman was already drinking and the judge was thirsty.

"That there is a golf digest shot," the Texan mocked. The tall attorney had one foot against a tree, the other in a bunker and the pin was next to the water that bordered the green and the bunker. Vince was curious what would happen and he normally never watched them play. He was always fantasizing about women he’d had and never had, and curious memories that involved rain, and treehouses, and belts. The other two were sitting in their carts thinking about their upcoming shots. The tall attorney, effort and all, skulled the ball and it bounced once on the green before diving into the still black water.

"Damn!"

"Ya got to keep your head down," the Texan said, motioning to Vince to grab his red bag as he walked on. Vince doubled stepped to catch up.

"You still up for drinks after the round?" he asked the Texan ounce he had caught up.

"Yeah, we’ll see," he said. He didn’t look at Vince who was looking at him. He just squinted into the yellow and white morning towards the green and his birdie putt.

Vince went back to caddying. The day became itself and the four men played on and on.

As the tall attorney and old judge signed scorecards a little past lunchtime, the councilman sat quickly eating a cheeseburger, cursing his round. The Texan smoked a cigarette and Vince watched all of them. And he waited. The Texan smoked another cigarette and his red face enjoyed the scene. These three men he was with had no idea and Vince was about to,, if only he had the patience. The Texan smoked again and this time Vince did too, if only to bond with the cowboy. After a drunk and grumbling lunch they all left. Except Vince and the Texan. They left together in the Texan’s truck in the early afternoon but they already had had a full day. Vince and the Texan ate happy hour rib dinners and drank cheap margaritas at a little place Vince knew about. He wanted to talk to the Texan on his turf.

"There are good ribs, Vince." The Texan wiped his mouth with a fresh napkin, and rank from the blended yellow tequila drink.

Vince ate and watched the Texan. A soccer match emitted from a television at the bar. Vince got up and bought two more drinks.

"Well all right, boy, I see what you’re up to. I might as well let you in on it." The Texan grabbed the small glass and drank it; Vince sat and waited.

"You’ll never see those boys at the country club again," the Texan said.

"What do you mean?"

They finished eating and the Texan postponed giving what he wanted until they drove back to the country club. It was getting drunk.

"Well?" Vince demanded once they pulled up next to his car.

The Texan looked right at him. "Look, I’m about to put you at a crossroads in your life. Those men will never play golf there again because they talked too much and couldn’t hold their liquor. Do ya understand?"

Vince nodded slowly. "I thinks so."

"I like you Vince, you’re a good caddy and a good kid, I could use you, if you’re up for it. But your life changes as soon as you decide." The Texan lit a cigarette and put the flame close enough so Vince could do the same. He wasn’t totally sure what the Texan meant but as he blew out the orange flame in the Texan’s cab, he thought of his boring apartment and his boring life. He watched a few members hitting golf on the range in the dusk. He thought about Alejandro and his tough, happy future.

"Let me get my clubs," he said and tried to think if there was anything he wanted from his apartment. "Hey, is it cool if I get my toothbrush and a jacket?"

The Texan just laughed.