Way to Go

The bartender looked at me with just a trace of concern and said: Are you sure you want another dry martini? Gee, you just had 4 in a row.

Yup, I also need more peanuts and some olives. They'll keep me upright till lunch time.

I had just finished playing 18 holes and had turned in another Oscar performance on the links: four under par in a course known for its devious and hidden character. My playing partner, who is also my doctor, had had two Alka-Seltzers in a row. The round that morning had cost him not only a cool thou but it had left more than a hairline crack in his self-esteem. Crushed were whatever hopes he had of humiliating me. He had tried everything, including poor score accounting, the old distraction sequences and the worn out You don't look too well today.

FOUR UNDER PAR! It was one of the best cards I had turned in half a dozen years. It meant a positive balance of birdies against bogies and other atrocities. That score, the feeling it produced and the enrichment of the blood and the senses provided by the dry martinis, gave me a time-space frame of chop -licking texture.

Once the fourth martini had been added to the inventory and peanuts and olives swiftly disposed of, I sauntered down the clubhouse towards the parking lot by the pond, carrying as usual my inseparable Japanese Pitching Wedge.

The red Mercedes convertible - top securely up - was parked in the usual shady and secluded spot of the parking lot. A very discreet location where no possible intruder could appear without allowing some beneficial warning. The spot guaranteed seclusion, intimacy and quiet.

She was sitting in the driver's seat reading an action-adventure book of the kind written by retired military officers. I could tell by translating the aura emanating from her delicate head: bored puzzlement, disdain and a Tabasco dash of disgust. Those retired warriors ought to accept Security jobs in two star department stores, play golf or use their travel vouchers. They should not be allowed to write anything longer than a laundry list.

She turned towards me and said:

Love, what the hell is a three pronged Info-ductilliable Model 405 Series EW34-009 Transteroformer with Spectimetrical Megaglicks??

The tone was pure frustration and fury. She continued:

When are they gonna draft these bastards back into KP. They are doing more damage to the civilian population in this country than a Republican majority in the House, Congress and the NAACP.

As soon as I entered the car and sat next to her, her rage turned into the most enticing welcome expressed in glorious smiles, a gentle squeeze of my hand and a soft kiss on the lips. That soft kiss - in a sense the first note of a complex overture - quickly turned into more aggressive mutual savoring, delicate caresses, and the increasing cadence of urgent breathing.

Mercedes Benz has always built excellent cars. This one had, in addition to tinted glass all around, padded automatic luxury seats that allowed tri-dimensional maneuvering to satisfy the most capricious configurations. In short, the damn thing was as comfortable as a triple mattressed double bed! We made use of it. Several times.

A couple of hours and a box of Kleenex later and, after both of us having dozed off in each other's arms, spent and satisfied, we decided to call it a day.

For an old thirty year old, you do quite well - I observed half in jest. She looked at me and in a very serious tone she dropped a bit of information both unexpected and shocking:

Love, I am going to have your baby. I saw the doctor this morning and he confirmed it...

I was speechless. My mind sort of flickered off. With an imperceptible but totally unconscious shake of my head I recovered a long second later.

Don't even think it - she said, It is yours. Bob has been away for the last 4 months. And it is over two years since we were last together. I haven't had any sexual contact with anyone but you. As hard to believe as it may sound, you are the father-to-be!

Well, true. I fell for Anansse the first time I saw her. My daughter, who introduced us, sensed at once that I had, again, been conquered by that indescribable and magnetic essence that some women project. It is like turning on a spectrum of colored lights that only you can see or a haunting melody that only your ears can hear. There is an immediate bridge, unspoken, undefined but intense and certain. It leads to pure love.

Anansse and I enjoyed a most romantic and passionate interlude. The only shadow in an otherwise bright agenda of love and passion was her husband's non-presence. In spite of the total demise of their marriage and the brutal treatment that Bob had inflicted on Anansse, she was forced to observe a minimum of discretion. As the only daughter of a Supreme Court Judge, she had to sacrifice some of her personal integrity to protect the pretense of a marriage of convenience. Her own happiness did not enter into the equation.

His being away almost continuously made things easier for us, but at the same time, it managed to let in a microscopic amount of remorse. This remorse, while insignificant and not wholly justified, was enough to prove to us that we had not lost our decency and could still sense the echoes of our conscience.

Our passion was endless. Often I would meet her for breakfast at one of the more distinguished lounges in the city and, just as often, we could not finish breakfast. We both would begin to feed each other small pieces of this or that and soon our appetite would be replaced by an urge that was impossible to stop. Caresses in public places have always been distasteful to me but such was the fury of our desire that we would not hesitate to rush into the nearest restroom, supply room or closet. It was great!

Of course I never thought I would be in a position to engender children. That vasectomy of long ago and all those modern prevention measures for both sexes had given me a happy and careless demeanor, which, I felt, added to the enjoyment of my relationships and improved my social acceptance.

What are you going to do? - I asked.

She looked at me for a long time. She seemed to be trying to reach the proper neuron cluster in my brain before letting her own thoughts disclose her decision.

I am going to have the baby! Love, it is too precious a gift and I can not think of any argument that can convince me to change my mind.

Tears filled my eyes. She had touched the right combination. Pride, happiness, amorphous joy, they all paraded through me and left me with a sense of wonder. Something akin to shooting substantial sub par golf.

I could not expect any other answer from you, darling Anansse..-- I was finally able to blurt. -- But, how about Bob?

She twisted her solid Gold Bulgari bracelet in a sudden nervous motion. The question, obviously, had been in the front layers of her mind. I could tell that it was a painful moment for her and an anxious one for me. I feared more than anything else that she would allow some unreal sense of responsibility, loyalty, and decency towards Bob to prevail upon her; to push her towards the accepted rigors of modern convention. To tell me that it was all over between us. But my fear was unfounded.

I will just have to tell Bob. And I shall move out this very week. I must put an end to all these years of pretending. He returned yesterday with the usual vodka personality, dead on his feet and barely made it to his room but not without letting me have another of his senseless fit of jealousy. This morning I left early so I really have not had a chance o talk to him. I know he knows that I have reached the end of the rope.

I listened with my heart. My love for Ananssee was such that the thought of losing her could only compare to the loss of my senses. Her determination to end what I considered the tasteless relationship she maintained with an abominable man confirmed my own faith in the love I had patiently inspired in her own heart. In spite of the complications her actions were certain to create, I felt happy. I felt in many ways justified; I also felt the pride of having overcome incredible obstacles to win her love . Ananssee my love, you make me so happy. Doubly happy. It means to me that we can plan our future together; we will have a bond between us and a source of joy.?

Like youngsters, we made plans. After a quick divorce we would be reunited in Geneva and would take up residence there. Geneva had been home to both of us in our separate pasts and had always remained a particular haven in Europe for each of us. I was overjoyed. My mind was already setting up spreadsheets, charts and diagrams about the next few months. Pure bliss!

We kissed each other and she quickly steered the Mercedes out of the parking lot. I started to walk back to the lot in front of the Clubhouse, where my Jaguar and Warren, its keeper, chauffeur and personal assistant, had been waiting for me.

As I reached the entrance to the parking lot, Bob suddenly appeared from behind the hedges bordering the lot. His eyes were red, his hair and face seemed to have been given a vinegar shampoo. He glared at me and quickly stepped in front, blocking my way.

I know all about you and Ananssee, you dirty old bastard!

As he shouted these words, he pulled a gun, shiny and threatening and pointed it at me.

I must admit that with age, my reflexes -- well, some of them -- have slowed down a few notes down the scale. So, if you put together a demented Bob brandishing a gun in front of me and my own inertia as I moved past the hedge, you can see that I stopped rather abruptly and my inseparable Japanese Wedge sort of slipped in front without any conscious effort on my part. The trusty Japanese Wedge hit Bob's hand as he pulled the trigger causing the barrel to move upwards and let go of its mortal message right into Bob's contorted face.

Seconds before, my peripheral vision had detected Warren moving quickly towards us. He witnessed the entire sequence and came immediately to my aid.

Then the police, coroner, officers, witnesses and curious golfers all seemed to materialize and stand around talking about the incident.

After talking to the police and agreeing to be there in an hour?s time, I went to the bar and could not help ordering a double Remy Martin. I felt tired and a little unhappy that this most unfortunate encounter with Bob had temporarily dampened the euphoria Ananssee had produced in me. Warren came after me and gently suggested I leave as soon as I finished the cognac.

As we were leaving the bar, one of the regulars at the bar -- thinking that I could not hear him -- said to Warren:

Make sure you take care of that wedge. If it is as old as his master it may not have many shots left.

Everyone laughed heartily. I stopped and in a loud enough voice so that the rest of the guests at the bar could hear me said:

I heard that. Not to worry. This wedge is only thirty years old. I think I'll retire it when it reaches my age. You see, I will be 85 years old next week

After a career in international corporate business,the author uses humor to describe and comment on people, events and current concerns.