The Slice

Note:  Earlier this week, a friend pointed out that last week's post was problematic in terms of my "style."  The complaint was that the post had a beginning, middle and logical end.  It had plot, form and blah blah blah.  I aim to correct that here, and hope that sort of thing does not happen in future posts.  I apologize for last week.  Here you go:


Not even to the first tee yet, and navigating the carts was already a challenge.  Another day in paradise for The Wallington Foursome.

Ed Wallington, former big fancy CEO was retired on the strength of a lifetime of severance packages.  He was the leader of the four vacationing executives.  Their seven day golf tour took place every February.  It was nice to get away from all the boring lounging around at the country club.  

They'd been coming to this island resort for 5 years now.  It was their favorite.

Joe Sharpe was Ed's best pal and Ed's wary golf cart passenger.

"You got this, Ed?"  Joe laughed, hanging on to the roof handle as Ed swerved, knocking over a bucket of driving range balls.  

"I'm fine.  The day I can't handle a couple Bloody Marys ..."

"Here's your turn, Ed,"  Joe said, just in time for Ed to miss the turn, over-correct,  and sideswipe the sign pointing the way to the tee box.

Driving the cart behind them was Ed's half brother Rocky with Ed's son, Eddy, the 53 year old "semi-retired" heir to Ed's fortune.    

"Hey uncle Rock - looks like dad's already wasted," Eddy said, hoping.  The boy had never beaten his dad.  He'd come close, but the old man had a way of intimidating Eddy into choking away the lead.  But with Dad already hammered, Eddy felt good about his chances.  

"I wouldn't get my hopes up, Jr.  Your old man's a cagey son-of-a-bitch.  He always seems to "miraculously" sober up when there's a buck on the line.  You can't count him out."

By "a buck", Rocky meant "a thousand bucks."  That was the price to play each hole as a member of the Wallington Foursome.  This was Eddy's first year.  The previous regular, "Fat Bill," was unable to make it due to a scheduling conflict with mortality.

Winner of the hole takes $1000 from each of the others.  Ties are carried over and so on.

The first $1000 was wagered on the tee flip.  The foursome stood in a circle while one of them tossed a tee into the air to land at their feet.  Whoever the tee pointed to got the honors and won the first $3000.

It was usually Ed for some reason and today was no exception.

"This must be my lucky day. Again,"  said Ed, as he collected the cash from his grumbling buddies.  He stumbled over to the cart and grabbed his 3-wood.  Hole #1 is long par 3, slightly dogleg left with a beautiful cliff side view of the ocean on the right.

"Dad - are you sure you're ok?"  Eddy had seen his dad drunk many times.  He'd never seen him so red in the face or out of breath.  Maybe age was finally getting to the old man.  Or maybe it was as uncle Rocky said, some kind of ruse.

"You know goddamn well - I'm fine," shouted Ed.  Then, pausing momentarily to catch his breath,  "After I drive this green, You're gonna wish your little snot nose was as alright as mine!"

This brought chuckles from Joe and Rock.  Eddy crossed his arms and stared at his dad.  He hated being called "snot nose."  Just another way the old man could get under his skin.  

Ed approached the tee box with a drunken air of confidence.  He tossed his cigar to the ground and bent over to pluck a few blades of grass, lift them high and let them fall to determine the speed and direction of the breeze.  A slight blowing from the left was exactly what Ed hoped for.  He nodded with satisfaction.  Ed's swing fault caused a slight hook that was perfect for this hole.  He knew the others all tended to fade or slice.  It would be much more challenging for them to get anywhere near the green.

Ed addressed the ball and began to swing but stopped.  A tightening in his chest.  Probably nothing.  Maybe slow down on the drinking for a couple of holes.  He took a moment to recover as Eddy looked over to each of the others to see if he could detect any concern.  They nodded to Eddy to assure the kid the old man was fine.

When he felt ok to continue, Ed took a mammoth swing at the ball.  He knew as his hips thrust toward the target, this was going to be a monster.  Then as his lax arms followed the path his professionally trained body had carved out, a spiky steel clamp clenched his chest.  He lost composure and his hands lost feeling.

The last thing he saw was his Titlist Pro V1 slicing wickedly over the ocean side cliff and his 3-wood tumbling after it, bouncing end over end across the right rough and over the edge of the cliff.

Raucous laughter was immediately followed by shouts and a bunch of fat old executive assholes mourning the loss of their dear, dear friend.  Ed Wallington was dead of a massive coronary event at the age of 78.

Eddy's earlier desire to beat his dad was replaced with guilt so powerful, he wouldn't golf again until later that day. 

~~~

"Wake up, bum.  Hey Nate buddy.  Wake up.  You won the lottery again!"

Nate Keeler was also retired.  Nate Keeler also drank in the morning.  Not Bloody Marys, though. Usually a rum based drink with some citrus in it "for Vitamin C".  Also, Nate didn't golf. He did, however,  live next to a golf course.

Nate did his drinking exclusively at "The Slice."  A great little bar and pizza joint situated right on the beach and backing up against the bottom of the cliff that plateaued  above at the first tee of the island resort golf course.  A long par 3, slightly dogleg left.

It was also Nate Keeler's lucky day.  For the third time since he'd started coming to "The Slice" he'd hit "The Lottery," a daily promotion at the restaurant.  "Get Balled or Get Screwed!"  was the subtitle/slogan of the Bar/Restaurant.

Nate always sat outside in his lucky chair at his lucky table.  The Lottery prize was that Louis would cover your ticket.  Free food and drink for the day.  Louis hated it when Nate won because Nate was Louis's thirstiest customer.

Louis also feared for Nate's health.  Not so much his liver as his head.  Sure, Nate drank way too much liquor, but as a result of his insistence to go for the "free lunch," Nate had already suffered a concussion and a hairline fracture to his left radial bone.

This third time, Louis wasn't sure Nate was going to wake up at all.

This was also the first time Louis had seen it happen.  He was sitting with Nate.  Nate was eating a slice of Louis's world famous breakfast pizza and washing it down with a double Captain and O.J.  when it happened.

"So what's on the agenda today Nate.  Drinking perhaps?  A little surfing later on?"

"You better believe it, Ramrod!"  Nate always called Louis 'Ramrod.'  Nobody knew why.

"I'm gonna get my check today, get the board outta h..."  Konk!

Louis, who'd been barely listening, happened to glance up at Nate just in time to see a nice new Titleist Pro V1 bounce off the side of Nate's head.  Louis flinched.  Nate stopped chewing, dropped his slice of pizza and slammed his head on the table before falling to the ground.

And that was how you win the lottery.  Wayward golf balls regularly pelted Louis's property.  Most folks had the sense to eat on the other side of a net Louis had put up.  But for the daring, if a ball hit you or your table, your bill was on the house.  This is why Nate kept coming back.

"How long was I out this time,"  Nate said as he sat up to his elbows and lifted a hand to rub the knot already forming on his skull.

"I have it at 12 minutes.  A new record for you.  Listen Nate, you gotta stop ..."

"Louis, if you really cared, you'd just give me my food and drink without making me get nailed with golf balls."

"That's true, Nate."  Louis said as he went back inside to clean up some dishes.

Nate then looked up toward the direction of the first tee box.  It could not be seen from his vantage point.  He tipped his glass to the unseen golfer in thanks for the free food and drink.  "May your luck be as good as mine today,"  Nate wished the late Ed Wallington.