The Big Cat Nap

they were boys or girls, rich or poor. Of course, at FCC, those youngsters came from privileged backgrounds, although not all of them lived in happy homes. Susan also would go to the city golf course once a week in the good weather to work with young people who didn’t have two nickels to rub together.
    This concern for others drew Susan and Dr. Yarbrough together. Each had achieved athletic fame in their own sports, which gave them respect from the young and allowed them to reach some kids that others thought unreachable. The interesting thing about both the powerfully built dentist and the gracefully built housewife was they didn’t talk about what they did, even to each other. They just did it.
    Latigo Bly stood in sharp contrast to this. Given his wealth, he supported the Cancer Society, the Multiple Sclerosis Foundation, and the Salvation Army. His name and often his photo were prominently displayed. Nor was he loath to call attention to his acts of charity.
    All three of these golfers lived the good life in their way, but Latigo certainly lived more of it: fast cars, faster women, disgruntled ex-wives. His garage was filled with a Porsche 911, a Camaro, a Mustang convertible, even a Lamborghini. His bed had been filled with female counterparts easy on the eyes, hard on the wallet. His wife, Vivien, instrumental in his success, looked the other way. He loved her, but he used her. Some might define him as narcissistic, others as a man driven to win, to profit.
    Halfway down this snaking fairway, using an eight iron, Dr. Yarbrough ripped a tremendous shot. It arced up like an artillery shell, coming almost straight down next to the pin. A big smile crossed his rugged features.
    “Show-off,” Susan teased, calling from across the fairway.
    She pulled out her seven iron, hit the ball with backspin. It landedon the green, fifteen feet from the pin, but then began to roll backward, stopping a beautiful four feet away. If there was one thing Susan could do, it was read greens.
    Latigo was not as powerful a driver as either Dr. Yarbrough or Susan. He hit the ball, which was about twenty-five yards behind their fairway shots. It was a good, clean shot, landing just in that first halo of taller grass surrounding the green, taller by maybe a quarter of an inch. That quarter of an inch was enough to make the man stare hard at his ball and then hard at the distant pin.
    Golf didn’t take bravery like, say, foxhunting, but it sure could break your heart.
    The remaining four holes played fast. The three, enjoying one another’s company and the lovely light breeze, wrapped up on the eighteenth hole.
    Susan shot a 72. Dr. Yarbrough came in at 75, and Latigo scored a very respectable 82. The three cleaned up, walked up the outside stairway to the nineteenth hole, and sat down for a refreshing drink.
    “That mockingbird put the mojo on my ball.”
    “Latigo, if we were in Florida, you’d say it was an alligator.” Susan gratefully sipped her sweetened iced tea.
    “Well,” the tall fellow drawled, “there are a lot of alligators on the greens down there.”
    “You know, they can run faster than we do,” Dr. Yarbrough noted. “You wouldn’t think it to look at them.”
    “Speaking of alligators …” Latigo looked intently down at his drink while a former affairette swished by, gave him a hard look, sniffed, then continued.
    “Latigo, the lipstick and fingernail polish alone should have put you off.” Susan winked at him.
    “I beg pardon?” Latigo’s eyes opened wide.
    “Black fingernail polish and dark-purple lipstick. What were you thinking?”
    “He wasn’t.” Dr. Yarbrough laughed, and his two companions laughed with him.
    “Purple.” Susan just shook her head. “I will never understand men.”
    Latigo touched her hand with his forefinger. “I think you understand us well enough.”
    “Sometimes I think I do, until my wonderful husband, love him to death, goes into a hardware store. Oh, my God! Hundreds of dollars later, he totters out under the weight of wrenches and screwdrivers.”
    Dr. Yarbrough plucked a menu off the table. “Anyone hungry? On me.”
    Both Susan and Latigo expressed thanks, ordering light salads.
    Harry must have rubbed off on Susan, because she asked Latigo, “You send clients to ReNu. What do you think is going on over there?”
    “I don’t know. Victor doesn’t know. It’s deeply upsetting.”
    “Why do you refer clients to ReNu?” Susan pressed.
    “Good work