Sick as a Dog

"Bastard broke his leg," Steve said into the phone.

"You act like he did it on purpose," I said.

"The dumbass was up on a ladder painting his house on his freakin' vacation."

"I painted my house one vacation."

"Then you're a dumbass, too. And you don't even have a wife making you do that kind of stuff."

"Doug never seemed to mind keeping the peace with his wife."

"Jesus, you've seen Barbara. What a cow. You keep the peace with your wife so you can get a piece, you know, but with her, why care? Anyway, you're a lousy golfer, Paul, but I need you to complete this foursome." Steve was crazy about golf. When he wasn't at work, he was on the golf course.

"Since you make me feel so special, I guess I'll have to."

"We tee off at nine."

After I hung up the phone I wondered whether the golf game was Steve's ruse to find out what I'd been up to. Steve was one of the other partners at our engineering firm and I'd felt like going into the office only three days the past month.

*

In the locker room at the country club the next morning, Steve said, "So you decide to go into semi-retirement? That's the word at the office." Then he gently shut his locker and said almost in a whisper, "You aren't sick, are you?"

"Sick?"

"Yeah. That's one of the rumors about you."

"Why would people think I was sick?"

"You look kind of sick."

"I do?"

"Yeah. Kind of. You're just kind of hangdog, as my old daddy used to say."

"I'm not sick. Maybe I'm shacked up with a University of Memphis co-ed."

"No. Everybody's more likely to think you've got cancer."

"I don't have cancer. I'm fine."

"Okay. I'm glad to hear it." He patted my shoulder. "I mean it. You're not just a partner. You're a buddy. A lousy golfer but a buddy nevertheless."

One of the other members of our party was a dentist named Dick. Dick The Dentist was an even worse golfer than I was. Short, chubby, bald, he limped into the locker room, licking his lips and rubbing his face. His eyes were bloodshot.

Steve said, "You look like hell, Dick."

"I feel like hell. Too much brandy and too much Eve Shillington." What little hair he had was coal black, thanks to Grecian Formula.

"George Shillington's widow? You going out with old Eve?" Steve asked.

I had vaguely known George Shillington, who had died a couple of years ago when his private plane crashed in Colorado. He had been a bigwig defense attorney in Memphis. In private, George would say that no rich man should go punished for his sins. Eve was fifty-something but was very thin and had been part of the generation that thought a deep tan was vital to a person's social standing. So now she looked sixty-something.

Dick The Dentist grinned big as if to show off his little rat-like teeth. "We're not going out much of anywhere."

I cruelly thought, Yeah, keep her hidden.

Steve was always a little slow, so he asked, "What do you mean? You said too much brandy and too much Eve? You sit around at her place drinking?"

"Drinking. Screwing. Mostly screwing."

"You dog you," Steve said, grinning.

"She's very needy. I don't think George ever gave it to her much."

"Yeah, but George always had those paralegals who looked like Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders."

"Well, I do the best I can to make the old gal happy." Dick was flexing his pudgy fingers as if he were squeezing tomatoes, and I couldn't help imagining Eve Shillington's shriveled breasts in his hands. I shook my head to get rid of the image. Finally, Dick acknowledged me. "Hey, Paul, I heard you were getting chemo."

"I'm not sick. I'm fine."

"Good. Glad to hear it."

"Congratulations on your relationship with Eve," I said.

"Yeah," Steve said, "nothing like marrying a wealthy nympho."

"Don't get carried away, you guys. I'm just screwing her."

Then I heard my name, and I was surprised to see Howard walk in. Tall, gangly, smiling. We shook hands. I hadn't seen him since his wedding a month before.

"I'm good. I'm good," Howard said.

I said, "Everything all right with . . . you know?" Howard's new bride was half his age, a situation that concerned me from the start of their relationship.

"Oh, yeah, Moon is great." Then his face burst into an incredibly radiant smile, and he spread his arms wide. "She's pregnant! We're pregnant!"

"Well, congratulations!" I shook his hand again.

"What the hell's going on?" Dick said, insulted that he was in the dark as to somebody's personal life.

"I got married last month, Dick. And now I'm going to be a daddy."

"You're already a daddy. Don't you have daughters who are about thirty?"

"Well, Dick, see, men can reproduce even after fifty. Even sixty or seventy or eighty."

"Yeah, yeah. I get the Discovery Channel, too. Who's this babe you married?"

"Her name is Moon."

"Moon? Her name is Moon? As in ass? And she's young enough to get knocked up?"

"Obviously." Howard was changing into his golf clothes now. His locker was open and he hung up his street clothes. Dick was rubbing his jaw, thinking. "Does this Moon chick have a job or you footing the bill for everything?"

"She works at the Dollar Store in West Memphis. She's the assistant manager."

"Oh. I see." Dick was frowning, thinking hard, bursting with the need to advise. Finally he burst. "You know, Howy, this chick is after child support. You know that, don't you? Alimony and child support."

Howard shook his head, smiled condescendingly at Dick. "You don't know shit, Dick."

"That's what these little chicks are after. They see a successful older guy like you and they see dollar signs."

Howard slammed his locker and glared at him.

"Hey, guys," Steve said, stepping in between them. "Don't ruin my golf game. Come on. Let's tee off."

*

When we all made it to the first green, Howard was still glaring at Dick. I said to Howard, "Dick is a real asshole. Don't pay any attention to him."

"I know. I know."

Dick missed his fourth putt. Steve's face was red from laughing so hard. "I blame it on Eve," Dick said.

"Everything is okay between you and Moon, right?" I asked Howard. I couldn't help thinking myself that Howard's whole marriage was risky business.

He looked at me and smiled. "I wish I had met her thirty years ago."

"She wasn't born yet."

"Well, yeah, but you know what I mean. We're great together. I can't believe it some times, but we really are great together. I'm happy, Paul. I'm really happy."

"I'm happy for you, buddy."

"Hey, by the way, Moon says hi."

"Tell her I say hi too."

"And Amanda says hi."

"You've seen Amanda?"

"Yeah. Moon and I ran into her at McDonald's a couple of days ago. Her and her husband."

"Her husband?"

Dick had finally made his putt and shouted triumphantly, "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Jesus, I'm sounding like Eve last night."

"Yeah," Howard continued. "His name's Kenny."

"I guess they're back together."

"That's what I thought."

"Yeah, obviously. Well, that's good. Tell her I'm glad."

"Jesus, Paul, you look yellow. You going to puke?"

I shook my head. "I'm okay. I'm not sick."

Steve and Dick had come over to us where we were standing by our four-person golf cart. We got in and Steve drove.

Dick and I were in the back. My chest felt tight as a drum. I wasn't breathing well. I wondered whether I was about to have a heart attack.

Howard turned around. "Anyway, that's what I thought too," he said to me.

"What?" I said. The whole golf course looked fuzzy. I struggled to take in a breath.

"I thought she and her husband were back together. Later Moon told me Kenny came up from Little Rock and was trying to get back with Amanda, but she wouldn't have it."

I looked at Howard. "She wouldn't?"

"In fact, Moon said Amanda filed divorce papers about a month ago. The Monday or Tuesday after Moon and I got married."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I think the divorce papers spooked Kenny and got him thinking he wanted to get back with her."

Dick had to chime in. "Hey, what are you guys talking about?" The cart stopped and we got out.

"Paul met this great girl at my wedding."

"Jesus, you're not seeing some gold digger, too, are you?"

"No," I said. "No, Dick."

Howard said to Dick, "He told her it wouldn't work out. The putz."

Dick slapped me on the back. "Good going, Paul. That's the way to do it. Fuck 'em and forget 'em."

I looked at Dick showing off his little rat teeth, and I said, "You know what, guys. I don't mean to spoil this. But I'm not really up for it."

"You sick?" Steve asked.

"No. I'm just going to walk back to the clubhouse. I feel like walking. I don't feel like golf. But I feel like walking. Sorry."

Steve was just about the saddest looking person I had ever seen. "Ah, come on, Paul! Don't do this to me!"

"Sorry, Steve. I'm just not up to it." I shouldered my bag, and as I started off, I heard Dick say, "Rumor I heard is he's got only six months left. Tops."