The Sand Trap (45 page)

The four men left the dining area by the
beach side and Maria and Burt left by the parking lot side. Maria
comfortably put her arm through Burt’s and they started to walk
back to the golf course. She hadn’t thought anything through yet,
but she did know she had too much to drink to drive the Honda up
the East Coast Road.

The scream was loud and came from the beach
side of the restaurant. Burt and Maria gave each other concerned
looks and they both rushed back into the bar and out onto the
beach. They quickly assessed the scene. Apparently Jan had gone out
to empty the garbage at the side. One of the boys had noticed her
and tried to make a grab for her. Frank must have tried to
intercede and he was now lying on the sand with a bloody nose. The
big guy was standing over him in a half martial arts-half boxing
stance. “Come on fuck up; show me what you’ve got. Are all
Mexican’s wimps like you?” And he pranced back and forth in the
sand with his buddies laughing and encouraging him.

Franks started to get up but Maria rushed to
him. “Stay back Frank. I’ll take care of this,” she ordered. Jan
came over and helped Frank up and they backed into the door of the
dining area while, to Burt’s surprise, Maria went and stood in
front of the guy.

“Go home to bed young man,” she ordered in
heavily Spanish accented English. “You have embarrassed yourself
enough tonight.”

The punch was so fast even Burt had trouble
seeing it. But Maria just gently sidestepped it and the fist hit
dead air.

“You’re so drunk you can’t even hit an old
lady!” one of the others yelled and they all laughed again.

The man feinted with his fist and took a
swing with his foot and Maria just deflected it with her own foot.
She still just stood there looking at him. Suddenly he attacked
with a fury and she went into a crouch and deflected every swing he
sent her way and with one jab put him down in the sand with blood
running from his mouth.

“Holy fuck!” one of the astonished guys
exclaimed. Up to this point Burt had just watched with fascination
while Maria handily put the big one down in the sand. He realized
that her reflexes were incredible. He noticed one of the guys had
quietly circled around behind Maria and clearly intended to hit her
from behind. Just as the guy raised his fist to strike, Burt
stepped over and with one kick to the knee the man was on the
ground howling in pain as he held a dislocated kneecap. By this
time the big guy was back up and the others had joined the fray and
there were arms and feet flying as Burt joined Maria. Maria put the
big one down permanently with a toe to the solar plexus and Burt
used the Wing Chun multiple-fist hit to knock another down gasping
for air. Soon there was only one left standing and as Maria and
Burt stood in their unique but different martial arts stances, he
slowly backed away. Gradually the others pushed themselves up from
the sand and they moved down the beach away from the bar and
restaurant.

The two of them stood there for a moment,
neither knowing quite what to say or do, and then they turned to
each other and gave each other a high five and broke into fits of
laughter.

“That was fun,” Maria smiled at Burt.

“Nice quiet place you have here Frank,” was
all that Burt could say and they all broke into laughter and the
tension of the event was broken.

“How’s your nose?” Maria asked in
English.

“Fine, just a tap … I’ll be OK.”

“Do you think they will come back?” Burt
asked.

“No, I don’t think so. I heard one of them
say they are leaving on the early plane tomorrow so I suspect they
will all soon be passed out on the boat. I’ll call one of my
friends in the Policia and have them watch the boat. If they try
and come over this way they’ll miss their plane with a stay in a
Mexican jail.”

Jan gave each of them a hug. “I don’t
understand how you did it, but thanks. Your next dinner is on
us!”

“It wasn’t anything,” Burt offered. “But
would you do us a favour and not mention this to anyone?” Maria
added an enthusiastic nod.

Frank and Jan agreed they would keep the
event to themselves and only tell the police that some guys were
annoying. They won’t say anything about the fight. That would raise
too many questions for both Maria and Burt.

As they slowly walked arm in arm back to the
golf course they both had many questions.

“Nice kick to that guy’s knee,” Maria
offered. “Where did you learn that?”

Burt was limping visibly. His knee was not
totally healed. Or maybe he was just getting old, he thought.

“Road House,” he responded. “You know.
Patrick Swayze? Sam Elliot took out one of the bad guys with a
sharp kick to the kneecap.”

Maria looked at him with a doubtful
smile.

“How about you? You learn all that in
gardening school?”

“Uma Thurman. Kill Bill.”

They both laughed and the questions were
over as they walked quietly to the entrance to Burt’s apartment.
Nothing was said, no invitation, no modest demurring, as Burt
opened the unlocked door and they went into the living room. Burt
punched in an old B.B. King album on the iPad, turned to her,
bowed, put out his hand and they started to dance slowly to “The
Thrill is Gone.” Before the song was over they were kissing and
Maria tasted beer, tequila and warmth. The last time she was kissed
was with Jose on the seventh tee box at the Puebla golf course and
that was rough and full of adrenalin fueled energy. There was no
warmth or affection in that kiss over two years ago, just an urgent
need for both to wipe out the memory of the previous five minutes.
This was different. It was gentle and passionate, warm and
affectionate, vulnerable and open and she wanted with all her heart
to return it the same way. She had a fleeting thought that none of
this made any sense. She had only known him for a night. He had the
name and history of one of the people she hated most in the world
and she was long past the giddiness of love she figured. But the
thought was very fleeting as they moved to the bedroom and slowly
took off each other’s clothes, crawled into bed together and gently
curled their naked bodies together. She had not felt this safe for
many years and with her head resting on his chest and the strains
of “Stormy Monday Blues” in the background, they both fell into a
deep sleep.

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Three things surprised Burt when he woke
up.

The first was that Maria was already gone.
Not even a note. Had she not felt the same thing as he had? The
second was they had not made love when they went to bed last night
and how wonderful it felt. They had fallen asleep curled up in each
other’s naked bodies. He remembered thinking how good her body felt
for a tall, lanky, angular, bony and muscular fifty-something
woman. The third was that he was surprised at how much his body
hurt. Not only had he taken the odd shot in the brawl last night,
but also he was becoming increasingly aware of some isolated
arthritic spots that were especially bothersome in the morning. His
knee for sure, a couple of fingers, a shoulder he had broken skiing
years ago and the ubiquitous back problems all seemed be flaring up
this morning and reminding him that he would be fifty-nine in two
months. He wondered if carrying off the fifty-two-year old part of
this masquerade might not become the hardest part.

He crawled out of bed, pulled on a pair of
shorts and began his morning ritual. He literally limped over and
put the kettle on before opening the sliding door to his deck. Clad
only in a pair of shorts he went out to the deck and went through
his new morning ritual of Hatha Yoga for the spying eyes that might
be looking. After a Bodum of tea he would go into the bedroom and
privately go through his Wing Chun exercises for half an hour
before breakfast. After the yoga and the Wing Chun his body would
be moving more or less normally. It was a breakfast of fruit and
granola, anything to try and look fifty-two, and out to the range
for his first lesson at 10 am.

Joanna and John were both on the tee
waiting. He told John to just hit some drives to warm up while he
started with Joanna.

“Good morning Joanna. Ready to change your
life?”

“Ha, sure!” she enthusiastically responded,
holding a 7-iron in her hand. ”Do I get to use a golf club
today?”

“Sure. We’ll play a game as well. But let’s
graduate you from the mop to nothing first. Come and stand on the
tee box like you are going to hit a ball.”

He took the iron from her and she stood
facing him.

“OK. Now I want you to pretend you are
standing at the starting box at the top of ski hill ready to race
down. How would you stand?”

Joanna went into a relaxed crouch, hands out
front holding two imaginary ski poles.

“Good. So the first thing I want you to do
before each shot is to take this stance. I can describe what you
are doing if you want, but you already teach it in skiing. Athletic
stance, knees bent, shoulders a little forward and weight balanced
over the balls of your feet. It is the same stance for hitting a
golf ball, so just start with that.”

Joanna stood there bouncing on the balls of
her feet.

“Now. Hang your arms down; just let them
hang loose from your shoulders.”

Joanna complied and her hands hung down over
her toes.

Burt took the club and handed it to her grip
first.

“Keep your left hand in that hanging
position and grab the club.”

She grabbed the club with her left hand.

“Now without moving the left hand or its
hanging position bring the right hand over and grip the club.”

Joanna did it perfectly. She kept her left
hand and shoulder position and lowered her right shoulder to grip
the club with her right hand. She used a ten finger grip but other
than that she was now in picture perfect position to swing the
club.

“That’s all there is to it Joanna. You are
now a golfer. Stand up, walk away and now come back and tell me the
four steps to get ready to hit the ball.”

She turned away and faced him again.

“Racing stance. Arms dropped like a monkey.
Left hand grip. Bring right hand over,” she announced as she
repeated the moves.

“Perfect!” Burt announced as he put a tee in
the ground. “Now I want you to take this stance, pretend you are
swinging that wet mop and hit this tee.” He watched her do it
several times. She was still awkward but had the basic movements
down. “Do that for ten minutes and I’ll be back.” And he left her
to go to John.

“Morning John! How were the movies?”

“Morning Burt. I watched them. I recognized
five of them; the sixth I had never heard of.”

“It doesn’t matter who they are. What two
things could you learn from watching them?” Burt asked.

“Well, first, you can have a very unusual
swing and still be good at golf! I mean Arnold Palmer doesn’t look
like the golf digest centre fold, but you can’t quibble with
success.”

“Ok, that’s one. Good. That guy you didn’t
recognize has the most unique swing of the ones I gave you to look
at, but he has been called one of the most precise ball strikers of
all time. I showed these particular golfers to you for two reasons.
One is what you suggested. They have different swings, not the kind
that would get described in Golf Instruction Annual. What they can
teach you in particular is that it is important to find the swing
that is comfortable to you, not for imaginary golf announcers. The
second is that all four of these golfers make great use of their
complete body when they strike the ball. They have shorter
backswings but put the full right side of the body into the hit.
Just like a good slapshot. That is what you need to work on,
especially since like most golfers; your body looks more like The
Walrus than Tiger Woods. All I want you to do is get comfortable
before you hit. Stand at the ball the way you want to, not the way
a golf magazine tells you. Then, pretend every shot is a slapshot.
So try that for a while and see what happens.”

For the rest of the hour Burt went back and
forth between the two, adding a traditional grip to Joanna’s lesson
and only suggesting to John that he kick his knee into the ball as
he hits it. Then he took them both out onto the golf course.

He told Joanna that for the next month of
golf she was to tee up every shot, even those on the fairway, and
to just pick the ball up when she had enough on any hole. He even
told her to just throw it out of the sand trap once. The goal of
her game, he told her, should be to have fun, not follow the rules.
At the end of the round she gave him a hug and said she could
hardly wait to get out again she had so much fun.