Free This One Is Mine: A Novel by Maria Semple Page B

time we’re going to be shooting for that badass putter.”
    “It’s an eighty-dollar Callaway.”
    “I’m good for the money.” Teddy turned to Violet. “You got eighty bucks?”
    “I got eighty bucks.”
    “One putt,” said the man. “Eighty bucks or the putter.” He went through the usual tortured deliberations and stood over his ball. Just as he was about to hit it, Teddy said, “You ever watch
The Partridge Family
?”
    “What?” asked the man.
    “I used to love that show when I was a kid. Especially the end, where Keith would sing the song. Then, one night, I’m sitting there watching the one where they all go to SeaWorld. And at the end, the mom starts walking around Shamu’s tank, singing a love song about
whales
. The song ends, and I’m waiting for Keith to start singing, you know, the
real song
with his brothers and sisters. Then you know what happens?”
    “What?”
    “The show ends,” Teddy said. “That was the song! The mother singing to a goddamned whale!”
    “What’s your point?” asked the man.
    “It’s just fucked up, is all.”
    The man took his shot.
    As the ball swerved right, Teddy said, “Yippee kay yay!” The man hurled his club to the ground.
    It was Teddy’s turn. He picked up the putter, then stood over the ball. He turned his head to either side to loosen up his neck. He took an exaggerated backstroke, froze, then looked up at Violet. “This one’s for you, baby.” He hit the ball. Violet locked eyes with Teddy. Her father, her education, her husband, her career, motherhood, it all molted away. For this, Violet had driven through red lights, eyes closed. She looked. Teddy didn’t have to. His ball was rattling in the cup.
    “Jesus fuck me!” cried the man. He wheeled his bag away. “Fucking hustler.”
    Teddy turned to Violet. “Jesus fuck me? I’ll have to remember that one.” He handed Violet the club. “My gift to you, Baroness.”
    “In other words, you
do
know how to play golf.”
    “I shoot low seventies. When I was a kid, I spent all day on the links. My uncle was a greenskeeper at a public course and got me on the Junior Circuit. I placed top ten in enough tournaments to earn a golf scholarship to USC.”
    “I didn’t know you went to SC.” Violet sat down on a bench. “What did you major in?”
    “I only lasted a semester. Not even. Couldn’t deal with all those rich assholes. By Thanksgiving I was shooting up every day and stopped showing up for classes.”
    “But you could play professionally now, right? I mean, what was that?” She pointed to the putting green.
    “That, my friend, was hustling.” Teddy stood with one foot on the bench beside her. “That guy, I watched him. He’s probably not a bad player. But when I asked him to putt me for the hole, everything about him changed. Sure, he made the shot, but I could tell he was feeling the heat. You want me to drop some science on you?”
    “Go ahead, drop some science.”
    “When there’s something on the line, when there’s real heat, I play better than my abilities. Good players, even world-class sticks, can’t do that.”
    “Can I just say, that was one of the coolest things I’ve ever experienced. And this from someone who saw the Clash at Bonds in ’81.”
    Teddy took a seat beside her. Their legs touched, and stayed touched. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done to me?” he asked.
    Violet braced herself. What he said next would lock them into a marvelous adventure, their future together, with Teddy calling the shots. “What?” she asked.
    “Do you know what I’m going to spend all night doing?”
    “Tell me.”
    “A tenth-step inventory.”
    “A . . . what?”
    “An inventory. The tenth step: ‘continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.’”
    “But — you didn’t drink.”
    “You don’t have much experience with alcoholics, do you?”
    “My father was a drunk and died from it, if that’s what you mean.”