Getting Old Is The Best Revenge
Margaret Dery Sampson, fifty-four, always said the seventeenth hole would be the death of her and she was right.
Let’s not mince words. Margaret cheated at golf. After all, being wealthy (inherited, not earned) meant being entitled. It meant always getting what she wanted. And what she wanted was to break the women’s record for the course. Always so close. She had a feeling today would be the day.
She was with her usual perfectly coiffed and outfitted foursome. Rich women who played every Friday at the exclusive West Palm Beach Waterside Country Club. It was a beautiful, perfect Florida day. The lawns glistened in the sunlight. The weather not too muggy. She was playing brilliantly. All was right in her world.
One of Margaret’s techniques for enjoying the game was to golf only with women who played less skillfully than she did, and were easily intimidated.
She knew her caddy saw through her, but didn’t care. He was the caddy everyone wanted, so she paid triple in order to get him at her convenience. He was worth it. The money bought his loyalty. When things went wrong, she would blame him. He played his role very well, look sheepish and admit his "errors."
So here was the dreaded seventeenth hole and all she needed was a bogie. Unfortunately, here too was a troublesome serpentine water hazard. She routinely selected her best balls for this hole but that never helped. Invariably she’d hook the ball before it cleared the water, and land in the trees. Today was no different. With angry, imperious strides, she marched into the foliage, leaving behind her the timid catcalls of the gals. "Meggie’s done it again!"
As her caddie was about to follow, she waved him off.
Yes, Margaret thought, I’ll get out of it! No way would she take a penalty.
Dismayed, she saw her ball wedged hopelessly in a clump of decaying turf. Without hesitation, she kneeled to pick it up.
"Naughty, naughty," a strong baritone voice chastised. Startled, Margaret looked up to see a pair of snappy
argyle socks at her eye level. She got up slowly, preparing her defense. When she saw all of this other golfer, her expression turned to happy surprise.
"Well, look who’s here. I didn’t know you belonged to our club..."
Abruptly, he grabbed her, pulling her against him as with one hand he shoved a hypo needle in her arm, the other, pressed over her mouth. Moments later, she stopped struggling and sank down onto the dark and mossy rough.
Her last dying thought was if only she’d used the three iron instead of a wood...
One parting shot was irresistible. "Sorry I’m about to ruin your day, Meggie, old thing. You shouldn’t toy with a man’s game."