“I’m sorry to interrupt you,” said somebody from behind him.
Wayne turned, annoyed, to face the discourteous speaker. It
was a woman.
“But could you show me how to do that?” she continued.
Wayne evaluated her quickly. She was young and pretty, and
her clothes and clubs suggested that she’d spent a good deal of money to be
properly outfitted. Her nervous bearing, however, indicated that, although she
might look the part, experience was severely lacking. He decided to forgive her
error in etiquette.
“What’s your name?” he asked, before answering her question.
“Emma Conner,” she told him. “I’d like to learn,” she said. “The
lady in the clubhouse told me that you occasionally taught lessons.”
“Did she, now?” said Wayne. “The lady behind the counter
told you that?”
Emma nodded. She tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Wayne readjusted his hat. “She’s my wife,” he said.
“So, could you teach me?” Emma pressed. “I’m a quick
learner.”
“I suppose,” Wayne agreed. “How about you set up in the box
beside me, here, and try to hit a couple. I can take a look and see what we’re
working with.”
She hurried to do so, while Wayne looked back towards the
clubhouse. It was true that he’d once given lessons, but the last time had been
ten years before. He wondered what his wife was up to with this suggestion.
“Ok, I’m ready,” said Emma excitedly, addressing the ball
with an entirely incorrect stance.
Wayne returned his attention to her. “Go for it.”
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