Betsy - Reawakened Ch. 16

"No. It's out on the course too. I gave you eleven," he said as he changed the number in the book next to Darren's name, doing it in red ink so he'd know he was the one to alter the record. "This isn't that hard. I don't know what's going on with her. Or where she even is."

She came scrambling down the hallway a moment later, looking disheveled. Her hair was a mess, her skin flushed. She'd obviously been sweating. Her blouse was untucked from her skirt, which was slightly askew. She hurried through the gate at the bar, reporting to her position.

"Sorry, Joel."

"That's four weeks in a row, Margaret. Where in the world have you been hiding?"

"Hiding? I was hardly hiding. Who said I was hiding!?" she answered defensively, her voice rushed. Pointing at Darren, she snapped, "Was it him!?"

"I'm sorry?" Darren said, shaking his head in disbelief that he'd just been dragged into a boss-employee conversation.

"This is because of what your wife said, isn't it!"

"Um, I'm not sure what Betsy has to do with this. I'm just trying to get the key to cart fifteen like the book said. I rang the bell a couple of times... and then I went to get Joel. How long is a person expected to wait, because I thought ten minutes was a bit excessive."

"I... I have other responsibilities besides just manning the desk, Darren."

"I'm really not sure why I'm getting a lecture, Margaret. I simply wanted the key to my cart. Which isn't here, by the way."

"What!?"

Joel stepped in, deciding it time to finally establish he was the boss and in control, even though he hadn't shown it this far.

"Where were you, Margaret?"

"I... uuuh... I... I was in the banquet hall. They needed napkins for the pool snack bar."

"Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What?"

"The napkins," he replied in confusion. "How can you be gone that long just to get napkins and you don't even bring them back with you? What were you really doing?"

She blushed, but stood her ground. "I had to restack a bunch of things in the supply closet to get to them. Then I had to put everything back once I got the carton out. I must have just forgot to pick them up when I finished. I was in a rush to get back here."

"That's four weeks in a row you've disappeared on a Saturday on me, Margaret. You know Saturday's are my biggest sales day in the pro shop during the week. I can't do my job if I have to keep doing yours. And you're not even doing that. You've got the cart assignments all messed up again."

"Look, it's not my fault that there's no room for storage out here," she complained, trying to deflect blame.

"You're the manager of this area, Margaret. You couldn't do inventory of what they'll need on a weekend on Friday? And you're glossing over the carts being mis-assigned again."

"Okay, a cart is a cart," she said dismissively.

"Holy shit," Darren said out loud, not believing what he'd heard. Joel was about to come unglued, his anger rising quickly. Darren saw it and said, "Step out and get a breath of fresh air, buddy. You don't want to say anything while you're angry."

"Do you mind explaining to her just how idiotic that statement was!" he growled as he took Darren's advice as left.

"I don't understand. Why is he so upset?" she wondered.

Darren looked at her and said, "I'm going to ignore your attempt to draw me wife into whatever you're doing. Obviously your boss isn't happy with you right now. And I hope you recognize that Joel is actually your boss. It's not Bill Courtney. Joel is the one signing your checks."

"Bill is the chairman of the board. He's in charge."

"Not according to the bylaws. He's elected, and he and the other board members make policy decisions, with a consensus vote. But Joel runs the club. He's the one we look to as far as the day to day operations. You might want to be careful and just do what he asks."

"I do."

"Not if you're making asinine comments about a cart being a cart."

"But they are. What's the big deal?"

"I refuse to believe you're that dense, Margaret."

"There's no need for insults, Darren."

"I'm not insulting you. You're a very bright woman. I'm not sure what has you so preoccupied, but a cart is not a cart. It's no different than my job. A truck is not a truck."

"Your job?"

"Let me try to explain. I have a fleet of nine trucks. I have eight drivers. Each driver has their own truck, assigned to them by a number, just like a cart. Once every eight weeks, a driver will drive that spare truck so I can have the one they drive go into the shop for regular maintenance. Every week, the drivers sign out the truck they're issued, even if it's the one normally assigned to them. They are responsible for that piece of equipment while the are working. The company pays for all the tags, and insurances, and their fuel. But they are responsible for the truck itself while they have it. If I notice damage beyond normal wear and tear, I'll know who had it. And if I see trends, like a driver that's being careless, I have an avenue that will open up a discussion. It's kind of the same thing here."

"I don't understand."

"The course carries insurance, on the carts, and on the people that are in the carts in case there's a malfunction. Joel tries to rotate the carts just like I do my trucks so he can do maintenance on them. They're gas powered. They have engines that need oil checked. Tires that need maintained. He's trying to even out the use of the carts so that they all don't wear out at once. He gets a few new carts each year, and sells the oldest ones. But the oldest ones won't be the oldest from a usage standpoint if the newer ones are used more often than they should be. He uses that book to monitor how many rounds they've been used."

"Oh. Well why didn't he say so?"

"Because that's not the main reason you should be following his instructions, besides the fact that he's your boss and that's what he wants. The main reason is that it assigns a actual person to a cart."

"And that's important why?"

"I'm playing with Keith Edmonson today in my foursome. I'm here first, so I'm getting the cart. By my signing that book, I'm stating that I am assuming responsibility for the cart. I'm going to drive it. I'm not going to let a minor drive it. If there's any unreasonable damage, it's on me to pay for it. I'm signing a contract of sorts. In return, it covers me and the club from an insurance perspective. If I'm assigned and signed for cart fifteen, and I'm driving eleven when something bad happens, that gives the insurance company a reason not to pay out when they conduct an audit."

"I didn't know any of that."

"You should. It's in your job description, which you have a copy of."

"How do you know that?"

"Because I've read it."

"Why would you be reading my job description?"

"To see if it states in there anywhere that you have the authority to change the bylaws of the club. You don't. I also checked to see if you are responsible for the proper attire rule being enforced in the clubhouse. You're not, even though Betsy was well within them."

"So this is about your wife."

"No. That'll happen soon, though. I promise. I'll be talking to my lawyer on Monday. But today I just want to play golf. I hope you start having a better day, Margaret," he said as he walked outside.

Joel was at the end of the sidewalk, smoking a cigarette. Darren walked up next to him and said, "All taken care of."

"Really? I was kidding."

"It was no problem. I used how I run my fleet as a comparison."

"She already knows why we do it. I'm not sure what is going on with her. She used to be great."

"It has something to do with Bill Courtney. I just can't prove it."

"That's what Betsy was saying yesterday. She certainly has a hatred for the man."

"Hey, about yesterday."

"Yeah... I was wondering when you were going to get around to grilling me about that."

"I'm not going to talk about whatever you did with my wife. If she wants me to know, she'll tell me. You must have been to her liking though. She would have told me if you got out of line or disrespected her in some way."

"I would never do that, Darren."

"Word to the wise?"

"Yeah... sure."

"If you want her to let you fuck her again, you might want to consider quitting smoking. She hates it. She tolerates it socially, but you won't find her associating with anyone intimately if they smoke cigarettes. She might accept other forms of smoking, but not that one."

"Other forms?"

He shied away from mentioning her new love of marijuana. Instead he said, "She doesn't seem as bothered by cigars. And she actually likes the smell of a pipe... but I know cigarettes are a turn-off for her. So if you want a repeat, that's my advice."

"So, you're saying I can fuck her again?"

"Absolutely not. I'm saying that you fall within the rules I've given her for playing outside our marriage. It's totally up to her if she wants to let you. That's why I'm giving you the free advice. It's her body to give away, as long as she follows my rules. If she doesn't, I'll be dealing with her, not the person she broke them with. She understands that."

Joel dropped the half-smoked cigarette onto the pavement, stepping on it to put it out.

"I've been looking for an excuse to quit anyway. This seems like the best reason ever. Still, I want to thank you for... "

Darren stopped him and said, "Actually, I meant what I said. I didn't want to discuss what you did with Betsy. I wanted to thank you for what you did for Neil. It was incredible. You've really turned him on to the game."

"I think a lot of it comes from your family. Gene is a big part of it. But, you're welcome. He's really a great kid, Darren. He's going to be a hell of a golfer if he sticks with it."

"That's what I wanted to talk about. I want you to keep taking him out on the course on Friday's."

"You do?"

"Absolutely. I talked to him about lowering his score by using course management. He actually understood the concept really well. I want to keep building on that. Where to approach from. Hitting to comfortable distances for the next shot. Looking at the pin placement. Being below the hole. All of that stuff."

"I want to work with him on the ball being above or below his feet. I can't teach that on the range."

"So you'll do it?"

"Absolutely. Like I said, he's a great student. And he's funny. He's got your sense of humor."

"And his mother's sarcasm. It's a lethal combination. Be careful."

"Ha! Okay. As for the other thing we're not talking about... I'm going to find a way to properly thank you."

"Treat her with respect. Let her lead. If you do, that's all the thanks I need. That and a nice bottle of scotch."

"Done," he chuckled.

They stood there, Darren waiting for his playing partners to arrive. He still had twenty minutes until his tee time, so he wasn't all that worried. But he was excited to play.

Joel was talking about one of Neil's better holes when they saw Bill come out of the far entry door of the banquet hall. It was a door that was generally only open for banquets, wedding receptions and golf outings, none of which were occurring at the moment.

"What in the world is he doing?" Joel wondered.

"He's coming to talk to me, about Betsy."

Sure enough, Bill was making a beeline for Darren when he saw him talking with Joel.

"I mean what was he doing in the banquet hall?"

"I dunno. Looking for napkins?"

"Darren! Darren Thomas! I need to talk to you!" he called out from a distance, trying to sound authoritative.

As he approached closer, Darren noticed it, doing a double take. "Do you see his pants?" he whispered to Joel.

"The idiot left his zipper down," he laughed.

"Not what I'm talking about ... but close," he grinned. "This is going to be fun." He waited until Bill got to them, unwilling to have a discussion from thirty yards away.

"Darren, I'd like to talk."

"You'd like to, or you need to?"

"What?"

"You yelled that we needed to, just so everyone in the parking lot could know Mr. Club Chairman is on the job. Now that you're within striking distance, you'd just like to talk. Which is it?"

"Is that some kind of a threat?"

"No. I did promise you if you ever touched either of my kids like you did Gene, I'd deck you. I meant that. But I didn't think I'd have to mention my wife in that promise because she can handle herself."

"Nevertheless, I'd like to talk to you about..."

"No, I mean it. She'd kick your ass. Look, whatever you'd like to discuss will have to wait, Bill. I'm heading back to the practice green. I've got a tee time in a little bit. But if you're going to bring up anything that happened between my wife and Margaret, I'd suggest you stay out of it. I am."

"I'm in charge here."

"No you're not. He is," he said, pointing at Joel. "You're just one of seven board members. No different than the other six. Chairman means you get to bring a monthly meeting to order. You can't do shit without a majority vote, which in case you don't know, you don't have anymore. Not with the new members that came on board in January."

"Well I don't know where you're getting your information, but... "

Darren held up his hand, Bill stopping mid sentence. "I wouldn't go there."

"What?"

"That train you're on is about to run out of track, buddy."

"I don't understand."

"Let me say this as politely as I can. You weren't there. I wasn't there. My wife was, and Margaret was. It's between them. You should leave it that way, and hope things don't get worse for you. I've tried to calm Betsy down about this, but I'm afraid Margaret pissed off the wrong woman. Her mind is made up."

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, good. You cursed at me, using the same word Betsy allegedly said to Margaret. Joel, you heard that, didn't you?"

"Yep. Loud and clear."

"Betsy did say that!"

"And how would you know that? Or anything else that happened?"

"Because Margaret told me."

"She told you. Instead of her boss, like she's supposed to? Shocking that she would bypass the proper chain of authority and go to a board member. Shocking."

"My people can come to me if they feel they need to."

"Your people? It's not a kingdom. You're not a monarch. You're a used car salesman, for Christ's sake. You've got four bosses over you at the dealership."

"I don't see how my job relates to this."

"Because you have small dick syndrome. You're trying to make up for the size of your pecker by pretending you're important here. You're not."

"Why I oughta... "

"You're not gonna do shit, Bill. But now I am. I was actually going to try and talk Betsy out of seeing our lawyer over the bylaws. Vivi is forty minutes north of here, and I thought it was a waste of a trip. But I'm heading up that way Monday. I'm going to stop by myself and have a chat with Miss Benson and drop off the club rule book. Then, I'll be seeing you at the next board meeting. Although that's probably better than you facing Betsy. You should stick with me. She's way out of your league, pal."

"What makes you say that?"

"Trust me, the last thing you want is a showdown with her. You'll already lose facing me, but Betsy will not only make you eat the shit you're shoveling, she'd go out of her way to embarrass your sorry ass in front of everyone for making her have to defend herself. Or did you not get told that part by Margaret?"

"Margaret didn't say anything about your wife, other than how she was treated by her."

"Again, you and I weren't there. We don't know for sure what happened. No lawyer in their right mind would argue that. It's she said, she said."

"Well I'm not afraid of your lawyer Darren. That's for sure."

"I would imagine not. You've got a lot bigger things to be concerned about. Your marriage, for one. Tell me, does your wife know you're having an affair?"

"What!?" he said with a panicked voice.

"Yeah. I'm on to you. There's a couple of reasons how I know you have a small dick, Bill. One, no matter how much you've sweated on the golf course or the tennis court, you don't shower in the men's locker room. That's telling, but doesn't actually prove anything. I don't always shower here myself. I only do if I have to be somewhere else before going home. But I also know it's true, because I can't believe for a second that the person you're fucking can deep throat a big cock like Betsy can. Not in a million years. So by default, you have to have a small one."

Bill skipped over the insult, honing in what he'd said about Betsy. "So you're calling your wife a whore?"

"Not in the least. She's more of my slut, to be honest. But she's a proud slut, and I'm proud of her for being one."

"I... really don't get where you're going with this. You literally just called your wife a slut."

"I'm not calling her anything she hasn't called herself. Again, I'm proud of who she is, sexually and otherwise. Or relationship isn't for everybody, but it works for us. I doubt your wife will say the same of you when she finds out you've been screwing around on her."

Joel spoke up, saying, "Darren, careful. That's a pretty serious accusation."

"It's not an accusation. It's a fact."

"It's a lie! I'll sue you for liable," Bill threatened.

"Bill, just because you choose to ignore the facts does not mean they cease to exist."

"Facts? What facts? You're talking bullshit right now, trying to deflect blame away from what your wife said to Margaret!"

"I'll give you four facts, Bill. One, you should probably learn to pull up your zipper after getting a blowjob. Two, if you're going to wear tan pants, you should probably tell the woman giving you the blowjob not to wear lipstick. Three, that lipstick shouldn't have been the exact same distinctive shade of magenta that Margaret is wearing right now... because it's currently all over the crotch of your pants. And four, you shouldn't get caught coming out of the back door of the banquet hall that's supposed to be locked, right after Margaret came out the other door, trying to put her skirt back in place. My guess is it started with a blowjob, but you ended up fucking her. But the blowjob definitely happened."

"What?" he said softly, looking down at his pants.

"It all makes sense now. How else would you explain all the things she's been telling you? There had to be a reason. She wants you to fuck her in return. It's quid pro quo."

Joel looked at Bill's pants more closely, right after he pulled up his zipper. "Well fuck me! She's been screwing you on the job. No wonder she's been disappearing on Saturday's. How long has this been going on Bill? I know it's been at least a month."

"Wh... what are you takin about Joel? You don't believe this asshole, do you?"

"For fucks sake, Bill! Her lip prints are literally around your goddamn zipper! How can you seriously expect me to believe there's another explanation? It doesn't take Hercule Poirot to solve the mystery. Inspector Clouseau could figure it out."

"Wow, nice reference," Darren laughed.

"Thanks."

Bill said nothing. Instead he shuddered, then backed away, walking quickly toward the club house. Darren couldn't resist yelling, "Nice talk, Bill. Best of luck explaining that to the wife!"

Joel shook his head in disbelief. "You need to wish me luck. I might be firing Margaret before the day is over. I've got to talk to Chris Concord."

"Chris. Why?"

"He's my liaison with the board. Part of the Secretary's responsibilities. And he'd be the one to contact our lawyer if it gets messy."

"What was that thing you said about her doing it on the job? No offense, but how is that any different than what you did with Betsy?"

"I'm not on the clock."

"I don't follow."

"My position is salaried, like I assume yours is. I get paid the same if I work fifty hours a week or the eighty plus I put in last week. Frankly, they couldn't afford me if they paid me hourly."