Chapter 5

The final day of the Hammond tournament was Sunday, July 2. Tess and I had already agreed that we wouldn't start back to North Carolina until the following morning.

As one of the scoring leaders, Tess' Sunday round wouldn't begin until around 1 p.m. It would be late in the day before anything was decided.

First-place money in Hammond was $10,500 -- a little above-average for the Futures Tour, and up slightly from previous years. Second place was $7500. After that, the dollar awards dropped off quickly, with even some of the women finishing in the top ten barely able to recapture basic expense money.

Well, nobody was crying crocodile tears for Tess. With her wealthy father's backing, she was living better than most of her competitors on the Tour. Only a smattering of the touring pros traveled with their own caddies, or in their own vehicles. When a player did have her own caddie, it was usually the woman's father, or some other family member, who filled the role of caddie/escort on the Tour.

But Tess was going first-class. Not that I was exactly the last word in pro golf caddies. But I was her non-relative, live-in caddie/driver.

And I was having the time of my life.

Tess opened the final round with a birdie on the first hole and another on the fourth. She gave one back at nine, but after twelve holes, she was three under for the round and tied for the lead with one of the two women, in the group behind her, who had started the day out front.

By the 16^th hole, all the women in contention that morning had collapsed except for Tess and her rival, Alicia Simpson, the second-round co-leader. Simpson was one of the Futures Tour's leading lights, having barely failed in the previous year to get her LPGA tour card. She was currently the Futures Tour's leading money winner.

Tess picked up a par on 17 to maintain the tie, but her drive on the final hole was far to the left, off in the deep rough, and she had barely avoided the water. She found her ball less than ten yards short of the big pond that guarded the 18^th green. Any attempt to go directly for the flag would be partially blocked by a scrawny evergreen tree.

There were trees on the opposite side of the pond as well, further frustrating any thought of going over the water -- a considerable, challenging distance -- to the green.

"Shit." Tess said. "If I play it safe and just punt this back on the fairway, I'll surely lose at least one shot to par and probably blow the tournament."

"Maybe so, but that tree is going to fuck up anything you try to hit directly at the flag," I told her. And even if you avoided it, you've got trees on the far side, too."

"But I could pick up a bird, with a little luck."

"Tess, think about it. You're two shots free of the field for second place. That's $7500 bucks! There are a whole pack of people bunched up for the three-four-five money. They'll be lucky to pick up fifteen hundred apiece!"

"You want me to play it safe?"

"Hey. I'm just the fucking caddie, here. It's your ballgame. But Tess, Jesus! Second-place money in your first-ever pro tournament. That is not chopped liver!"

"I could, I think, get to the green, over the water."

"OK." I made the tone of my "OK" as neutral as I could manage and backed away, as if the decision had been made.

"... But even if I did, probably the best I could do would be to par this, maybe get into a playoff."

"Tess, there's an official coming this way."

"He wants to tell me to shit or get off the pot."

"That will be good advice, Tess."

Without any more hesitation at all, she planted her feet, swung through softly with a nine-iron, and put her ball back on the fairway, almost parallel to her current position. She was still 120 yards from the hole, but with a tree-free, all-dry look at the pin for her third shot, and an excellent chance for par.

Tess put the next one within four feet and then calmly saved her par.

Well, we didn't need for Alicia Simpson to blow up. If she would simply par the final hole, as Tess had, there'd be a sudden-death playoff.