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it. I need a name.”
    I could feel curious stares on my back, “Uh…”
    “Name please.”
    “I’m a guest of Sheila Scholstein. She should be here any minute. Just put it on her tab, please.”
    “Yes ma’am,” the bartender replied with a scrunched brow.
    So much for being discreet, I thought. Looking around, I tried to gain my bearings. Apparently, my outfit wasn’t as sophisticated as I thought; I was gathering stares from every direction. I felt like an overboard passenger of the ValueMart Cruise Ship, drowning in a sea of expensive brand names. Geez, I could sell these people’s outfits on-line and support myself for a year.
    I downed my drink in a few gulps.
    “Another, Miss?”
    “Well, sure. Why not?”
    By the time he returned with my second drink, I had a strategy. “Say, Sheila was supposed to be meeting me here, you haven’t seen her, have you?”
    “No.”
    “Well,” I added quickly before he got away, “she said that she was going to talk to Jason for a few minutes and be right back.”
    “Jason, the caddy?”
    So, that’s it. “That’s what she said. Do you know where I might find him?”
    “I’m sure he’s out on the course,” he answered, studying me closely.
    “I see.” I drummed my fingers, looking around casually. “I must have misunderstood Sheila.”
    He shrugged.
    “Do you mind if I take this out on the deck? I thought I’d watch the golfers for a while.”
    “You can do whatever you want, Miss,” he replied, heading down to the far side of the bar where a group of rowdy golfers was gathering.
    From the deck, I could see much of the course with its rolling hills, ponds, creeks. The recent rains had left the course soggy, although it didn’t seem to deter the diehards. Groups of brightly dressed players dotted the ribbon-like fairway making it seem like decorative wrapping on an oversized green present. The strategically placed water features and sand traps added to its beauty, and I’m sure, created quite a challenge for players.  I knew little about golf, but it didn’t take an expert to see that this course was difficult.
    After a few minutes of admiring the scenery, I caught a glimpse of a group coming in off the eighteenth fairway. As they neared, I took a chance. Leaning over the deck rail, I called out, “Jason!”
    A blond head snapped upwards. He was squinting into the sun. “Me?”
    “Yes, could you come up here for a minute?”
    The other caddy elbowed him and murmured something under his breath. They both chuckled. “Yes, ma’am.”
    I decided to try a new approach with the young caddy. “Hi, Jason,” I shook his hand fervently. “I’m from the Tribune . My editor wants me to do a piece on caddies for the Sunday Sports Section. You know, the angle is something like the trial and tribulations of today’s caddy.”
    Glancing about nervously, he leaned in, “Are you going to print my name?”
    He bought it. “Only if you want me to.”
    “No way, I’d lose my job. The pay’s not great, but the tips...” His eyebrows gave a little lift.
    “Completely confidential then.” I tapped my pocket holding my non-existent notepad. “We’ll forgo any notes, so no one will know.”
    “Cool. What do you want to know? I’ve seen it all,” he bragged, flipping a blond wisp of bang out of his face.
    “I’m sure you have,” I played into his adolescent cockiness. “So, you say the tips are good; what’s been your biggest tip?”
    “Well, I once got a hundred dollar bill for eighteen. The guy shot a great game and he was feeling generous, I guess. Usually it’s about twenty a game.”
    “Wow. I bet some guys stiff you, too.”
    “Stiff me?”
    “You know, don’t give you any tips.”
    “Not too much around here. These guys are usually pretty nice.”
    “Do they ever lose their temper and throw clubs at you?”
    That got a chuckle. “Well, not at me exactly, but sometimes I have to fish a club or two out of the ponds.”
    “Really, how