A SLIGHT BREEZE penetrated Bo’s sweat-drenched shirt, sending a refreshing chill throughout his overtaxed body. Aggravated to no end, he slammed his club to the turf. “Shit, shit, shit!” he excreted loudly, shaking his sore hand.
Judy presented him a glass of water. “It’s the quality of practice, not the quantity. Why don’t you take a break? You’re exhausted.”
“Not until I hit at least one goddamn good shot.”
“Unlikely with that attitude.”
She took a quick look at the bloody cracks on his fingers. “You know, all this practice will be for naught if you can’t hold on to the club.”
Bo flexed his raw, achy hands. “That may be true, but unless I start striping it more consistently, there’s not much use in continuing this ludicrous fantasy. Much as I hate to admit it, maybe I should’ve had another session with Free Ball.”
“The best ball strikers on tour only hit roughly seventy percent of greens in regulation, which works out to 12.6 per round. Considering the condition of your hands, wouldn’t it have been more productive to work on your short game?”
“Little late for that, seeing as how I tee it up tomorrow.”
Judy snatched the club from his hand. “Let’s take a ride. Remember that I told you I had something up my sleeve?”
“So you’re a magician now, I take it?”
“You’re on the right track but the wrong train.”
“Do I need my clubs?”
“The only requirement at this point is your complete cooperation.”
“Oh, like I haven’t been compliant.”
“Let me rephrase that then: your continued cooperation.”
“I’m nothing if not your slave.”
SEVERAL MILES DOWN the road, Judy parked in front of Steak and Chops, a popular local restaurant and watering hole. Given its location on the seedy outskirts of town, Bo was thankful for the safe haven of the midday sun.
“Three o’clock in the afternoon’s a little late for lunch and a tad early for dinner or drinks, don’t you think? Retired early birds haven’t even started to migrate yet.”
“Shut it and follow me.”
She grabbed his hand and led him past the restaurant, pausing at the place of business next door.
Bo stopped mid-stride in front of the large tinted window where an uncontrollable chill jostled his body. The neon-lit palm of an outstretched hand had an eye centered in the middle that seemed to trace his every move as it flashed an ominous warning. In bold letters directly above the graphic, the name ‘Madame Bovary’ illuminated the storefront. The words fortune-teller, psychic, telepath, metaphysicist, and hypnotist burned an indelible imprint on the back of his retinas. A cold sweat notched down the bony structure of his spinal column as he tried to control tremors in his hands and fingers.
He glared at Judy. “This some kind of joke?”
“Do you see me laughing? I wrote a column about her a while ago. The number of people whose lives she’s touched is quite extensive.”
“That’s all well and good for weak-minded individuals who believe in this mumbo jumbo, but it’s not my cup of tea.”
“You afraid?”
“Afraid of what—getting taken to the cleaners?”
“Treat’s on me. Come on, tough guy—humor me.”
A tinkling bell broke the gloomy silence as Judy opened the door and stepped inside.
Following right behind her, Bo swept an extended arm as he tried to navigate the sea of muddled darkness. A whiff of exotic incense pierced the membrane of his nostrils. Before his eyes could fully adjust to the low light level, he stumbled into a coat rack. Startled, he assumed a defensive posture before conceding a draw against the worthy opponent.
Madame Bovary was seated at a table, staring into her crystal ball in an apparent somnambulistic state.
Entranced by the surrealistic scene, Bo ambled blindly forward before stepping on the tail of a black cat stealthily concealed under the cloak of darkness. The feral beast snarled an ungodly growl and reared on hind legs while baring sharp fangs.
Judy’s ear-piercing scream nearly had Bo bolting for the door.
Bovary’s gaze never left the glass orb as she continued to delve into unknown worlds.
Bo released a nervous little chuckle. “Just a cat,” he said bravely, putting on airs.
He had to laugh at the traditional gypsy garb and trinkets that adorned the enchantress. “Great Halloween costume,” he whispered to Judy.
Madame Bovary raised a cautionary hand to halt their advance while still staring into the globe. Then, without warning, she collapsed onto the back of her chair.
“You okay?” Judy asked, rushing to her side.
The old woman’s eyelids fluttered in a frenzy of activity. She then suddenly reached out and clutched Judy’s wrist in a death grip.
“I have traveled the river Styx and touched upon the Stygian shore where I await the counsel of death’s angel.”
“You aren’t suggesting that—”
“I only suggest that the inevitable summons which beacons us all is a debt that must paid.”
The necromancer released Judy from her purchase and called Bo forth with a wave of her withered hand.
“You must be the one who seeks my counsel. Come closer so I can view your face.”
Bo warily shuffled his feet nearer to the soothsayer. He drew in a breath and held it while she scanned his features with her sightless white eyes.
“Such a handsome man. You have plenty of promise. Please sit.”
Bo’s knees gave way as he plunked hard into the chair.
“I understand that you wish to improve your athletic prowess.”
“How’d you know that?” he asked, incredulous.
She held an arthritic finger to her pursed lips.
He looked over at Judy, who just shrugged her shoulders.
“That is of no importance. Now, tell me whose skills would you most want to emulate?”
“That’s easy. Tiger Woods—when he was at the height of his career.”
“Ah, yes. This Tiger was king of the jungle for quite some time. Even I was compelled to observe his wizardry. Come, sit closer to me.”
Reluctantly, he scooted his chair a bit forward.
“Don’t tell me a strapping man such as you is afraid of Madame Bovary. Come closer, my dear—closer. Yes, that’s better. Keep coming.”
Her lilting, mesmeric voice drew him in like a moth to a flame.
“Now, I want you to look into my eyes,” she instructed.
Bo was spellbound by the movement of cloudy swirls in her opaque orbs.
“Look deeper, much deeper—until you can see into the depths of my soul.”
Unable to look away, he continued to gaze into her enchanting eyes.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes,” he responded flatly.
“When your name is called on the first tee tomorrow you will be transformed into this Tiger Woods. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You and he will be one and the same. You will display the identical skills that made him a champion golfer. Is that clear?”
“Yes.”
“You will repeat this pattern every day. At the conclusion of each round, when the last putt is holed, your memory will be wiped clean. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
Madame Bovary lightly touched his forehead.
Bo blinked his eyes. “Well?” he asked, looking dazed and confused.
Bovary remained silent and blindly stared right through him.
“You could at least regale us with some kind of performance or demonstrate your bewitching wizardry,” he said.
“My work is done, but I must warn you to beware, Bo Benson. There is an evil presence that wishes you harm.”
“Oh yeah. Tell me something I didn’t already know. There’s enough evil in the world to scare a constipated man shitless.” He thought for a moment. “How’d you know my name?”
In a transitional state, the mystic turned her attention back to the globe, cupping it in her hands. She began to gently sway and wail in a low, haunting moan.
“Let’s get out of here,” Bo said to Judy, grasping her hand and pulling her toward the door. “This place gives me the creeps.”
They cautiously maneuvered around the snarling feline poised to strike if push came to shove.
“Are you happy now?” Bo asked once they were safely outside.
“Happy about what?”
“Come on. Who’re you trying to kid? That was a waste of time and money. Carnac the Magnificent could’ve put on a better show.”
“You didn’t have to be so rude to her. She was only trying to help. Besides, you were certainly out of it. She had you under her complete control.”
“Oh, please. It took everything I had to keep from laughing in her face. I watched her every move and came away with jack. Actually, I feel sorry for the old battle ax. I mean, that poor, delusional woman really believes in that voodoo.”
“All I can say is that she has performed amazing feats over the years.”
“Can’t believe an intelligent woman like you would fall for such a charlatan.”
“You can be such a pessimist at times. Would it hurt to open your mind and acknowledge that mysticism can sometimes defy conventional logic?”
“Maybe we should stop off on the way home and buy a Ouija board or a Magic 8 Ball. Or how about we cast some bones? I’m sure they’re not that hard to read. I mean, after all, who in his right mind wouldn’t want to prepare for his future?”
Judy cut him down with a laser-sharp stare.
Bo shrugged it off. “Hey, I’m just sayin’.”
Judy responded with silence.
They had traveled a mile down the road before Bo broke the impasse. “You mad at me?”
“No, just a little disappointed in your actions.”
“Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t believe in all that bullshit. I mean—fortune-telling? Come on; get real. Those fakers throw out generalities that could apply to just about anyone, leaving gullible suckers hanging on their every word. What’s even more dangerous is that people base important life decisions on such nonsense. And those hypnotist acts I’ve seen…they say a few words, snap their fingers, and you’re supposedly under their control? I hardly think so. Maybe we should’ve gone to a witch doctor and acquired a voodoo doll. Then I could’ve stuck it before each of my competitors’ shots.”
She kept her eyes on the road and remained taciturn.
“Would you at least give me some credit?” Bo finally asked. “I gave it a shot, and it didn’t work out. What more do you want from me?”
Judy’s continued muteness spoke louder than words ever could.