Chance pipes up, gets a round of waters for the table, some appetizers, a beer for himself, and I order a Red Bull, never drinking at company outings or in front of team members. Gotta keep that professional shield up. Chance looks expectantly at Asher. “You want a beer, man?”
Asher looks down for a half a second, then makes eye contact with him again. “Underage, but thanks.”
Chance’s brows shoot up and something inside me falls down. He’s not even twenty-one yet. I haven’t hung out with someone underage since…well, long before I was legal, to be honest. Chrissy is a few years older than me, and Chance a few years older than her. They’ve been my crew forever. Probably a good dozen or more years since I’ve been out with someone who can’t order whatever the hell they want.
Asher turns back to the waitress. “I’ll take a Red Bull, too, thanks.”
“Shit man, we shoulda got you the kiddie menu,” Chance teases him.
“Next month, man. Next month.” The way Asher says it, I’m not sure who he’s telling.
As I tee up and take my shot, Chance chases down the waitress. It isn’t until our drinks arrive, a good ten minutes later, that I understand why.
“I took the liberty of getting you something my nine-year-old loves.” His tone sounds pleasant, but his eyes are twinkling dangerously, mischievously.
Our server places down the round of waters, the Mich Ultra, two Red Bulls, and then…a sippy cup. Plastic, colorful, giant bendy straw, it looks ridiculous next to the beer and energy drinks.
Asher’s eyes are dull, his face impressively dry as he looks up to Chance. “Aww, you shouldn’t have,” he deadpans.
“Go ahead,” Chance nods his chin at him. “Try it. It’s a real special treat for our little ones, I think most kids like it. You should, too.”
Asher’s tongue comes out to wipe his lower lip, and he shakes his head at Chance. He pops the lid off the cup and I peer over to see what’s inside. Something bubbly, kind of reddish, with cherries floating in it.
“It’s a Shirley Temple!” Chance howls, unable to wait for it to settle in on its own. He slaps his leg, laughing way too hard at his own joke.
“All right, old man.” Asher stands up straight, about as tall as Chance. Several inches taller than me, at least. “Let’s take it to the links. You’re gonna make jokes about me being a child all day? Hope you’re ready to get 'em right back.”
Chance scoffs good-naturedly. “You’ve got nothin’ on me, kid. Go for it.”
“Yeah? How them knees old man? Couple more years before you need to get 'em replaced?”
Chance squats down a couple of times and we all hear the creaking and popping. My own knees ache in sympathy and I scrunch my face.
“They’ve still got a few good swings in 'em.” Chance’s eyes are still sparkling, he’s living for this.
“I’m surprised, actually,” Asher continues. “This is your first time here?”
Chance nods, unsure if he’s stepping into a trap that’s been set for him. Like he knows he’s on unsafe ground, just can’t figure out which direction the danger is coming from.
Asher purses his lips, nods a few times. “It’s just, most retirees are a lot better at golf than this. I expected you to challenge me out here, but it’s gonna be way too easy to wipe the floor with your geriatric ass.”
Chance’s eyes light up with the dig, the gauntlet that’s been thrown, and the two men square off, chest to chest, a couple feet between them. “You’re on, Shirley.” Chance tells him, and a half-smile takes over one side of Asher’s mouth.
“You like that old man? You want a piece of me?” The aggressive tone doesn’t match the lighthearted exchange, the twinkle in his eye, and I’m thrown for just a second.
Chance’s head falls back in unrestrained laughter. “Did you…just…” he wipes away a tear from his eye and tries to get the words out. “QuoteHappy Gilmoreto me?”
“The price is wrong, bitch!” Asher tells him, with so much attitude that Chance and I don’t stand a chance. We both crack up, and the game is on. How this guy is quoting a movie that’s older than he is, but an all-time classic (in my opinion), is beyond me. I’ll just add it to the list of things I’ve yet to learn about him.
* * *
I’m not a golf person,or really an athletic person at all, but today’s been really fucking fun. Didn’t expect it to be such a blast, even if you suck at sports, but it’s been a vibe. Chance is always a good time (though I think he and I both wish Chrissy were here), and Asher was able to give as good as he got from him, which made for one hell of an entertaining afternoon.
Of course Asher absolutely smoked Chance, strictly speaking, though Chance definitely tried to push that in golf, you go for thelowestscore, to which I pointed out that I was definitely the winner of the day, then. Neither of them argued with that, Chance folding his lips into his mouth to stop himself from putting his foot in it, and Asher giving me a smirk of appreciation at us teaming up on Chance.
“You’re not a bad dude, Shirley,” Chance had acquiesced, reaching a hand out for a shake at the end of the round.
“For an old geezer, you’re not so bad yourself,” Asher’d retorted, shaking his hand.
