Sunny, finally, as they stepped onto the first tee. Excited for the sun which would tan them, for the tee which might or might not be the opening to a good, long, solid shot down the very green fairway, excited for the sound of their cleats en route to that tee, the very golf-like sound, the scrunching noise. Not for any of them the new quiet cleatless shoes. If four such pretty women were undertaking this sport, it was noisily. This sport had held their husbands (handicaps 5, 11, 12, 8) in thrall lo these 20-odd years and now they had parted with their tennis rackets and joined madly in the madness of golf.

They started. 40 handicaps all and all so pretty. Robin, beautiful skin, devastating smile; Barabara, the tallest, oldest, most elegant; Anne, slender, lovely and pulled together; Lilly the happiest in evening clothes, with long hair pulled in a pony tail with a few curls escaping, on purpose of course. Their clothes too were perfect. So excited to finally be free for four or five hours to discuss non-stop so many things, so many friends. Their great walk was not spoiled by golf. They pounded that ball in and out of traps, ponds, trees, with all the zeal they’d put into raising their children in the past, their jobs in the past, for they all had worked -- two as full time volunteers, two as artists. They all loved exercise and were well matched in their beginning sport. Well matched in pure zeal for what they had vowed they’d never play -- Golf. But here they had flowers and time, oh time for chatting.

What a cover -- they could start off about the face lift that had left one of their other pretty friends looking even prettier, if her husband noticed, and they knew whom he was noticing.

They all had secrets though each thought she was the only one with a secret. Secrets none of the others knew. Secrets that made them wince and hold their breath when a certain topic came up or a certain man entered the room. These four pretty women, who’d raised their children, whose careers had ended, had some time to fill, and their secrets didn’t fill it completely so they finally allowed golf to enter their not quite so busy lives.

They had fears too -- one of flying, one of growing old, one of becoming dull to herself, one of losing her husband -- and these fears were vaguely understood and accepted by the rest. They could almost interchange their fears -- they all boiled down to lack of control, and they also all wanted a passion in their lives again. To feel as they had about their husbands, lovers, children and work at the beginning.

So the four pretty women with lovely teeth and faces and perfect bodies and clothes and dispositions were quite happy in the noonday sun. But one will die on the 6th hole today, the one who’s worried about her husband, who worked as a volunteer and has such flawless skin. She feels fine as she tees off and expresses desire for a hole-in-one someday. She only has five more chances in her life and she won’t make it. She doesn’t know as she laughs and smiles that these three other pretty women, her dearest friends, will eventually find a new fourth for golf after mourning her. But, their new fourth will not be blonde and she will not be pretty; she will not have flawless skin, though she too will worry about her husband.

By Tina