That night, Dallie went to bed knowing he'd finally brought the Old Testament to its knees. While the tournament leaders had fallen victim to a strong wind, Dallie had shot three under par, enough to make
up for the disaster of the first day and push him way up on the leader board, enough to show his son
just a little bit about how the old game of golf was played. Seve was still in there, along with Fuzzy Zoeller and Greg Norman. Watson and Crenshaw were out. Nicklaus had shot another mediocre round, but the Golden Bear never gave up easily, and he had scored just well enough to survive the cut.
As Dallie tried to fall asleep that night, he told himself to concentrate on Seve and the others, not to
worry about Nicklaus. Jack was eight over par, too far behind to be in contention and too old to pull
off any of his miraculous last-minute charges. But as Dallie punched his pillow into shape, he heard the Bear's voice whispering to him as if he were standing right there in the room. Don't ever count me out, Beaudine. I'm not like you. I never quit.
Dallie couldn't seem to hold his concentration on the third day. Despite the presence of Holly Grace and Teddy, his play was mediocre and he ended at three over par. It was enough to put him in a three-way
tie for second place, but he was two shots out of the lead.
By the end of the third day's play, Francesca's head ached from watching the small motel television screen so intently. On CBS, Pat Summerall began to summarize the day's action.
"Dallie Beaudine has never played well under pressure, and it seemed to me he looked tight out there."
"The noise from the crowd obviously bothered him," Ken Venturi observed. "You've got to remember that Jack Nicklaus was playing in the group right behind Dallie, and when Jack is hot, like he was today, the gallery goes wild. Every time those cheers went up, you'd better believe the other players could hear, and they all knew Jack had made another spectacular shot. That can't help but shake up the tournament leaders."
"It'll be interesting to see if Dallie can change his pattern of final-round defeats and come back tomorrow," Summerall said. "He's a big hitter, he has one of the best swings on the tour, and he's always been popular with the fans. You know they'd like nothing better than to see him finally pull one out."
"But the real story here today is Jack Nicklaus," Ken Venturi concluded. "At 47 years of age, the Golden Bear from Columbus, Ohio, has shot an unbelievable sixty-seven-five under par-putting him in a three-way tie for second place, right along with Seve Ballesteros and Dallas Beaudine…"
Francesca flipped off the set. She should have been happy that Dallie was one of the tournament leaders, but the final round was always his weakest. From what had happened in today's round, she had to conclude that Teddy's presence alone wouldn't be enough to spur him on. She knew stronger measures were called for, and she bit down on her bottom lip, refusing to let herself consider how easily the only strong measure she had been able to think of could backfire.
"Just stay away from me," Holly Grace said the next morning as Francesca hurried after her and Teddy across the country club lawn toward the crowd that surrounded the first tee.
"I know what I'm doing," Francesca called out. "At least I think I do."
Holly Grace spun around as Francesca caught up with her. "When Dallie sees you, it's going to ruin his concentration for good. You couldn't have come up with a better way to blow this final round for him."
"He'll blow it for himself if I'm not there," Francesca insisted. "Look, you've coddled him for years
and it hasn't worked. Do it my way for a change."
Holly Grace whipped off her sunglasses and glared at Francesca. "Coddled him! I never coddled him in my life."
"Yes, you have. You coddle him all the time." Francesca grabbed Holly Grace's arm and began pushing her toward the first tee. "Just do what I asked you. I know a lot more about golf than I used to, but I still don't understand the subtleties. You've got to stick right by me and translate every shot he makes."
"You're crazy, do you know that-"
Teddy cocked his head to one side as he observed the argument taking place between his mother and Holly Grace. He didn't often see grown-ups argue, and it was interesting to watch. Teddy's nose was sunburned and his legs were tired from having walked so much the past two days. But he was looking forward to today's final round, even though he got a little bored standing around waiting for the players
to hit. Still, it was worth the wait because sometimes Dallie walked over to the ropes and told him what was going on, and then everybody smiled at him and knew that he was a pretty special kid, since he was getting so much of Dallie's attention. Even after Dallie had made some bad shots the day before, he'd walked over and talked to Teddy, explaining what had happened.
The day was sunny and mild, the temperature too warm for his Born-to-Raise-Hell sweat shirt, but
Teddy had decided to wear it anyway.
"There's going to be hell to pay over this," Holly Grace said, shaking her head. "And why couldn't you put on slacks or shorts like a normal person wears to a golf tournament? You're attracting all kinds of attention."
Francesca didn't bother to tell Holly Grace that was exactly what she'd intended when she'd pulled on this tomato red slip of a dress. The simple cotton jersey tube dipped low at the neck, gently cupped her hips, and ended well above her knees in a saucy little polka-dot flounce. If she'd calculated right, the dress, along with her unmatched silver "angst" earrings, should just about drive Dallas Beaudine crazy.
In all his years of tournament golf, Dallie had seldom played in the same group as Jack Nicklaus. The
few times he had, the round had been a disaster. He had played in front of him and behind him; he'd eaten dinner with him, shared a podium with him, exchanged a few golf stories with him. But he'd
seldom played with him, and now Dallie's hands were shaking. He told himself not to make the mistake
of confusing the real Jack Nicklaus with the Bear in his head. He reminded himself that the real Nicklaus was a flesh and blood human being, vulnerable like everybody else, but it didn't make any difference. Their faces were the same and that was all that counted.
"How you doin' today, Dallie?" Jack Nicklaus smiled pleasantly as he walked onto the first tee, his son Steve behind him acting as his caddy. I'm going to eat you alive, the Bear in Dallie's head said.
He's forty-seven years old, Dallie reminded himself as he shook Jack's hand. A man of forty-seven
can't compete with a thirty-seven-year-old at the top of his form.
I won't even bother spitting out your bones, the Bear replied.
Seve Ballesteros was back by the ropes talking to someone in the crowd, his dark skin and chiseled cheekbones catching the attention of many of the women who made up Dallie's gallery. Dallie knew he should be more worried about Seve than about Jack. Seve was an international champion, considered by many to be the best golfer in the world. His driving was as powerful as any on the tour, and he had an almost superhuman touch around the greens. Dallie forced his attention away from Nicklaus and walked over to shake Seve's hand-only to stop cold in his tracks when he saw who Ballesteros was talking to.
At first he couldn't believe it. Even she couldn't be this evil. Standing there in a bright red dress that looked like underwear, and smiling at Seve like he was some sort of Spanish god, was Miss Fancy Pants herself. Holly Grace stood on one side of her looking miserable, and Teddy was on the other. Francesca finally tore her attention away from Seve and looked toward Dallie. She gave him a smile that was as