W. G. Griffiths Talons

	"Talons" By W.G. Griffiths

	Blaine Edwards looked down the fairway, and shook his head. "How did those two get in front of us?" he asked his regular golf buddy, Jack Ross. "I don't know," Ross replied. "One moment we were next, I turn my head, they're in front of us." Edwards sighed. "It's going to be a long day. I mean, it's already eight-thirty, and we're only on the third hole." He pushed his yellow tee into the turf. Edwards was a big man, nearing fifty, with a hunger for power, thick rare steaks, and any attractive woman who would give him a second look, which was more than a couple, since he was the president and CEO of Beacon, a health insurance company. He adjusted his stance over the ball and took a few practice swings. "Hold on, Blaine," Ross cautioned. "They're still a little close." "I won't hit them…just get their attention…. After all, they're kind of nice to look at. Especially the blonde." Ross said, "The blonde isn't the problem. At least she's been hitting the ball. It's the tall brunette with the legs and the pink top who's the problem. She could use a few lessons." Edwards smiled. "Pink top with little white flowers…and I'll give her a lesson." Ross smirked. "Three wives, two months back from your honeymoon…as your lawyer, I'd have to advise against giving any more lessons." Edwards' reply came in the form of a near perfect swing, crushing a personally engraved Titleist Pro V1 for about two hundred and fifty yards, his max. The ball landed safely away, but close enough to turn the blonde's head. Her glare was long. "Okay, I'm officially embarrassed," Ross said. "A door just opened," Edwards said as he gave her a trite wave of his fingers. "Now we get a chance to apologize." "We? What did I do?" The blonde turned, took her swing, then flipped them an unmistakable hand gesture before walking away. Ross gave a startled laugh. "Did she just give us the finger?" "Yeah. I love a girl with an attitude."
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