B.O. blinked amazement. "You some kinda pro?" he asked.

For the first time, Remo looked up at the big exfootball player. "Yes," he said flatly. "But not at golf."

B.O. bit his lip. "I'm always lookin' to improve my game. You giving lessons?"

Remo smiled tightly. "No. I'm making lemonade."

B.O. frowned as he looked Remo up and down. All he saw was a skinny white guy with one club and a lonely bucket of balls. He didn't even see a single packet of Kool-Aid.

"Where are your lemons?" B.O. asked.

Remo shook his head. "Where aren't they," he insisted, an annoyed edge creeping into his voice. By this point Anson's companions were getting anxious. At their urging, the notorious celebrity abandoned Remo. With B.O. in the lead, they continued to the first tee.

Anson's first swing surrendered a 250-yard drive straight down the fairway. When he turned, the star's mouth was split in a wide grin that was all teeth and tongue.

From his isolated spot away from the tee, Remo noted the ex-football player's delighted reaction with studied silence.

Once Anson's party was through on the first tee, they climbed into carts for the trip to the second. Remo trailed them on foot. As he walked, Remo considered his conversation with Anson.

He had told the ex-football player the truth. Remo was making lemonade. It was age-old advice first given him by Sister Mary Margaret way back at the Newark orphanage where Remo had spent his formative years. "When life deals you a lemon," the nun had been fond of saying to her young charges, "make yourself some lemonade."