Sudden Death

by Michael Balkind

  She was beaming from ear to ear. The other kids surrounded her and as she climbed out of the pool, they chanted, “Sammy, Sammy.”

  Reid humbly walked over to her, shook her hand and said, “Congratulations, you didn’t tell me you were a mermaid.” Samantha giggled and said, “Thanks.” The ice cream cart arrived and the kids and parents had a great time making sundaes. Reid signed the balls and hats and handed them out. He asked Sam and Alex to join him privately for a moment. “How would you two like to come watch the Masters Tournament as my guests, with your parents and families of course?”

  They shrieked with joy. Samantha said, “Yes, Mr. Clark, we’d love to, thank you, thank you! Oh, by the way, we only have one family. He’s my brother,” she added pointing at Alex. “I should have known, the way you two say everything in unison.” Sam and Alex ran to tell their parents. Reid watched and heard their father exclaim, “Wow, really?” And with a quick arm pump he added, “Yes.” The father looked at Reid and mouthed thank you.

  When Reid went back to his chaise lounge, Buck was almost asleep in the next chair. As Reid sat down, Buck mumbled, “Wasn’t that cute? I’m not sure what has come over you, but I think I like it. Just don’t get carried away; you still need an edge sometimes. The press and Eagle expect it. The ‘Bad Boy of Golf’ needs to be bad.”

  “Don’t worry, I promise I haven’t become a saint in a day. You know what I get like during a tournament.” “Yeah, you’re right. I should know better, shouldn’t I? Hey, by the way, thanks for the card.” “Sure,” Reid said nonchalantly. “I really mean it. I don’t think I’ve ever received a thank-you card from a client.” “Well, it’s no wonder, with your sleazy clientele.” “Ha, are you including yourself in that statement?” Buck retorted with sarcasm. “Hey, I may be an arrogant pain in the ass, but I’m not sleazy.” “Whatever… Do me a favor, wake me in an hour. I didn’t sleep much last night, and I can’t keep my eyes open.” “Don’t count on me, I’m exhausted. You better request a wake up splash or something,” Reid said with a yawn. He closed his eyes and quickly drifted off to sleep.

  Buck walked to the lifeguard and asked if someone could wake them at 6:30. He went back to his chair and fell asleep almost as fast as Reid.

  Later, they were awakened by the lifeguard, who walked away laugh ing hysterically. A very groggy Reid looked over to ask what the lifeguard was laughing at. He didn’t have to ask; Buck had a clown face drawn on him in bright red lipstick. Reid cracked up. Buck then turned to ask what was so funny. His guffaw was so loud people on the adjacent patio turned to look. Reid commented, “Oh no, not me too?” Buck was laughing so hard he could only nod.

  Laughing hysterically, Reid put his hand up to cover his mouth. Watching him, Buck’s expression turned to one of horror. Buck then held up his own hand for inspection; sure enough, his nails were painted red too. Reid quickly looked at his own red nails. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. They both simultaneously looked down at their toenails. Yup, bright crimson. They both kept laughing. They couldn’t get mad; it was a good joke. They made a pact to find the culprit and get even.

  In an attempt to wipe the lipstick off with towels, they smeared it all over their faces. They finally gave up and nonchalantly walked to the gift shop to buy nail polish remover. Everyone they passed stared and grinned. No one had the nerve to say anything, but the growing trail of laughter behind them drew even more attention. They finally got on the elevator and as the doors were closing, applause broke out from the crowd that had formed behind them. “I can’t wait to find out who did this,” Reid said. “We have to think of something really good to get even,” Buck said as they entered their suite. They had to work fast to clean everything off and still get to the bar by seven thirty.

  At one point Buck yelled, “Shit, this stuff is impossible to get off. How do women put up with it?”

  After finally getting it all off, they went to their respective rooms, shaved, showered and dressed in record time. They met back in the living room at 7:30.

  Reid looked at the clock and said, “Damn, I wanted to call Jennifer. Oh well, I’ll do it later. Let’s go.”

  Chapter 4

  The sensuous sound of salsa music filled the background as Reid and Buck entered the bar. Mojitos were the drink of the moment. Buck ordered two and handed one to Reid.

  Taking a sip, Reid said with emphasis, “Wow, this is good. Don’t let me get drunk. You know I don’t usually drink the week of a tournament.”

  “What? Now I’m your guardian? Like you ever listen to me?” Buck replied.

  Just then, Carl walked up. “Guys, I hope you don’t mind, I called a quick press conference.” “No problem. When is it?” Reid asked. Carl looked at his watch. “In about two minutes. C’mon, follow me.” Reid rolled his eyes. “Oh well, so much for my Mojo.” He and Buck put their Mojitos down and followed Carl. As they walked into the room, cameras flashed everywhere. Carl tapped the podium microphone. “Folks, we have 10 minutes, so please keep the questions short and sweet. We want to officially announce a new member of the Eagle team. As of this afternoon, Reid Clark has agreed to endorse our new line of golf balls, called Freeze.” “How much was the contract, Carl?” asked a TV reporter. “100 million.” There were a few whistles and wows. A journalist asked, “What will be the theme of the ad campaign?” “We’re still working on it.” “That’s a hefty contract, Carl; I guess you expect a lot from Reid. Reid, are you ready to fulfill this obligation? You’ll probably have to stay out of trouble and maybe even let some of our photographers take your picture. I know how difficult that is for you.”

  Reid recognized the reporter. He recently had a run-in with him. Doing his best to keep his cool, he answered, “I’ll be happy to let any of you take my picture as long as I know you’re doing it and you’re not being rude and obnoxious.”

  “Look who’s talking about being obnoxious,” said a reporter from Sports Illustrated.

  Buck decided it was time for damage control. He grabbed the micro phone and said, “Okay, kids, this is a press conference, not a Reid Clark bashing session. We all know you have had your issues with each other, but let’s move on. If any of you want the details of the endorsement, I will be available for questions later. Thank you all for coming. Have a good evening.”

  Reid jumped to the microphone in spite of Buck’s attempt to push him away. Reid said, “Hey folks, one more second. To make up for some of my questionable behavior in the past, I want to invite you all to the bar for hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. Please accept this as, well, sort of a truce.”

  After a brief disbelieving silence, a reporter in the back of the room began to clap slowly one clap at a time. Gradually others joined in and the applause quickened and spread throughout the room. Someone yelled, “Alright! Maybe there’s hope for him after all.” Another reporter shouted, “He can buy my forgiveness anytime.” They all headed for the bar. Reid called the maitre d’. “Hi, it’s Reid Clark. Can you bring hors d’oeuvres for 50 to the bar as quickly as possible? High end stuff, the best you’ve got. Please hurry, and put the charge through to my room.”

  At the bar, Reid told the bartender that all orders from the press were to be billed to his room. The bartender said, “I’ll send a waiter to take orders, Mr. Clark. Also, Joseph, the maitre d’, called. He said the hors d’oeuvres would be here in 15 minutes. We’ll set everything up in the back of the room.” He pointed. “Over there, overlooking the pool.”

  The other side of the bar was packed with the Eagle party, which had grown significantly during the press conference. With fresh drinks in hand, Buck and Reid tried to meet as many Eagle employees as possible. Before they knew it, it was time to head to the restaurant. A line of stretch Hummers was waiting out front.

  “Where are we going to dinner? The Sahara or the Baja?” Reid joked as they piled into the vehicles. Dom Perignon, iced vodka and huge bowls of Beluga caviar awaited them inside.

  Reid whispered to Buck, “You think t
hese people always party like this? It must be costing Eagle a fortune.”

  “It’s not costing Eagle a penny, my friend. This evening is on you,” Buck said quietly. Reid gagged, then whispered tensely, “Are you crazy?” “Calm down and enjoy the party,” said Buck. “You can afford it.” “Fine, just don’t make a habit of this, at least without informing me first.” “Look, you play golf and stay out of trouble. Let me handle the business. If I say we need to spend some money, I don’t want an argument, okay?” Reid stayed silent. “I said, okay?” Buck repeated. “Alright! Alright! Just make sure you let me know how much and when. I won’t question it, just let me know.” Buck stared at him for a second, then snapped, “Fine!”

  Upon arrival at the steakhouse, the party was shown to a private dining room. Reid, Buck and Carl were the last to enter. Everyone at the table began laughing as they looked past the three men. Buck, Reid and Carl all turned to see a huge poster of Reid and Buck sleeping at the pool with clown faces. A large banner under it read: ‘Even Kings can be Jokers sometimes. Congratulations Reid & Buck. We love you guys, TEAM EAGLE.’ Shaking with laughter, they turned back toward the others. “Looks like you got us again!” Reid said. The waiters took dinner orders and the salad was served. Wine and champagne flowed all evening. Reid tried to keep a tally of the bottles being consumed. Finally giving up, he thought, Guess you’ve gotta spend it to make it.

  Around 10:30, Reid announced that he needed to retire for the evening. “I’m sure you don’t want the papers to read that your new endorser slept through tomorrow’s Pro-Am. I hope to see you all there.” Reid shook Carl’s hand saying, “Thanks again.” “No, it’s me who should be thanking you.” “Okay gentlemen,” Buck said. “Enough of the thank-yous. Reid, have one of the drivers take you back to the hotel and then return for us. I’ll see you in the morning. Hey, I’m proud of you. Usually I have to send my clients home after fighting with them all night to stop drinking.”

  “Guess I’m just different. Who knows…? I’ll see you at the club. I’ll probably be long gone by the time you wake up.”

  Chapter 5

  Half asleep, Reid picked up the 5:30 a.m. wakeup call and moaned, “Thanks,” to the automated system. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom.

  Showering and dressing in record time, he grabbed some badly needed coffee from the concierge and left. The course they were playing today was about 20 minutes away. A bus was leaving at 7 a.m. but Reid didn’t want to wait. He took a cab instead. Reid had a routine for tournament days; actually it was more of a ritual. He took every tournament very seriously, even Pro-Ams. He would have fun today, but he would play to win! He was on the range stretching and loosening up by 7 a.m. He hit 10 balls with every club in his bag. First he hit on the range, then moved to the practice bunker, then finished on the practice green. He was drenched in sweat afterward, so he went to the locker room for a quick shower. The tournament was starting with a buffet breakfast, and although Reid wasn’t very hungry, he knew he should make a showing, so he walked into the crowded dining room. Celebrities and tour players were everywhere. As he entered, someone in the room whistled, others quickly joined in, while still others slapped him on the back and congratulated him. Well, he thought, I guess it’s in the morning paper. He looked around and spotted Phil DiBlasio, one of Hollywood ’s hottest comedic actors and Reid’s partner for the tournament. Phil’s dark moustache and goatee along with his dark attire gave him a menacing look that was contradicted by his big smile and nonstop joking. Reid walked over to the table and took the empty chair next to Phil.

  “I was hoping you’d join us,” Phil said. “Hey congratulations, that’s some contract you got from Eagle.” “Thanks.” Reid asked a passing waiter for coffee. He was facing the opposite way when someone sat down next to him. He turned and his jaw dropped. His favorite actor, Brian Capo, sat there looking at him. Reid was at a loss for words and just stared. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Eagle. Congratulations Reid, it’s nice to meet you.” “Thank you, Mr. Capo,” Reid mumbled. “Mr. Capo! Ha.” Phil laughed. “You didn’t call me Mr. DiBlasio when we met. I get no respect.” Everyone around the table laughed. “Reid, please call me Brian.” “Okay, Mr. Capo, I…I mean Brian,” Reid stammered. “It’s great to meet you, too. I’ve always been a huge fan of yours.” A loud tapping noise hushed the room and carried all eyes to the podium. “Good morning. May I have everyone’s attention? I’m Bill Taylor, commissioner of the PGA, and I’d like to welcome you all to Augusta. I wanted to take a moment to explain why we decided to break from tradition and play a Pro Am before the Masters. The request has come up in past years and we’ve always declined. This year, we figured why not. We’ll still hold the traditional Par 3 Contest on Wednesday, but the money we’ll raise today for charity far outweighs any reason I can come up with for not breaking tradition. In fact, we decided that we would sponsor the event ourselves and donate the funds to the American Cancer Society. We have a gorgeous day for golf and the course is in perfect condition. Please join me in thanking Craig Jackson, the president of the club, for getting this place ready for an exciting day of golf.”

  After a round of applause, he continued. “You will all have plenty of time to have fun, but I would like to get the day started. As soon as you finish breakfast, please go to the tables in the lobby to register your favorite charity. As you know, your winnings today go to the charity of your choice. So enjoy yourselves, have fun and let’s see some serious competition out there. Here’s our schedule. At 9:30 we will have a shotgun tee off. Then a horn will blow at 11:45. Finish the hole you are on, then come back here for lunch. Play will resume at 1:30. After the tournament, you will have time to clean up before we meet for cocktails and our awards dinner. Gentlemen, have fun and as always, may the best team win!”

  A round of applause followed and everyone slowly walked to the lobby to register their charity.

  Reid and Phil started on the fourth hole. Reid introduced Phil to Buddy, who was carrying both their bags. Phil hit his drive a little off to the right near the tree line but not in trouble. Reid teed his ball and was getting ready to hit when Phil made the mistake of interrupting him. “Come on Reid, this one’s up to you!”

  Reid stepped away from the ball, looked at Phil very seriously and said, “Don’t do that again.” “Sorry,” Phil said, grimacing with embarrassment. Reid hit a perfect drive just short of the green. They all started to walk in uncomfortable silence. Phil once again said, “Reid, I’m really sorry. Don’t let it ruin our round!”

  “Don’t worry, it won’t ruin our round, but I need to focus. I may not be much fun to play with in a tournament, but I’m a pretty good partner if you want to win.”

  Phil gave Buddy a questioning look. Buddy just shrugged his shoul ders. “Okay,” Phil said. “Let’s win!” They enjoyed the rest of the round, finding a good balance between serious golf and kidding around. Thanks to Reid, they had the lead when they went in for lunch. After a light lunch they teed off on the 14th. Phil played very well, commenting that maybe he should play this seriously more often.

  “Don’t get too serious, Phil,” Reid said. “No one will recognize you. On the other hand, maybe that’s a good thing.” “Ow, that hurt. Was that actually an attempt at humor, Mr. Serious?” “Phil, that’s about the best I’ve got,” Reid snickered. “Better stick to golf.” “So I’ve been told.” After 17 holes, Reid and Phil were leading by one. The press was all over them. “Hey Phil, what’s the matter?” a reporter asked. “No jokes today?” “I just figured out that if I take this game seriously, I’m actually pretty good. Too bad it took me 20 years to realize… I couldn’t take the golfpro out of Reid, but he took the clown out of me. Temporarily of course,” he added quickly.

  The tournament came down to Phil’s putt on the last hole. He had to sink a four-footer to win. During past tournaments at times like this, Phil worked the crowd, making everyone laugh. Today was different; Phil was totally serious. He also wa
s a nervous wreck.

  “I can’t believe this,” he said. “I’ve never felt like this on a golf course. My stomach is in knots. Buddy, please help me read this putt.”

  Buddy pointed the grip of a club to a spot about a ball’s width to the right of the hole. Phil looked at Reid for his confirmation.

  “This one is up to you, my friend. You can do it, just focus and relax!” Reid didn’t let on that inside he was twisted with anxiety. It drove him nuts that someone else was in control of his winning or losing a tournament. He often wished he could take winning a little less seriously, especially when it was only a Pro-Am.

  Phil took his stance and the crowd hushed. After a deep breath he hit the ball exactly where Buddy had indicated. The ball rolled toward the hole and dropped in.

  The crowd roared. Phil yelled, “Oh my God, I did it.” He ran over and gave Reid a big hug and said, “I owe you one.”