Got Game?

by Stephanie Doyle

  Dave turned to Jim and cocked his head. “Like I said yesterday, Jim, this girl… sorry, this woman… has got game. She’s moving her way around this course like a seasoned professional rather than a first-time player. She’s picking her shots, playing pretty conservatively. Basically doing everything she can to avoid mistakes. Today, it’s been all pars except for the one bogey on twelve when she overshot the green. She’s got sixteen, seventeen and eighteen left. None of those are birdie holes, but I think she’s going to need to take a risk. It goes without saying, though, a bogey would be disastrous for her.”

  “You’ve been in these high-pressure situations, for that matter, so has she on the ladies tour. Do you think this experience is any different for her?”

  Dave laughed. “Oh, yes. She’s got a massive gallery following her. It seems to have doubled in size since yesterday. She’s never played with this kind of attention on her before. I doubt she would admit it, but I think she knows this event makes all those majors on the ladies tour pale in comparison. It’s that much bigger. Part of succeeding here is learning how to handle that pressure.”

  “How do you think she’s doing?”

  “Frankly, I think she’s doing amazingly well. She seems cool and poised out there. Very few miss-hits. I also have to say I think there are about sixty golfers who would prefer she not make the cut. Reilly loves moving day, Saturday, and if she believes she has a chance, I think she could make a go of this tournament.”

  “Let’s talk about those golfers who would like to see her not make the cut. Some have been pretty vocal in their unwelcome.”

  “They have, Jim, and right now I think they all look a little ridiculous. Their assertion was she couldn’t compete and that isn’t the case.”

  Jim nodded. “Right now, if you had to bet money… does she make the cut?”

  “She makes the cut. Absolutely.”

  ***

  “I’m not going to make the cut,” Reilly spat. “Damn it.”

  “It was a bogey, you can recover,” Kenny assured her.

  “18? You want me to make a birdie on 18?”

  “You can do it. You have to do it.”

  Reilly took the bottle of water Kenny handed her. They were on the tee waiting for the group in front of them to play through. She’d been so close to birdie at 16 she could almost taste it, but the ball lipped out and 17 started with a bad shot off the tee. She was lucky to escape with a bogey. She was at plus four, which was rumored to be the cut line. A birdie here would guarantee the weekend. A par would give her a chance. A bogey would take her out of it.

  No, she decided. She wasn’t going home today. She was having too much fun.

  The pin placement was in the front edge of the green. To miss it long meant a speedy, downhill putt. But there wasn’t enough green to work with to try and get the ball in front of the hole. To the right or left either way she was going to need to be close, and that meant she needed to slam this ball down the fairway.

  “Give me the driver.”

  “You’ve been hitting three wood on this hole.”

  “I need to go a little longer.”

  “This dogleg’s a little to the left. If you slice this, you’re going to be in trouble.”

  Reilly looked at Kenny and saw his concern. She’d been trying to play it safe on every hole, but the bogey cost her. She needed to take a chance.

  “Driver.”

  Reilly placed her ball and picked the spot in the distance where she wanted to go. She took a deep breath and swung. The impact sounded good and when she followed the path of the ball she was pleased with its direction.

  “Nice swing,” Kenny said as he took the driver from her.

  She wiped the sweat from her forehead. Step one accomplished. She took her visor off, a soft pink one that read Girl Power on the brim and tried to think about her next shot. When she got to the ball she saw she was in perfect shape with a great angle at the hole. There was a bunker on the left, but as long as she was accurate it shouldn’t be an issue.

  “Nine iron.”

  “Wind is coming at you a little. You might want to go lower,” Kenny suggested.

  “Nah, I want to whack this thing. A nine will work.”

  Kenny handed her the club and stood back. Reilly addressed the ball. Found the flag. Visualized exactly where she wanted to land the ball and swung. The crack of the clubface hitting the ball registered. It sounded heavy, but when she looked up to find the white speck in midflight, she saw it was on course. It dropped and from downhill, she could hear the crowd in the stands surrounding 18 roar.

  It was close.

  Walking up to the green she registered the applause and the cheers but tried to tune it out. One putt, one putt away from the weekend was all she needed to focus on.

  Standing off on the side of the green she watched her playing partners putt out. Both of them were at plus six and had no chance of making the cut. Out of courtesy, they each finished to give her the stage. She could see the field commentator, who had been following her all day, urge the cameraman into position even as he whispered into his sensitive microphone about how he believed the putt would break.

  Reilly sort of wished she could hear him. Looking at the rolling green in front of her she figured the putt was about seven feet away on the right side of the hole and for the first time in her life, she couldn’t determine which way the green would break at the cup. Squatting down, she cupped her hands over the visor and stared at the grass trying to divine the path the ball would follow.

  She felt Kenny behind her and knew he was doing the same.

  “I can’t see it,” she said. “I don’t know which way…”

  “To the left. Only about two inches. I’ve seen this putt a million times on tape. It’s going to break to the left.”

  Reilly stood and turned to face Kenny. “The left?”

  He stared at her hard. “Reilly, I know you’ve never taken my read on a putt in your whole life, but I swear to you the putt is going to break left.”

  “This is for all the marbles,” she reminded him. “The only way to guarantee the weekend.”

  “Left.”

  “Left,” she sighed. She took the putter in her hands, steadied herself over the ball. She swung the putter gently a few times to get a sense of the speed and then lined up over the ball. Head down, she looked at the hole. She looked at the ball. She looked at the hole. She concentrated on total stillness. Making the gentlest of motions to move the putter into action. She tapped the ball and watched it roll closer, closer, closer … and then it broke ever so slightly … to the left.

  She watched it drop and the overwhelming sense of relief was enough to make her knees tremble.

  The crowd leaped to its feet and the sound of Reilly Carr making the cut to play the weekend could be heard around the course.

  ***

  “Did I call that? I so called that!” Kenny shouted as he reached for his beer in front of him.

  They were back at the house in Savannah, everyone gathered around the dining room table to celebrate Reilly making the cut and to cheer up Luke for missing it. Pierce and Odie congratulated themselves on their female Frankenstein and Mark was happy to be there to see it.

  Kenny was having fun taking all the credit for the miraculous birdie on eighteen.

  “One more birdie and I would have been there,” Luke told her. “I just got it going too late.”

  “I know. I saw your back nine,” she told him. “You haven’t lost anything you know. You could go back on tour in a second and pick up right where you left off.”

  “And miss being on TV? What would my fans do without me? Besides I’ve got bigger to fish to fry these days.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

  “Reilly,” Mark said, dragging her attention away from Luke. “I have to be honest. I didn’t see anyone suspicious following you over these last two days. Obviously, the crowd around you has been huge, but so far no one has done anything to draw my attention.
However, I’m going to say I think we still need to be cautious at this point.”

  “Right,” Kenny drawled. “Cautious enough that guarantees Mark a ticket through the weekend.”

  Mark laughed. “Exactly that cautious. I’m not going to lie. This has been the best unofficial job I’ve ever had. You should also know I’m not slacking. I promise I am checking everyone out. Even the little old men with the fold-up seats. Nobody is above suspicion.”

  “What about after it’s over?” Luke wanted to know. “Your vacation I assume runs out at some point.”

  “Technically speaking my vacation is over on Monday. I will need to get back to Atlanta. The way it is with these people, though, once the limelight is over, the obsession fades. We’ve seen it before with stalkers going after actors nominated for an Oscar only to lose all interest when the actor doesn’t win.”

  “If I do win?” Reilly asked with a twinkle in her eye. “What then?”

  “Then we wait and see. There’s not a whole lot else we can do. Be grateful whoever he is, he’s letting you play in peace.”

  “A sports-friendly stalker,” Pierce joked. “They’re the only kind to have.”

  “It’s all nonsense if you ask me,” Odie stated patting his belly now full of steak. “Silly people doing silly things.”

  “The ball mark wasn’t silly. The letters weren’t silly. They were creepy,” Luke pointed out. “This guy has been hunting her. There’s no other word for it.”

  “You have to realize a lot of times these people don’t want to make actual physical contact. The stalker prefers to live in the fantasy world. If he met Reilly and he was rejected, it would crush the fantasy.”

  “Or she,” Kenny pointed out. “Reilly couldn’t identify the person in her room and I didn’t get a clear look. It could have been a woman.”

  “The voice from the phone messages was deep,” Reilly reminded him. There were times when she put the voice together with the person who had been in her room. The strange mask, the deep voice and the idea he wanted something from her, chilled her in a way that she didn’t want to admit to anyone.

  “Deep can be faked,” Kenny said. “Let’s face it. You’re on the women’s tour. Not a whole lot of men are into that scene, but as for the women… enough said.”

  “Wow! Reilly is being stalked by a lesbian,” Pierce interjected. “Cool.”

  “It is not cool, Pierce. Can we puleeze not throw around the word “L” word,” Odie demanded. “At least until after dinner.”

  Pierce shook his head. “Homophobe. Your days are numbered.”

  “Did you just call me a homo?” Odie shouted.

  The doorbell rang, which caught everyone’s attention. Technically no one should have been able to bypass the gate, but both the stalker and Mark had already proved how easy it was.

  “I’ll get it.” Mark jumped up in instant alert, his hand reaching toward the gun holstered on his shoulder. The group held their collective breath.

  “You think he’ll shoot first and ask questions later?” Luke asked sarcastically once he was out of earshot.

  Reilly glanced at him surprisingly. “What was that for?”

  “I’ll get it. He sounded like a bad version of John Wayne.”

  “Somebody’s jealous,” Kenny sang. “Hey, Luke, just because he’s handsome and smart and works for the government and carries a gun doesn’t mean you should hate him.”

  “No? Well, then can I hate you for being an ass?”

  “Boys, boys,” Reilly calmed them. “Play nice. Mark’s a fan. That’s it. Currently, I’m deciding whether or not I’m going to be with Luke. You know, until we combust and break up, tragically ending our lifelong friendship forever.”

  Mark appeared back in the dining room with a shrug. “She says she’s a friend, but she doesn’t want to come in. Erica Kim?”

  Reilly popped up and headed for the door. Erica stood outside holding a large box under her arm.

  “Hey.”

  “Hi, back. This is for you.” Erica held the box out with a wry smile.

  “Come in,” Reilly encouraged her.

  She shook her head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re in there celebrating no doubt, and I don’t want to rain on the parade. Kenny and I will be cool, you know. Eventually. But considering he dumped me I think it’s better to keep my distance.”

  Reilly sighed. “He’s a jerk for doing that on the phone. When am I allowed to say I told you so?”

  “Right after I give you this.”

  Reilly took the box and opened it. Inside was a stuffed black bird.

  “It’s supposed to represent crow,” Erica explained. “But if you push the stomach it quotes Poe, so I’m guessing it’s a raven.”

  Reilly pulled the bird out of the box.

  “Nevermore! Nevermore!”

  Erica’s head tilted to the right. “Get it? I watched you play today and now I have to eat some.”

  “You were there? I didn’t see you.”

  “Behind the legions of Reilly Carr fans, I was there. My parents hooked me up with one of their bigwig friends and scored me a ticket. As an initial nonsupporter, I’m letting you know I’m officially on the bandwagon.”

  “Good to know.”

  “I was really wrong about you doing this. I thought it would be a bad thing for women’s golf. You’re holding your own out there and making us all look good. Even though I know in my life I could never hit the ball as far as you do. Anyway, I wanted to let you know.”

  “How did you know where I was?”

  “Kenny told me. The security at the gate is a joke.

  Reilly winced. “So I’ve heard.”

  “Anyway, we were friends before all this and I hope we can be friends again.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Erica smiled. “Good. You are coming back to the ladies tour, aren’t you?”

  The question surprised Reilly. “Of course I am. It’s where I belong.”

  Then she watched the expression on her friend’s face fade to a sad smile. “No. It isn’t. Not anymore. Good luck tomorrow.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Bitch.”

  “Whore,” Reilly returned with a smile.

  Reilly watched Erica walk back to her powder blue Beemer and wondered what she meant. Was it a question of not wanting her back on tour? Or did she mean she didn’t belong. What the hell did that mean for her future?

  “She didn’t give you anything to give me, did she? Like hate mail or something.”

  Reilly glanced behind her to see Kenny walking slowly to the door. A man with a guilty conscience.

  “You couldn’t have waited to break up with her the next time you saw her in person?”

  “No. It had to be done. There were timing issues.”

  Reilly closed her eyes in resignation. “I won’t ask. But no, she wasn’t here for you. She was here for me. She wanted to apologize for not being supportive.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Erica is as competitive as the next person. She might say she’s happy for you, but saying it, meaning it, and feeling it are all totally different things.”

  “You’re just saying that because it didn’t work out with her.”

  Kenny shook his head. “No. I’m not. You’re already paranoid enough so I won’t bother to tell you to watch your back. This is going to change things. You’ll see. You’re going to be on your own in the golfing world. Not welcomed on the men’s tour, not wanted on the ladies.”

  Reilly punched his shoulder. “I’m trying to have a happy time here and you’re ruining it with tales of gloom and doom.”

  “It’s a fact. Just like the stalker. No point in avoiding it. Come back inside. Pierce has made some healthy dessert he wants us to try.”

  A fact, Reilly thought, as she listened to the men groan about fat-free whipped cream. A fact the future with her career, with Luke, was never going to be the same.

  Wh
at sucked was that Reilly had no idea if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

  CHAPTER 29

  Saturday – Moving Day

  “We are kicking off our continuing coverage of the American in beautiful Georgia,” Jim said into the camera, then turned to his co-commentator. “The sun is out. The course looks great. It’s Saturday at a major, Dave.”

  “That’s right, Jim. Moving day. When players do what they can to put themselves in contention for tomorrow. You can’t win the Royal Blue today, but you sure can lose it.”

  “Let’s talk about the story unfolding out there on the course right now.”

  “That’s easy, Jim. There’s only one person out there making any serious noise and that’s Reilly Carr. Let me tell you, she’s loud.”

  “Four birdies on the front nine and three on the back so far.”

  “Out in thirty-two was an amazing start for her. Her ball striking has been incredible. She’s making shot after shot.”

  “Let’s go to the action as she makes her way to the tee box at 17.”

  ***

  “You are on fire.”

  “I’m on fire,” Reilly repeated as they walked through the separated crowd to the 17th tee. She had no worries of anyone hearing their conversation; the cheering that followed her wherever she went was too loud.

  “Smoking. You’re so ‘effing accurate today you can drop the ball on top of the flag and make it stay there if you want.”

  Reilly watched Kenny walk in front of her, blazing a more secure trail as eager fans leaned over the rope lines designed to keep them away from the players. Hands stretched out hoping to get tapped, she had to fold in her shoulders to avoid being touched.

  “We’re only three behind Staddler and only two off the pace of the six others bunched at minus six. SinJin is sucking our dust. The crowds are for us.” Kenny paused. “This is the coolest thing ever!”

  Reilly stopped at the tee box and waited for her playing partner to drive first. She removed the baseball cap she’d chosen for the day to wipe her brow. Girls Rule and Boys Drool was done in blue lettering on the pink rim.