James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  “There goes the remains,” Curt said loud enough for Captain Jer to hear. He peered out the window as the tow truck exited the parking lot. “I don’t know what your deductible is, but make sure you get your insurance information in to J Dub.” He dropped the water-logged golf bag onto the floor. “I don’t know if you’ll be able to use these again.”

  “Am I responsible for that?” Captain Jer asked. He thought that playing dumb might get him out of the liability.

  Curt nodded. “Oh yeah. The damage to that cart is too much for us to eat.”

  Justin looked at the injuries to BT’s face and spoke what was on his mind. “I know what happened to Captain Jer, but what happened to you?”

  BT was speechless so Curt verbalized for him. “What happens at the Aqua Mermaid stays at the Aqua Mermaid.” He smiled at BT.

  “What did you do, win a lot of money and get mugged in the parking lot?” Keith asked.

  Keith’s speculation surprised BT and caught him off guard. He turned to the adolescent and asked a return question. “Why would you offer a guess like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Keith said. “How else could you get hurt at a casino?”

  Fred threw in two cents. “Knowing BT, there were probably women involved.”

  BT had been a professional baseball player in his younger days. He had made it to the Triple A division in the minor leagues. When the major league ballplayer ahead of him got hurt and the parent club needed to call up a replacement, BT was also hurt. So he never made it to the “big show.” A few years later he hung up his spikes and went into teaching and public school administration. After a career doing that, he retired and golfed with the guys at Prairie Winds. His lanky frame and distinguished good looks interested women everywhere he went . . . and his golfing buddies knew that.

  Curt had been up with his golfing buddy the night before and attempted to come to his rescue. He borrowed a familiar line. “Fred, I’ll say it again. What happens at the Aqua Mermaid stays at the Aqua Mermaid. You know that.”

  Justin turned to Curt and asked, “Why do you keep saying that?”

  BT had been getting tired of the chatter that was flying around the room. He called the boys over to the table. “Grab a chair. If you haven’t heard it by now, then maybe I can shed some light on the subject.” His days in the public school system had brought an education that lasted well past what could be learned from books.

  “Are you going to tell us about the Aqua Mermaid?” Justin asked as he and Keith pulled up a chair.

  “That and maybe a whole lot more,” BT said. “The reason everyone uses that saying is because a lot of times there are things that happen at the casino and on the casino property that a person doesn’t want anybody else to know about.”

  “ . . . Like gambling?” Justin pried.

  “That and other things,” BT continued. “There are activities in the casinos that a lot of people are ashamed of and don’t want anybody to witness.”

  “ . . . Besides gambling?” Keith questioned.

  “Yeah,” Justin added, “like smoking and drinking.”

  “That’s right,” BT remarked. “But in my case it was something more than that.” The guys at the card table exchanged glances with Curt. A few eyebrows were raised to see how BT was going to explain his way around the truth of the situation. “I was approached by two women. They fed me a good line and buttered me up pretty good.”

  “You mean gave you a compliment?” Justin asked.

  “Sure,” BT went on, “you could say that.” He slowed down to choose his words very carefully. “Anyway as we were walking out in the parking lot they started complaining to me that their rent was due and whined to me that they had lost all of their money in the casino. They didn’t know what they were going to tell their landlord and all kinds of things like that.”

  “You didn’t feel sorry for them, did you?” Keith asked.

  “Yeah, I did,” BT admitted. “That was real foolish on my part.”

  “Why? Because you gave them some money?” Justin continued.

  BT nodded his head up and down. “ . . . Yep. I reached into my pocket to give them some money because they were acting like beggars.” BT added a few twists to the story. “When I pulled my wad of cash out one of the girls grabbed all of the money out of my hand and the other one punched me. She knocked me to the ground and kicked me.”

  “You let a girl knock you to the ground?” Keith chastised BT. “That’s kind of wimpy.”

  BT had to think of a reply quickly. “Well,” he drawled, “she brought her knee up and nailed me right here.” He pointed to his crotch.

  “Oh, no wonder you went down to the ground,” Keith said as he and Justin winced at each other.

  “Yeah, that no-good girl kicked him in the balls,” Justin paraphrased.

  The room erupted in laughter. The guys were howling. BT managed to get his point across without going into the details of what really happened. “So anyway that’s why everyone uses that saying. There are just some things that go on around there that you don’t want anyone else to know about.” He grimaced as he touched the right side of his face.

  Justin thought long and hard for a minute. “We’ll keep that secret. I wouldn’t want all the guys to know that some girl kicked you there.”

  Curt smiled as he let that remark soak in.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

  A few days later Curt went in to visit Kyunghee at the cancer center. He was due for another chemotherapy treatment. The actual session wasn’t as bad as the mental anguish that came in the days leading up to the procedure. Sitting in a recliner and watching television for a couple of hours while the IV was administered wasn’t all that bad. In fact it afforded him an opportunity to nap and catch up on some sleep.

  After the procedure was completed, he continued on to the infusion nurse so that the final drug could be hooked up. Curt did what the doctor ordered and was unhooked two days later from the portable pump. He became lethargic for a day or so after that and all he really felt like doing was sleeping. At least he could continue to show up at the clubhouse and do the basic tasks that were on his schedule. Whenever he got too tired he could always go into the office and fall asleep in the easy chair.

  The weather was still brutally hot, and humidity in the Midwest almost matched the temperature on the thermometer. A simple task like walking across the parking lot would cause a person to sweat like a Sumo wrestler sitting in a sauna. Of course, those were conditions that BowTye was used to in his native state of Louisiana.

  “I don’t know why J Dub and Curt want us to pull so many carts out of the barn today,” Justin said to BowTye as he let his body soak up the air conditioning. His face was flushed and the sweat had drenched his hair. “There won’t be too many golfers go out in this heat.”

  “This heat is nothin’, Mister Justin,” BowTye said as he ran a brush through the spikes of a golf shoe. “You should feel the heat in the deep South.”

  “Is it worse than this?” Keith asked.

  “Oh, Lord yes.” BowTye applied some polish to the top of a shoe. “It’s so hot down there that we used to eat jalapeno peppers covered in cayenne powder just to cool down.”

  “What would you do on days like that?” Justin asked.

  “Well, Mister Justin, on days like that we would grab our fishin’ poles and head for the bayou,” BowTye said. He spit on a rag and continued to buff a golf shoe.

  “I haven’t been fishin’ in a long time,” Justin exclaimed. “I wonder if Curt would let us go out to the lake and do that today.”

  “There’s only one way to find out,” BowTye reasoned. “Just go and ask him.”

  Curt had been standing behind the counter carrying on a conversation with Julie. The look in his eye and the slight grimace on his face told Justin that the after-effect of the chemo treatment was making him feel nauseous. Curt pressed on his temples to try to relieve the stress in his head and covered his mouth from time to time to s
quelch the dry heaves.

  Justin tried to ease his way into the conversation and put a little bit of persuasion into his voice. “Hey Curt, since it’s so slow and you don’t have many jobs for us to do today, do you think that Keith and I can go out to the lake with BowTye and go fishing?”

  “Are you sure you want to go out in this heat?” Curt asked. Justin nodded. “The fish won’t be biting too much.”

  “That’s okay if they’re not biting. BowTye is finished with the shoes and he said that this weather was like a cold wave compared to what they have down South,” Justin adlibbed. “If you’re not feeling well, then he said that he would go out there with us.”

  Curt’s face contorted. Even the smallest amount of thinking seemed to be an enormous burden for him today. “Oh, I don’t care. I can’t go out with you right now. I just don’t feel good at the moment.”

  “We’ll sit under the shade tree with BowTye,” Justin urged.

  “ . . . If you want to go out now, fine. I’ll come out later,” Curt agreed. “The fishing poles are in the maintenance shed.”

  BowTye walked to the counter and confronted Curt. “Do you have a tackle box and some bait with the poles, Mister Curt?”

  Curt shook his head up and down. “I would go to the creek on number three and get along the shaded side of the bank,” Curt began. The mere suggestion of using his brain to verbalize an idea was making his face cringe. “Grab an old coffee can out of the shed and a small hand trowel. Then dig for some worms in the shade.”

  “The bass will like that bait Mister Curt,” BowTye beamed.

  “That’s if they’re biting. Set the hooks about ten to twelve feet under the cork so you can fish a little deeper where the water is cooler,” Curt recommended. He rubbed his hand over his face and caught himself in the middle of a dry heave. “I’ve got to go lay down for a minute.” As he reached the door to the office he gave additional instructions. “Have the boys each drive a golf cart out there and I’ll be out later in the utility vehicle.” He disappeared into the office and retired to the easy chair. “And watch out for the golfers!”

  “He’s letting us go BowTye,” Justin cried out.

  “Be careful out there,” Julie interrupted. “It’s hot and there aren’t many golfers.” Justin, Keith, and BowTye headed for the door. “Remember to be careful driving those carts. He’s letting you have some responsibility.” She grabbed a cooler, put some ice in it and placed some Powerade inside as well. “Why don’t you take a few beverages out there too?”

  Justin returned for the cooler. “Thanks! That was smart thinking.” He hustled up to join Keith and BowTye.

  Keith hopped on one cart and BowTye got into the cart that Justin was driving. He brought along his banjo which had become more and more of a fixture at Prairie Winds once the cat had gotten out of the bag. The guys enjoyed the association and notoriety that came along with Peel It Backe.

  Justin jumped out first as the trio approached the maintenance shed. The boys had been into the shed so much this summer that they knew the routine. “I’m going to feed the cats. You guys look for the fishin’ poles,” he began. Puddles had grown in size over the summer. It came over and rubbed against Justin’s lower leg and purred so loud that Justin could hear the sound standing up. The other cats stirred when sounds from the opening of the food bag were made.

  “Here are the fishin’ poles and a coffee can. Right where Mister Curt said that’d be,” BowTye said. He grabbed the paraphernalia and headed for the golf cart. “Come on Mister Justin. Let those cats go back to nappin’.” Justin reached down and petted Puddles between the eye and ear. He knew the place it liked to be rubbed.

  “We’ll get over to the creek on number three,” Justin said as he pressed on the accelerator. “You can pick the spot that you feel is best for the worms, BowTye.”

  As the two carts pulled up to the creek, BowTye wasted no time grabbing the hand shovel and can. When it came to fishing, he took a lot of initiative but looked way too prim and proper in his long sleeved white shirt and black trousers. But he crawled down the bank carefully, not wanting to get his feet wet in the trickle of water that was meandering gently along. “The shade of the trees has kept this spot moist,” he remarked as he stuck the shovel in the soil. “We’ll find lots of worms here.”

  Right on cue as he turned over the first scoop of dirt, a handful of worms wiggled for freedom. “What do you want us to do?” Keith asked.

  “Pick them out of there and put them in the can Mister Keith. After we get a dozen of them I’ll throw a little dirt in the can to keep them happy.”

  After getting the worms they wanted, the trio headed for the lake. Justin made it a point to pull the cart up to an area that had several cypress trees. They weren’t the perfect shade trees but the shadow that they provided would serve as a savior from the hot summer sun. “This is where Curt brings us every morning,” Justin explained to BowTye. “He makes us run around the lake . . .”

  “ . . . To wake us up,” Keith added.

  “ . . . And get us in shape,” Justin concluded.

  “Mister Curt knows what he’s doin’. This is a very tidy place right here,” BowTye said as he marveled at the beauty of the area. “It’s like havin’ your own private park.”

  “Right over there is the finish line that we painted on the cart path,” Justin pointed out as he motioned with his arm.

  “Six laps around the lake are almost two and a half miles,” Keith noted.

  “Is this where you want to sit and fish?” BowTye asked.

  “We can sit on the bank in the sun and you can stay in the shade BowTye. If it gets too hot we’ll be close enough to walk to the shade,” Justin suggested. He and Keith were proud of the area that Curt took them to every morning.

  BowTye put his hand in the air. “Feel that tender breeze?”

  “Not really,” Justin countered as he placed his hand in the air. “It’s hot out.”

  “Ah, yes, Mister Justin but what there is will be magnified in the shade. This is a good ‘ole place to go fishin’.” BowTye helped the boys with their poles. He set the bob on the line so that it was about ten to twelve feet above the hook, just like Curt had advised. Then he reached into the can, grabbed a worm, attached it to the hook and watched it squirm. He marveled at the sight of the worm twisting and turning on the hook. “That will be perfect movement to attract the attention of the fish.”

  Justin moved to the bank and cast the line into the water. In seconds Keith joined him and the two boys settled into a lazy day on the bank of the lake. Both boys watched as the cork simply bobbed on the top of the water. “How long do you think it will take BowTye?” Justin asked.

  “Be patient. It might take a long time in this heat. This probably isn’t the best time to be fishin’,” BowTye explained.

  “When is the best time?” Keith asked.

  “Early mornin’ or in the evenin’,” BowTye answered. He had retrieved his banjo and gotten in the cart. It was only parked about fifteen feet from the boys, but more importantly it was in the shade. After taking it out of the case he sat in the cart and strummed a few chords. It was obvious that he had found the instrument that put him in his comfort zone.

  “How did you learn how to play that?” Justin asked. The soothing sounds of the banjo relaxed the boys as they sat staring at the bobs.

  “It took years and years of practice, Mister Justin,” BowTye politely answered as he worked his fingers on the strings. The tunes provided a calming effect on the hot summer day.

  “When did you start?” Justin wondered. The questions that he had been asking all summer now seemed to be directed to BowTye.

  “I was a little boy,” BowTye recalled. “Only six years old I think. I was born in a little house in Picayune, Mississippi . . . right near the Pearl River.” He strummed some more on his banjo and sent the music across the fairways to a handful of golfers who could tolerate the heat. “My momma saved all of her money from her sewin
’ jobs and gave me a banjo for Christmas that year.”

  “Then what did you do? Just pick it up and teach yourself?” Justin asked. The conversation served as a deterrent to the boring job of watching the bob sit on top of the water.

  “Pretty much,” BowTye answered as he worked his left hand on the neck of the instrument. The fingers on his left hand seemed to move a lot more than the hand that was holding the pick.

  “That must have taken forever,” Keith said as he admired the magic BowTye was creating.

  “I suppose so,” BowTye continued. “But it didn’t seem so at the time. Me and that banjo did everythin’ together. So I got to know it pretty good.” The breeze kicked up a little and BowTye threw his head back to savor the feeling. As he closed his eyes his fingers didn’t miss a chord.

  “How did you learn the other instruments?” Justin asked. He had heard all the guys talking about how BowTye could play the guitar and organ and tambourine.

  “My momma moved us to New Orleans when I was eight or nine, if I remember correctly,” BowTye reminisced. “We were somewhere close to Lake Pontchartrain. She thought that I had an ear for music after hearin’ me strum on my banjo so she forced me to learn the piano from an old black woman that I called Aunt Mamie.”

  “Is Aunt Mamie still alive?” Justin asked as he held the fishing pole in his hands.

  “No. No. No.” BowTye stammered. “Aunt Mamie was gone before I left high school.” The fingers on his left hand searched for the proper fret as his right hand strummed at the strings. “She was a nice old woman that taught me the keyboard. I still remember her yellin’ ‘keep your wrists up’ as I banged on the keys. She never stopped yellin’ at me.”

  “All that yelling sure paid off,” Keith said.

  BowTye smiled from ear to ear. “Ah, yes,” he reflected, “but it wasn’t without a lot of hard work. I remember all those nights playin’ ’til the bars closed. And then the long drives home in the middle of the night when there wasn’t nothin’ to come home to. Learnin’ how to play the instruments was one thin’, but gettin’ the opportunity to play in front of the crowds was what really stirred my juices. It took me a while to learn how to play to the crowd, kind of feed off them . . . you know what I mean . . .” The boys shook their heads up and down. “That was really what it was all about . . . just givin’ the crowd what they wanted to hear.”