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

by James Ross

  “Jerry!” Julie scolded him and in a whisper she said, “Dammit. Not so loud. There are other people out here.”

  “Then I’ll go do it myself,” Captain Jer said as he walked off in a huff.

  “He’s not even drinking today and he acts like that,” Julie said to the gang. “How do you guys put up with him? He’s embarrassing.”

  “But lots uh fun,” YouWho said as he rested his upper teeth on his lower lip.

  “It looked like Opur was going to walk off the course,” Trent said to Callum. “Can you believe that something like that could happen?”

  Callum shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve seen crazier things. Guys burn out all the time, but you wouldn’t think that he would leave in the heat of this battle.”

  “Do you think he’s feeling too much pressure from Tank’s game?”

  “Not that I can see,” Callum said. “This kid is a competitor. We’re going to find out quickly if he is wilting. He’s up first. What was the distance, Monique?”

  “One thirty-eight,” Monique whispered. “The ball’s in the air. It’s tracking toward the pin. Looks good from here.”

  “Oh,” Trent stated from the booth, “the ball hit, bounced forward and spun back to the front fringe.”

  “He barely missed getting the ball real tight,” Callum added.

  “That was the right play at this pin location,” Trent said. “He just put a little too much backspin on the ball.”

  “All he’ll be able to do is lag it from there,” Callum said. “Let’s see what Tank can do.”

  “Here’s your opening, boss,” Dickie Doo said.

  “Tank has a wedge in his hands,” Monique reported. “He could put this close.”

  “You’re right on your number,” Dickie Doo said as he acted like chief cheerleader.

  “If he can get this tight and one putt, he’ll trim the lead to one,” Trent said.

  “Tank will leave himself below the hole,” Callum predicted. After watching the flight of the ball and final resting spot he continued, “Just like I said.” A roar from Tank’s fans echoed off the soon-to-be-encountered bluffs.

  “Let’s not count out the player with the hot putter,” Trent added.

  On the course, Opur took his visor off and yawned again. He and J Dub began a long walk over a twelve-foot wide wooden plank walkway. The bridge had been constructed over and through the swampland. Tree limbs and dense foliage had grown above the walkway providing shade along the stroll to the green. On occasion J Dub would have to hold a limb back so it wouldn’t impede Opur’s path. “Are you falling asleep on me?” J Dub asked as the pair advanced.

  “No.”

  “Do you want to win this thing?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Where’s your heart? Your passion?”

  “It’s there.”

  “Your body language sure doesn’t show it. It’s going to get tougher from here on out.”

  “I know.”

  “Then snap it together.” He turned his head to Opur. “You’re feeling better?”

  Opur shrugged his shoulders, “Off and on.”

  “Suck it up. We’ve only got a couple more hours out here and you can sleep for days.”

  “Okay.”

  “Let’s go and make a good roll at this thing.”

  When they stepped into the opening a hearty round of applause from the gallery greeted them. J Dub handed him the Bulls Eye putter that had been as hot as the sun. Opur stepped into the arena. It seemed like half of the crowd was pulling for the rookie playing in his first tournament as a pro and the other half pulling for the favorite son of golf.

  Opur stepped onto the green and continued on to his divot. He bent over to fix the mark and returned to his ball. The entire time the leader of the tournament studied the contours and nuances of the green. He couldn’t mark his ball because it was located on the fringe. So he leaned over to see if there was any mud on the ball.

  Whether or not he lost his balance or became disoriented was unclear. But he fell to the turf. Tank was the nearest person to him. “Hey man, are you okay?”

  Opur looked up at him and initially was confused. Then he started laughing. “I guess I lost my balance.”

  “I saw you walking funny out in the fairway. Is everything fine?” He extended his hand to help Opur to his feet.

  “Yeah, just peachy,” Opur said as he scrambled to his feet and brushed off his pants. “You’re as hot as the weather, aren’t you?”

  Tank laughed. “You’re not giving me any breathing room.” He started to walk away. “Now if you’re not feeling good we can get some help for you.”

  “No, no. I’m fine. Just a little light-headed from something I ate, I think.”

  “If you have to get it out of your body, then we’ve got plenty of places back here to do that,” Tank said with a grin.

  Opur laughed. “I already did early in the round.” He was face to face with Tank. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s it like to wear the fedora?”

  Tank smiled. He had worn it for many years. “There’s nothing like it. You’re on top of the world—the best. And the media never lets you alone.”

  “You like that attention, don’t you?”

  “If you didn’t want it, you wouldn’t be here.” Tank flashed his toothy smile at Opur, turned and walked away.

  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that in a golf match. It’s odd,” Callum conceded, “you’re cordial to your playing partner but that was a strange happenstance.”

  “Maybe he senses he’s going up against a wounded animal,” Trent theorized.

  Callum turned to his broadcast partner. “You know what they say about the cornered dog.”

  Chapter Seventy-Six

  “Do you think that the mud on the ball had anything to do with Opur missing that putt?” Trent asked Callum.

  “He had thirty feet left. It wasn’t like it was a gimme. But that’s a valid question. It looked like Opur played for a slight break and the mud on the ball kept it from turning into the hole.”

  The pair looked into the monitor as fans scampered for viewing areas on the next hole. “That sort of set the stage for Tank,” Trent said. “We’re in the booth and you could feel the energy all the way up here.”

  “He wasn’t going to miss his,” Callum said. “Fifteen feet is a nice length, but he’s been here before. He knew what the putt was going to do.”

  “So Opur’s lead is down to one shot,” Trent said. “This is the last hole before we get to Indian Ambush. Any advice for Opur?”

  “Douse his competitor with a bucket of water because he’s on fire.”

  On the course Morgan feared the worst. “Something is not right,” she complained to Julie. “I’ve never seen him act like this.”

  “J Dub is out there with him. I’m sure they talked about what was going on,” Julie rationalized.

  “I hope he takes charge of the situation. I don’t think that it’s my place to run out there and tell him he can’t play,” Morgan said.

  “No, you better not do that,” Julie assured her new friend. “It might be nerves or maybe the pressure of playing with Tank is getting to him.”

  “You just don’t wander around in circles and then ten minutes later fall down,” Morgan said.

  “He needs to win a hole and slow Tank down,” Julie replied.

  “Was I right?” Paco asked Captain Jer as the retired pilot caught up to the group.

  “You were right. She’s got blisters on the outside of both little toes.”

  “Did you talk to her on my behalf?” Scottie P asked.

  “No.” Captain Jer curtly answered. He looked at Julie. “I thought it would be prudent to stay on my best behavior.”

  “The poor thing,” BT said facetiously. “Maybe you should have offered to rub them.”

  “I would have done that on the middle of the green,” Captain Jer said, “on camera.”
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  “There you go again, Jer,” Julie said. “That’s something we don’t need to hear about.”

  “Well, I’m going to tell you anyway.” Captain Jer paused and then smiled at Julie. “Her feet were perfect.”

  “That’s a lot of information that I was dying to find out about,” Julie said.

  “But there’s more,” the retired pilot said. “Her toenails had the hottest shade of fire engine red polish on them. She had a tattoo on her left ankle and one on the top of her right foot. Then on her left foot she had tattoos on three of her toes.”

  “Oh, come on, Jerry.” Julie chastised him. “Why do you think we have any interest in hearing about all of that?”

  “Because I know women,” Captain Jer said confidently.

  “Oh, you do, do you?”

  Jerry smiled. “You better believe I do.” He paused and looked at Julie. “You’re acting like you don’t believe me.”

  “What makes you so sure of yourself around women?” Julie asked.

  “Let’s just pretend.” He smiled at Julie. “That’s an innocent little game we can play, isn’t it?”

  Julie rolled her eyes. She thought that Captain Jer had all the lines. “Okay, we’ll pretend.”

  Jerry sat down on the grass. “Let’s pretend that we’ve just walked ten holes on the golf course and we’re tired.” He smiled. “I’m so tired that I decided to sit down and get off my feet for a few minutes. You know, to give my legs a rest.”

  “I’m pretending with you, Jer.”

  “Good.” Captain Jer said. “Teamwork is important.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now let’s pretend that your feet are really sore. You know . . . that achy, sore feeling of when you can’t wait to kick your shoes off and let your feet breathe.”

  Julie closed her eyes as a soothing gust of wind swept past her for a second. Captain Jer reached for her foot. “Jerry, don’t.”

  “But we’re only pretending.”

  “Then if we’re pretending you can’t touch,” Julie said.

  “But now we’re pretending something else,” Captain Jer said.

  “What’s that?”

  “We’re pretending that you think that the world’s best foot masseur is sitting before your feet.”

  “Oh, I am, am I?”

  “Yes.” He grabbed her foot. “And this world-famous masseur took your shoe off and rubbed your foot so that you’d be comfortable.”

  Julie closed her eyes. Her reaction to Captain Jer’s alluring voice even surprised her. He slipped her shoe off and started massaging her foot as the guys from Prairie Winds, along with several other spectators, watched.

  “Now what you’ll notice is that the foot is one of the most erogenous zones on the human body.” He rubbed her foot. “And you’ll also see that your breathing intensifies as you begin to enjoy it.” He worked his hands around and over Julie’s foot. “See how good that feels and how much you enjoy it.”

  Julie nodded her head. “Uh, huh.”

  Abruptly, Captain Jer stopped. “But since we’re pretending, it’s time for me to stop.” He quickly rose to his feet.

  “Oh, you son of a . . .”

  “Now, now, Jules. We were only pretending.”

  “The more I’m around you, the more I think you have had your way with all the women you say you have.”

  Captain Jer grinned and gave her a wink. “Let’s just say that I know women.” He slipped behind her as she put on her shoe. When Julie stood up Captain Jer massaged her shoulders. He bent forward and whispered in her ear. “Do you feel better and not quite so bitchy?”

  “If I didn’t know better I’d think that you’re hitting on me.”

  “No way I’d do that.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Why?” Julie asked.

  “You’re way too old for me.” He rolled with laughter. “I like them in their twenties.”

  “Jerry.”

  He turned to the gang and thumped on his chest a bit. “They all act like putty when I get done rubbing their feet.” He laughed at himself.

  J Dub was working hard on the tee. He had his yardage book out figuring the proper distance to the pin. He threw grass clippings in the air to get a feel for the wind. The tops of the trees were active in the heavy breeze. “Do you have more in you?”

  Opur had gotten bottled water from the cooler. He nodded, trying to focus on what he needed to do despite a myriad of physical symptoms affecting his mind and body. “Get some antacid pills out of my bag.”

  J Dub fulfilled the request. “What’s wrong now?”

  “I’ve had this crap all morning. Maybe I ate something that didn’t agree with me.”

  “You were in the tent last night. That’s the only place you ate, right?”

  “Yeah. Do you think its food poisoning?” Opur wondered out loud. “Nobody else is sick are they?”

  “Not that I know of,” J Dub answered. “Why didn’t you say something earlier?”

  “We’ve had enough to worry about.” Opur brought his hand to his forehead, pinched his fingers to his thumb, looked to the skies and let out a yawn, followed by a sigh. “This is torture today.”

  “We can take it in, if you want to stop,” J Dub proposed.

  “I’ll finish so we can get a paycheck.” Opur paused. “We need it for the little one.” He looked at J Dub. “I just wished I felt better.” He shrugged his shoulders and had a smug grin. “We had fun for three days at least.”

  “Don’t throw in the towel. Anything can happen. Don’t you ever quit,” J Dub reiterated. “We need the golf gods to do something in our favor before this round is over.”

  On the opposite side of the tee the opposing caddy was acting like the tournament was over. “Look at him, Tank. He’s gassed,” Dickie Doo said as he reveled in their success. He was smiling and interacting with the crowd. “Let me keep you comfortable, champ.” He took a wet towel and wiped Tank’s brow.

  “Hey, there’s a lot of golf to be played,” Tank countered.

  “This is the final hole before we get to Indian Ambush,” Trent said. “Tank has started the back nine just like he started the front. He’s one under on this side after going four under on the front.”

  “This is an uphill par three that’s only one hundred and eighty-six yards,” Callum explained. “It takes us back up along the ridge.”

  “Is there anything the players need to be aware of, Callum?”

  “The wind has switched directions today and is directly behind the golfers. Anything long drops off the face of the earth,” Callum said bluntly.

  “That’s a harsh statement.”

  “Have you ever peered into that gorge?”

  “Well, I . . .”

  “If you had, you’d think that you would have seen the innards of the center of the planet.”

  Chapter Seventy-Seven

  “They each carded a three on number eleven,” Trent said. “That was some twelve-footer that Opur made after Tank tapped in.”

  “The kid isn’t going away,” Callum commented. “I know I’ve been saying it all day, but he’s got one heckuva golf game.”

  “Opur still has a one-stroke lead going into Indian Ambush. This part of the golf course has quite a history. Would you like to give the new listeners a cram session, Callum?”

  “Where does a bloke start?” Callum asked no one in particular.

  “Would you like me to begin?” Trent asked. The pair expertly played off one another.

  “Good idea. You talk about the town and I’ll stick to the golf part of it,” Callum proposed.

  “Muscle Shoals, Florence, Tuscumbia and Sheffield are part of a quad cities complex located on the Tennessee River. It is very near the state lines of Mississippi and Tennessee,” Trent began.

  “That’s the recent stuff,” Callum interjected. “When are you going to tell them about the Indians?”

  “Right now,” Trent countered. “As is the case with much that has
happened in this country, history takes us back to the Native Americans. There are several theories about how Muscle Shoals got its name so I’ll throw out the rumors and let you believe whichever one you want.”

  “I know which one I believe,” Callum said.

  “And different people have varying opinions,” Trent said. “One thought is that on a map the bend in the river looks like a muscle.”

  “I don’t buy that one,” Callum commented.

  “I see that you’ve formed an opinion,” Trent said with a chuckle. “Another consideration is that thousands of mussels washed up on the river banks and that m-u-s-c-l-e-s is a variation of that.”

  “That could be,” Callum remarked. “A shoal is a buildup of sand that forms a sandbar. I can see those little critters getting washed up on the beach.”

  “The other idea is that the river was full of rapids in this area,” Trent went on to explain. “The Indians had a very tough time negotiating the river due to the steep drop in elevation, paddling against the current and literally thousands of underwater rocks that occupied the river. Their muscles got tired of paddling so they set up camp and established settlements on this part of the river.”

  “That’s the one I like to believe,” Callum stated. “In their quest to hunt they popped out of these mountains and ambushed unknowing prey.”

  “That sounds so sinister,” Trent said.

  “But it’s a moniker that stuck on this part of the golf course,” Callum replied, “and with the topography here, it is very fitting.”

  “Tell the viewers about the first hole of Indian Ambush,” Trent requested.

  “I alluded to a core part of this area when I referred to the gorge,” Callum started. “That gorge is directly behind the eleventh green and drops straight down several hundred feet. If you’ve stood on the rim, Trent, you’ve probably noticed trolls and leprechauns and hobgoblins and such living at the bottom.”

  “Callum, now you’re pulling our leg.”

  “I’d be too scared to go down there and validate that.”

  “So, we’ve got a gorge with creatures at the bottom of it. How does that find itself part of a golf course?”

  “At one time this part of the property was a quarry. Rock outcroppings, quarry walls and abandoned water pits make up a lot of the next five holes. Not only is it treacherous, but it offers some of the most stunning topography on any golf course in the world.”