When Buck finished and started to leave with his bag on his shoulder, Josh approached him with a smile. “Hey, haven’t heard from you.”
“Yeah, sorry.” Buck stopped. “That LeeAnn chick called about the Pro-Am.”
“When? What did she say?”
“She wanted to know if I needed a caddie for the Pro-Am,” Buck said. “They cut the fee to a thousand.”
“Fuck. Next time let me negotiate the deal. You wouldn’t have taken a haircut on the fee.”
“Sure.”
“So what did you tell her about a caddie?”
“Hey, they want to pay for one, I’m happy to let them do it.”
“Good.” Josh looked around again. “So who’s your looper this week?”
“Same guy,” Buck said.
“Why?” Josh asked. He put his hand to his forehead and looked at Buck. “Why risk missing the cut again? He’s not the right caddie for you.”
Buck started moving. “Stay out of it.”
Josh caught up with Buck. “Hey, Buck. Chill.”
Buck stopped but kept his eyes at the ground.
“I’m just trying to understand why you’d risk your career over a caddie.”
“He’s my brother.”
Josh put his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “You know, family loyalty is good and all, but sometimes you need to let go of the past to grab hold of the future. Just something to think about.”
Buck shrugged off Josh’s hand from his shoulder. “Instead of telling me who my caddie should be, why don’t you do your job? Where are the deals this week? Shirts, shoes, cap, bag?”
“What about your contract with Big Tex?”
“I cut them loose because you said you could make things happen.”
“Why didn’t you say so? Now I have something to work with. I’ll have you a new shirt and cap by the end of the day.”
That seemed to satisfy Buck; his eyes weren’t shooting an angry defiance anymore.
“I’ll call you later,” Josh said before they parted.
What just happened? Phil had nearly demanded Josh cut Buck loose if he didn’t change caddies.
To hell with Phil. Josh didn’t work for him so he didn’t have to follow Phil’s advice. And, he wasn’t going to let LeeAnn Gaines go behind his back anymore either.
Josh strolled through the corporate tents for the local sponsors, collecting cards and contacts from a regional bank, car dealership, accounting firm and liquor distributor.
By the time he reached the bar in the clubhouse, he had a deal for Buck to wear the shirt and cap for the accounting firm. To Josh’s surprise, Buck’s collapse on the eighteenth green had proved the old adage true—there was no such thing as bad publicity.
#
Wednesday’s Pro-Am was the pre-tournament event where a pro was paired with a local amateur who paid big money to play. Sometimes a celebrity with a penchant for golf was thrown in the mix to draw in the crowds. It was promoted under the guise of philanthropy, and indeed, the money raised went to local charities.
Buck handed over a hundred dollars to Art before they parted in the parking lot. The bills were all ones and fives, so Art couldn’t give away any twenties by accident.
“I’m rich now,” Art said as he clasped the thick wad of bills.
“Remember, be here by five o’clock.”
When Buck signed in, he found his caddie waiting for him.
Raymond had the leathered skin of a long-time golfer. He took the bag from Buck like an old hand, adjusting it on his shoulder effortlessly. As they walked to the starting hole, Raymond pointed out a man about Buck’s age a few yards ahead of them.
“He’s playing with us. His family owns a chain of liquor stores in town. He’ll be with you on the back tees.”
There was a light crowd waiting when they reached the No. 1 hole. LeeAnn Gaines was there and she approached the liquor store guy first. While she was talking, she caught Buck’s eye and gave him a wink and a smile.
Soon, she left the liquor store guy and hurried towards Buck.
“Oh, I’m so glad I caught you,” she said, sounding breathy and a little anxious. She held out a sleeve of balls. “I wanted to make sure you were playing our new ball today.”
Buck took the sleeve from her.
“I’ll see you after the round. We can have a drink,” she said.
“Yeah, sure.”
There was a murmur from the gallery. The country-western singer Steven Whitman lumbered through a parting in the crowd.
Everyone had a hand out with something to write on, begging for an autograph. Buck was impressed with how Whitman stopped for each fan flashing something in front of him. It also reminded Buck why he hated these events. It would slow the pace of play to a crawl.
A few minutes later, a square, compact man joined their foursome. His wife was his caddie. She was equally short and muscular.
Being the pro, Buck had honors. His drive flew out and rolled to three hundred yards in the fairway. The StraightLine ball came off the tee better than the lumpish turd he’d expected.
The liquor store guy was up after Buck.
He had a tall frame, no hat covering sandy brown hair, and a chiseled Boy Scout face. He walked on with the stride of a confident golfer.
Boy Scout struck the ball well. His drive stopped about ten yards behind Buck’s, but with a slightly better lie.
Impressive.
As they waited for the others to tee off, Buck could smell the money on Boy Scout. The knife-edge crease in his pants, the designer sunglasses, the shoes that looked as though a servant had licked them clean. It made Buck think of Denny. Maybe having money wasn’t always a good thing—too much easy cash soaked up the fuel you needed to be competitive.
The pin placements were much easier today, more forgiving, making up for the slower play.
The sky was clear, and the scent of desert hung vaguely in the air. Not the thick humid swampy feel of the Gulf Coast. This place had a hint of vastness and movement, of free-flowing currents that would carry Buck where he wanted to go.
The StraightLine ball was nothing special and didn’t have the same spin control as Hickenlooper. But it was playable.
Although Art could have judged the yardage better, corroborating what Buck thought he was getting out of the StraightLine ball, Raymond had a few tips specific to the course, mostly about where Buck could expect the pin placements to migrate around the green through the four tournament rounds.
Buck carded one under, and he was feeling good in spite of the five-and-a-half hour round. He felt the steam building, and that he was saving his best scores for when it counted.
LeeAnn ambushed him as soon as he came off the course. She was dressed in a pair of white, skintight pants. Buck promised to meet her in the clubhouse later.
He went in search of Art. Raymond tagged behind with the bag.
The van was idling in the players’ parking lot. Buck opened the back doors and took the golf bag from Raymond. He pulled forty dollars from his wallet.
Raymond quickly checked the number of bills with his thumb before he pocketed the cash. Then he asked, “Do you want these?” He held up the sleeve of StraightLine balls.
“Keep them,” Buck said.
“Hey, if you need a looper this week, let me know.”
“I’m covered, but thanks.” Buck took the bag and stowed it inside the van. He slammed the doors shut, checking the lock before he walked to the driver’s side. The window was down. Art was playing on his tablet.
Buck rested his arm in the open window, waiting for Art to notice him.
When Art looked up, Buck said, “I’m sticking around here for a while.”
Buck put his hand on Art’s shoulder. “I want you to go straight back to the hotel. You can pick up something for dinner on the way. Drive-thru only. Bring the clubs inside. I don’t want them to stay overnight in the van. Hear me?”
“What if the van breaks down?” Art asked.
�
��It won’t,” Buck said, “but if it does, call me or text me. Just don’t leave it.”
“What if I run out of gas?”
Buck leaned in. The tank was half full.
“Don’t be a smartass.” Buck said it with a smile. “I’ll get my own ride back tonight.”
“Why can’t I come with you?”
For a split second, Buck actually thought about ditching LeeAnn. But he nixed the idea. He’d been in his own dry spell recently; no sense missing an opportunity when it was so clearly presented.
“We’ll find you a girl soon. I promise.” Buck tried to pat Art on the shoulder again, but the kid rolled up the window.
#
When Buck approached the grill, he saw LeeAnn near the entrance. She waved and moved to meet him.
“It’s a mob scene in there,” she said. The noise from the crowd hummed like background music.
“They’re full in the restaurant.” LeeAnn reached for his arm.
A heavy flowery scent enveloped him. It reminded him of Art and the hair gel. The world was filled with women and their annoying perfumes.
“I’m staying at Ventana Canyon. It’s not far,” she said. “They have a fabulous restaurant.”
She slid her hand under his elbow. “It’ll be my treat.”
They walked together toward the valet. Buck had to admit it felt good when she pressed against him.
The valet pulled around a brand spanking new Jaguar coupe.
“Mind if I drive?” Buck moved quickly to the driver’s side of the car.
“Be my guest,” she answered.
Inside, the car had sleek, elegant lines and the stiff scent of new leather. The ride was smooth as glass and he wanted to take it out on the freeway, to strain the engine, let it roar. But he didn’t get the chance. Before he knew it, LeeAnn was pointing to a side street off the main road.
The gated entrance to the Ventana Canyon resort led them through a secluded enclave reserved for the fortunate few. Under the portico, another valet whisked them effortlessly from the car. The evening breeze was intoxicating. Buck felt like a prince being courted. Maybe not a prince, but certainly a baron or whatever they called the minor studs in medieval times.
This time Buck took LeeAnn’s arm in his, and they floated inside.
Seated at a table for two, LeeAnn held her martini glass close to her lips, peering over the rim. “I’ll bet you’re very photogenic,” she said. “Anybody ever told you that?”
“Not exactly.”
“I told Mike we need a young, attractive face for our new ball.”
She was buttering him up, and he knew exactly where she was heading. The question was simply which excuse she’d use to get him into her room.
“How did it play today?”
“Well enough,” he said.
“But did you like the ball?”
“It did the job.”
She sighed, and then smiled. “You know, once you sign with us, we’ll fly you in for the Milwaukee Open. I’d make sure they send the jet for you, and uh, you know, your family.”
She had a way of glancing off to the side and then darting her eyes back to check his reaction. As though everything was a tease or a naughty invitation.
“Are you married?” she asked.
“Single and happy to stay that way.”
“What else should I know about Buck Buchanan?” She pressed her hand on the white tablecloth, sliding it towards him.
“What you see is what you get.” He sat back in the chair. “What about you?”
She squirmed in her seat. “Well, what would you like to know?”
For the first time he noticed her face was shaped like a shiny apple.
“Married, single?” he asked.
“Divorced,” she said.
“Where are you from?” He wasn’t interested in the slightest, but getting her to talk about herself was the easiest way to fill the dead space while he waited for his filet to arrive.
“Los Angeles, mostly,” she answered. “Mom and I moved from Chicago after my dad left.”
Buck passed on a second round of drinks. He made quick work of the filet and took another pass when the waiter came around with a large tray of desserts.
When the check arrived, LeeAnn reached for it without hesitation. Buck didn’t move a muscle.
She lowered her eyes, scribbling in a tip and her room number as she talked.
“You really should have a box of our balls. I only gave you a sleeve this morning.”
Her smile was so wicked he wavered, wondering if he was tangling with a witch or a minx. Probably both. But he let all the business end things go out the window. He was fully in the grip of a shameless seduction, already feeling the prickle of anticipation.
“Let’s go back to my room. For the balls,” she said.
When she attempted to rise from her chair, she stumbled slightly. Buck steadied her. She clung to him and once they were in her room, the box of golf balls was conveniently forgotten. LeeAnn sat on the bed, taking off her shoes.
“I’m sure your muscles are tight after your round. Let me give you a shoulder massage.”
She patted the bed with her hand as though motioning a child or a pet to jump up and sit by her.
She started to massage his shoulders but after a few short strokes, she began to kiss his neck and nibble on his ear while her hands moved beneath Buck’s shirt, drifting lower until she was unbuckling his belt, expertly unzipping his pants.
He was stiff and ready. He kicked out of his shoes.
She slipped from her clothes, leaving on a lacy black bra and thong.
For her age, she had a fabulous body—long legs, ample tits, and no evidence of stretch marks. She was slim and soft and all woman, no sculpted abs or iron thighs.
She dropped to her knees, nestling herself between his legs.
Buck removed a condom from his wallet.
LeeAnn took it from him and ripped it open with her teeth. She did a commendable job of sliding it on him.
She rose and shimmied out of her panties and dropped her bra to the floor. She was about to embrace him when he griped her hips and turned her around. He didn’t want any eye contact. This would be a straight, down-the-middle, satisfaction-guaranteed fuck, no romance, and no relationship.
He rode her fast and hard. She moaned convincingly, throwing her head back, glancing over her shoulder, her mouth open and tongue stretched out, straining to reach him.
“Oh baby, you are living up to your name,” she cried out.
He pumped faster.
“Oh, Buck.” She moaned loudly, thrusting her hips back to meet him. He came with a jerk and a shudder and it was done.
Afterwards, she stretched across the bed sideways. “You are one gorgeous man.”
The image of her as a cat came to him. He half expected her to lick her paws. Why had it taken so long to identify her species?
Cougar.
“Buck-a-licious. That’s what I’m going to have to start calling you.”
She reached for his arm, but he moved away.
“I love my job,” she said, lolling on the bed and staring up at him.
He grabbed his pants off the floor.
“Oh, Friday,” she said, “We’re having a private party here.”
He stepped into one pant leg, saying, “We’ll see.”
The thought of missing the cut changed the atmosphere. Was she that clueless not to understand he didn’t want a reminder that he might not be here on Friday?
“But, let’s keep it between us,” she said, a pout on her lips.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, about to put on his shoes. He turned to her with a smile. “I don’t talk trash in the locker room.”
“I meant the party on Friday. Don’t say anything to Josh. It’s strictly a player event.” She cocked her head to the side. “And, well, yes. We don’t want Mike or Josh to know about this. Mike might think I’m giving you special treatment.”
H
e nodded. “Mind if I use the facilities?”
“No. Not at all.”
The bathroom was heavy with the same flowery perfume. There was a curling iron on the counter. The cosmetics bag hanging on the back of the door reminded him of Ruthie’s bathroom.
Buck dried his hands and walked out to find LeeAnn in a slinky robe, sitting up in bed. There was an open magazine next to her.
“What time do you tee off tomorrow?” she asked.
“Early.” Buck pulled on his shirt.
“Oh, too bad. You could have stayed here tonight. See, I know I should drive you to your hotel.” Her eyes shifted to the side when she said, “But I’m afraid I’ve had too much to drink.” She left the bed and tiptoed barefoot to him.
“I’ll get a ride,” he said.
“You sure?” she asked. “Let me give you some money.”
“No need.” Buck touched her shoulder lightly and leaned in close, whispering, “Thanks for dinner.”
He kissed her forehead.
She took ahold of his arm and pulled him down, kissing him on the lips. “Anytime,” she said. “We’ll have to do this again sometime soon. Oops. I almost forgot.” She hurried off and after a moment returned with a carton of StraightLine balls.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said and kissed him again. “I’ll wait for you after your round.”
The thought of coming off the course and finding LeeAnn waiting for him was unnerving and stuck with him as he walked through the lobby and out the door. He was tempted to toss the carton of balls into the trashcan.
Once he settled into the backseat of his ride, the carefree lightheartedness he’d felt before dinner disappeared completely. He lowered the window, letting in the brisk night air, trying to rid himself of the lingering trail of LeeAnn’s overpowering perfume.
What did she think? That she’d be his WAG waiting behind the ropes?
Shit.
Dinner and sex suddenly felt sick, very wrong. The sense of being courted felt foolish now. In hindsight, tonight’s experience held all the allure of being baited and trapped. He bristled at the thought of being obligated to LeeAnn.
The Perfectly Good Lie Page 14