The whole agent, sponsors, publicist, manager set-up overwhelmed Buck. It happened before, when he’d turned pro after Baylor. His game had suffered from the pressure, the weird attention, the meat market feeling. He felt it coming at him again. He couldn’t afford to let the commercial side of golf mess with his head this time around.
He had to get a grip on things. The only way to solve the problem was to keep his distance from LeeAnn. Could he actually avoid her if he signed on with StraightLine?
Why was everything so damn complicated? The car merged onto the interstate and picked up speed. The tall overhead lights washed away any traces of afterglow, raining down a garish gloom that settled over him.
He stared out the window at the black emptiness beyond the shoulder of the freeway.
How could he find a balanced life? Fuck, what was a balanced life?
Carla’s words of advice about picking a sponsor came back to him. He cringed when he considered what she would think of LeeAnn. Although Buck didn’t need Carla’s approval, her opinion mattered to him and he wished he’d spent tonight on the practice green with her.
But, could Carla ever want a guy like Buck?
His desire grew into a conscious intention to walk the straight and narrow, to prove to himself he could be the type of man Carla would be proud of.
From now on, he’d resist all temptations that came his way. He didn’t know how he’d do it, but he would.
The ride seemed to go on forever. It was probably a pipe dream to think Buck could stay faithful to a woman who didn’t even know how he felt about her. Nevertheless, it made him feel good for wanting to be that guy.
In the solitude of the backseat, Buck felt a new sense of purpose. He wasn’t playing for himself alone anymore. A bigger picture of his future emerged, one where a woman like Carla waited for him outside the ropes.
A Provisional Ball
Josh followed Buck in the first round. Although he had the same lousy caddie, Buck shot a sixty-nine. It was a good start and gave Josh the confidence to believe that Buck might actually prove Phil wrong.
In the past two days, Josh had talked up Buck with Precision Irons, DyWare, and Kyoe Putters. Granted, these weren’t top-tier sponsors, but it didn’t hurt that Buck finished today’s round three under par. Things were moving in the right direction.
Josh sauntered over to the official’s tent, hoping to catch Buck coming out. Unfortunately, LeeAnn beat him to the punch.
Buck’s caddie stood a couple of yards away wearing ear buds and working his cell phone, looking more like a baggage handler out on the tarmac than a professional caddie. He’d been competent on the course today. Another sign of progress.
Josh approached from behind, catching Buck’s eye, but hidden from LeeAnn.
“The party starts at eight o’clock. Our CEO will be there. If you need a ride…”
“Eight o’clock,” Josh said loudly.
LeeAnn jerked around.
Josh glanced at Buck, and then looked down at LeeAnn. “Where’s the party at?”
A dark red flush bloomed on LeeAnn’s neck and quickly covered her cheeks.
She looked ridiculous with her hair fluffed up higher than ever, the skirt shorter and the blouse that left nothing to the imagination.
“You got the invite, right?” LeeAnn sounded as authentic as a fluorescent light bulb.
Josh smiled at her. “No, it must have gone in my spam folder.”
“Well, I’ll have to resend it.” LeeAnn looked around. “Oh, I see someone I need to talk to.” She practically ran from them.
He stared at Buck. “Don’t fall for her tricks. She’s trying to soften you up. It’s why they dropped the Pro-Am fee. Let me do the negotiating, okay.”
Josh surprised himself with the command in his voice.
Buck took a step back and crossed his arms. “She’s been all over me.”
“She’s like a fungus,” Josh said. “The beneficial kind, let’s hope.”
“Let’s hope.”
“Stick with Hickenlooper for now. Let’s not give away the milk when we’re trying to sell the cow.”
“Fine with me,” Buck said.
“And, by the way, nice round today.”
Buck grinned.
Josh’s cell vibrated. He looked down and saw the invite text from LeeAnn.
“Hey, why don’t we have dinner tonight? Relax, bounce around a few ideas.”
Buck’s eyes flicked over to his caddie and then he nodded. “Okay, but not too late.”
“Meet at the grill around 7:30?” Josh put his hand on Buck’s shoulder. “Just you and me, okay?”
After they parted, Josh looped through the row of corporate tents. There was even more interest after Buck’s round today.
Josh felt the momentum building. It was a whole lot more fun working sponsorship deals than trying to convince an established pro to change agents. That required real effort.
Now, if only Buck would blow out the competition this week, it might actually start a bidding war.
Josh entered the StraightLine tent. He ambled over to Mike Perryman and skipped the niceties. “Hey, LeeAnn’s been a little too hands-on with Buchanan.”
“She’s on the course every day.”
“She’s been going around my back. Tell her to knock it off.”
“LeeAnn can’t help it if she runs into a player.”
“That’s what all the stalkers say,” Josh said. “So where do we stand?”
“Buchanan’s on our short list. What did he say about playing our new ball?”
“You know, I forgot to ask.” Josh enjoyed the truth of not knowing.
“Oh,” Mike said.
“Don’t take too long to make a decision. There are others lined up.” Josh sauntered off. It felt good to be in the driver’s seat, and he had every intention of staying there.
#
After Josh left, Buck turned to Art. “Let’s go.”
Buck picked up his golf bag and started for the van.
“How do you know that lady?” Art asked. “Is she a girlfriend?”
“LeeAnn’s with a ball company.”
“She smells awful.” Art wrinkled his nose.
“Her perfume stinks, doesn’t it?”
Art smiled and nodded. “Is Josh with the ball company too?”
“No. He’s my agent.”
“He’s not very nice,” Art said.
“That’s how business operates.”
“I don’t like that.”
Buck unlocked the van and stowed his bag. “I’m having dinner with Josh tonight.”
“Am I going too?”
“No, you’ve got other plans.” Buck tossed the keys to Art. “You drive.”
Earlier that morning, the moaning and groaning from Art’s bed had woken Buck. Another wet dream. Art’s body needed a woman, even if his mind couldn’t handle it.
As they climbed into the van, Buck said, “You did a good job today.”
Art had been practically invisible the entire round, didn’t fidget or cop an attitude.
“What about finding you a date tonight? Somebody without any nauseating hair gel.”
Art glanced over at Buck, hunching his shoulders.
“Start driving.” Buck turned on his phone. He swiped through photos, looking for someone he thought Art would be attracted to, or at least tolerate. It felt so wrong, though, especially when he saw a woman with long, dark hair like Carla.
Don’t go there.
It had to be weird to be in Art’s shoes. Unsure of himself and rejected without a second glance, needing a hired hand to get the job done. Totally alien for Buck. Yeah, he’d used hook-up apps, but he’d never had to pay for it.
Of course, a relationship was a whole different thing.
He resented any intrusions on his schedule, however minor. His time on the course or the range always came first. He couldn’t afford to feed someone else’s personal life if he was going to fulfill his destiny.
>
Ironic how he’d managed to avoid the wife and kids thing, yet he was saddled with his brother’s biological needs.
A photo of a woman came across the screen. She looked mature, motherly. Buck sent a message.
They were stopped in the hotel parking lot.
“This lady tonight,” Buck said, “her name is Hannah. You need to give her a chance, okay?”
Art raised his chin and his throat waddled when he cried, “It’s not my fault if she smells bad.”
Buck put his hand on Art’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I told her not to wear perfume.”
Art lowered his head and his bottom lip stuck out like he was going into pout mode.
“What’s wrong now?”
“We don’t have enough snacks. What if she eats my pretzels?”
Buck got out of the van. “Dude, relax, it’s not about the food.”
Once they were in the room, there was still a half hour to kill.
Art fiddled with the packages of chips and candy he’d arranged on the bureau.
“Are you sure we have enough?”
“Chill. Go play a video game.”
Within a few minutes, there was a knock on the door. This time Buck wasn’t taking any chances.
Buck peered through he peephole. She looked like her photo, older and hefty. He opened the door and was relieved not to be assaulted by any strong scents, weird piercings or visible tattoos.
Hannah came inside. Art was on the bed with a half-grin on his face, fear and excitement.
“Come over here.” Buck motioned with his hand and Art shuffled toward the door. Buck pushed him closer to Hannah. “Take a deep breath.”
Art closed his eyes and drew in a loud, long breath.
“Well?” Buck asked.
Art smiled.
“You’re good then?”
Up and Down
Josh’s phone beeped. Another text from LeeAnn.
ready to sign?
She’d sent over StraightLine’s opening offer for a contract. They wanted Buck to sign and play their ball in the second round tomorrow. His talk with Mike must have worked its magic.
He held a tumbler of scotch. He was on the balcony, looking out on the pool. He leaned his elbows on the railing, cradling the glass in both hands, wondering if he should strike while the iron was hot, or hold out for a better deal?
Timing was everything.
Josh reasoned that if Buck’s standing improved—Buck was near the bottom now—he could demand better terms. Ever so slightly his own goalpost shifted, from happy with any commission to wanting a bigger deal. If he played it smart, he could make that happen.
He saw Buck at a distance, walking towards the grill. Josh didn’t know where Buck was staying, but he assumed the resort was too rich for a rookie’s wallet.
Josh finished the scotch in one gulp before he hustled downstairs to meet Buck.
Shortly after they were seated, he said, “My phone’s been buzzing all evening.”
No reaction from Buck.
Josh stretched an arm across the back of the booth. “StraightLine has made an offer.”
“That LeeAnn chick’s been texting me,” Buck said. “I don’t want to deal with her anymore.”
“You don’t have to. She’s supposed to grovel at my feet.”
“What have they offered?” Buck looked away.
A large group was being seated nearby. He recognized Roger Lambert and Sterling Dawson, III in the party. He didn’t know the others but lowered his voice and leaned in slightly toward Buck. “It’s five figures, but I think we can do better.”
“How much better?” Buck touched his hand to his chest.
“Depends on what happens this week.”
Keep the pressure where it belongs. He wasn’t a miracle worker; Buck had to perform.
After the drinks arrived, he held up his glass. “Cheers.”
Buck lifted the glass off the table but his gaze drifted to the table with Lambert. Finally, Buck turned his eyes at Josh with a grim face.
“If I sign, what’s my pound of flesh look like?”
“They’ll expect you to play their ball in all PGA events. They can terminate at any time with no penalty. There are performance triggers. The better you play, the better the pay.
Buck sucked in a loud breath.
“What if I decide their ball sucks? Is there any penalty to get out?”
“You forfeit future commission. It’s boilerplate. There’s a morality clause.”
Another grimace from Buck.
“Any embarrassing mug shots I should know about?” Josh asked.
“Nah.” Buck touched his fingers to the spot on his chest again.
“Something wrong? You having chest pains?”
Buck moved his hand quickly. “No, no.”
He stole a glance at the Lambert table again and then asked, “So what else?”
“Like I said, it’s boilerplate, the only thing to negotiate are the numbers.”
Buck wasn’t a talkative guy, but tonight he was downright surly. Josh ordered another scotch with dinner. At least Buck quit staring at the Lambert table while they ate.
He had to keep the conversation going. Wanting to sound upbeat, he asked, “What’s your schedule after Tucson?”
It implied Buck had a schedule, ignoring the odds that Buck would lose his card before the tournament was over.
“Florida and then Texas.”
“What about the Masters?”
Buck glared at him.
“I know it’s a long shot. But hey, keep that weekend open. You never know.” It was a punch line meant to lighten the mood. Realistically though, unless Buck captured a trophy PDQ, there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d be invited to Augusta.
About halfway through their meal, the dark-haired woman from the Lambert table walked towards them. She looked familiar but he couldn’t place her. She had a sly half-smile on her lips, as though there was something between them. He grinned at her as though they were old friends.
Then he recognized her from the Ping event. Her name escaped him and it was odd because the other night, she’d been reserved and stiff. Tonight her thick brown hair fell loosely to her shoulders and she moved at a casual, almost sensual, pace. When she reached their table, she politely nodded at him, but turned her attention to Buck.
Buck didn’t seem surprised.
“Hi. How are you?” she asked.
“I didn’t know you’d be here.” Buck smiled and shifted in his seat, turning towards her.
“It was a last-minute thing.” She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. Her voice was deeper than he remembered.
“You forgot your 1-iron,” she said.
“I know.” Buck put his fingers to the spot on his chest again.
“I brought it with me.”
“You have it with you now?” Buck asked.
“Yes, it’s in my purse.” She chuckled and shook her head, glancing briefly at Josh.
Josh lifted the scotch and took another sip. Why hadn’t she mentioned Buck’s round today?
Buck motioned his head toward the Lambert table. “Which one is Roger? The old guy?”
“You mean the gentleman with the white hair?” she asked.
Buck nodded.
Tired of being the silent actor in this show, Josh cleared his throat, loud and purposeful.
Buck looked across the table. “Uh, Carla do you know Josh Laird?”
She turned to him as though seeing him for the first time. “Yes, we met the other night,” she said.
She smiled and tilted her head slightly. Josh couldn’t tell if she was chiding him for not speaking up when Sterling was trash-talking Buck last Saturday, or if it was something else?
For a moment, the conversation lagged. Josh didn’t try to fill in this time. Then Carla asked, “Where are you staying?”
“North of here,” Buck said.
“How’s Art?”
“The same.” Buck looked up at Josh.
“No, actually. He’s much better.”
“Good.” She paused. “Maybe we can meet up later. For your 1-iron.”
“Sure,” Buck said. “How long are you in Tucson?”
“Until Sunday.”
“Well, I’ll let you get back to dinner,” Carla said.
“Thanks for coming by.” Buck smiled.
“Nice to see you again,” Josh said.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Josh wagged a finger at Buck.
“You sly dog. You’ve been holding out on me,” Josh said. “How do you know her?”
Before Buck could answer, Josh said, “You’re not working with her, are you? I heard she’s coaching now.”
“She works with juvenile delinquents and aging hipsters.”
“Seriously?”
“She’s finding her bliss.”
“How do you know her?”
“We met at the driving range,” Buck said.
“I met her with Roger, Jr.”
“Junior?” Buck snapped his head around and twisted in his seat to get a good view of the Lambert table.
“The son,” Josh said.
“Which one is he?”
“The man next to Carla.”
The blood drained from Buck’s face. He pushed his plate away and tossed his napkin on the table.
“You leaving?” Josh asked.
“I gotta hit the head.” Buck bolted from his seat.
Pro athletes were expected to be mercurial bastards, but with Buck it was like riding a schizoid rollercoaster—one minute you’re up, the next minute you’re down, without a happy medium in between. There was no figuring this guy out. Was it even worth the trip to get inside Buck’s head?
Over at the Lambert table, Dawson craned his head around. He gave Josh a condescending glance.
Phil’s words returned to him—“You’re judged by the players you represent.”
#
The hotel room was dark. Buck flicked on the hallway light and saw Art conked out in the bed. The place was a mess. In the dim light, he could make out the empty soda cans on the bedside table, and an open bag of potato chips and candy wrappers on the bureau.
Damn it. Maybe Art just wasn’t ready, in spite of what his body wanted.
Art might not ever be ready, intellectually or emotionally.
The Perfectly Good Lie Page 15