Putting Out

by S Doyle

  He wasn’t. Too many bad memories when he’d been the story.

  They jumped to attention. He could see curious eyes staring through the tinted windows to get a glimpse of the driver inside. Someone must have figured it out.

  “It’s Luke Nolan!”

  “Luke, question for you. What do you think Reilly will do?”

  “Will she play? Have you spoken with her?”

  “Luke, a second please for a picture.”

  Ignoring them, he drove around them and tried not to smile when he heard someone’s piece of equipment crunch under his wheel. In the rearview mirror he saw it was a tripod, and frowned.

  Better luck next time.

  Proceeding down the bumpy road, he stopped as soon as the house came into view over a small hill. He’d missed this place.

  When he’d first set eyes on it twenty years ago it had been like nothing he had ever seen before. Not like his three-bedroom suburban house where he’d grown up in southern California. Not like the condo in LA his father had moved into after the divorce, or the townhouse his mother and her new husband had bought together in Santa Barbara.

  This was a house that had stood the test of time. This was a house that would continue to stand long after he had left this world. It was a sobering thought. A humbling one, too. Luke had pretty much failed every test involving time throughout his life. Beaten by a house.

  Pathetic.

  It was the inspiration behind his latest purchase.

  He pulled his Rover up next to Pop’s truck and climbed out to stretch for a second. He heard the snap of a door slam and then the clunk of big feet on wood steps.

  “Hey, asshole, this is private property. Get back in your car and move it…” Kenny stopped his tirade short when he spotted Luke.

  “Does your grandmother know you have the mouth of a truck driver despite all her best efforts?”

  Kenny beamed. “She knows. There’s nothing she can do about it. She’s running out of soap. Thank God you are here! Sanity at last.”

  “You are counting on me for sanity? Now I know you’re in trouble.”

  Kenny walked up and took the duffle bag Luke had slung over his shoulder. It was an occupational hazard Luke supposed that Kenny could never let anyone carry his own bags.

  “She won’t listen to me. Now she won’t even let me talk to her about it. She says she needs to think. Says she needs time to make a decision. Have you ever heard such ridiculousness in your life?”

  Luke smothered a smile and realized he was going to have to walk a fine line. Kenny was one of his oldest and truest friends.

  Reilly was… Reilly.

  There was no title created that fit what she was to him. He wasn’t going to be able to take sides. Although he doubted he would have to. In the end there would be only one conclusion.

  “She’s spinning it out. Going for the dramatic announcement,” Luke suggested, although despite Reilly’s flair for owning the moment, it wasn’t like her.

  Yes, she tended to command attention when she was around, but he’d never known her to crave the spotlight.

  “That’s the thing! I don’t think she is. I think she is seriously undecided and I can’t figure out why.”

  “She hasn’t given you any reasons?”

  Kenny scrunched up his face.

  “Aw, she’s saying stuff like she doesn’t want to be a torch bearer for the women’s movement or a late-night joke and shit like that. I think she’s just worried about stinking it up, but who cares? She’s not going to win. She knows that. It’s about being able to say she played in the American.”

  Luke chewed on that. Reilly competing in an event she knew going into it she couldn’t win. No, that wouldn’t sit well with her.

  “You have to talk to her, Luke. You have to convince her to do this.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” he promised. It was why he came. Part of why he came. When he saw the ESPN broadcast announcing the new ranking system, he’d been in his LA home signing his third set of divorce papers. This divorce had hurt. Not losing his wife. He was more than grateful to be rid of her. It was failing again which gnawed at him. That and knowing going into this last marriage it was bound to end, but doing it anyway.

  Three divorces. It made a man take stock of his life. Then he looked up and saw the announcement on the television and it all made sense. For the first time since he made the decision to leave competitive golf behind, he knew where he was supposed to go. It was good for a man to have direction.

  “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. Down by the lake maybe, hitting balls. Moping. Giving me gray hair.”

  Luke nodded. “Anything else going on? How is Grams?”

  “Baking like a fiend, which means she’s anxious. I don’t know if that’s about Reilly or about her slowing down. She’s got the walker, but the bottom line is eventually she’s going to need a wheelchair. When that happens I don’t know if it makes sense to hold on to the house.”

  “They’ve got to keep the house,” Luke said, then stopped himself. “Sorry, not my call. It’s just… this house.”

  “Yeah, I know. We all love it. We’ll see. We’re not there yet. Pop is the same except he’s not saying anything to Reilly, which he should be.”

  “And you?”

  “I want her to play. Other than that I sort of have a … well, I guess you could call her a ... sort of…”

  “Kenny, are you in love?”

  “No!” he rallied. “Not in love. In like-like.”

  Luke shrugged. “That’s more than I’ve been in with any of my wives. Who is it?”

  “Erica Kim.”

  Luke frowned again. He knew Erica more as Reilly’s friend than as a golfer.

  “That’s playing it a little too close to home, isn’t it?”

  “Like-like knows no bounds.” Kenny hoisted the duffle bag higher up on his shoulder. “Go talk sense to her. No pie for you otherwise.”

  “Now there’s incentive.”

  Luke hugged his Italian leather coat tighter and reacquainted himself with cold weather. It was just another sign he’d been in LA too long when he shivered at forty degrees.

  He followed the well-worn path to the small lake he’d both skated on and swam in. A lake filled with memories of his time here, which made this place even more special. The sound of a well-struck ball told him he was on the right path. He stopped for a second to watch her swing.

  It was a thing of beauty. Almost as pretty as she was. It occurred to him then he missed her more than he missed this place.

  “You’re sliding past parallel. It’s going to make you push your hips too fast. That can lead to a nasty slice, Slice.”

  She dropped her club midswing and turned around with a ready scowl on her face.

  “I’ll take a slice over a hook any day.”

  He saw teeth so he guessed she was smiling at him.

  “Good to see you, but aren’t you late for your next wedding? I mean it has been almost what…a month since your last one.”

  “It’s always been your humor I love most about you.”

  “How is Holly-Two?”

  The delightful nickname for Luke’s third wife. The first wife had been a television star. His third had been a movie star. Luke believed in upgrading.

  “I know this might come as somewhat of a surprise to you but we’re divorced. Separated for the last six months, officially divorced last week.”

  “Uh, yeah. Hello? Access Hollywood. You and your marriages are like gold to them.”

  “You’re no slouch yourself. I was very sorry to hear you and Bud…”

  “Buck.”

  “Right, Buck,” he drawled. “I’m sorry you two didn’t make it. He seems like such a down to earth guy in all those shoot-em-up actions flicks. Sure he likes to carry an AK- 47 wherever he goes, but underneath all that I thought he had heart.”

  “Okay, truce. We’re both acknowledged losers in love.”

  “Agreed.”
/>
  She paused before adding. “But I’ve still got you beat by one marriage.”

  “You were engaged.”

  “But not married. It totally doesn’t count.”

  “Fine. You know where I have you beat?”

  “I know it’s not in looks.”

  He snarled for good measure. “Nope. You got me there, too. Although Holly-Two did turn me on to the facial so my pores right now are fabulous. No, my dear, it’s fashion.”

  She eyed him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “Two Royal Blues to none.”

  The Royal Blue jacket. Silly, just a coat, but it was the symbolic victory trophy more recognizable than any other in golf. On par with the Super Bowl ring.

  He watched her face change and he could see their teasing was over.

  “You came to tell me I should do it.”

  “Hell no!”

  “You’re here to tell me I shouldn’t?” she asked clearly surprised.

  “Hell no,” he repeated. “I’m not here to help you make any decision. I’m here because… I needed a little taste of home.”

  “Your home is in Burbank, California.”

  “That’s true. I’m here for… some pie. I’m serious,” he assured her. “Okay, maybe I’m here for more than pie, but I’m not going to tell you what to do, Slice. This is your call. All the way.”

  She nodded and shoved her iron back into her bag.

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. In a few days you’ll be begging for someone to tell you what to do. I think I might be here to make sure you don’t get away with that. You can’t do this for any reason other than you want to. If I think otherwise I’m going to tackle you and lock you away until it’s over. This tournament is bigger than you. Bigger than me, bigger than Nicklaus, bigger than Tiger. It’s the American and you don’t get to treat it lightly.”

  “So what you’re saying is I shouldn’t do it for the money.”

  He reached out and pinched her nose like he used to do when she was a kid and he was an oh- so-mature college man.

  She swatted his hand away. “Stah…hup.”

  Which of course made him reach for her nose again.

  With two hands she slapped his reaching hands away until he finally gave up, but they were both laughing like twenty years hadn’t passed.

  “It’s Sunday,” Reilly announced. “Shouldn’t you be in a booth somewhere?”

  “The tour isn’t televising on my network this week.”

  She nodded, but he could see she was waiting for more.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Luke read concern, sympathy and if he wasn’t mistaken a galling dose of pity in her eyes.

  “Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t look at me like some kind of damn loser. I decided I wasn’t going to be that guy. The washed-up aging quarterback who says he going to play one more season and everyone groans and wishes he would let go. I let go. I called it. Game over. I’m the Jerry Seinfeld of golf. I went out on top and on my terms.”

  Reilly looked away from him, not because his tone upset her, he knew. Holly-Two would have been in tears by now. Reason number eighteen why he divorced her.

  When she turned back she was smiling, even if it was a little sad.

  “You did sound slick doing the commentary. You sure did look good in a suit, too. I guess I thought between the two of us, you would be the aging quarterback. The guy who couldn’t let go. I thought you would hang on to the bitter end and someday I would have to pry your fingers off a club just to bury you.”

  Luke stood motionless against her words. Like a man trying to maintain his feet in the ocean against an incoming wave. There had been waves before Reilly. He imagined there would be waves – smaller ones – after Reilly. But this wave was the one he’d wanted to avoid. This wave he knew might shake his resolve that he’d done the right thing.

  Reilly reached out and wrapped her hand around his arm.

  “Hey, I’m not trying to beat you up. It took me by surprise, that’s all. I tuned in to watch you play only to listen to you talking about other people playing. It was… jarring.”

  He had told Kenny. He had told his wife, although he wasn’t sure why he bothered. It’s not like she had cared. He told his friends, his colleagues, his agent, and his fiercest competitors.

  He hadn’t told Reilly. He’d picked up the phone a few times. Had even written an email that he deleted. Twice.

  He hadn’t known how to tell her. He hadn’t known what to say. So he said nothing.

  Shaking off whatever the hell he was feeling, he asked, “Which suit was it? My gray suit or my blue? Because I think I work better in gray.”

  She chuckled, which was his intent. Serious moment over. That was good. That was better. He and Reilly didn’t do serious very well. In fact they took great steps to avoid it at all costs.

  But his coming here, this was serious. Her decision was important. Not to say he didn’t ultimately know what she would do. He knew it like he knew how the putt on the 12 hole on Sunday at The American broke.

  He was betting she did, too. She just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.

  “Then it must have been the blue suit.”

  He reached out and pinched her nose.

  “Stah..hup.”

  5

  “I’m not going to do it,” Reilly announced.

  The people seated with her at the dinner table looked at her expectantly. Kenny’s fork was halfway to his mouth when she spoke. The clatter of it hitting his plate seemed to break everyone out of the temporary spell they were in.

  “Dessert,” Reilly clarified. “I’m not going to have dessert.”

  Kenny turned to Luke.

  “Do you see? Do you see what I have to put up with?”

  Luke nodded. “She’s evil. She’s also crazy if she’s going to pass on this pie. This is your best one ever, Grams.”

  Grams smiled serenely as she nibbled on her crust.

  “She’s not your Grams,” Reilly reminded him.

  “Sure she is. Aren’t you, Grams?”

  “You are such a dear,” Grams crooned even as she patted him on the arm and offered him the remnants of her slice.

  Luke flashed Reilly a smug smile and for whatever reason, it annoyed her just enough to want to spoil his second piece of pie.

  “Did you tell your Grams about your third divorce?”

  “Oh, dear. Luke! I do wish you would stop getting married.” Grams pulled her plate back in front of her and frowned.

  “She doesn’t watch Access Hollywood,” Reilly informed him.

  Luke arched his brow and the look was unmistakable. It was his I’m-going-to-get-you-later look. It wasn’t the first time Reilly had seen it and it wasn’t the first time he had gotten her. But he didn’t scare her.

  “I’m sorry, Grams. I thought she might have been the one.”

  “Oh, posh!”

  “She was an Oscar winner,” Reilly stated.

  “Take me! Leave him. I beg you…take me!”

  She and Kenny recited the most memorable line from Holly-Two’s Oscar-winning film.

  “Hey, that was her best work. All the critics said so.”

  “What I want t o know,” Kenny said, turning to his grandmother, “is why you’re telling him not to get married when all you ever do is complain I should get married.”

  “Because Luke doesn’t do it very well.”

  Luke shook his head. “That’s not true, Grams. I marry very well. It’s the staying married part I struggle with.”

  “Sing it, sister.” Reilly raised the glass of water in front of her in support.

  “Don’t you encourage him, young lady,” Pop said. “You know it’s very upsetting to both your Grams and me to think about your failed marriages.”

  “And one engagement,” Luke added.

  “We don’t like to count that,” Grams mumbled.

  “Me, either,” Reilly concurred.

  “I’m t
elling you right now,” Kenny warned the table. “Erica is on her way and there can be absolutely no talk of marriage.”

  “Good point, Kenny,” Reilly agreed. “You don’t want to give her the idea that there may be any kind of future with you. That’s a sure-fire bet to keep a girlfriend.”

  Underneath the table, Reilly felt her brother’s foot slam down on hers. She yelped but then tried to pass it off as a burp.

  “Excuse me.”

  “You kids.” Pop took another bite of his pie. “It never changes.”

  Reilly considered pointing out the kids in question were in their thirties.

  “You know I saw Tessa in town the other day,” Grams mentioned over the rim of her coffee cup.

  “Oh, Grams don’t start,” Kenny moaned.

  “She’s such a nice girl. Still single, too. Although I hear she’s dating someone now. Who was that?”

  “Tessa is with someone? Really?” Kenny asked. “Good for her, I guess.”

  “The high school principal. That’s right. She teaches there now and the two of them started dating about a month ago. She still always asks about you. Then she asks about Reilly, but she always asks about you first.”

  “Tessa,” Luke repeated the name as if struggling to place it. “Oh, that’s right. Tessa, the old high school girlfriend. You were a senior, she was a sophomore. It was like robbing the cradle.”

  “She wasn’t my girlfriend. She had a crush on me and I … indulged that crush. That’s all.”

  “She wrote to you in college. If I recall, you wrote back.”

  “We’re friends. We were friends. I haven’t talked to her in years.”

  “You saw her this last Christmas,” Reilly pointed out.

  “That was in the street. That doesn’t count,” Kenny muttered. “Oh, by the way, did I mention I have another girl coming to see me. Hello! Erica is nice.”

  “Erica is not nice,” Reilly laughed.

  “She’s your best friend,” Kenny charged.

  “I know. She’s fierce, she’s funny, and she’s competitive. But she is not nice. Why do you think we get along so well together?”