“Is his name T-Mac now?”
“Nah. It’s just the restaurant name. If it works, it works. Now,” Travis said, regrouping, “let’s talk about this possible book. We need to set some ground rules.”
“Ok.”
“I tell my story, how I want it. You listen, then type it all down. Right?”
“No. You tell your story, and I’ll listen, yes. But when I need something explained, I’ll ask you questions, and you will help me understand it better. To do this correctly, I need to understand all the details. We want no one going up to Charlotte or Shelby and asking them questions ever again.”
“What if I don’t want to give you some of those details?”
“Trust me, Travis.”
“Everything ok?” Mac asked, passing out the drinks off a tray, noticing the microphone then glancing at Travis.
“Yeah, it’s fine. Thank you, Mac. Can you believe how great Ava looks? She’s engaged to a doctor. A surgeon.”
“Damn, let another one slip away,” Mac said, shaking his head and walking away. “Oh well. Maybe she’ll get divorced quick, and I’ll have another shot.”
“Maybe,” Travis laughed, then turned to Ava, letting out a sigh. “Ok. Hell, why not?” He closed his eyes, thought for a few seconds, then opened them again. “Tell me when to start.”
Ava grabbed her water but slid the Jack and Sprite Zero toward Travis.
“Oh my God, you’re pregnant?”
“No, I’m not pregnant! I just don’t drink hard liquor at 10:00 am, Travis. And I can’t believe you do now.”
“One day,” Travis laughed, then took a big swig of her mixed drink, “you are going to be a great mother-in-law.”
Chapter 5
The Beginning
Ava pressed record on her computer, then asked, “So how did you meet your wife?”
“I met her at the bar at Marco’s Steakhouse. I was a waiter, and she was there with three guys from her law office.”
“You were a waiter at Marco’s? You? That’s the most exclusive restaurant in Houston. How old were you?”
“I was 23, and she was 32. I had worked at Marco’s for almost five years. I went to school with Marco’s son, Jo-Jo. He played football with me, a wide receiver. Marco loved me, the sports and stuff, so he gave me the job right out of high school.”
“Wait,” Ava interrupted, “so you never went to college?”
“I got into a few colleges, truthfully everyone that I applied to, but I didn’t want to go. It was never something that interested me. After I graduated from high school, I told my parents that I didn’t want to go. They threw me out, pretty much disowned me, so I made a life for myself. I went to see Marco, and he gave me a busboy job right on the spot, which saved me. He wanted me to be a waiter, but I needed a lot of training: how to act, how to take an order, how to choose wine and all that stuff, but I took to it pretty quickly. I elevated from a busboy to a waiter in less than a month.
“I liked waitering, and the pay was insane. The prices were extravagant, so I made a fortune, $500+ a night, six nights a week. And the holidays were incredible. I got a $2000 tip once for working a Christmas Eve dinner for twenty. It was incredible for a kid right out of high school. I got to meet politicians, professional athletes, and prominent business people, every night. Marco’s was all I cared about until I hit my first golf ball.”
“When did you hit your first golf ball?” Ava asked, trying to keep up.
“At 21.”
“You had never hit a golf ball until you were 21? You had never played golf at all?”
“Hell no. I played everything but golf. I made fun of golfers. I used to say ‘The only thing slower than golf is farming.’ Read it somewhere. It didn’t look like a sport to me, but just an elitist pissing contest that only certain people were allowed to play, fixed so only certain people could win. I never would’ve picked up a golf club if it wasn’t for Marco.
“There was a charity scramble, for pancreatic cancer, I think, and Marco paid for a team. One of the players canceled, and he needed a body for the tournament. Marco asked me to join, but I told him that I didn’t play. Marco wouldn’t take no for an answer, so he had Jo-Jo, his son, take me to a driving range that afternoon. Jo-Jo showed me the basic swing, and I watched some other people swing on the range and figured it out on my own. The golf swing was just a sideways baseball swing, and watching the guys that seemed to know what they were doing, I picked up on two things instantly: how still their heads stayed as the arms and hips rotated, and how the club returned to impact at the same position as it started in the swing. Grabbing a seven iron, I took my first swing, hit the ball, and I fell in love with the game of golf.”
“How did it come so easy for you?” Ava asked.
“It felt natural from the first swing. I truly think that I was born to hit a golf ball. Not at birth, but all my training in sports prior to hitting a golf ball prepared me to play golf at a high level instantly. By playing baseball, I understood the golf swing motion. By playing soccer, I understood the spins of a golf ball for chipping and how hitting down on a ball affects the golf ball’s flight. By playing basketball, I understood how form and finesse could complement each other. Honestly, golf always felt like I was cheating, like I had a piece of knowledge that others didn’t have, couldn’t understand or didn’t have the patience to learn.
“So learning golf was different for me than others. See, others would go to the range to improve, but I went to the range to hone my craft. Golf seemed like a mystery to other people, but for me, golf was the answer to why I exist and what I was supposed to do in life. It was the purpose that I had always looked for, that I knew was out there, but I hadn’t found yet. Golf made me make sense. Do you understand?”
“I think so,” Ava answered. “You played in golf tournaments back then, right? How’d you do in them?”
“Just two, both as an amateur and they were on a little mini-tour. I got tenth in the first tournament and learned a lot. I had never really seen or been to a golf tournament before, so it was a little bit of a culture shock. But I figured it all out and won the next tournament by eight strokes.”
“You won your second golf tournament? How old were you?”
“Twenty-two. I’d been playing for a year and a half.”
“Travis, you are amazing. Why didn’t you go pro right then? You could’ve gotten a sponsor, right?”
“I didn’t want a sponsor. I’d only get like 30% if I won. They would get 70%! What a bunch of bull. So I decided to save up my own money to pay for a tour myself. I was going to do it my way and not owe anybody anything. My earnings on the mini-tours would help me make it on the PGA Tour, and if I couldn’t earn enough on the mini-tours, I didn’t deserve to be on the PGA Tour anyway.”
“You are so stubborn,” Ava laughed. “You have to do everything your way.” She stared at him lovingly, shaking her head. “Were you good at other sports?”
“I was always a pretty good athlete as a kid. It was all that I ever wanted to be, from the first time my father threw a ball at me. In a ball, I saw a world. What I mean is, I found meaning in it all: the practice, the struggle, the goals, and then figuring out how to win. Sports trumped life in every way. Sports were fair, they don’t care who your father was or what color you were, and the rules were all laid out for everyone.
“But sports were frowned upon in my family. I came from educators, doctors, and lawyers. Sports were called ‘useless folly.’ My grandfather, a history professor, said the only exercise he ever got was going to his jogging friend’s funerals. His son, my father, became a lawyer because my grandfather always wanted to be a lawyer, so his son had to become a lawyer. I was to become a lawyer also, but it wasn’t for me.
“Anyway, I had the two worst things that could happen to an athlete as a kid: I was small for my age and had a brain, so no one tho
ught sports were a smart path for me. I studied hard because the better my grades were, the more I was allowed to play sports. Then, suddenly, in my junior year of high school, I grew. Six inches that year. By my senior year, I was six feet tall and a force to be reckoned with on any ball field: the quarterback in football, shooting guard in basketball, clean-up batter in baseball, forward in soccer, you name it. I even had a couple of sport scholarship offers. But my father wanted me to go to Stanford, then Stanford Law. It was his dream, and I was supposed to live it for him. My family’s dream for me was my nightmare, and they didn’t care what I thought. So after high school, I quit their dream, left their lives and moved on.
“Do you miss them?” Ava asked.
“Not a bit. They’re Democrats.”
“Understood,” she laughed, shaking her head at his stubbornness. She glanced down at her notes, trying to fill in a gap. “So how did you meet your wife?”
“I was working as a waiter, and there was a woman at the bar with three guys, all of them in business attire. They were lawyers, celebrating a big settlement in a case. Picking up an order at the bar, I heard the woman talking, telling the three guys that she would buy the next round if they could tell her the name of the poet who wrote this, then she recited a few lines from a poem on children’s suffrage. They had no idea. I heard her and realized who it was instantly.
“Elizabeth Barrett,” I answered, balancing my drinks on a tray.
She turned, completely stunned.
“Yes. You’re right. Elizabeth Barrett Browning.”
“No, Elizabeth Barrett,” I corrected her, walking away. “She wrote it before she married Robert Browning.”
“Well, she was blown away. The rest of the evening, she stayed by the wait-station at the bar, even after the three other lawyers left, flirting with me every time I came by to pick up a drink order, pressing me for my name and trying to find out who I was.”
“How did you know the poem?” Ava asked.
“Benefits of a classical education,” he answered sarcastically, taking a swig of bourbon.
“Were you attracted to her?”
“She was an attractive woman. Very smart, and determined. Long legs. You’d have to be dead not to notice her.”
“So you were hot for her also?”
“I was amazed that a woman like that would pay attention to a guy like me. I guess I was flattered, but it wasn’t love at first sight or anything.” He thought for a second, and then it came to him. “I cared more about golf than her.”
“Her name was Lexi, right?”
“Yes, Lexi Bingham. She said that she had the day off tomorrow and would love to see me again. I decided why not? I told her that I tee off at 8:00 am at Memorial Park and she could ride in a cart with me. Lexi thought I was kidding at first, but then she realized I was serious. She said ok, asked what time I would be there, and said she would meet me there at 7:00 am.
“Son of a gun, if she didn’t show, had to be hung over, but she hid it well and looked gorgeous.” He smiled, feeling it all come back to him after being buried in the back of his mind for so long. “That was a fun day. You see, by that time, I had become a little bit of a golf celebrity.”
“Wait,” Ava asked, “you were 23, right? You’d only been playing golf for two years. How were you a celebrity? Has it always been like this for you and golf?”
“I was a Memorial Park, muni-guy, golf celebrity. See, after that scramble, I became a golf nut. My hours were perfect to train, so I practiced and played golf all day, every day, mostly at Memorial Park, then worked as a waiter at night. I got pretty good at golf fast. People loved how I could break par and didn’t even know all the rules, and because I was always a single on the walk-on list, I would play with three new people every day, so I got to know all the regulars after only six months. The muni-golfers felt like my mentors, answering all my questions about golf rules and etiquette, showing me how to become a man on a golf course. People took ownership in me and my game, like a coach or a father, and I let them feel that way, listening to them, always thanking them for the knowledge, respecting the history that is Memorial Park, learning about former greats, and trying to follow in their footsteps. Plus, as you know, golfers gravitate toward me.”
“Why is that, Travis?”
Travis leaned back, a little uncomfortable.
“It’s because I’m not a real golfer.” Travis leaned forward again, arranging his thoughts. “Think about it. Think of all the great golfers you’ve known in life. Aren’t most of them jerks? Aren’t most of them narcissists? I’d say 99% of the best golfers that I’ve met are not the greatest human beings that have ever existed. But the game attracts those types. You have to be so egocentric to play golf, almost a narcissist, because of the hours practicing alone and everything. A player naturally becomes aloof over time. Plus, good players hate to play with average players for some reason. They look down on twenty handicappers like Catholics looks down on Protestants, or a rich guy looks down on a poor one.
“I love playing with average golfers, and I hate playing with the jerks. I love making sure someone has a good round and a good time, truthfully more than I care about my own round. If I can play with people and without them knowing, help them play the best game of their life by keeping them relaxed and under control, I feel great. To me, that’s golf. So people like playing with me, they usually have a better time on a golf course when they do, and they also enjoy watching me hit a ball, in a way most just can’t. They all feel like my friend, because they are, and they become protective of me. I think that is why I’m treated well to this day. Because I care about them as much as I care about my golf, and that isn’t normal for a golfer, especially with a better player. That is why I don’t think I’m a real golfer.”
“That’s what you did for me,” Ava said, realizing his genius for the first time. “Why? I wasn’t a great golfer with potential. Why even waste your time on someone like me?”
“You were a lost little girl with a mixed-up family life. You needed stability and a place to escape from your tough home situation. I taught you how to create stability in your own life by using a golf course, and I helped you escape, by hanging out with me. And you ended up becoming a damn fine golfer. Just because you can’t play on the LPGA Tour doesn’t make you a waste of my time. The truth is I learned more from you than you did from me.”
“Thank you,” Ava said. “Thank you for saving my childhood.” She wanted to talk to him more about their relationship, flood him with her unanswered questions of her youth and her precious memories, but this was not the time. Reluctantly, she checked her notes again. “Tell me about that first day with Lexi.”
“It was perfect. When Lexi arrived, a maintenance guy picked her up in a golf cart and drove her to me at the range. I told him to look out for her. While she watched me warm-up, people came by to say ‘Hi’ and I would introduce them to Lexi. They were accountants, roofers, bankers, politicians, carpenters, lawyers, people from all walks of life.”
“You know everybody,” Lexi whispered, blown away.
“We got in the cart, and I drove to the putting green. After I finished my putting warm-up, I sat in the cart next to Lexi, who gently grabbed my hand in her excitement over everything. I explained to her that I teed off at 8:00 am every morning, and I never knew whom I was going to play with each day. This morning, it was pretty hilarious because about a dozen golfers were arguing with the starter, trying to get in my group. I think they wanted to look at Lexi for eighteen holes. So we teed off, I hit last, and I pounded one, right down the left-center. People clapped and cheered from the adjacent putting green, ‘Go Travis!,’ ‘Boom Shacka-Lacka,’ like they always did back in those days. Lexi, startled at first, started clapping and laughing at all the commotion also.
“I played great that day. We all did. Lexi knew very little about golf, but even she could tell that somet
hing special was going on. She had a blast, joking around with the other golfers, and listening to their golf stories about me, and they loved looking at her. After the round, we went to lunch, and all she could talk about was the golf course, calling me famous and all that stuff. That lunch went on for three hours. I walked her to her car, then she suddenly turned and kissed me. It was a great kiss.”
“I went to work that night, wondering if she would show, but she never came by Marco’s. After my shift, I walked outside and there she was, parked right out front. ‘Get in, Slugger’ was all she said. Lexi drove me to her house, and by the next morning, I was hers.”
Chapter 6
Dreams and Change
“Life instantly changed.”
“How so?” Ava asked.
“Lexi became my whole life. I’d cut out of golf early and lunch with her during the week, and she’d hang out at Marco’s bar while I worked at night, working on her laptop all night waiting for me to get off, then we crashed at her place. After a month, I got rid of my apartment and moved in with her. She never complained about my golf, and I understood about her busy work schedule. It was perfect.
“After two months, she started to get serious.”
“Travis, what are your dreams in life?” Lexi asked one Sunday morning, lying in bed.
“I’d like to try professional golf. I’ve saved $87,000, and when I get to $100,000, I can afford a full year playing on a mini-tour. I just want to find out if I’m good enough. If I am, I’ll start living the dream. If I find out that I can’t, that’s ok also. I just want to know if I have what it takes.”
Disappearing like the Wind Page 3
