Got Game?

by Stephanie Doyle

  “I’m going to try to not let that happen. It is just golf, after all.”

  “And Kenny, too. You two fighting over me is worse than ridiculous.”

  Her smile fell a bit. “Kenny believes in you. A lot. I don’t think I understood how much until this happened. He’s going to have a harder time with me not being a cheerleader than you are. But I can’t help that. I’ve got to stand by what I believe. If he’s too pigheaded to accept it, then it’s his problem.”

  “I’ll talk to him.”

  She flashed her professionally whitened teeth. “Really? You’ll talk to him? Will you ask him if he likes me? I mean really really likes me?”

  “I’ll pass the note in study hall.”

  Erica chucked her on the shoulder. “Later, Bitch.”

  “Later,” Reilly answered. She watched her friend leave and wondered if things would be different the next time she saw her.

  “Is she gone?”

  Reilly spun around to see Kenny coming out of the kitchen. “Please tell me you didn’t hide in there waiting for her to leave?”

  “I said goodbye upstairs. That turned into a fight. I figure things were better off this way.” Kenny shoved his hands in his pockets and looked into the living room even though there was nothing to see. Pop was outside in the barn and Grams was in her bedroom taking a mid-morning nap.

  “I refuse to let you two break up over me. I would never hear the end of it. ‘Oh, I might have had a chance for happiness if it hadn’t been for my sister.’ Not going to happen.”

  “What happens between me and Erica is not your concern. You, my darling sister, have other things to concern you. Like how you’re going to figure out in the next two and a half months to hit a ball twenty to thirty yards farther.”

  “There is that,” she muttered, wincing in mental pain. Pain because her brain knew what her stubborn pride didn’t. There was no way to suddenly hit a ball twenty to thirty yards farther. Not without chemical help.

  “You think people might be suspicious if I sprouted a mustache, big muscles and bad acne?”

  “They might,” Kenny said with a smirk, knowing she wasn’t serious. He fell into Pop’s leather recliner. “You know Pop was mentioning something last night after you went to bed.”

  “What was I mentioning?” The front door opened and closed behind him. He shook a bit from the transition of outside cold to inside warmth. “Oh, boy, it’s colder than a grape popsicle out there. Reilly, you make sure you warm up good and right if you’re going to hit balls today. The lake is starting to freeze over, too, but don’t try and walk on it to get your balls back.”

  “Funny you mentioned balls, Pop. We were just talking about that, or rather Reilly’s lack of them.”

  Pop shook his finger at his grandson. “That’s not a proper thing to say in front of your sister, and you know it. Apologize.”

  “Sorry,” Kenny mumbled.

  “Whatever.”

  “I’m talking about adding strength and distance. You had an idea last night, Pop.”

  Reilly looked to her grandfather. It didn’t surprise her he would have a solution. He was the most dedicated fan of the game who had ever lived. If there was a trick or a book about a trick that involved increasing distance, Pop knew about it. He knew the best putters, the best drivers, the best swing coaches…

  Swing coach. Uh-oh.

  Reilly studied her Pop’s expression. He was striving for innocence. Not hard to do with a man who had red cheeks and an even rosier nose, but she saw through his game.

  “Oh, no. No way. Not in a million years.”

  “Now, Reilly, hear me out.” Pop turned his shaking finger from Kenny to her. “Odie was a very good coach for you. He developed your swing from the time you were twelve.”

  “Yeah, right up until I was twenty-one and I fired him, Pop. Remember?”

  “I wouldn’t have forgotten a thing like that. You were upset.”

  Reilly groaned. A softy at heart, the one thing her Pop had never had the stomach for was the hardcore business of golf. He’d never been a fan of Gus, who had a reputation as one of the more ruthless agents in sports. And he’d always had a soft spot for Odie (the phonetic spelling for O.D., which stood for Oscar Duluth) Manning. Odie was a former golfer turned swing coach. The two men bonded because they were more or less the same age and understood the game as it was back then. Then - that mystical time when golf was pure and noble unlike today.

  “I wasn’t upset, I was piss…teed’ off and had been for a long time. He met me when I was twelve and continued to treat me as if I hadn’t grown a day. He was condescending and patronizing and he called me ‘lil’ ‘gurl’ in that twangy Texan accent, which made me fantasize about wrapping a three wood around his neck. If you think for one second I’m going to listen to his ‘tech-nah-logy’ speech ever again, you’ve got to be off your rocker.”

  He frowned then, the lines creasing deep into his face. “All I’m saying is if anyone can figure a way to milk a few more yards out of your swing, he would be the one to do it.”

  “You should listen to your grandfather, Reilly.” Luke jogged down the steps and sat his duffle bag near the door.

  “You’re just saying that to suck up.”

  “True. How’s it working, Pop?”

  “Now, Luke, you know you’re always welcome here. For pie or anything else.”

  Luke smiled and Reilly could see Pop give him a wink. She wasn’t sure what the heck that was about, but she sure wasn’t going looking for an explanation.

  “Where is Grams?”

  “She’s sleeping,” Reilly told him.

  “Then I’ll leave this note with you, sir. It’s a thank you for dinner and the company.”

  Pop took the folded paper and smiled. “A thank you on paper, she’ll like that.”

  Luke walked over to Reilly. “I’ve got to go. Pebble Beach awaits.”

  “We wouldn’t want you to be late for T.V.” Reilly beamed.

  “No, it’s rather embarrassing when that happens. Too much silence and people will realize how boring golf is.” Luke leaned into the living room. Kenny was standing and stretching his hand out. The two men shook. “I’ll call. I’ll want to follow up on her progress.”

  “Uh, doesn’t that mean you’ll have to call me since it’s my progress?”

  Luke shrugged. “I’ll get more objectivity from Kenny. Speaking of which you should listen to Pop and call Odie. He may be a character, but he’s one of the best and he already understands the mechanics of your swing. There are new things out there that can help you. Things you haven’t had to avail yourself of because of your natural ability. New practice techniques, new dieting, new…”

  “Please don’t say it,” Reilly urged.

  “Tech-nah-logy,” Luke finished.

  “You don’t say it half as twangy as he does,” Reilly pointed out.

  Luke smiled. He shook Pop’s hand and walked to the door. Reilly followed him out to the porch then stopped him with a tug on his arm. “What am I going to do if this all gets to be too much?”

  She bit her lip in a sudden burst of nerves and wondered if Luke wouldn’t laugh himself silly. He’d never seen her like this. Never seen her this uncertain. She doubted he would know what to make of it, so the easiest answer would be for him to make a joke of it.

  Please don’t make a joke, she thought.

  “You’ll call me.”

  Not realizing she had closed her eyes she opened them to look at him. He didn’t seem amused. “Really? Anytime?”

  “Anytime.”

  “Even in the middle of the night? What will your girlfriend think?”

  “She’ll think I’m needed. She won’t be wrong. Besides, we’re not exactly living together yet. Not sure how that’s going to work out.”

  A shimmer of happiness rippled through Reilly at the news. “From a two-time divorcee to a three-time divorcee, you might want to take this one slow.”

  “You know, I think y
ou’re right. Slow is the way to go.” He turned to leave, then stopped. “You’ll watch me this week? I’m trying out some new suits. I’m going to need someone’s opinion.”

  She snorted. “As if I would tune in specifically to watch you on T.V.”

  “You’ll watch. And you’ll call.”

  “I’ll call. I won’t watch.”

  He turned and left then with a negligent wave over his head. “You’ll watch!”

  Before she could respond, he was already around the side of the house. Typical. He was so competitive, it was a contest to see who could get the last word in. She was half tempted to follow him, but then she heard the engine of his car come to life and figured it wasn’t worth the effort.

  Gee, it had been nice to see him. It had been nice to have her bones jumped, too, except he hadn’t been as happy about that as she had. Now there was this new woman in his life and she was going to have to sit on the sexual bench. Luke didn’t cheat when he was married or committed. It was one of his strengths. So they would be friends. Friends could be good. It could be enough.

  Back inside, she found her grandfather and brother still working in collusion to betray her. Reilly pounced. “The two of you can stop your evil machinations. I’m not dealing with Odie. Besides, he would never agree to take me back. I fired the man!”

  “That’s what we thought you would say.” Pop hit the answering machine button. A soothing voice let the room know there were twenty-three new messages.

  “We deleted half of them,” Kenny told her. “We just want you to listen to this one.”

  He nodded to Pop and Pop hit play.

  “Reilly. I wish I could say everything I need to say to you. Soon we’ll be together. I understand I have to be patient, but you should know sometimes I can barely breathe…”

  Pop hit the delete button. “Sorry about that, sweetie, we were trying to get rid of all the garbage first.”

  “There was more like that?” she wondered.

  “The breather is a regular,” Kenny elaborated. “Called at least four or five times. He’s not happy about you playing, either. Says he doesn’t like you being bothered by all the attention.”

  Reilly shuddered as she felt the hairs on the back of her neck go up. Then she shook her head realizing the man was to be pitied rather than feared.

  “I can’t believe you left the phone on at all.”

  “We turned off the ringer,” Pop explained. “You know your Grams and I have people who call us, too. The Wilsons’, for example, wanted to play bridge tomorrow night. You’re not the only person in this house, miss.”

  “Sorry, Pop.”

  “It’s the next one.” Kenny walked behind Reilly and with a gentle shove moved her into the kitchen where she could get closer to the phone.

  Pop hit play and a voice she hadn’t let herself think of in ten plus years bounced out of the machine. “Hell-lo. This is Odie Manning. I am call-ling to wish you congrat-u-la-tions. That and you might want to consider try-ying when you get to the Amerrr-ican to hit that ball a little farther. That’s it.” There was a pause for a second then he finished. “In case you need it… for any reas-on, I will give you my new home phone num-ber.”

  Pop clicked off the machine and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket. “I already have the number.”

  “Of course you do.” How could she have forgotten? The twang, the way he spoke dragging out each word into a sentence, emphasis on syllables that shouldn’t have them. It was as if he was always trying to explain something to someone who was simpleminded.

  “I can’t believe you’re going to make me do this.”

  “As if anyone could make you do anything,” Kenny replied. “You know you need him. You hate it, but it’s a fact. Suck it up and call him.”

  Pop nodded. “Suck it up.”

  “He’s going to have to come here. Anywhere else will be a circus. You’re all going to have to put up with him.”

  “Grams loves guests. And Odie and I do just fine. It will be like old times back when you were starting out.”

  A little girl in a ponytail with big dreams. That’s what she was afraid of. “Give me the phone.” Reilly took the receiver and the number Pop had jotted down for her. She punched it out regretting each number as she did.

  She waited while the phone rang, hopeful for one second he might not be home to answer. No such luck.

  “Hell-lo?”

  “Odie, hi. It’s Reilly.”

  “Reilly? Reilly who?”

  Reilly closed her eyes and fought the temptation to slam the phone down. Two hundred and eighty yards. It was a heck of a distance to hit the ball. It wasn’t enough. On the other end of the phone was the one man who could help. That he was a condescending jackass didn’t enter into the equation.

  “Reilly Carr.”

  “Oh. Reilly Carr. My goodness. The Reilly Carr who is play-ying in the Amerrr-ican?”

  “That Reilly Carr,” she answered between clenched teeth.

  “The Reilly Carr who can only hit the ball two hund-dred and eighty yards on her best day?”

  “Yep.”

  “The Reilly Carr who has a meager sixty-two days to prep-pare?”

  “Right again.”

  “Pull up my susp-spenders and call it a flood! This is a surp-prise.”

  Reilly pulled the phone away from her ear to sneer at it. Putting it back against her ear, she kept her tone as mild as possible. “It really shouldn’t be. You called me.”

  “I suppose I did.”

  “What do you say, Odie? Want to come back and see if we can pull a few extra yards out of my swing? I hear they’ve got this new thing called…”

  “Tech-nah-logy! Why, yes, they do. Tech-nah-logy can save you, Reilly. Tech-nah-logy can take you places you’ve only dreamt of. Tech-nah-logy can be your friend rather than the enemy you’ve always treated it as.”

  “Technology is my friend,” Reilly repeated dully.

  “I’ll be in Little Creek to-mor-row. We’ll talk.”

  The click of the phone being disconnected was goodbye. Pop and Kenny were grinning at her like fools.

  “All I can say is you two better be right.” Reilly stormed upstairs. She was going to need some warmer clothes if she was going outside to hit the ball. And hit the ball she would. Because if somehow she started hitting the ball farther on her own, she was going to have the sheer pleasure of telling Odie Manning to go stuff it in person.

  Two hundred and eighty yards. She was pretty sure she didn’t hit one ball that went farther all day.

  Damn it.

  CHAPTER 11

  “Here is my prop-po-sition.”

  Reilly, Kenny, Pop and Grams were all seated around the kitchen table waiting to hear the list of demands Odie was planning to make in order to make magic happen. Although, in all honesty, Grams had one eye on Odie and one eye on the oven. She was baking cookies for the new guest.

  Odie had shown up shortly after dawn. He’d gotten a late flight from Houston to Omaha the night before. He had no luggage with him, no books and no equipment one might expect from the Zen master of tech-nah-logy.

  Just his usual scruffy self with his bushy eyebrows and twenty-year-old baseball cap Reilly remembered from her training days with him. He moved slower and there was a hitch in his step as a result of a hip replacement. But other than a few more lines around his eyes and mouth and possibly a few more degrees of condescension thrown in for good measure, Odie was as always Odie. Short, squat and sometimes meaner than a rattled rattlesnake.

  But he knew golf.

  “I’m listening,” Reilly told him.

  “You will do what I say. You will jump when I say when and ask how high. I will not be contradict-ted. I will not be count-ter-minded. I will not be sassed.”

  Kenny leaned into Reilly and whispered, “You get that? No sass.”

  “I don’t think sass is still an official word.”

  “There will be no talk-king when I am speak-king,” Od
ie continued. “Am I clear?”

  “Yes,” Reilly hissed.

  “All expenses will be paid by you. There is the matter of my fee. Ten thousand dollars.”

  Both Pop and Grams gasped, but Reilly didn’t blink. It was a hefty amount for sixty odd days’ work, but she had it and it was what he wanted.

  “Plus…” Odie paused to let the idea that he was adding more to the equation sink in. “If you finish in the top twenty, I want another five thousand dollars for my bonus.”

  Reilly snorted. “Sure. I’ll tell you what. If I finish in the top twenty, I’ll give you another ten thousand dollars… as a bonus.”

  “Then lil’ girl, you have yourself what is known in the vern-nacular as a deal.”

  He stretched his small hand out and Reilly reached out and shook it. “Can I ask not to be called lil’ girl?”

  Odie seemed to consider it. “No.”

  “Swell. When do we start?”

  “Today. I have a truck on its way here as we speak. I felt con-fi-dent my terms would be met. This truck is bringing equipment as well as an emp-ploy-ee I recently found to be very success-ful in physical motivation.” He turned to Grams. “Is that all right with you, ma’am? Having another guest here? I surely do not wish to be a bother.”

  Grams waved off his concerns. “No bother, no bother. Seems to me, it sure is a lot of fuss for a tournament. After all, Reilly is a very good golfer, everyone says. Seamus tells me she has a sweet swing. To my way of thinking, cookies and cake are sweet, but that’s what he says. And ten thousand dollars! That sure is a sum of money for some advice. Why, I’m asked advice all the time and I give it away free. The other day, Madison from the next farm over called asking about a crust for a pumpkin pie and I told her.”

  Grams would never get the game like Pop did and would never understand Reilly’s role in it. She saw the expensive gifts at Christmas and understood her granddaughter had been successful at hitting the white ball in a way few people were. But to her it was and always would be a game.

  Pop had flushed a little with Grams speech, probably worrying Odie might take offense, but Odie wasn’t going anywhere. There was ten thousand dollars on the line for him.