James Ross - A Character-Based Collection (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  Shari broke into tears. Her fragile psyche was influenced by the alcohol and nicotine. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  Tyler Cy listened. He could tell that she was ready to babble.

  “You haven’t given them any of your love! That’s what they want. You’re never around for them.”

  “When they want money I am. Then their gripe is that I’m not giving them enough.”

  “Forget it. You don’t have a clue, do you?”

  Tyler Cy turned to head down the stairs to the lower level. “I’ve always wanted to discipline them. But no, you wanted to give them everything. You wanted to buy their love. Guess what?” He paused to let the comment soak in. “They’re spoiled. That’s the real problem. They’ve never had to work a day in their life. Everything they’ve gotten has been given to them. Is there any wonder they’ve turned out the way they have?” He took another step.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “To bed. I’ve heard it all before.”

  “It just proves you don’t care,” Shari slurred. “Kara wants to know if you’re planning on walking her down the aisle.”

  “That’s a year away. I was planning on it. I’m her father.” It was late. Tyler Cy was tired. The last thing he wanted was to get into a lengthy debate with a drunk. His solitude was the basement. He hit the first stair.

  “Is that it?”

  “You asked a simple question and I answered it.” He took another step. “In case you didn’t understand, the answer was yes.”

  “I’m not done.” Shari took another sip of wine and then a drag on her cigarette. “What are we going to do about Del?”

  “You know my feelings about Del,” Tyler Cy said. He looked through the spindles. Shari could only see the top half of his body. “He’s been to rehab twice. I’ve tried to get him clean. He’s either a talented musician or delusional. We’ll let him do what he wants and hopefully I won’t have to bail him out of jail again.”

  “He’s chasing his dream.”

  “And it is different from mine. He’s got tattoos from his ankles to his ears, an eyebrow piercing, a half dozen diamond studs in his ear, and a ring in his nose that makes him look like a prized bull at 4H Club. He’s going to have to find the answers on his own.”

  “He’s a talented musician.”

  “Maybe, maybe not; we’ll see. To me he’s a heroin junkie on the prowl for groupies and using a band gig as the lure.”

  “If he invited you to a concert, you wouldn’t go?”

  “Maybe if it was a plush private box and they provided ear plugs.”

  “Look who the real spoiled kid is.”

  Tyler Cy took another step. “I’ll support him by paying for it.”

  Shari was infuriated. She took another long drag before Tyler Cy disappeared. “Jayla wanted to know when we would be coming to visit her at boarding school.”

  The mention of her name froze Tyler Cy in his tracks. The innocent one of the bunch had not been tainted so far. At twelve years old she had not yet become spoiled. “That poses a little bit of a problem, doesn’t it?”

  “Visiting your youngest daughter?”

  “We have proven that we can’t travel together anymore. If she wants to see us together we’ll have to drive separate cars.”

  “It’s three hours!”

  “If you don’t want to drive, there is the train,” Tyler Cy suggested, “or the bus.”

  “I’m talking to my lawyer about this!”

  “Remind her that I have no intention of sitting in the car with you for three hours.”

  Shari scampered across the room to the top of the stairs and flung a pillow toward Tyler Cy. “What kind of a husband and father are you?”

  Tyler Cy ducked, but lost his balance. An errant step caused him to tumble. There was a bounce, a twist, a contortion, and finally a heap. At the bottom of the stairs Tyler Cy groaned. “Shari, help me.”

  “What kind of a moron are you, Tyler Cy?” She looked down with her hands on her hips.

  “Call 911. I’m hurt.”

  “Now I seen everything. It doesn’t look like your neck is broken.”

  Tyler Cy whimpered. “It’s my leg. It’s all torn up.”

  “You only fell six steps.”

  The pain was excruciating. He cried to himself. “Please call for help, Shari. My leg is killing me.”

  “Just get up and I’ll get the ice bag.”

  “No, no, no, Shari. It’s worse than that. Call emergency.” Tyler Cy laid in a fetal position. He clutched his knee. “Please.”

  Shari turned. “For gawd’s sake, Tyler Cy. Some of the things I have to do for you.” She picked up her iPhone and dialed 911. “You can’t even go to your room right.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It could not have been a more pleasant morning overlooking the Mississippi. Broken clouds were highlighted against a bright blue sky. The revitalizing and distinct smell of fresh cut grass blended beautifully with honeysuckle and lilac. Spores from cottonwood trees floated like butterflies in the wind. The water’s current moved barges downstream while tugboats pushed cargo upstream. Robins chirped and purple martins flew stealthily a foot or two off the ground looking for breakfast.

  The customers at Prairie Winds enjoyed it all.

  For J Dub, it was work as usual. Golfers filed through the door around the clock. Shari Daniels-Donnelly was overdue for her first lesson. They had agreed that she would have to practice and take command of all of her shots in the attempt to win a million bucks. Even though the prize seemed exorbitant it was a good advertising and publicity stunt for SPRITZ. They simply bought an insurance policy to pay the prize in the event someone was to actually win it. J Dub had a vested interest in seeing Shari win the prize. Ten percent went to the business that sold the winning twist-off cap. He would love Prairie Winds to pocket a hundred grand.

  Shari popped into the pro shop with a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. White hoop earrings, fingers bejeweled, form-fitting dark blue culottes, a sleeveless white blouse, and a golf visor instantly lit up the clubhouse.

  “Hey, hey, hey,” Captain Jer said in her direction. Shari turned to see him place two fingers to his lips and shake his head negatively.

  J Dub came to the rescue. “Illinois passed a no smoking law a few years ago. We can’t have that in here,” he advised.

  Shari acknowledged the rule and extinguished the smoke. “Sorry. It’s a habit I can’t seem to break.”

  “Have you ever tried?” Captain Jer said sounding like a smartass. “It takes some effort.” If he was trying to make an impression he was succeeding.

  “Jer, when are you going to show some tact?” Julie yelled from behind the counter. “She’s been here twice. Why don’t you show Shari some respect?”

  “I treat them all the same,” Captain Jer mumbled under his breath before shouting back. “I guess your old man won’t have a home-cooked meal tonight.”

  “Not every woman belongs in the kitchen, Jer.”

  The ex-pilot was still miffed that he didn’t get the benefit of the twist-off cap. He raised his beer can in the air. That was the signal for Julie to serve him another. “I’ll take a new frosted mug this time too.”

  J Dub shot Jer a look and turned to Shari. “Are you ready to hit the range?”

  Shari nodded. She was strangely quiet due in large part to her compact mirror being opened and lip gloss being applied. “I suppose it would be appropriate to take a couple bottles of SPRITZ out there with me,” she said with a grin as Julie retrieved two bottles from the cooler.

  “I’m anxious to see what sort of game you have,” J Dub said as he opened the door. The pair continued to the John Deere Gator that J Dub used to navigate the course. After loading the clubs, the trip to the range wasn’t more than thirty yards. B2 followed.

  “I feel like royalty,” Shari said. “This is the same treatment I would get at Olde Blueblood.”

  “We’ll go to the far end. That
area is reserved for me and the lessons.” J Dub pulled to a stop, took Shari’s clubs off the Gator, and unloaded a bucket of balls. “I’ve done some research on the promotion.”

  “What did you find out?”

  “We have ten months to get ready for this. The golf media and players will be pouring into Muscle Shoals on Sunday night and Monday. The players arrive and play a practice round on Monday. The big shots at SPRITZ have the executive course at The Classic reserved on Tuesday afternoon for the promotion.”

  “So the website was right. We really do get to play the par-3 course at The Classic.”

  “You do. Yes. Eighteen par threes,” J Dub replied. “There are a few changes from what we had planned though.”

  “What are they?”

  “I cannot caddie for you because I’m a licensed club pro. They don’t want you to have an unfair advantage.”

  “Can I choose who I want?”

  “I suppose, but I talked it over with my brother, Curt. He’s not licensed to teach but he does a lot of instruction around here. He’d be a good person to have on your bag. He can probably beat me. That’s how good of a player he is, and very knowledgeable too.”

  “I want somebody that I’ll feel comfortable with.”

  “We’re going to start off with me today watching what you bring to the table. Curt will be out later. I’ll introduce you and he’ll be working with you from here on out.”

  “That’s fair.” When it came to golf Shari was all business. She seriously wanted to be an accomplished player. At one time on the amateur level she did play very well and her name had been bandied about as a serious contender to win events. “Are there any other surprises from the sponsors?”

  “We have to turn in your GHIN handicap index right now when we turn in the paperwork. Do you have that established at Olde Blueblood?”

  “Sure.”

  “They will monitor your index every thirty days from now until the time you play the executive course. Then they apply some sort of algorithm model to that and come up with a fair index for you. After that they apply an 80 percent of index rule and factor in the slope of the executive course.”

  “They can’t do that.”

  “The officials can do what they want. It is their promotion. If you don’t like it, you can bow out.”

  “That doesn’t seem right.”

  “Right or not, it’s an opportunity for you to win a million dollars. I’m sure they had to do what they are doing to have an insurance company underwrite the promo.”

  “So what do I need to shoot?”

  “What’s your index now?”

  “I think that it’s 10.7 at Olde Blueblood.”

  “What’s eighty percent of that, maybe eight or so?”

  “That sounds about right.” Shari wasn’t half as ignorant about numbers as she made out sometimes.

  “Eighteen par 3s means that the executive course at The Classic is a par 54. They add your handicap of ten strokes to that and adjust it so that you have to shoot better than 62.”

  “I can’t tie it?”

  “No. You’ve got to beat it.”

  “When do we get to play a practice round?”

  “You don’t get that opportunity. You show up and play the course. Your score will be what you get the first time you see it.”

  “That’s next to impossible!”

  “Yeah, but if you do it, you win a million big ones.”

  “In a way, that’s kind of exciting.”

  “Kind of exciting? That’s the chance of a lifetime! If you can’t get pumped up about that then you’ve got the pulse of a corpse.” J Dub smiled. “Are you ready to do some hard work?”

  Shari was excited at the opportunity even though she wasn’t totally in agreement with the rules. But it was SPRITZ’s million dollars. They could make it is as difficult to attain as they wanted. “Yeah, I am ready. Nobody else in the country gets that chance.”

  “Good. Let’s see where you’re at with your swing and try to determine what is going to help you the most.”

  “Do you know Jeffrey Free?”

  “Bogey?”

  Shari nodded.

  “I’ve known him for years.”

  “He’s been my teacher ever since we’ve been members at Olde Blueblood.”

  “Then you’ve learned from one of the best.”

  “But I can’t consult with him?”

  “Sure you can if he has the time for you. But you won’t be able to have him on your bag during the promo. He’s licensed too.”

  “Okay. That’s good to know, just in case I don’t get along with your brother.” Shari put on her golf glove and reached out with her club to scoot a ball onto a nice plush piece of zoysia turf. She assumed her stance and took a few practice swings. Next was the real deal. She lofted a ball into the air with a comfortable little right to left ball flight.

  “That’s a nice draw,” J Dub said. “You can tell that you’ve had a club in your hands before.”

  Shari continued to hit shots. B2 jumped on J Dub’s legs while the pro observed Shari’s grip, stance, ball position, takeaway, posture, and distance control. She stopped twice: once for a cigarette and once for a drink from the SPRITZ bottle. When she finished she turned to J Dub. “What did you think?”

  “I’m going to be honest.”

  “I want you to be.”

  “I’m hard on my students.”

  “Go ahead. Give me a truthful assessment.”

  “I think that you’re going to need to start jogging.”

  “What! What’s that got to do with golf?”

  “You’re going to have to be in shape to walk eighteen holes. Either that or cut back on your smoking.”

  Shari pinned him with a hateful stare. “I’m not giving those up.”

  J Dub shrugged. “I’d lose some of the jewelry. I can’t imagine having too good of a grip with all of those rings on your fingers.”

  “What is this? Self-improvement commentary?”

  “I think that we need to get some sort of a band and put your hair in a ponytail so that is doesn’t affect your eyesight.”

  Shari was dumbfounded.

  “I’m not so sure you’re at peace with yourself right now.”

  “What’s that got to do with playing golf?”

  “It’s a level of relaxation that you need to attain.”

  “Whatever.” Shari felt cornered. She reached for another cigarette out of her purse, lit it, and inhaled deeply. “How was my swing?”

  “Not bad. You’re athletic.” Shari finally felt as if she was getting a pat on the back just as Curt walked into the conversation. “Hi, Curt. I’d like for you to meet Shari Daniels-Donnelly.”

  Curt, dressed in shorts and a stylish golf shirt, extended his hand. “How did it go?”

  Shari matched his smile with one of her own. Her eyes locked into his then shifted to his left hand. It had been 48 hours since she had seen Raul. Her heart fluttered.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Tyler Cy was back at home after spending two days in the hospital. He was in a foul mood. What Shari described as a sprained knee turned out to be a lot worse. The final diagnosis was a torn patellar tendon, a severe tear of the meniscus, a torn posterior cruciate ligament, a torn anterior cruciate ligament, and a torn medial collateral ligament. In other words he totally blew out his knee and everything connected to it.

  How that could happen on a fall down six steps on a staircase is freaky. Obviously the knee at one time was caught between two steps and the weight and awkwardness of the fall caused the damage.

  It would take several weeks for the swelling to go down and then he would be able to get a total knee replacement. Ouch! Tyler Cy was in pain and taking prescription drugs to alleviate it. Having the knee packed in ice did not help his mood. Being immobile was one thing, but the pain and ice was another. Having to listen to Shari took him over the edge.

  “Do you need more ice?” Shari hollered down the stairs.


  Tyler Cy was groggy. He had been dosing. “I’m fine.”

  “You didn’t refreeze the ice packs right the last time.”

  Tyler Cy wondered how you could not properly refreeze ice. “Really? What’s the right way to do it?”

  “You let too much water accumulate in one end of the pack and it didn’t freeze evenly.”

  “Oh is that so? Why does it have to be even to work?”

  “It makes better contact with the swelled area.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that I had to have even ice to take the swelling down effectively,” Tyler Cy said facetiously.

  “Yeah, if you ice it down properly the swelling will go down faster.”

  “Since when did you learn so much about ice?”

  “My friend at the sports therapy shop told me.”

  “I didn’t know you went to a sports therapist.”

  Shari realized she was close to opening up information about a relationship she wanted to keep hidden so she told a white lie. “It was just once when I hurt my ankle playing tennis.” She felt the need to quickly change the topic when the phone rang.

  The phone was a mere eight feet away, but Shari waited until the fourth ring to answer. Tyler Cy could only hear Shari’s voice and almost all of it was inaudible. Her tone turned from cordial and friendly to frustrating and combative. The call ended abruptly.

  “What do you do if a friend isn’t doing what you ask?” Shari asked as she returned to the top of the stairs.

  “Are we done talking about the complexities of even ice?”

  “Why do all men have to be jerks?”

  Tyler Cy was confined to a recliner. “We won’t talk about me. Who was that on the phone?”

  “Richie. He won’t leave me alone.”

  “His feelings are hurt. How long have we been friends?”

  “Jeez, it’s got to be over fifteen years.” It’s not every day that a married couple has a discussion about a male friend that a wife has. However that wasn’t the case in the Donnelly household. Richie and his wife often double-dated with Tyler Cy and Shari. “He’s calling me over twenty times a day now.”