James Ross - A Young Adult Trilogy (Prairie Winds Golf Course)

by James Ross

  “You didn’t tell me that,” Opur complained.

  “It’s in the rule book,” J Dub answered. He looked back down at the ball. “Okay, you lie two and you’re hitting three.” Opur’s temper flared. He stomped around in the grass. “Hey, don’t worry about it,” J Dub said. “We’re not out here to break the course record.”

  “I’d like to do the best I can.”

  “You’re doing great. Stay with it and learn not to hit it over in these trees again.”

  Opur looked things over. Reluctantly he resumed his stance with his back up against the tree. With a half swing he chipped the ball into the fairway. “That’s all I could do.”

  “Good. You’re back in play,” J Dub said as he climbed into the golf cart. “Lying three, hitting four.”

  After finishing the hole Fred barked, “This is my favorite part of the round.”

  “Why?’ Opur asked.

  “Time to eat!” Fred said. The beer belly and barrel chest looked like one and the same. The sun had toasted his face. His blue eyes, fair complexion and flat-top appeared to be more suited for the shade of an oak tree. “What do you want? I’m buying.”

  Opur looked at J Dub searching for an answer. “Most of the time they get a hot dog,” the pro said as Bogey ran out of the clubhouse and sprinted for the guys. The bull terrier was truly man’s best friend. His exuberance always brought a smile to the guys.

  “I’ll get a hot dog,” Opur said to Fred. He reached down and petted Bogey, the dog rolling over on its back so scratches could be directed to his stomach. “You’re a good dog, aren’t you?”

  “We don’t know what we’d do without him,” J Dub said.

  “He normally goes eighteen with us,” Easy Earl said.

  “But he’s slowing down like the rest of us,” Rollie added. One of Bogey’s rear legs quivered back and forth as Opur hit a sensitive spot. He chuckled as Bogey wiggled his body in the shape of an S.

  “How’d everybody do out there?” Julie asked as she served the hot dogs.

  “Not too bad,” Easy Earl answered.

  “Could Boy Wonder stay with you?” She smiled at Opur as she gave him a hot dog. Bogey scrambled awkwardly to all fours and jumped up the boy’s leg.

  “He played good until the last hole,” Fred said.

  “Yeah, some tree trouble cost him a few strokes,” Rollie added.

  Opur turned to J Dub, a smug look on his face. He took a bite out of his hot dog. Ketchup eased out the back end and dripped on the ground. “How did you get your name?”

  “You mean J Dub?” The boy nodded. His mouth was full of bun, beef and condiments. “My name is Jerome William Schroeder. It’s short for Jerome William. My dad started calling me JW, but the kids in grade school couldn’t say that too fast. So it ended up being J Dub.”

  “Oh,” Opur said as he muffled an answer with a full mouth. He chewed some food, swallowed and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Kind of the same way I got my new name?”

  J Dub thought for a second. “Sure, O for Owen and pur for Purler.” He looked at Fred, Rollie and Easy Earl. “The old timers gave some good thought to that didn’t they?” Opur shrugged. The hot dog seemed to be getting more of his attention than the conversation. “You know if they didn’t think highly of you they wouldn’t have bothered to give you a nickname.” J Dub gulped down a drink of apple juice. “Come on, let’s keep going and stay in front of that group behind us,” J Dub urged the group. “We’re playing a five-some you know.”

  The guys scurried to the carts and headed for the tenth tee. The hot dogs were devoured amid the ketchup drippings and the oozing mustard. A wayward wrapper blew out of a cart and traveled end over end through the trees.

  “Dammit!” Rollie yelled as he watched his tee ball find the creek. “That happens every time we get distracted with food.” He flung his club in the direction of the cart.

  “Hey!” J Dub yelled. “Calm down. We don’t need to see clubs flying around out here.” He gazed into the trees. “We’ve already got litter blowing across the grounds.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rollie apologized. “It’s just that . . .”

  “We’ve all been there,” J Dub interrupted. He turned to Opur. “Now that is something that I never want to see you do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Throwing clubs,” the head pro answered. He turned back to the guys. “If I ever see that again from any of you guys, then you can take it back into the clubhouse and sit out the rest of the day.” J Dub had a way of laying down the law. He went to the ball washer, placed his ball into the unit and turned the handle rapidly. After a few seconds he retrieved the soapy ball and reached for the easy wipe hanging from the apparatus. “That is what really ticks me off!” He glared back at the guys. “No more club throwing!”

  The tension in the group lasted for a few holes. After Opur stood over his shot from the fairway he turned to his mentor. “What should I hit here?” The shot was uphill. The pair could only see the top of the flagstick.

  “You’ve never seen this hole before, have you?” J Dub asked. The boy shook his head no. “You have to be careful here.”

  “Why?”

  “The green slopes away from you,” J Dub answered. “I’d take enough club to hit the middle of the green and forget about the pin.”

  Opur looked at the flag. “It doesn’t look very far.”

  “It isn’t,” J Dub replied. “Maybe just a nine iron for you. Aim about twenty feet left of the flag.”

  “If that’s the club then I can hit it right at the stick.”

  “I don’t think I would,” the pro said. “I mean you’re good enough to hit it at the hole, but that’s not the smart way to play the shot.”

  Opur wrinkled his nose. His confidence told him that he could handle the shot. For a kid playing his first round, the time spent on the driving range had honed his shot-making ability. He grabbed his nine iron, stood over the ball, went through his pre-shot routine and knocked the ball right at the flag. “There,” he said confidently. “That should be close.”

  “We’ll see,” J Dub said as they got back in the cart.

  As the two neared the green Opur inched his head higher craning his neck to see where the ball came to rest. “Where is it?” The ball was nowhere on the green. “It has to be right here.”

  “I’m sure it went over,” J Dub said. “There’s no way to hold the green when you hit it on this portion of it.” The duo headed for the rough that was three inches thick past the green.

  “Here it is,” Opur moaned. He had short-sided himself and was in thick rough with no green to work with on his chip shot. “Now what?”

  “Do the best you can with your sand wedge. But you’re not going to be able to stop the ball coming out of that stuff.” J Dub bent at the waist and looked at the buried lie. “If you can get it within thirty feet you’ll be lucky.”

  A chip and two putts later Opur had recorded a bogey. “I’ll play that different the next time.”

  J Dub smiled at his pupil. “When you look at the daily layout on a golf course you’ll find that there are about six holes where you can go for the pins. Then there are six holes where you better play for the middle of the green. And there will be six holes where you’ll have to be imaginative. You know, up and downs, reachable par-fives, stuff like that.”

  “So you don’t want me to shoot at the stick?” Opur asked.

  “Sometimes it is better to take the middle of the green, but that comes with managing your game,” J Dub said. He tilted his head sideways and peered out of the side of his eye. “You’ll learn.”

  It only took two holes for another error in judgment to surface. “What happened?” Opur said, stunned that he missed the green with his approach shot. “I was shooting for the middle of the green.”

  “You made the right decision,” J Dub answered. “You just didn’t finish your swing. It looked like it was kind of lazy.”

  Opur shrugged as he put the eight
iron back in his bag. “It was an easy shot.”

  “You still have to try,” J Dub said. “Just because it’s easy doesn’t mean that your effort can disappear. Now look where you are.” The ball had flared into the greenside sand trap.

  “I haven’t had to hit one out of the sand today,” Opur said.

  “Play it like you practice it,” J Dub urged as he pulled the cart to a stop by the green. Fred, Easy Earl and Rollie were on the opposite side of the green preparing to hit their approach shots.

  Opur retrieved his sand wedge from his bag. He strolled over to the sand trap, noticed his ball and climbed into the bunker using his club to steady his gait. He didn’t mind playing out of the sand. J Dub had taught him how to hit the shot earlier in the summer and the kid learned quickly how to master it. Without wasting any time, Opur flopped the ball onto the green. “That came out of there just like I hoped,” he said happy with the result.

  “Yeah, it looked good,” J Dub agreed, “but you lie four instead of three.”

  “Why?” Opur asked.

  “You grounded your club in the sand when you entered the trap,” J Dub explained. “That’s a one stroke penalty.”

  “How many times are you going to do that to me?” Opur complained.

  “I guess until you learn the rules,” J Dub said with a grin. “It looks like you’ve got a little reading to do.”

  Opur placed his sand wedge back into his bag, grabbed his putter and finished the hole. Thirty minutes later he made a three-foot putt to complete his first round of golf. “What did you shoot?” Julie asked as the group entered the pro shop.

  “I don’t know. J Dub kept score.” Opur said. “But I want something to drink.”

  “How did he play?” Julie asked J Dub as the pro placed the scorecard, pencil and handful of tees on the counter.

  “My prized pupil had an eighty-one his first time out,” J Dub said, “with three penalty strokes.”

  “I couldn’t do that until I had been playing for ten years,” Rollie said.

  “Yeah, we have a player around here,” Fred added.

  “But J Dub was way too hard on him on the course,” Easy Earl stated. “Three penalty strokes on him the first time out?” He turned at J Dub and shook his head in dismay.

  “His brain is absorbing knowledge like a sponge does water,” the head pro said. “He’ll never make those mistakes on the golf course again.”

  “But on his first day on the course?” Fred questioned further.

  “The quicker he learns, the better off he’ll be in life,” the pro responded.

  Opur stood by the counter. “How did you shoot that?” Julie asked as she handed over a bottle of Gatorade. Her tone was inquisitive.

  The kid raised his shoulders and let them fall, relaxed. “I don’t know,” he said as he reached for the drink. “I tried to do what J Dub told me.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nada eased his rig off the side of the road and parked the eighteen-wheeler on the gravel shoulder of the state highway. Dressed in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, he jumped out of the cab and strolled into the trailer park. The distinct smell of a lingering mosquito fog bomb permeated the air as he walked past the stand of community mailboxes.

  Bicycles lay unattended on the ground. Beer cans, discarded pizza containers, an old mattress and assorted litter was strewn around the grounds. Screen windows with the wired mesh curled up at the corners seemed to be in vogue. He reached into his front pocket and double-checked the address that he had scribbled on the note. Flies peppered his face.

  He climbed two rickety stairs placing his right hand on a weathered railing. The unstable platform wavered under his weight. Nada rapped on the metal door. After what seemed like three minutes, the door finally opened.

  Standing before him in a stunning yellow sundress with floral prints was Roxie. She was as lively and energetic as a kitten playing with a dangling piece of yarn. Summer break had arrived on the campus of the nursing school that Roxie attended. She had a few weeks off from classes. “I almost be ready!”

  “You’re goin’ like that?” Nada questioned. He reached out and pulled her close to him wanting to steal a kiss.

  “Nah. Nah. We’ve god plendy of dime for dat.” She wiggled her arms between her breasts and his chest pushing him away. When a slight distance separated the pair she reached for his crotch with her right hand and gave him a playful squeeze. With an alluring smile and mischievous wink she got his attention. “Give me two more minit do be ready.” She turned and hustled through the trailer to the rear bedroom.

  Nada’s eyes followed her moves as she sashayed her behind through the narrow hallway. “You don’t have to get that fixed up to ride in the cab.”

  “Vell, I do vant do look good for you,” she yelled, her voice muffled. A couple of minutes later Roxie exited the bedroom with a suitcase in each hand and a large bag thrown over her shoulder. “Can you help me?”

  “For Pete’s sake!” Nada shouted when he saw her. “Are you movin’ your closet to my truck?” He hurried to grab the suitcases. The weight stunned him. “What do you have in here?” he asked as he struggled to lift the bags.

  “Some nice outfits in case vee go out.”

  “You know where I like to go,” Nada said. “A cold longneck and a stripper pole is all I need.”

  “Dat’s vie I brought dee outfits.” Roxie smiled at him. “Maybe vee’s can pay for da trip.”

  Nada loved her attitude. He put one of the bags down and slapped her butt. “I knew you’d come prepared. There’s a strip joint in every stop we’ll make.”

  “Vere is it ve’ll be going again?”

  “Interstate 40 into Arizona and then through Phoenix into L.A.,” Nada started, “and from there up the coast to San Francisco and back on Interstate 80 to Cheyenne then down to Denver, Colorado. We’ll take 1-70 until we get to 1-35. Then we’ll go down to Wichita and I’ll drop back down here.”

  “How long vill vee be gone?” The duo headed out the door and Roxie locked her unit.

  “Ten to twelve days,” Nada replied. “I’ve got a full trailer and have a load coming back.” Nada headed down the road through the trailer park slumped over from the weight of the suitcases.

  Roxie struggled walking a few steps behind, her backless high heels causing her to take shorter steps. “Vell I can’t vait. I’ve never been do dose places.”

  “Just don’t expect to stay in a five-star hotel. We’ll be stayin’ in the sleepin’ compartment of the truck.”

  “Vere vill I bathe?”

  Nada hadn’t thought of that. When he traveled alone he would get by with a splash of water on his face and a washrag to the armpits in a truck stop restroom. “We’ll think of somethin’. There are plenty of places to go on the road.” He opened the door to his sleeper and threw the bags onto the mattress.

  Roxie stopped in her tracks eight feet away from the truck. “And my makeup?” She put a hand on her hip. “Vat vill I do about dat?”

  Nada could feel the hair on his neck rise. He moved his head sideways cracking the vertebrae in his neck. “Don’t worry about the little stuff. We’ll figure it out.” A simple task like driving across country was turning into a major production. He threw it back at her. “You wanted to see the country, didn’t you?”

  “Vell, yes, but . . .”

  “Then get in.”

  “But maybe vee should . . .”

  “Look, I told you it wasn’t going to be first class and you said where you came from that was okay.” Nada glared at her. “You said you were used to toughin’ it out.”

  “But I vant to . . .”

  “No,” Nada interrupted as he started the engine, “I want to be in Albuquerque by sunset.”

  Roxie loved a man to tell her what to do. She opened the door and climbed into the cab.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Damn, Roxie!” Nada gritted his teeth in a good way as the pair exited a cab. The driver had picked them up f
rom a Phoenix strip joint and had taken them back to the truck stop where Nada had parked his rig. “You are so effing hot.” He swayed; the effects of the beer obvious.

  Roxie had walked into the joint around seven, talked to the manager, fronted a stage fee to dance and entertained patrons for twenty dollar bills. Nada loved every minute of it. He bragged to anyone listening that she was his babe and held court while she conducted lap dances on the private couches.

  The constant beat of the music, the haze of the smoke-filled room, the distinct stench sprayed on the bodies of the dancers. It was all there and Nada couldn’t get enough of the aphrodisiac.

  Hours later in the wee hours of the morning the pair was returning to the sleeper cab. Roxie, barefoot, was carrying her high heels and dressed in a one piece sheath her panties tucked away in her purse. Nada had his eyes half shut and was wobbling back and forth. “I’m gonna . . .”

  “You’re not going to do much of anything.”

  “No, I had the perfect amount to drink.”

  “Ve’ll see.”

  He fumbled for his keys, unlocked the sleeper and stood behind watching as Roxie crawled in first. Her naked derriere looked inviting as the hemline raised to her crotch. Nada witnessed the inviting site but his desire far outweighed his physical capabilities. He was moments from passing out and she was winding down after teasing men for eight hours.

  Following her was instinctive. Nada quickly locked the door from the inside and reached for Roxie’s sheath. Forcefully he raised the garment to her neck exposing her nude body. “Babe, you’re beautiful,” he mumbled as he admired her figure. His mind drifted to the center pole on the stage at the gentlemen’s club. As he admired her toned body he continued, “I’ve wanted that for the last six hours.”

  “My feet are killing me,” Roxie cooed as she squirmed knowing full well that any suggestive movement would get the reaction she wanted. “Rub them for me.”