by Travis Casey
"Yes, sir. I'm happy to hear we share the same vision."
"So, is this just a courtesy visit, or do you have something on your agenda?"
Oscar read Davenport's arched eyebrows as an invitation to make a request. He mulled over his father's advice. Since they were never going to call in any favors with regard to global warming, perhaps it would be a good idea to put a toe in the water. The Harris State Park thing would be huge. If Davenport couldn't help with a simple request, then he needed to find out fast so he could come up with an alternative plan.
"As a matter of fact, I was about to ask former Governor Simpson for some expedited building permits to install additional electric equipment in a polo stadium I'm building down near Cub Run. Conventional channels would take a month or more, and to be honest, I'm already running behind schedule. We were hoping to get things sped up."
Davenport sipped his drink, his eyes looking into the bottom of the glass. "I see."
His hesitation made Oscar uncomfortable. "Did I mention, Governor, my grandfather wanted me to ask you to cut the ribbon at the grand opening?"
"Really?"
"I know you're a busy man, so if it's too much of an imposition—"
"Nonsense. I love ribbon cuttings." His lips curled into a smile. "Expedited building permits, huh? That shouldn't pose a problem."
The two men sat smiling at each other for a moment.
Davenport broke the silence. "It's funny that you should come to see me instead of your father. I was going to talk to him about you, but now I can speak directly to the horse—so to speak."
"Me, sir?"
Davenport tipped his head to one side. "I hear you're a pretty good golfer."
"I'm not too bad."
"Come, come, now, don't be modest. I had a long chat with your grandfather. You're a high school champion and finished second at state in college. I'd say that's better than 'not too bad.'"
Oscar shrugged.
"Very impressive. You ever thought of turning professional?"
"I thought about it, but Dad and Granddad need me in the family business."
"Of course. Governor Simpson told me your grandfather has given him some good tips over the years. Do you share his intuition?"
"I can assure you, Governor, I know my way around a racehorse. Try Iron Skillet in the two-forty at Donnington Park."
"That's good to know, and thank you, I will. Anyway, back to golf. There's a Battle of the States pro-am tournament in Cincinnati is next month—"
"Battle of the States, sir?"
"Fifty teams, mixed couples. Each state is putting up one of its professionals along with an amateur, fifteen handicap or higher. My daughter's a golfer, and I'd like the two of you to enter as a team."
"Your daughter's a professional golfer? I thought she'd be too busy locking up bad guys."
"She is, but she'd be the amateur. I was looking for you to be the professional."
"With all due respect, Governor, I'm not registered as a professional. Besides, those guys are a lot better than I am."
Davenport waved a trivializing hand. "We're not talking PGA Tour pros. More like club pros and guys on the minor circuits. You know, good, but not 'millionaire' kind of good."
"Thanks, Governor. I'm flattered, but I don't have the proper certification to play—"
Davenport picked up a pen off the coffee table. "Do you see this pen, Oscar?"
He nodded.
"I can stop a man from being executed with this pen. I'm sure I can make you a registered professional golfer."
"Why me? I'm sure there are far more qualified golfers who would love to play golf with the governor's daughter."
"You fit the bill. The pro needs to be a native and resident of Kentucky. And I'd like to see your family and this administration continue the same kind of special relationship your family had with Governor Simpson."
Oscar took a moment to think things through. Donations and racing tips were obviously what the governor was after. New betting laws, minimal tax on race winnings, and part of a state park were what Oscar and his family were after. It sounded like a fair trade to him. All it would take was a game of golf to show a willingness to help the newly elected governor. And he'd get to play with Stacey Davenport … "Sure, why not?"
The governor's mouth turned up. "Why not indeed?"
Oscar upped his tone to one of pride and enthusiasm. "Sir, I'd be delighted to represent you and the great state of Kentucky. So, your daughter, she's pretty good, huh? What is she, fifteen, sixteen handicap?"
He beamed proudly. "Thirty-six. I taught her everything she knows." His eyes twinkled from behind his glasses.
Oscar fought the temptation to flinch or renege on the deal. "Thirty-six, huh?" Perhaps she was a bandit, touting a shit handicap but able to play much better than it would suggest. He hit the charm button. "Sir, I'd be honored."
"Excellent." Davenport picked up a phone from the side table and pressed a single button. "Conrad, would you send Stacey in?"
Chapter 5
Conrad swung the double doors open, prompting Oscar and the governor to stand. With a dash of pomp, the butler moved aside. Stacy Davenport bounded into the room looking as though she may have just stepped off the tennis court.
Oscar's eyes took a hike from her ankle socks to a single strand of hair on the top of her head, which had separated itself from the rest of her hair by standing at attention from a bolt of static electricity. In between, he didn't miss an inch of her athletically toned body. She flashed emerald green eyes at her father and gave Oscar little more than a polite nod.
Oscar's heart tempo increased. He checked her hands. She was free of matrimonial jewelry, which allowed him a more lustful gaze as she strode toward him.
"Stacey, this is Oscar," Governor Davenport said as she stood in front of them.
She extended her hand. "Oscar? I'm guessing you're named after the gold statue, not the hot dog."
He wasn't sure how to take that but decided to ignore the comment. "That's something you'd have to take up with my mom and dad. I didn't have a lot of say in the matter."
The stared at each other, sizing one another up.
The governor bounced on his toes. "Stacey, Oscar's going to be your golfing partner in Cincinnati."
"Umm, no he's not. I told you, I'm playing with Jett Johnson. My boyfriend."
"Boyfriend?"
"Well, kind of."
The governor closed the gap between them. "This is a state thing, Stacey. You need a partner from Kentucky."
Her eyes narrowed. "Jett spent a summer vacation in Bowling Green visiting his grandparents. That has to count for something."
Davenport spoke in hushed tones, aimed at Stacey. "Darling, Oscar's family are good people to know." He raised his voice to a bellow. "Besides, is this Jett Johnson a pro golfer? No. He's a baseball player. One member of the team needs to be a registered golf professional."
Stacey peered at Oscar. "You're a professional golfer?"
The governor twisted, addressing Oscar with a dip of his head, offering confirmation.
"Yes … yes, I am. I look forward to your company on the course, Stacey."
Stacey sharpened her tone, addressing her father. "And this is what you want?"
"Yes, it is. And what's more, it's not open for discussion."
"Fine." She folded her arms across her chest. "I hope you know what you're doing, Father. Jett was giving me lessons and we were getting pretty damn good." She sighed, then flipped her bangs out of her eyes. "Well, Oscar, looks like we're a team. I hope you're as good as you say you are. I know how important it is to my dad that we beat the team from Tennessee and gift him bragging rights in the battle between the moonshine states."
Oscar gave a reassuring smile. "I'll do my best."
"Right …" she crooned. "Is that along the lines of, 'It's not a matter of winning or losing, but how you play the game'?"
"Are we allowed to have fun while we're winning?" He hoped to get a
chuckle out of her to lighten the atmosphere.
Her cool demeanor deepened. "Just so you know, Oscar, I have the Coach Lombardi mentality: 'Winning isn't everything, it's the only thing.' And the only person who hates losing more than my father is me."
The thought of playing competitive golf with her as a partner made him tense. He reminded himself he was there to achieve an objective and needed to be civil for the good of the cause, even if she wasn't. "I said I'll do my best."
"Effort doesn't impress me. Results do." She poked her pert B-cups forward. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a brief to prepare for court tomorrow. Good day, Oscar." She walked toward the door, stopping to address her father. "But first I guess I'll have to call Jett and tell him not to come out. Do you know how much publicity having baseball's MVP playing in your golf tournament would have brought to the governor's office? No, I didn't think so." She stormed out.
Oscar watched as her pleated skirt flapped off her petite butt as she strolled away. He so wanted to lust after her but held nothing but contempt for the governor's daughter.
As a courtesy to his fluster button, he downed the rest of his whiskey in a gulp. It would make for a long day to play eighteen holes of golf with the superior tones of Racy Stacey. The looks were certainly there, but manners would have been a nice accompaniment. Oscar would have to focus on the governor's approval, not his daughter's.
Oscar set his empty glass on the coffee table. "She seems very nice, Governor," he lied. "You must be proud."
Davenport's beam said it all. "Very proud. Not only is she an outstanding golfer, but she's also a damn fine lawyer. And you may have noticed, she's very competitive."
"Yes, I did get that. Are you sure I'm the best choice of golfing partner for her? I mean, it sounded like she had someone else lined up—"
"Don't worry about her. I told her she couldn't play with that damn baseball player. Once she sees her name at the top of the leaderboard alongside yours, she'll forget all about Mister Seven-Forty-Seven."
"Of course." Oscar glanced at his watch, wanting Davenport to think he was a busy man, but the truth was he wanted to leave before he had to offer Stacey more empty praise.
Davenport finished his whiskey and set the glass down. "If you'll excuse me, Oscar, I have other business to tend to. Conrad will see you out." He held out his hand, and they shook. "Thank you for your time and the tip on Iron Skillet. I'll have the details of the golf tournament sent through to you. And tell your grandfather I'll be happy to cut the ribbon for the opening of the polo park."
"Yes, sir, I will."
***
Stacey stared at her brief while she sipped Perrier water. Against her will, her mind wandered to Oscar. A pang of guilt touched her conscience. She took a shot at scaring him off, but it didn't look like it worked. She knew her father was matching her up with some native nitwit as soon as she walked into his office, but perhaps she was too harsh. The disappointment of not playing with Jett forced her to react in a manner unbecoming of a governor's daughter instead of responding politely.
She attempted to console herself. There could be worse things than playing golf with Oscar Novak-Chambers. He was good-looking enough with his chiseled features and athletic build. She imagined he worked out. His pecs looked too firm for him to have just been born lucky. She experienced a belly-flip thinking about him. Holy crap! Where did that come from? She didn't want a belly-flip. Jett Johnson was her boyfriend in everything but presence—if that's what she wanted.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.
"Come in," she called out.
Her father strolled in and sat in the chair next to her desk. He took his specs off, huffed on them, then wiped them with a handkerchief as he spoke. "So, what did you think of Oscar?"
Stacey put her pen on the papers and stared him down until he made eye contact. "Well, Father Dearest, I trust your only interest in Oscar, as far as I'm concerned, is as my golf partner. And one I don't particularly want, in case you were wondering."
He looked at the floor, then cocked an eye toward her. "You know he comes from a wealthy family. Horse racing. He was polite, and dare I say, handsome."
There it was. Never mind her biological clock going tick-tock, his grandfather clock was going ding-dong.
She furrowed her brows. "Dad, Jett Johnson was last year's MVP, so he knows how to win—and he's begging me to come back to California. You know he makes eight point seven million a year, right?"
The governor didn't look at her. "Oscar probably makes twice that much."
"Ugh," she growled. "It's not about the money anyway. Besides, once you're used to being governor and have everything under control, I'm going back to California—so get used to the idea and forget about me and Hot Dog Man."
"Oh, Pookie, don't say that. I need you. Stick around for at least the first term."
"First term? Daddy, I don't have four years of my life to waste. I want to get back to LA."
The governor cleared his throat. "Umm … I hate to mention it, darling, but if you recall, you left under a bit of a cloud. If it wasn't for me sticking my neck out, who knows where you might be. It certainly wouldn't be in the DA's office of Jefferson County working for Rob Brown."
Stacey sighed. He was right, but she couldn't bear the thought of him holding that over her for the next four years—or perhaps even a lifetime. Her voice cracked somewhere between regret and anger. "Dad—"
He clutched her hand. "Just promise me this. See how you get on with Oscar on the golf course. By all accounts, he's Kentucky's most eligible bachelor." He smiled warmly, then a look of excitement crossed his face. "Hey, he gave me a tip on a horse, and he's a man who knows about racing. Tell you what, I'll buy you something with the winnings. What would you like? A new purse? A pair of shoes, maybe?"
"A Mercedes."
As her smile spread, his flattened.
Chapter 6
Oscar arrived home and entered the condo with a new caution. Once he made a sweep through the apartment looking for uninvited guests, he reflected on his meeting with the governor. He felt good about the get-together. As long as he got his dad to brush up on global-warming issues, persuaded his grandfather that Governor Davenport was the best man to open the polo grounds, and got the expedited building permits that were essential to establishing a good working relationship with the governor's office, the family would be proud of him.
The tip he gave Davenport would put him in good stead with the man who ran Kentucky. But playing golf with Racy Stacey? He had to draw the line somewhere—actually, she drew it for him. No way could he tolerate her arrogance for an entire day. He'd have to invent an injury for game day.
The phone rang, breaking him out of his reflective mood. He lifted the Bang and Olufsen handset off its charging cradle.
"Hello, Granddad."
"Damn those caller ID things."
Oscar chuckled. "It's the way of the new world, Granddad."
"Well I'm glad I'll be gettin' off this train before it goes any farther into the looney depot. Anyway, just in case that machine is on the fritz, it's Granddad. How'd things go with the governor?" Granddad Roscoe's voice had a distinctive southern growl that never needed an introduction, but he always offered it anyway.
"Yeah, good. He sends his regards." Oscar sat on the couch and put his feet on the coffee table, watching his toes wiggling in his Björn Borg socks. "He wants me to play in a pro-am golf tournament with his daughter."
"Well, good luck to you," Roscoe offered. "You're going to need it."
"How's that?"
Laughter came through the line. "I had a long talk with Governor Simpson before he left office. He told me all about Governor Judd Davenport and his little Tracey. He watched the girl six-putt once."
"A six-putt? Is that even possible?"
"Course it is."
"Well, don't worry, I'm not playing."
Roscoe sounded incredulous. "What do you mean you're not playing?"
&n
bsp; "Have you ever met Stacey Davenport?"
"Can't say that I have."
"Count yourself lucky. She's arrogant and condescending. I have better things to do with my life than being spoken down to. Besides, she wants to play with the first baseman for the Dodgers. I say let her."
Roscoe's deep breath from the other end came through loud and clear. "Don't be too hasty, Oscar. We need the governor on our side. By the way, did he ask you for a tip?"
"I offered before he could ask. I gave him Iron Skillet in the two-forty."
"Iron Skillet? The favorite?" Roscoe let out a heavy sigh. "So what are you gonna tell him now that Skillet finished fourth?"
"Fourth? You're joking. That's not even in the money."
"No shit, Sherlock," Roscoe sniped. There was a lengthy pause. "So you gave the governor a tip that wasn't worth spit and you're going to tell the man you're not going to play golf with his daughter? I think you better rethink your game plan."
Oscar sat forward on the couch. "You're not suggesting—"
"Oh, yes I am. My advice to you, sunshine, is you better be nice to Susie, play some damn-good golf, and get her on your side so she can tell her daddy what a great guy you are. Hell, romance her if you have to. Get her singing your praises, and maybe Daddy will forget about bullshit racing tips and losing golf tournaments."
Oscar silently groaned. "Her name's Stacey, Granddad."
"If you want brownie points with Davenport, try 'Oscar's girlfriend.' "
Oscar brushed it off. He'd figure something out. He always did. "By the way, I told Governor Davenport we wanted him to open the polo grounds. That was a good idea, wasn't it?"
"If we were opening an airport, yeah. You see, a politician brings other politicians, dignitaries, and people who don't know jack shit about horses, betting, or polo. We want horse owners, gamblers, and playboys interested in the sport. And who's going to bring them in?"
Oscar closed his eyes as despair shot through his gut. "I'm guessing you're not going to say the governor."
"No, I'm not. Nice try, boy, but I already got Miss America lined up. She'll attract the kind of people we want in the stands."
