Sudden Death (6 page)

Reid ran to catch the closing elevator. As he entered, chatter from the other players already aboard silenced.

He looked at each face. They all avoided eye contact. It was so blatant, Reid couldn’t help laughing. “Okay guys, what were you talking about? Let me guess.” He looked up and scratched his chin. “How quickly will Reid blow the endorsement deal?” No one said a word. “Well?” Continued silence. “Come on, admit it,” he said grinning. Slowly they all began to laugh. “Am I really the hot topic of the week? Don’t you guys have anything better to talk about, like golf maybe?” The elevator reached their floor and they got out saying, “Good night,

Reid.” “Good night, gentlemen.” As the doors closed he heard them break out in laughter. The message light was blinking when he entered the suite. Thoughts of Jennifer barged into his head. Damn! Not now. Not when he needed to get to sleep.

He got into bed and tossed and turned for a while. The more he tried to prevent it, the more Jennifer consumed his thoughts. His growing frustration and anger created turmoil in his head. The dark thoughts resurfaced. Was something terrible going to happen, or was his mind just playing with him? Whatever it was, now was definitely not a good time for it. Annoyed, he threw off his blanket, got out of bed and went into the living room. He grabbed the remote, turned on the TV and settled onto the couch. Flipping through the channels he stopped at a news report. Alvin Carey was being lead away in handcuffs by police. At least I’m not that bad, he thought. Buck has his hands full with that guy.

The next story was about the Master’s Tournament. The reporter was the one Reid had seen earlier in the day. He was obviously smarter than most; he had not approached Reid for comments and had his cameraman shoot footage from a distance. As the clip ran, the reporter talked about Reid’s endorsement and that he was favored to win the Master’s. Reid mumbled, “You got that right. That jacket is mine.” Next came an interview with last year’s winner. When asked about his chances, he commented, “It depends on how Reid is playing; he looked very good out here today. When Reid’s in the zone he’s tough to beat. But I’m playing well, too. It should be a close tournament.”

“Well, if this tournament is meant to confirm the master of the game, The ‘Bad Boy of Golf’ better be ready to play his best, because the competition is ready. Everyone here wants the coveted Green Jacket. Till tomorrow at the first tee. I’m Bobby Lee, live from the Master’s Tournament in Augusta, Georgia.”

Reid turned off the TV, walked to the computer and logged onto the Internet to check his e-mail. He smiled as he read messages from his sisters accepting his invitation to Augusta. He shot off quick replies and sifted through the rest of his e-mail. As usual, mostly junk. Previously he received all his fan mail. He got a kick out of responding, and although it had been time consuming, he missed it. Ever since that twisted threat was sent to the ICSF address, all his e-mail was redirected to Buck’s office for screening. Only his personal e-mail was forwarded to him.

He closed his eyes as the thoughts of the threats ignited a fuse in his head. They began to wreak havoc on his brain. Every muscle in his body tightened and his head began to throb. Annoyed, he shoved the mouse across the desk and stood. The mouse fell and swung from its wire; it sent a little bead of infrared light sweeping through the dark room, hitting everything in its path. Watching it, Reid was spooked by the thought, Is that what a snipers infrared sight looks like as it marks its target? He followed the dot with intensity as it moved from object to object: couch, wall, TV, desk, his chest. He actually jumped back to avoid it. His leg hit the chair and he fell backward onto the floor; luckily, he didn’t hit anything as he fell. The only damage was going to be a sore left butt cheek. He put his head back on the carpeted floor and looked up at the dark ceiling. He began to laugh, thinking, What kind of moron am I? I’m just lucky I didn’t get hurt. He laughed harder, wondering how he would have explained it if he
had
gotten hurt. Getting up, he looked at the clock. 1 a.m. “I have to get to sleep,” he groaned. He went back to bed. Head on the pillow, looking at the ceiling, he chuckled quietly, thinking of the utter absurdity of the whole situation. Exhaustion consumed him and he slowly fell asleep.

The 5:30 a.m. call abruptly, ended another nightmare. Reid lay in bed, almost drifting back to sleep. He knew if he lay there any longer he might doze off and miss his tee time. He got up, shaved, showered and dressed in his standard golf uniform: blue Izod shirt and khaki Izod pants.

He shoveled down his standard game day breakfast of fresh fruit, yogurt and granola, gulped the last drop of lukewarm coffee and headed for the door. Buck stuck his head out his door and said wearily, “Play well. I’ll see you in a little while.”

On arrival at the club, Reid went directly to the dressing room. As he changed into his golf shoes, Buddy approached. “Great day for golf, Boss. Ready to win?”

Reid raised his hand for a high five and said, “Absolutely, it’s our week for the green. That’s why I love you, man. You’re just like me; all you think about is winning. We do make a good team, don’t we?”

“The best,” said Buddy. “What do you want for energy snacks, the usual?” Buddy had built a thermal sleeve into one of the pockets of Reid’s golf bag. He filled it with two diet Cokes, two bottles of water, two bananas and two $100 Grand candy bars on every day of match play. A reporter once asked Reid why he ate only $100 Grand bars. “
Because they don’t make million dollar bars
,” he had answered.

“Yeah, that’s fine, thanks,” said Reid. “I’ll be out on the practice green.

Hey, who do we tee off with and when?” “We’re up fourth, at eight-thirty, with Kallman.” “Good.” The practice green was packed. Reid squeezed into a small opening and dropped a few balls in spite of a sneer from the adjacent player. He quickly became fed up with the crowded green and went to practice his chipping. His first two chips dropped in. He felt good today. He was very loose and he was chipping and putting well. He had an hour before his tee time. Usually he went to the 1st tee early just to watch. Today was different; he didn’t want to talk to the press or other players before he was up. He decided to go sit at the pool and have another cup of coffee. He asked Buddy and Buck, who had shown up while he was practicing, to join him. They went to the coffee shop, ordered three coffees and moved on to the pool. Reid sat down and started taking off his shoes. “What are you doing?” asked Buck. “I’m gonna put my feet in the water.” Buck laughed. “I can’t believe it. You’re about to tee off in the Master’s and you’re going to go splash your feet in the pool. You’re like a little kid.” “Hey, we’re about to take a long serious walk. My feet might as well feel good. Want to join me, Buddy?” Buddy started untying his laces. “Oh, what the hell,” said Buck as he took off his shoes and rolled up his pants. They all walked to the edge, sat down and enjoyed their coffee with their feet dangling in the cool water.

A reporter walked up, but as he got close, Reid said, “Hey, do me a favor. If you want a quick picture, take one, then please leave us alone. But please, no questions, not now.” The reporter complied. Reid was relieved as he watched him walk away after snapping a shot.

“Wow, a reporter with some brains.” “Yeah, nice for a change,” answered Buddy. “You know, you were right,” said Buck. “This feels great and it will probably help keep you cool on the first few holes.” “Maybe we should make a habit of it. Let’s do it again tomorrow,” said Buddy.

“Why wait, let’s come back before the back nine,” said Reid. After they finished their coffee Buddy found a few towels. They dried off and put their socks and shoes back on.

“Alright guys,” said Buck. “I’ll catch up with you at the turn. I’ve got to go find Carl and keep things smooth with the press. Buddy, take care of him, this tournament is worth a lot to us all.” He turned to Reid and added, “Play well.” “Don’t worry Buck, I’ll keep him out of trouble,” said Buddy. “See ya later,” said Reid as he and Buddy headed towards the 1st tee.

One twosome had teed off so far. There were two more groups before Reid. He took out a club and used it to stretch before taking some practice swings. He felt good: he was ready to win.

Reid’s name was announced and he tipped his cap to the crowd. The pungent smell of fresh cut grass filled the air. He teed up his ball, stepped back and looked toward the pin. The lush fairway was in perfect condition, blemish free. The short cut of the grass revealed a diagonal striped design. Reid always loved the look of Augusta National’s immaculate fairways on the first day of the Masters. By Sunday, divots would create a pockmarked surface, scarring the magical image that lay before him. Contrasting the gorgeous emerald carpet-like look of the fairway was the deep, dark-green, surrounding rough. A ball finding its way to the depths of the rough could easily cause the difference of a stroke on a hole: a birdie could become a par, a par a bogey, a bogey a double bogey. Reid took a practice swing, then stepped up and focused on the ball. He swung and hit a slight fading shot to a perfect spot on the fairway, just left of a bunker. While the ball was mid-air, yells of, “In the hole, in the hole,” emanated from the crowd. Reid often wondered about those who yelled this. They did it after almost every tee shot, no matter the distance. Was it absurd optimism or just stupidity? Applause erupted as the ball settled and Reid heard, “Alright, Reid,” “Down the middle, baby,” and, “Do it, bad boy.”

Reid couldn’t stand all the banter, even when it came from his own adoring fans. In fact, he regularly tried quieting his audience, putting his finger to his lips and saying, “Shhh.” He was considered overly sensitive, but he despised any noise on the course. Although he felt somewhat responsible for golf’s increasing popularity with rowdy fans, he did not like the new breed of spectators. He remembered going to a golf tournament with his dad when he was a kid. The crowd was absolutely silent until someone hit a good shot or sank a putt; then they would applaud politely. There was no yelling or cheering, just quiet oohs and ahhs. Times had certainly changed; some of the players actually played to the crowd.

Reid’s actions and etiquette on the course were admirable. He was so focused, he rarely paid attention to anyone, except Buddy. He usually walked down the fairway without a word. When he walked with another player, he hoped there would be no small talk. Reid’s concentration was always on the next shot. He had too many things to consider to allow his mind to wander. He had to think about distance to the pin, hazards, the lie of the ball and the speed and direction of the wind, all of which affected his most important decision: club choice.

He was paired with Jon Kallman today. Kallman was a good-looking thin guy about the same height as Reid. He was known to be very long off the tee but also somewhat erratic. In contrast, his short game was one of the best on the tour, helping him finish in the top 10 regularly. After Kallman teed off, they started walking down the fairway. Jon had hit a good shot, not as long as Reid’s, but right in the middle of the fairway, leaving him a simple approach shot. As expected, a huge crowd followed them. Reid was playing well and with each good shot, the same special few continued their yells. They were difficult to ignore, and Reid was getting annoyed. He asked a security guard to quiet the disruptive spectators. The guard failed and after two more holes, Reid was fed up. He borrowed a megaphone and raised it to his lips. “Listen folks, I need some help. I know your intentions are good, but the more you yell, the worse we’ll play. I’m sure you all came out today to watch some good golf. If that’s true, please stop the cheering and heckling. Applause and an occasional ooh or aah is fine, but no more yells, please.”

The gallery applauded loudly when he was done. Kallman walked over and shook his hand. They resumed play, but as Reid was about to hit his putt on the next green, someone shouted, “One time.” Reid stopped his swing, walked over to the announcer and borrowed the megaphone. He went to a security guard and whispered in his ear. The guard nodded and quietly spoke into his radio. Reid brought the megaphone to his mouth and said, “Okay folks, I have an offer to make and I need you to react quickly. I will pay anyone $500 to raise your hand if you are standing next to one of the obnoxious hecklers.” Four hands went up immediately and guards moved in, apprehending the offenders. As they were ushered off the course, the crowd exploded in applause. Reid said, “Quiet please.” Once the noise died down, he said, “Security, would you please take the names of those who were daring enough to raise their hands. If the four of you come to the clubhouse after we finish today, I will write you each a check.”

Once again, the gallery cheered until Reid said, “Okay everyone, shhh, Let’s continue the match.” The crowd quieted and play resumed. They finished the front nine without another incident. The crowd was much more subdued. Reid said to Buddy and Jon, “It’s amazing how four idiots can provoke an entire gallery to get too loud.”

“I’ve never seen anything like that. I’m impressed,” Kallman said. “You handled it with finesse. You know, having never been paired up with you, I was a little intimidated about today. But after watching and listening to you, I guess I shouldn’t judge someone based on hearsay. You’re a gentleman, Reid, and the PGA is lucky you’re a member.”

“Don’t let anyone hear you say that,” Reid said with a grin. “I wouldn’t want it to ruin the reputation I’ve worked so hard to earn. Come on, let’s grab a sandwich before the back nine.”

After lunch, Reid played phenomenal golf. At the end of the day, he was in the lead. Kallman congratulated him and thanked him for proving the press wrong.

Reid and Buddy went to the locker room to clean up. They had to meet Buck and Carl by the pool for some quick pictures. Outside, Reid sat on the edge of a chaise lounge and made a show of untying one of his sneakers. “Oh, not again!” Buck said. “Just fooling,” Reid said. Buck and Buddy chuckled. Carl and the photographer had puzzled looks on their faces. “Forget about it, Carl, it’s not worth repeating,” said Buck. “Whatever.” Carl shrugged. “Gentlemen,” the photographer said. “If you don’t mind, we need to hurry so I can catch the right light before we lose the sun.” “Sorry, where to?” Reid asked. “Back to the 13th tee. I’d like to get some pictures with the azaleas in the background.” They took shots at the tee, on the fairway and on the green, both with and without cigars. When they finished, Reid asked Carl to join them for dinner. “As long as I can buy,” he said. During dinner, Buck asked if there were any highlights from the day’s round of golf. “I’ll say there was,” Buddy blurted. He explained Reid’s handling of the hecklers. “Perfect, Reid, I love it,” Carl said. “I can see the headlines, ‘The bad boy of golf boots hecklers from the Master’s.’ It’s great for the image. Bad boy or good? Let’s keep ‘em guessing.”

Reid lashed out in heated irritation. “Carl, all I can do is be myself. I’m no good at acting; in fact, I’m lousy at it. I will be happy to represent Eagle in any way you wish, but I can’t, nor will I try to be, anything or anyone but myself. I will talk about and play with your balls. Please excuse the pun. But I will not portray an image of the bad boy or the good boy. What I will do is continue to win and act in a way I believe is morally and ethically correct, both on the course and off. I hope that’s acceptable to you and Eagle?”

“Whoa! Reid, of course it’s acceptable. I didn’t mean to imply anything to the contrary. Ethics and morals are the fundamentals on which Eagle is based. In fact, if you were to change anything, I’m sure it would have a negative effect on both our ad campaign and the obvious passion and intensity with which you seem to live your life. I’m sorry if you took that any other way.”

Carl and Reid stared at each other for a moment, then gradually both smiled. Buck and Buddy breathed very obvious sighs of relief. Buck said, “Can we eat now, before you two totally ruin my appetite?”

They enjoyed their meal. Carl asked, “Anyone up for cigars and after dinner drinks?” “Not me, thanks,” Reid said. “I need to get some sleep.” “Why don’t we all go back to the hotel?” Buck said. “We can relax out on the patio.” “Works for me,” Carl said. They all piled into Carl’s rental Town Car. “Hey, I know a great night club about 15 minutes from here,” Carl said. “Who’s game?” “Drop me off at the hotel first, please,” Reid said. “Let’s save the club for tomorrow night,” Buck said. “No problem,” said Carl. At the hotel, Reid bade them good night and went directly up to bed. The three others went outside to enjoy Cohibas and Port.

On Friday, the weather took a turn for the worse and the tournament was played in a consistent drizzle. Tour players were accustomed to foul weather golf. Some actually welcomed a very light drizzle. Fewer spectators came out in inclement weather, which allowed for faster play and fewer distractions. The day passed problem-free and the weather cleared by late afternoon. Reid played well and increased his lead by three shots.

Immediately following his round, he returned to the hotel for a soak in the hot tub and a hot stone massage. He ate an early dinner with the men in the hotel grill. Buck, Carl and Buddy went out to a nightclub after dinner. Reid hung out with a few players and some Eagle executives at the bar. He drank Diet Coke while trading funny stories and jokes. He took the ones about him, even those that stung, in stride.

Back in his suite around 8:30, he turned on the TV. Food Network only – no news. In no time, he was snoring away. The TV woke him as it got louder during a commercial. He dragged himself to his room, shed his clothes, called for a wake-up call and quickly fell back to sleep.