WITH RENEWED ENTHUSIASM about his future, Ty stopped by Li’l Brown Jug to pick up a lively libation that would be used to consummate a festive evening.
Inside the liquor store, he eyed Raj flirting with a slightly older version of Joy. Could my wife actually fall for the overtures of this wolf in sheep’s clothing?
His imagination ran rampant as he visualized the smooth operator’s bachelor pad in the back. He envisioned strobe lights enticing the proprietor’s prey deeper and deeper into his den of iniquity. His mind’s eye conjured up other fanciful images: shag carpeting, flickering candles, a billowing canopy over the bed, intertwined bodies frolicking amongst silk sheets, the intoxicating fragrance of incense, exotic East Indian music, not to mention an endless supply of nectar of the gods to break down the defenses of his more reticent victims.
The middle-aged lady carried an air of elegance and was actually quite a looker. She was dressed rather stylishly in expensive threads that Joy would have no trouble naming. He couldn’t help but notice that her pointy breasts were firmer and higher than a woman the south side of forty would naturally display. Wonder what that pair cost her? he thought. Thank God Joy was naturally endowed, for he would have hated to nibble on his favorite chew toy only to find it had sprung a leak.
Ty watched as the woman jotted something on a piece of paper. He couldn’t believe this sophisticated lady would be so gullible as to present her number to this player, but lo and behold, she handed him the info.
“Talk to you later,” she said while batting her fake, curled lashes. “Tootles.”
Tootles? Who was she trying to kid? She was as good as shagged.
Raj’s eyes twinkled with delight as he watched her sashay out the front door. He then redirected his attention Ty’s way. “Quite the specimen, would you not say? That divine creature is like a fine, rare wine that has matured at the pinnacle of its sweetness. But enough of my good fortune. Unless your pessimistic mood has changed since our last encounter, there is no need to inform you of the wealth a lottery ticket could bestow upon you,” he stated, twisting the upturned ends of his waxed mustache.
Ty was quickly brought back from his fantasy. “What the hell? Why not? One ticket and a bottle of your best cheap champagne.”
“Coming up, you silver-tongued devil. I can feel love is in the air. That lucky little lady of yours will be hard-pressed to resist your advances once the titillating bubbles tickle her fancy.”
“Believe me, I don’t need bubbles to tickle her fancy.”
“That may be true, but this tantalizing elixir of love will melt away any stifling inhibitions that block the pathway to true nirvana.”
Ty felt the time was right to do some fishing. “Imagine you get quite a few desperate, lonely women in here hunting for companionship.”
“I would certainly not be one to kiss and tell, but I will say my days and nights are never wanting.”
“Do you have a preference—say, for redheads?”
“Hidden under the sheets of passion, hair color is immaterial, for that thick, red bush is obscured by the cloak of darkness whereupon all shades of her fiery mane become an unidentifiable, tangled mat of pleasure.”
“Ever consider writing a romance novel—say, something like Fifty Shades of Red?”
“I see you have cleverly turned the tables on me, and I am now the punch line of your attempt at humor. Beware, my friend…a woman’s charms have been known to cast a spell that can leave her helpless victim a babbling idiot. But I am certain that a man of your stature and experience realizes the dangers involved in the most deadly of games: the one called love. You need only remember it is the female praying mantis that eats her lover for dessert after their amorous connection. But we live for the moment, do we not?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Here you go, kind sir—a ticket to paradise and one genie in a bottle that shall grant your every wish.”
Ty slapped down a bill. “Keep the change, my good man. I believe you have brought me good fortune. You really don’t think I have to worry about getting eaten alive tonight, though, do you?”
“As a famous man once said, ‘You can’t always get what you want, but you can try sometimes.’”
ONCE HOME, TY cursed under his breath as he kicked muddy, fragmented divots off the walkway, noting that the leap into manhood Tommy so proudly proclaimed had fallen a step short.
Predictably, Joy was enveloped in her protective fabric cocoon, vicariously living a romantic fantasy that could only be experienced within the confines of a sixty-inch screen.
He plopped down beside her on the sofa without a hint of acknowledgement. “Honey, I’m home,” he boldly announced.
She grunted like a contented sow and blindly reached for the popcorn several times before scoring.
“We need to talk,” he half whispered.
Joy cut him with a razor-sharp glare. “Why do these little chats of yours always have to occur while I’m watching my favorite program? Can’t it wait?”
“No, it can’t. Our future should take precedence.”
She hit the pause button and crossed her arms. “Well, out with this earthshaking news.”
“I’m going to write a book.”
“A book? You’re betting our future on a goddamn book?”
“You should be happy for me. Think I’ve finally found my niche.”
“Do you realize how competitive the market is out there—not to mention the exorbitant cost of an agent with no guarantees? Even if, by chance, you get published and you’re halfway successful, there’s a short shelf life for books. To make it cost-effective, you’d have to crank out volumes the way the treasury cranks out bills.”
“I know how to write, and I’ve got the perfect subject matter for my initial attempt.”
“I’ll humor you for the time being. What’s the premise?”
“I’ve already got a leg up. The book will be based on the project I’ve been working on: the story of golf through the eyes of the oldest caddie on the planet—Dink.”
“Oh honey, please. The ramblings of a senile old man whose only joy in life is a solid bowel movement isn’t an ideal premise for a Pulitzer Prize-winning tome. Besides, you’d be dealing with a very limited audience of golfers—and of those, only a small percentage actually read, which would hurt sales even more.”
“I sometimes think you actually enjoy stomping on my dreams so you can revel in my failures.”
“Just keeping it real. Someone has to.”
Ty headed toward the door.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“To the only sanctuary at my disposal—the golf course.”
TY SPOTTED FELLOW ex-employee Rob Nelson’s car in the parking lot. He searched the putting green and driving range with no luck before stopping by the pro shop.
“Hey Hank, what time did Rob tee off?”
The assistant pro looked down and shook his head. “He only hangs out at the bar lately. Not much else.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Couple of days. Guess he’s hunting for answers at the bottom of a bottle. You playin’ today?”
“Uh, think I’ll pass. Thanks anyway.”
Rob was slumped over at the end of the bar, staring out at the golf course.
Ty slid onto the stool next to him. “Hey there, good buddy. How come you’re not out there playing?”
His friend looked at him through the eyes of a nocturnal lemur. “Trying to use up the bar tab before my membership expires.”
“Any luck on the job scene?”
“You’re shittin’, right? Who wants to hire a middle-aged has-been in a dried-up job market tighter than a frog’s ass?”
“Guess it’s a glass-half-empty kind of day, huh?”
Rob tossed back his drink. “Now it’s totally empty,” he hissed, signaling for a refill. “How’s your luck been holding out?”
“Much to Joy’s chagrin, I’ve decided to strike out on my own and become an author.”
“No shit! You’re finally going to earn an honest day’s pay. What genre?”
“Sticking with golf. Going to expand the project I was working on before we got the ax.”
“The Dink story?”
“Yeah. Got a hunch this could be a blockbuster.”
“Not to shit all over your parade or anything, pal, but I bet every author who has ever put pencil to paper conjured up those same grandiose illusions.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Well, this book will contain all the elements needed for an engrossing story: history, action, adventure, romance, drama, but the real meat lies in the little man himself who reveals the heart of a caddie.”
“Jesus! Makes me want to run out and buy a copy. Can’t wait to read your final draft.”
“And what? Have you steal it right out from under my nose? Remember, revenge is best served cold,” Ty joked.
“You actually think I hold animosity because you stole my idea?”
“Keep telling yourself that enough times and you’ll start to believe it. You never had any intention of following up on it.”
“Why, you presumptuous bastard! Are you a mind reader now? I had every intention of jumping on it before you horned in behind my back.”
“That’s a load of crap and you know it.”
“Is it now? I’ve got half a mind to kick your ass!”
“Hey, hold on there, dude. Don’t you think you’re carrying this a bit too far? Maybe it’d be best if you quit drinking and I drive you home.”
Rob jumped off his stool. “Fuck you and the horse you rode in on! Don’t go telling me what to do.”
Ty slowly rose and backed away, holding both hands up. “I’m out of here. You ever come to your senses, give me a call.”
“I’ll rot in hell before that ever happens,” Rob slurred. “And I hope that fucking book of yours flops big-time and puts you in the poorhouse.”
“You know, just when you think you’ve got a pretty good handle on somebody, they show their true colors when the chips are down. But better late than never, I guess.”
“Yeah, you got that right, dickhead. I’m glad Nancy divorced me sooner than later ’cause you’d probably go behind my back and steal her from under my nose also. You two losers actually deserve each other. I can’t believe you.”
Ty slapped a bill on the bar. “Here. Buy yourself another beer. It’ll give you something to cry in.”
He was still steaming when he rolled home around dinnertime.
“Feeling any better?” Joy asked sympathetically.
“Oh yeah, tons. First you dump on me, and then Rob threatens to kick my ass.”
“Why in the world would he do that? You two have been best buds for ages.”
“That’s what I thought too, but he’s got a hair up his ass that I stole his story.”
“Well, did you?”
Ty began to walk in circles, “I, I don’t know anymore. If I did, it certainly wasn’t intentional. In passing, he mentioned this Dink guy and that’s the last I heard him talk of it. He never showed up at the nursing facility in all the days I’ve been there. He’s dealing with a plethora of issues at the moment, and the booze is making him angrier. The more he drinks, the more he plays the blame game.”
“Well, maybe it’s for the best. At least you won’t run into him every day at work. Look, I’m sorry if I came down hard on you, but this whole situation we’re in is scary as hell. How about we compromise: you work on the book while also hunting for a job. No reason you can’t earn a steady paycheck and write at the same time, is there?”
“Sounds reasonable. After all, whose lawn would Tommy dig up if we were living out of your SUV?”
“Just do me a favor and don’t get your hopes up too high. Even if you happen to get published, there’s no guarantee the book will sell. Every writer thinks his labor of love is a world-beater—that is, until the bad reviews bring them back to reality. Everyone’s a critic, you know.”
“Hey, those critics haven’t read this soon-to-be-classic yet. You just wait and see.”
“If only you could bottle that confidence and sell it. We’d be on easy street.”