Tuesday morning, Jericho paced.
He paced in his hotel suite after Asia brought him his ham and eggs for one.
He paced in his office at the Newcastle Golf Club while he tried to look at spreadsheets that were still bleeding money.
Finally, when he couldn’t stand not hearing that Tiffany’s surgery was successful and she was recovering safely anymore, he went downstairs to the bag room, got his clubs, and inserted himself into a threesome going off at nine-thirty so he could pace the entire golf course while checking his texts after every shot.
After playing all eighteen holes at a blistering pace, he walked back into his office at noon and called the other three Last Chance guys, catching the three of them at the office.
Jericho sipped his fourth cup of coffee since three o’clock that morning and said, “I’ve been looking over the cash-flow analysis of this golf course all night. I spent hours at it and barely slept. I think I haven’t slept more than three hours since yesterday. I don’t know what to do with this place to increase its value.”
Match was the first one to start talking, as usual. “We gave you some ideas when we were there a few weeks ago. Have you implemented everything?”
“Not everything,” Jericho admitted. “There are some community reasons why some of those things won’t fly.”
He could hear the groans over the speaker of his cell phone.
Morrissey, ever the lawyer, asked him, “You didn’t buy a course that is on a historical registry, did you?”
“No, it’s not that I can’t legally change some of the things; it’s just that I shouldn’t.”
“You want to know what you shouldn’t do, Parr?” Match demanded. “You shouldn’t screw up your chance to win this bet. You got lucky. You picked up NGC for a song. You have a great chance of increasing its value a whole hell of a lot. If The Shark wins, a lot of people are going to be out of work when we liquidate our holdings to pay off Gabriel. You need to increase the value of that golf club, and you need to do it fast. It’s less than seven months until New Year’s Eve. Don’t lose it for us, okay?”
“What about you guys?” Jericho retorted. “If any one of the four of us wins that bet, we’re in the clear. So why are you guys just sitting around on your asses instead of buying your own ventures and trying to win this bet? Why am I the only one who’s actually got a place so far?”
Match yelled over the phone, “I’m closing on a venture this week, but I didn’t find a fire sale. I got what I could so at least I can start working on this and maybe we won’t lose. Morrissey is driving to hell and back looking at a thousand places that aren’t good enough for him. Skins is probably just going to the gym and praying, but I don’t know because we’re not supposed to talk about it. Gabriel probably has our office bugged.”
Exclamations peppered the background noise.
Match’s voice seemed closer to the phone. “It only takes one of us to win, but Gabriel could beat us all. We left you with a twelve-item list that would quadruple the club’s value by the end of the year. How many have you finished?”
Jericho glanced at the document open on his computer. “Half of one, and I put in for building permits for two more.”
“What the hell is the matter with you, Jericho? You’re not usually a scatterbrain like this. If this were a Last Chance venture, you’d be three-quarters of the way through the list and have contractor bids on the last few items. Is there a problem with this place? Would it be better to fail fast and try a different business?”
Jericho glared at the perfectly reasonable action items they’d put together after the round of golf a month before. Match was right. Those improvements would substantially increase the value of the Newcastle Golf Club, and Jericho would stand a decent chance of winning and saving the business that they had built the last five years of their lives.
He said to Match, “I’ll have the improvements finished before Labor Day.”
Three agonizing hours later, Jericho received a text on his phone from Tiffany, telling him that Dr. Cooper had said the surgery had gone splendidly and she was fine. She was staying in the hospital overnight as planned and would be back in her childhood bedroom the following day.
The last part of her text said, See you in four to six weeks.
Four to six weeks?
Right, because while Jericho had accidentally introduced Tiffany to his parents, Tiffany hadn’t stopped hiding in Jericho’s hotel bedroom when her cousin brought them room service breakfast at the Newcastle Inn and Spa.
Plus, she kept making that stupid joke about her being Miss May.
And the calendar in the corner of his computer said that day’s date was the first of June.
Like all the other women Jericho dated, Tiffany had declared herself to be temporary, and Jericho had been stupid about it again.
But as always, Jericho was excellent ex-boyfriend material.
He texted back, I’m so glad the surgery went well. Let me know if I or NGC can do anything for you or if you need an emergency order of shrimp scampi from the Westerly House. Best, Jericho.
When the head pro, Kowalski, came around with a get-well card, Jericho signed it the same way.
Best, Jericho Parr.
Without Tiffany around, the club seemed dilapidated and begging for refurbishment.
He pressed the city permits department to approve his applications.
The construction crews descended upon Newcastle Golf Club the following week.