"Thank you," Jake said, taking his license back and dropping his Corvette back into gear.
Jake was not a member of the club and it was doubtful that they would accept him if he were to apply. He had never even been here before but today he was an invited guest of Gregory Oldfellow, the actor whose current film was being considered for an Oscar nomination and, more significant, was Celia Valdez's fiancée.
Though the press had never caught wind of the fact that Jake and Celia had spent the night together before the Grammy Awards in March, Celia had told Gregory about it the next time they'd spoken. At first he hadn't been too keen on the fact that his fiancé had spent the night with one of the most notorious womanizers on the Hollywood scene but her assurances to him that nothing had happened, that they were just friends who had spent the night drinking and playing guitar for each other, had reassured him.
Since returning home from the It's In The Book tour Jake had had lunch with Celia twice, once at his house and once at Greg's. Both times Greg had been present. To Jake's surprise he found that he actually liked the handsome actor. In his experience most screen actors were arrogant, narcissistic asses who constantly kept whatever conversation was occurring steered toward the subject of themselves and who felt the need to top anything that anyone else said. Greg did, in fact, have a trace of these shortcomings in his personality but for the most part he seemed a decent, down to Earth kind of guy who genuinely had strong feelings for Celia and enjoyed being with her. He was intelligent and well spoken and proclaimed to love Intemperance's music. He had even thanked Jake for keeping Celia out of a sleazy hotel room on her big night and keeping her company in his absence.
The three of them had not gotten together in over a month now, nor had they really kept in touch. Greg was busy basking in the runaway success of his new movie and Celia was locked into the brutal grind of putting together the next La Diferencia album. It had been Greg who had called him up three days ago to ask Jake if he was interested in a little golf at the country club.
"I haven't played in months," Jake said. "I've been kind of busy with flight school."
"That's okay," Greg said. "You should see how Celia plays. She only started six months ago and a bogey is like a birdie to her. You couldn't possibly be more embarrassed than she will be."
"Okay," Jake replied. "What day?"
"You pick it," Greg said. "I'm free any day these days and Celia can break loose when she needs to. It's part of that rebellion thing you planted in her head."
"How about Friday?" Jake suggested. "I'm not flying that day and I'm on vacation from composing."
"Friday it is," Greg said. "How does a 7:45 tee-off sound?"
"Works for me."
"Come a little early if you want to hit some balls first. We'll be there around seven or so. It's best if Celia does some time on the range before she goes out."
"I know the feeling," Jake replied.
And so here he was now. He pulled into a parking spot just outside the clubhouse and before he could even get out of his car a young employee dressed in shorts and a Pacific View polo shirt was there to retrieve his clubs for him.
"How are you doing, sir?" the young man asked, obviously recognizing Jake but making no allusion to it.
"I'm fine, thank you," Jake said. He held out his hand. "Jake Kingsley."
"Nice to meet you, Mr. Kingsley," the kid said, shaking with him. "Are you a guest today?"
"I am," Jake said. "Greg Oldfellow invited me."
"Oh yes," the kid said, as if he hadn't already known this. "Mr. Oldfellow and Ms. Valdez just arrived a few minutes ago. Allow me to take your clubs and put them on a cart for you."
"By all means," Jake said, taking a ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and attempting to hand it over.
The kid didn't take it. "Thank you for the offer, Mr. Kingsley," he said, "but we're not allowed to accept gratuities."
"No shit?" Jake asked.
"That is correct," the kid said.
"Well that sucks ass, doesn't it?" Jake asked.
The kid hid a smirk as he took Jake's bag from the passenger seat of the car and hefted them onto his shoulder. He took a look at the layer of dust that had accumulated since the last time Jake had played. "I'll just clean these up a bit for you before you head out, sir," he said.
Thanks," Jake said. The kid headed off toward the clubhouse.
Jake was dressed in accordance to the strict dress code of the country club. He wore a pair of blue pleated shorts and a collared white shirt. Atop his head was a visor he'd bought years ago at Hannigan Oaks golf course in Heritage — his dad's favorite course and the course Jake was most familiar with. He took a few moments to change from his tennis shoes into his golf shoes and then headed off toward the clubhouse.
He found his clubs mounted on the back of an electric golf cart parked just outside the clubhouse. He went inside to sign in and, though he received a few glares and confused stares from the other members inside, the middle-aged staff member behind the counter treated him with nothing but respect.
"Mr. Oldfellow and Ms. Valdez are out on the driving range if you'd care to join them," he said.
"Sure, thanks," Jake said. "Do I need a range token or anything like that?"
The staff member actually winced as he heard this. "We do not have range tokens here, Mr. Kingsley," he said. "Our range balls are entirely complimentary."
"Oh... cool," Jake said.
"In fact," he went on, "I was told by Mr. Oldfellow that if you required any golf equipment before heading out that I was to provide it to you and put it on his account. Do you need golf balls, Mr. Kingsley?"
"No thanks," Jake said with a smile. "I've got all the balls I need."
He blinked a little but held his composure. "Very well. Do you know how to get to the range?"
"I'm sure I can figure it out," Jake said. "Thank you."
The driving range was a lovingly maintained piece of landscape set on one of the hills with an ocean view. Instead of buckets of balls handed out by an attendant each range station had a number of balls stacked into an aesthetically pleasing pyramid shape. Celia and Greg were down near the far end of the range. Jake parked his cart on the cement path behind them. Both dropped the clubs they were holding and came over to greet him. Jake had to fight to keep his eyes on Celia's face as she approached. She was dressed in a burgundy polo shirt that outlined the swell of her breasts and a pair of white shorts that contrasted alluringly with her long, sun browned legs.
"Hi, Jake," she greeted, smiling at him, pullin him into a friendly hug and giving him an even friendlier kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you could join us."
"Me too," Jake said, wondering if Greg would have a problem with her manner of greeting him. It seemed he did not. He stepped forward and shook Jake's hand warmly, welcoming him to the country club.
"Thanks for inviting me," Jake said. "But are you sure that people are okay with me being here? I've gotten some pretty funny looks since I pulled in."
"From the members or the staff?" Greg asked.
"The members," Jake said. "Or at least I assume they're members."
Greg nodded. "I can't do much about the members," he said apologetically. "There are mostly good people here but a lot of stuck-up snobs too. If any of the staff shows you the least bit of disrespect, however, let me know and I'll deal with it. I pay a lot of money to be a member here and I expect my guests to be treated with the utmost courtesy."
"Sure," Jake said, wondering just how he would deal with such a thing. Did he have the power to get someone fired? "I usually get along with staff people at places like this though. They tend to be my kind of people."
Greg laughed as if he'd made a joke and clapped him on the back.
They shared a few moments of small talk while Jake pulled a selection of clubs from his bag and then stretched out his arms, legs, and back. The three of them then walked over to the driving range stations to hit some balls.