Jake nodded. What that meant was that if he lost the next two holes he would owe Greg the original thousand for the nine plus another thousand for losing the press. It was time to buckle down and start playing like he meant it. Press, after all, was another way of saying pressure, and under pressure was the way Jake worked the best.
The eighth hole was a simple par three, the number seventeen handicap so Jake would get no stroke here. It turned out he didn't need one. Using his eight iron he dropped the ball less than three feet from the pin and was able to putt it in for a birdie. Greg landed on the green as well and rolled to a stop about five feet from the pin. Once again, however, he misread the slope of the green only this time he didn't get away with it. The ball deflected off the side and rolled six inches away. Greg tapped in for a par and lost the hole.
The ninth hole was a long par four with two creeks crossing the fairway in very inconvenient places. It was the number one handicap hole so Jake did get a stroke. Greg blasted his drive almost two hundred and eighty yards and then used a five iron to drop it on the green about twenty feet from the pin. Jake's drive was also quite impressive but his second shot was hit fat and stopped twenty yards short of the green.
"I've got my par in the bag," Greg told Jake as he approached his chip shot. "Remember, if you don't win this hole then the press is a tie and you'll owe me a thousand for the nine."
"No pressure though," Jake said with a smile. He then proceeded to pop his ball high into the air with a sand wedge. It landed less than eight inches from the pin.
"Nice shot," Greg reluctantly said.
"Thank you," Jake said. "Should I leave my putter in my bag?"
"There are no gimmees when a thousand bucks is at stake," Greg told him.
"As you wish," Jake said.
Greg tried his damndest to sink the twenty-foot putt. In the end, however, he came up short, leaving it less than three inches from the cup. He putted out for a par. After waiting for Celia to putt out for her seven, Jake stepped up and with a casual backhand flip of his putter knocked the ball into the hole for a four. With his stroke thrown in he had won the hole.
Greg was not ungracious. "Very nice," he told Jake, shaking hands with him. "I won the front nine but you won the press. That puts us even for the front."
"That it does," Jake said. "So... do they sell beer at this joint, or what?"
"They do," Greg said. "Let's go hit the bar before we go to number ten. I'll buy."
They ended up having two beers before taking to the back nine. As they sipped imported Fosters from frosted mugs and as Jake and Greg smoked cigarettes and tapped their ashes into a crystal ashtray, Celia asked Jake about the current state of his love life.
"Well, I don't lack for companionship when I want it," he told her. "I have been kind of busy with the flight lessons and all lately but when the uh... the need comes upon me there's always the Flamingo or one of the other clubs. I can always find a woman or two willing to be entertained for the evening."
"Or two?" Celia said playfully.
"Variety is the spice of life," Jake said while Greg grinned knowingly.
"No girlfriends though?" Celia asked. "Have you been seeing anyone more than once since you dated that college student?"
"No," Jake admitted. "I got kind of soured on the whole relationship thing after that. As a matter of fact my flight instructor just propositioned me for such a relationship the other day."
"Your flight instructor?" Greg asked. "This sounds interesting."
"Not really," Jake said. "She's cute and very nice and all, but I had to turn her down. I'm just not ready to get into another relationship with a woman. They never seem to work out and someone always ends up getting hurt."
"That's kind of a shitty attitude," Celia said.
"No, not at all," Greg interjected. "I know exactly where Jake is coming from here."
"You do?" Celia asked.
"I do," he said. "When one becomes a celebrity like we are it becomes very difficult, if not impossible, to maintain a romantic relationship with someone who is not a celebrity as well — or least someone who is not well-known or in the entertainment business in some way."
"Where did you come up with that crap?" Celia asked him.
"It's true," Greg insisted. "It's part of the two different worlds thing. The other half of the relationship simply cannot relate to what the celebrity is going through. They don't understand how women throw themselves at you, how everyone demands your attention all the time, how the lack of privacy is going to effect them. Assuming that the woman in question — or the man if it's a female celebrity — is not simply a gold digger of some sort, that she entered into the relationship with the best of intentions, it is inevitable that the long absences, the jealousy, the envy, the mistrust, and the fact that every aspect of their lives are thrown up on the front page of the damn American Watcher, is going to take its toll. Usually sooner rather than later."
"What a cynical point of view," Celia said.
"I prefer to think of it as a realistic point of view," Greg said. "Tell me, Jake, do you think I'm wrong about this?"
"I never really thought about it that way," he said, "but what you say does make a lot of sense. I won't go so far as to say it's impossible to maintain a relationship with someone outside the business but its certainly difficult. Just ask Rachel, my last girlfriend."
"That's hardly a good example," Celia said. "You cheated on her with a groupie while you were in Mexico."
"Well... yes, I did," Jake said, "but that was merely a symptom of the problem. I was never able to trust her even though, in retrospect, I realize that she probably truly did love me. I was always wondering in the back of my mind if she was trying to screw me in some way. I worried that she would try to get herself pregnant so she could get child support out of me, that she would start pressuring me to marry her, or that she was only with me for the publicity. Had I not been Jake Kingsley of Intemperance, if I'd just been Joe Blow who drove the garbage truck, I might've fallen in love with her. As it was, though, this instinctive mistrust of her kept my feelings for her from fully developing. Since they didn't develop I didn't bother resisting my urges in Mexico when the opportunity presented itself. Rachel was a sweet girl and I treated her like a servant, or, as she put it, like an employee. She was my hired girlfriend when I needed that particular thing in my life and she was entirely justified in telling me to shove my checkbook up my ass."
"Here here," Greg said, lifting his mug in salute to Jake's words. "You described the syndrome perfectly, Jake. People need to be with people who have common interests. That's why Celia and I get along so well together. She knows that everywhere I go women are throwing themselves at me, trying to get me to sleep with them, that they'll do anything to get it on with me. I know that everywhere she goes young men are doing the same to her. We both understand that we didn't do anything to encourage this and that it's just the way things are, right, C?"
She nodded. "Yes," she said, "I'm not saying that our relationship is not easier than if you were Jake's Joe Blow garbageman, or if I was a waitress in a restaurant, but I don't think that being from two different worlds necessarily rules out the possibility of maintaining a relationship. If two people are attracted to each other and there's no other reason not to pursue a relationship, then they should explore it." She turned to Jake. "How do you feel about this flight instructor, Jake? You said she's cute and very nice. Are you attracted to her?"
"Well... yeah," Jake admitted. "I suppose you could say that, but..."
"No buts," Celia said. "If you're attracted to her and she's attracted to you then you shouldn't dismiss her simply because she's not in the business. How would you feel if you walked away from her for such a petty reason as that and it turned out that she was actually your soulmate?"