In an attempt to wipe the lipstick off with towels, they smeared it all over their faces. They finally gave up and nonchalantly walked to the gift shop to buy nail polish remover. Everyone they passed stared and grinned. No one had the nerve to say anything, but the growing trail of laughter behind them drew even more attention. They finally got on the elevator and as the doors were closing, applause broke out from the crowd that had formed behind them. “I can’t wait to find out who did this,” Reid said. “We have to think of something really good to get even,” Buck said as they entered their suite. They had to work fast to clean everything off and still get to the bar by seven thirty.
At one point Buck yelled, “Shit, this stuff is impossible to get off. How do women put up with it?”
After finally getting it all off, they went to their respective rooms, shaved, showered and dressed in record time. They met back in the living room at 7:30.
Reid looked at the clock and said, “Damn, I wanted to call Jennifer. Oh well, I’ll do it later. Let’s go.”
Chapter 4
The sensuous sound of salsa music filled the background as Reid and Buck entered the bar. Mojitos were the drink of the moment. Buck ordered two and handed one to Reid.
Taking a sip, Reid said with emphasis, “Wow, this is good. Don’t let me get drunk. You know I don’t usually drink the week of a tournament.”
“What? Now I’m your guardian? Like you ever listen to me?” Buck replied.
Just then, Carl walked up. “Guys, I hope you don’t mind, I called a quick press conference.” “No problem. When is it?” Reid asked. Carl looked at his watch. “In about two minutes. C’mon, follow me.” Reid rolled his eyes. “Oh well, so much for my Mojo.” He and Buck put their Mojitos down and followed Carl. As they walked into the room, cameras flashed everywhere. Carl tapped the podium microphone. “Folks, we have 10 minutes, so please keep the questions short and sweet. We want to officially announce a new member of the Eagle team. As of this afternoon, Reid Clark has agreed to endorse our new line of golf balls, called Freeze.” “How much was the contract, Carl?” asked a TV reporter. “100 million.” There were a few whistles and wows. A journalist asked, “What will be the theme of the ad campaign?” “We’re still working on it.” “That’s a hefty contract, Carl; I guess you expect a lot from Reid. Reid, are you ready to fulfill this obligation? You’ll probably have to stay out of trouble and maybe even let some of our photographers take your picture. I know how difficult that is for you.”
Reid recognized the reporter. He recently had a run-in with him. Doing his best to keep his cool, he answered, “I’ll be happy to let any of you take my picture as long as I know you’re doing it and you’re not being rude and obnoxious.”
“Look who’s talking about being obnoxious,” said a reporter from Sports Illustrated.
Buck decided it was time for damage control. He grabbed the micro phone and said, “Okay, kids, this is a press conference, not a Reid Clark bashing session. We all know you have had your issues with each other, but let’s move on. If any of you want the details of the endorsement, I will be available for questions later. Thank you all for coming. Have a good evening.”
Reid jumped to the microphone in spite of Buck’s attempt to push him away. Reid said, “Hey folks, one more second. To make up for some of my questionable behavior in the past, I want to invite you all to the bar for hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. Please accept this as, well, sort of a truce.”
After a brief disbelieving silence, a reporter in the back of the room began to clap slowly one clap at a time. Gradually others joined in and the applause quickened and spread throughout the room. Someone yelled, “Alright! Maybe there’s hope for him after all.” Another reporter shouted, “He can buy my forgiveness anytime.” They all headed for the bar. Reid called the maitre d’. “Hi, it’s Reid Clark. Can you bring hors d’oeuvres for 50 to the bar as quickly as possible? High end stuff, the best you’ve got. Please hurry, and put the charge through to my room.”
At the bar, Reid told the bartender that all orders from the press were to be billed to his room. The bartender said, “I’ll send a waiter to take orders, Mr. Clark. Also, Joseph, the maitre d’, called. He said the hors d’oeuvres would be here in 15 minutes. We’ll set everything up in the back of the room.” He pointed. “Over there, overlooking the pool.”
The other side of the bar was packed with the Eagle party, which had grown significantly during the press conference. With fresh drinks in hand, Buck and Reid tried to meet as many Eagle employees as possible. Before they knew it, it was time to head to the restaurant. A line of stretch Hummers was waiting out front.
“Where are we going to dinner? The Sahara or the Baja?” Reid joked as they piled into the vehicles. Dom Perignon, iced vodka and huge bowls of Beluga caviar awaited them inside.
Reid whispered to Buck, “You think these people always party like this? It must be costing Eagle a fortune.”
“It’s not costing Eagle a penny, my friend. This evening is on you,” Buck said quietly. Reid gagged, then whispered tensely, “Are you crazy?” “Calm down and enjoy the party,” said Buck. “You can afford it.” “Fine, just don’t make a habit of this, at least without informing me first.” “Look, you play golf and stay out of trouble. Let me handle the business. If I say we need to spend some money, I don’t want an argument, okay?” Reid stayed silent. “I said, okay?” Buck repeated. “Alright! Alright! Just make sure you let me know how much and when. I won’t question it, just let me know.” Buck stared at him for a second, then snapped, “Fine!”
Upon arrival at the steakhouse, the party was shown to a private dining room. Reid, Buck and Carl were the last to enter. Everyone at the table began laughing as they looked past the three men. Buck, Reid and Carl all turned to see a huge poster of Reid and Buck sleeping at the pool with clown faces. A large banner under it read: ‘Even Kings can be Jokers sometimes. Congratulations Reid & Buck. We love you guys, TEAM EAGLE.’ Shaking with laughter, they turned back toward the others. “Looks like you got us again!” Reid said. The waiters took dinner orders and the salad was served. Wine and champagne flowed all evening. Reid tried to keep a tally of the bottles being consumed. Finally giving up, he thought, Guess you’ve gotta spend it to make it.
Around 10:30, Reid announced that he needed to retire for the evening. “I’m sure you don’t want the papers to read that your new endorser slept through tomorrow’s Pro-Am. I hope to see you all there.” Reid shook Carl’s hand saying, “Thanks again.” “No, it’s me who should be thanking you.” “Okay gentlemen,” Buck said. “Enough of the thank-yous. Reid, have one of the drivers take you back to the hotel and then return for us. I’ll see you in the morning. Hey, I’m proud of you. Usually I have to send my clients home after fighting with them all night to stop drinking.”
“Guess I’m just different. Who knows…? I’ll see you at the club. I’ll probably be long gone by the time you wake up.”
Chapter 5
Half asleep, Reid picked up the 5:30 a.m. wakeup call and moaned, “Thanks,” to the automated system. Rubbing his eyes, he stumbled out of bed and into the bathroom.
Showering and dressing in record time, he grabbed some badly needed coffee from the concierge and left. The course they were playing today was about 20 minutes away. A bus was leaving at 7 a.m. but Reid didn’t want to wait. He took a cab instead. Reid had a routine for tournament days; actually it was more of a ritual. He took every tournament very seriously, even Pro-Ams. He would have fun today, but he would play to win! He was on the range stretching and loosening up by 7 a.m. He hit 10 balls with every club in his bag. First he hit on the range, then moved to the practice bunker, then finished on the practice green. He was drenched in sweat afterward, so he went to the locker room for a quick shower. The tournament was starting with a buffet breakfast, and although Reid wasn’t very hungry, he knew he should make a showing, so he walked into the crowded dining room. Celebrities and tour players were everywhere. As he entered, someone in the room whistled, others quickly joined in, while still others slapped him on the back and congratulated him. Well, he thought, I guess it’s in the morning paper. He looked around and spotted Phil DiBlasio, one of Hollywood ’s hottest comedic actors and Reid’s partner for the tournament. Phil’s dark moustache and goatee along with his dark attire gave him a menacing look that was contradicted by his big smile and nonstop joking. Reid walked over to the table and took the empty chair next to Phil.