Seven Days

Chapter 1: Wednesday-3

Forty minutes later, Carlos was parking the rented Mercury in one of the spaces right by the sea. They took a short walk on the boardwalk, around girls who seemed to belong in the latest issue of Playboy and guys on colorful skateboards.

A young woman stopped Reggie to ask if he was that Canadian actor, Shawn Ashmore, one of the X-Men, because if so, she desperately wanted his autograph. Embarrassed, Reggie said no, he wasn’t that actor, and he barely knew who she was talking about, but he would consider it a compliment. The girl went away without even bidding him farewell or apologizing for disturbing him.

When they passed by a sports bar—The Stag—they agreed it was just the right place for a drink. Well, it was as good as any of the others.

They crossed the street running, avoiding a couple of speeding cars, and then Carlos whistled.

“What?” Reggie asked, hands in his pockets.

His caddie was peering through the window of the shop next to the bar. “Look here! These crystals…one prettier than the other. They’re so cool.”

The young man glanced in the window, distracted. The shop sold new age memorabilia and organic products. All things Carlos’s wife adored.

“Vera would love that one…” Carlos murmured, talking to himself. “I’m going in to take a look. You go inside and order.”

Reggie nodded and started walking again, while Carlos opened the red wooden door of the shop and the bell rang, announcing his entrance. Reggie entered the bar and the calm mid-day atmosphere in there atmosphere wrapped around him like a velvety caress.

The smell of cinnamon and fresh biscuits was everywhere; the idle talk of the patrons was muffled by wood panels and all the TVs were tuned to a boxing match.

He looked around, satisfied: the bar had his complete approval. There were a couple of groups, three people at the counter, and a few free tables. He approached the barmaid and asked for an orange juice for him and a Miller for Carlos.

“Just a moment, honey,” the blonde woman behind the counter tittered.

Reggie moved away to one of the free stools and sat down. His restless mind ran over the tournament circuit, the slopes of the most difficult greens, the proper clubs to use, the expected atmospheric conditions for the next four days…

Right, the weather! He took his phone from his pocket, went online, and started looking at the weather forecast.

“Two beers and a sangria, my beautiful sweet lady,” a voice with a European accent exclaimed behind him.

“Oh, you flatter me,” the barmaid said skittishly.

Reggie paid little attention to the man who had appeared next to him, leaning across the counter to order. But when he glanced up to check if his drinks were ready, his heart stopped beating.

There, there was Russell Lee, a British pro player. His idol.

Contrary to what one would have thought, Reggie Weston wasn’t crazy about Phil Mickelson, he didn’t relive the old glories of Jack Nicklaus, and his room wasn’t covered with Tiger Woods posters. No, he used to sleep with a poster of Russell Lee above his bed.

Russell Lee was born into golf. His father Ronald had been the idol of Reggie’s mom, Emily, so he had grown up listening to his parents glorifying European golf and somebody called Lee. One year, when Reggie was about six or seven years old, they had saved money for months to be able to go to the Masters in Augusta and satisfy Emily’s desire to meet Ronald Lee.

Russell had been the world’s number one golfer for a while. He was still one of the best players on the circuit but, apart from the majors, he only occasionally participated in the PGA tournaments. Reggie hadn’t yet had the occasion to meet him in person, hadn’t played with him, but suddenly there he was, a few inches from his face.

Staring at his idol, Reggie seemed to have forgotten how to breathe, while his heart, after the initial shock, started galloping as furiously as a crazy horse.

Reggie felt an incredible emotion.

Russell Lee was nine years older than he. His curly hair, honey blond, was tied in a modest ponytail with a red rubber band, his cheeks were covered by a light beard, his eyes were caustic blue, and his body was massive but slim.

In that moment, Reggie felt small. Minuscule. Not physically—he was quite tall, if not as tall as the Brit, and he was slender—but on a professional level. He felt like a minuscule grain of sand in a sea of mastery.

“Is everything okay?”

Reggie blinked. Was Russell Lee talking to him?

“I asked you if everything was fine.”

Shit.

Yes, Russell really was talking to him. And all Reggie could do was gaze at his idol, mouth wide open. Pathetic.

“I…yes, thanks.” He swallowed twice. “You are…Russell Lee, aren’t you?” he could barely ask.

“Ha-ha…”

The man’s eyes sharpened, like he was waiting for the continuation of that speech. Then he brought a hand to his hip and moistened his lower lip in an apparently innocent gesture that was extremely erotic.

Reggie swallowed harder. The man he admired most in the world was not only here, less than four inches from him, but had just talked to him and, most importantly, in person he was incredibly sexy.

“I…you know, I’m a big fan of yours,” he stuttered, sinking into complete embarrassment. He felt the tips of his ears become red, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it.

Wait a minute: only his ears? He was probably as red as claret all over.

“Oh, really?” Lee winked at the barmaid who had put his order on a little round tray, with Reggie’s next to it. Another man appeared behind them: Mackenzie, Lee’s caddie, his thick mustache making him look like a pirate.

And then Reggie said the most stupid thing he could have ever said—or maybe the second stupidest, considering his first words. “I play golf, too.”

Time seemed to stop. Lee gave him a blank look, devoid of any emotion, and Reggie had the clear sensation of having said the wrong thing.

“Hey, Russ, are our beers ready?”

The motionless silence was broken by Mackenzie, who looked quickly at the tray and then at his boss.

“You know, Mack, this young man here…” Lee started, without looking away from Reggie, and stressing the words young man, “says he plays golf.”

“Oh, really? It seems everyone plays golf nowadays,” was the Scotsman’s sarcastic comment, said while reaching to take a chip from a little glass bowl the barmaid had added to the tray.

Apart from the buzzing coming from the TVs, the bar was completely silent, and Reggie started wishing he was miles away. A storm was arriving and this was the calm before it: he could feel it under his skin.

“You know,” Lee started again, “it’s like me coming to you and saying, ‘Hey, I’m an employee, too,’ or a clerk, or whatever you do in your life. Everybody feels they can compare themselves to others nowadays. But it’s not like that, we are not all the same.”

The man spoke placidly, but the tone of his voice was more stinging than a stiletto, more lethal than a well-sharpened blade. His words were bullets that forced Reggie to close his hands into fists and look away.

But the worst was yet to come.

“Look, Russ, the young man is gay. Maybe he’s trying to seduce you.”

Soft laughter arose from one of the occupied tables, where Russell’s English friends probably sat, and Reggie bit his lip to keep from crying like a stupid child, while his eyes itched intolerably.

“Don’t go too far, now, Mack,” Lee cautioned, taking the tray and moving away from the counter.

Despite his efforts, his eyes started to fill with tears, and Reggie quickly reached into his pocket to grab his wallet. He took out a bill and put it next to the cashier, not caring if it was too much or too little. Then he murmured something unintelligible to the barmaid, who smiled at him, and moved away from the stool, leaving the orange juice and the beer untouched.

At the door, he almost crashed into Carlos, who arrived right then, happily smiling and holding a pink box in his hands.

“Hey, Reggie. You should see that sho—”

“Let’s go,” he said shortly, slipping by Carlos out of the pub.

The biting light outside hurt his eyes.

“But that’s Russell Lee, isn’t it?” Carlos exclaimed, peeking inside.

“Yeah…” Reggie confirmed, his voice raspy. He was walking so fast, his caddie could barely keep up with him.

“Reggie, what the f**k happened in there?” Carlos asked.

But Reggie didn’t stop.

Carlos sped up and stopped him, taking his wrist. “Answer me. What happened?”

“Nothing. I thought golf was a gentleman’s game for real, like everybody says.” Reggie sniffled and tried to not look at his friend, so Carlos wouldn’t see his eyes full of tears.

With a smile, Carlos gave him a caring pat on the shoulder. “You know, not everybody knows the meaning of that word. Gentleman. It’s a very difficult term, you know?”

What he said caused Reggie to half smile, and at last meet his eyes. God, I’ve never felt so ashamed of myself…

“Come on, let’s go back to the resort. We have to study the slope ratings some more before tomorrow.”

Silently they walked to the car. Carlos got behind the wheel, while Reggie lowered his window all the way and put his elbow outside. He spent almost the entire journey staring at the landscape passing by.

“You know, I once met Madonna. Did I ever told you that?” the caddie said, breaking the silence when they were almost back at the hotel.

The young man noticed the resort up ahead. “No, you never told me.”

“Oh, Miss Ciccone has always been my idol. I used to adore her,” Carlos continued, eyes shining. “Well, once I met her at a restaurant in the Big Apple. I was entering, and she was leaving, along with the boyfriend she had at the time.”

A pause, and Carlos turned onto the resort entrance way.

“I told her how much I admired her, and I asked her for an autograph on my baseball cap. She didn’t even answer me…”

The caddie stopped the Mercury under the awning in front to let the Reggie get out. Then he put a hand on Reggie’s arm, forcing him to turn. Carlos’ tone totally changed.

“People aren’t always how we imagine them to be. It’s not their fault, either. Just…don’t let them make you feel ashamed of what you are and what you love,” he finally concluded, sweetly.

Reggie nodded seriously, then his lips turned up into a little smile. “Thanks, Carlos. I really believe without you, I would be lost.”

He put a hand on the handle and opened the door. He could almost feel his heart lighten…

“This is why you pay me so handsomely, isn’t it?” the other chuckled, winking. “See you later in your room. I have to go park this little thing.”

A moment after, the sliding glass doors closed behind Reggie’s back.