Chapter 1
837 Words
Chapter One
The sound at the door was a whisper of a knock, more of a brush against the outside of the handsome door.
Reggie was on the phone with his wife, and the sound at the door distracted him. Even though he expected it, the sound caused his heart to pick up its pace and his mouth to moisten slightly. He didn’t want to rush his wife because she might get suspicious, but what Reggie didn’t know was that she was ready to hang up to return to the restless hands of her latest drop-in lover.
They finally said good night and love you and all that. As Reggie moved toward the door with high hopes, he reflected for a quick moment on his good fortune to be visiting a place that was unlike anything he’d ever seen, and he’d seen a lot.
He was tall and good at basketball, so he had made a nice career for himself in the National Basketball Association. He was a mid-level pro, a solid performer who enjoyed a non-stress role at the end of big games when the ball and the glory went to the big stars who made or missed the shots that win or lose championships.
One of his best buddies was a big star who flew in private jets and was surrounded by groupies and admirers and servants, and it was his buddy who had figured out this trip and invited Reggie and six other guys.
These eight guys were the only guests at a unique, nearly top-secret golf hangout. Thirty-six holes of perfectly manicured golf paradise on what used to be a Texas cattle farm, totally private, completely first class.
There was simply nothing like it anywhere. Each guy had his own room and bath. No other guests were on the property – and that was a rule and a promise -- so they played as many holes as they wanted at whatever pace they wanted. They could play an eightsome and nobody cared because the place was theirs for three days.
Their chartered jet had landed at a small runway about a mile from the first tee. They were greeted efficiently and hustled to the golf course while their bags were delivered to their rooms. They were making bets, smoking stogies and talking s**t fifteen minutes after wheels down.
Over the next three days, the boys would play forty plus holes a day, then collapse in the small but perfect little clubhouse for a magnificent meal that was prepared individually for each golfer.
The other meals were also unbelievable. Breakfast was hot and featured all the regular stuff to fill up a guy for a day of golf. Lunch was offered at the small clubhouse, but a quick call to the manager would result in lunch under a tent anywhere on the golf course. And, about every four holes, an exotic drink cart would be waiting with every imaginable refreshment and cigars. Reggie and the boys never saw the cart move, nor were they ever aware of how it got from one place to the next without being noticed, and they really didn’t think about it.
But, enough about that, Reggie thought as he padded to the door in that graceful way of athletes who have supreme control of their movements. He grinned at the pleasure that waited outside his door.
He cracked open the door, and then opened it.
It was the ugliest hooker he’d ever seen.
Good lord, Reggie thought, this has got to be a joke.
He looked more carefully. He wasn’t even sure this was a girl.
Whatever it was looked like an Indian, and poorly at that, and certainly not like the Indians on Saturday morning TV. He or she or whatever had an Adidas headband with bird feathers tucked into it, a big swag of wooden beads around the neck, and some war paint or badly applied makeup.
Reggie didn’t know what to think.
After a few befuddled seconds, three large basketball players jumped from the darkness, laughing their asses off. Reggie was more relieved than startled, and his buddies shoved in his direction a real hooker who was a woman and good-looking and everything.
The Indian laughed also and melted into the darkness toward his maintenance shop, a fresh thousand-dollar wad of cash in his pocket for helping with the guest’s little joke.
Reggie and his date retreated into his room where his experience was frustratingly brief and his performance embarrassingly amateurish. She shrugged and left.
As he lay there more or less satisfied, he thought about this entire experience and how wonderful it was.
He ran through his finances in his head, based on what he knew, which wasn’t much because his agent and accountant controlled nearly everything. But he did the math the best he could and calculated that he could do it.
His basketball career would soon end, and this is what he wanted to do with his money and his life.
He wanted to recreate this magical place back home.
If someone could do it on a Texas cattle farm, he could do it in a Carolina pine forest.
- Writer
