Page 105 of Putting Out
“No problem.”
Leaning forward, his expression intense. “I know what you can do out there on the course. These guys are going to be getting more than they bargained for this week. No offense, Luke.”
“None taken,” he said. “I know exactly what I’m in for with Slice.”
“We’re here!” Odie announced as they drove up to the gates of the American National Golf Course.
Reilly had watched a series of single-story homes interspersed with trailers pass by her window. Signs declaring parking littered the roadway along with complicated maps to lead unsuspecting tourists to the “best” spot at the cheapest rate.
As they passed through the gates and proceeded up the famous Azalea Lane, the immediate impression of lushness overcame her senses. It was greener than it had been a few weeks ago and the azaleas in white and pink were like nothing she’d ever seen.
No, that wasn’t true. She’d seen this each year on television when she tuned in to watch this event. Now it was her turn to play. Reilly started to pull on her skirt and Luke reached over to still her hands.
“It will be fine.”
She nodded and adjusted the pink spring hat she’d chosen to wear. She knew there would be press. This was Monday, day one of American Championship week, and Reilly Carr, the first female ever to be eligible to play in this event, was about to arrive. It was her mission to embrace the spectacle. To let everyone watching know she would not walk through those gates as a pretender, but as someone who had qualified to be here through hard work and good play.
She was Reilly Carr. She was a woman. She was a golfer. And she’d come to compete.
The limo pulled through the gates and spectators crowded around as they passed through the security checkpoint. No cell phones or cameras were permitted onto the grounds even during the practice rounds, forcing everyone to pass through a metal detector before entering. Reilly wasn’t surprised to see so many people meandering around trying to find their favorite players already on the course. Tickets were so precious that even the Practice Round tickets were like gold.
Ahead, Reilly could see the clubhouse. The stairs leading up to where she would go to change were thick with camera crews, reporters, and television commentators. She recognized a few faces from her tour as well as some of the reporters who had been at the gym when she gave her announcement. Seeing them made it seem like it had all come full circle. This was it.
“Smile pretty for the cameras,” Luke whispered into her ear. “They’ll direct you inside to a private locker room. Then I’ll meet you on the driving range. Stay close to Kenny or Mark at all times. There are thousands of people here today.”
“All of whom had to pass through security so they won’t be carrying any AK47s,” Reilly reasoned.
“I don’t care if they’re carrying a lollipop. I don’t want any of them closer to you than they have to be. Right, Mark?”
“Right. No one gets close. I’ve got my badge and my gun. It should be enough to scare away the curious, and anyone it doesn’t scare is the enemy.”
“I like the way he thinks,” Kenny commented. “Let the show begin.”
The limo pulled to a stop and as soon as Odie got out, the crowds began to circle around. Reilly watched through the tinted windows as the reporters pushed forward, all of them already shouting questions to her she couldn’t hear, let alone answer.
“So this is what it’s like to be famous,” she noted.
“Pretty cool,” Mark said.
Reilly smiled but she imagined he wouldn’t think it was cool if he was the one they were after and she was the one with the gun. Gulping back the surge of bile that rose inside her throat, she readied herself for the inevitable crush. One more deep breath, with a smile fixed in place Miss America herself would be envious of, Reilly opened her door.
“Reilly! How does it feel…”
“Reilly, tell us about…”
“Reilly, how do you think you’ll match up…”
Reilly ignored the questions and concentrated on setting her three-inch pink pump firmly on the pavement. She stepped out of the limo and subtly checked to see her skirt wasn’t tucked into the back of her panties. She wore a short, white, breezy cotton skirt with a matching off- the-shoulder top that revealed all of her creamy shoulders. Her wide brim pink hat was perched on hair that had spent an hour in hot rollers. For daring she’d gone with the pink stilettos and a matching pink bag to compliment the outfit. She was pleased with the effect.
All questions were silenced as the group took in the sight of the first woman to play in the American.
On top of the stairs leading to the clubhouse she spotted Birdie’s round bald head. She smiled and waved to match her Miss America smile. Hips swaying in a way that happened when a woman wore shoes over two inches high, Reilly climbed the steps to the sound of a hundred cameras clicking.
She spotted a few golfers on the top of the steps near Birdie. Recognizing Sinjin Rye as one of them, her smile grew even bolder as she approached them.
“Mr. Smithfield, so good to see you again. I hope you found the culprit who broke your window with a golf ball. I read about it in the Atlanta papers and I was shocked to hear someone would do such a thing.”
“I’m sure. Such behavior is shocking. I see you’ve dressed for the occasion.”
