I’m not the type of man who does things by half measures. If I’m going to spend any amount of time on something, I’m all in. I’ve always been that way. When I was a kid, I monitored the tips on my paper route carefully. The best tippers were invariably older people, likely those who missed their grandchildren. I immediately found a local seniors living community and started canvassing the place. It increased my customer base by fifty percent and the tips were significantly higher, both during the week and on holidays.

My first wife was a “fly by the seat of your pants” person. She preferred to do almost everything off-the-cuff. If we were going on a vacation, she was happy to just have me pick a direction at random and we’d start driving. I think that she got a thrill out of the unknown and facing challenges that came her way from not planning. Her motto was, “It’ll work out.”

Unfortunately for her, our relationship didn’t “work out” after I discovered her affair. We were divorced six months after I found her in bed with him.

I submerged myself in my business and used that to hide away from the world. Her betrayal was almost as painful as the death of my parents, and work was my refuge. I had absolute control there. I owned the company and was a firm believer that the ultimate responsibility for every failure lay at the feet of the boss. If I worked 80 or 90 hours a week, I didn’t have time to think about her.

My employees were intensely loyal, as I shared my success and incentivized their own. We had the best profit-sharing programs in the industry and their quarterly bonuses ensured that if they were reasonable, their stressors wouldn’t be financial.

The pain lessened over the years, but never fully went away. I had difficulties trusting people and only dated sporadically.

A side benefit of my myopia was the success of the company. Not being a modest man, being upfront never bothered me. I’m very good at what I do and pretty decent at almost anything I put my mind to. Part of that was talent, part was training, and a lot was my ability to shut everything else out of my life and delve deeply into whatever was interesting me at the time.

If money was used as a measuring stick, I was winning at life. For a brokerage house, our offices were modest, but comfortable. We didn’t need to be the shiniest and the loudest. We were the best; that was enough.

I was at a large charity event we helped to sponsor when I first saw the second great love of my life. Nancy Yee was a celebrity guest and was there shaking hands and taking photos with donors. They were offering up a round of golf with Nancy to the highest bidder, and I decided to spend some of that money I’d been making.

Unable to pull my eyes away, and not really wanting to, I watched as they introduced her and brought her up to the podium. This clearly wasn’t her first rodeo. Nancy had public speaking down, including the pauses for emphasis, shifting focus to different parts of the room and voice modulation.

“Thank you, Mr. Sawyer. I appreciate the invitation to join you this evening. As many of you know, this is a cause dear to my heart. Suicide is complicated. There are moral issues involved for both the individual and society at large. Do people have a right to end their life on their own terms? Do doctors have a right to refuse that service? I don’t know. It’s above my pay-grade. What I do know is that without exception, every suicide is tragic. It’s not just an end of who you are, it’s an end of who you may one day be.”

Nancy paused, smiled grimly and shook her head as if dispelling a bad memory. “Suicide is often a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Whenever I hear of someone taking their own life, I wonder what would have happened if they had waited one more day. Maybe they would have received a phone call from an old friend that pulled them out of a downward spiral. Maybe they would have gotten that job offer they were waiting for. Maybe ... maybe someone would have just smiled at them and wished them well at the grocery store. Maybe just a small kindness could have been the tipping point that helped pull them from the edge.

“Maybe they would have found out that Pueblo has a call center for people in need, people who are considering harming themselves. A call center staffed by trained, passionate men and women who care; who actually care. People like you. The Greater Pueblo Suicide Prevention Center has a minimum of two people on staff every hour of every day of the year. That number goes up to four during peak hours and jumps to almost a dozen just prior to major holidays. Most everyone involved is a volunteer, but they still have bills to pay.

“Every dollar you donate tonight will go towards rent, phone lines, electric bills, computers, heating, air-conditioning, garbage carting; every little thing necessary to ensure that there’s someone on the line when a person finds the strength to reach out. It’s rare when someone stands in front of you saying that you have an opportunity to save a life. Today, I have that privilege. Please dig deep. Every dollar helps. Thank you and enjoy the rest of your evening.”

Not knowing how this worked, I assumed that they paid celebrities to come down. Her speech made me rethink that. Nancy seemed impassioned and knowledgeable. She was making her way to the tables closest to the podium; the ones with the biggest donors. I made my way over to the area where they ran the bidding before she could get to my companies table.

Hoping she would take pity on an idiot who knew nothing of golf, I was determined to have the high bid. Nancy was a serious pro who had just started to make a name for herself, while I was a fantasy sports geek and remembered her from the covers of “Sports Illustrated” and other magazines. The only people that wondered why they would give the cover to someone from a relatively minor sport were those who had never seen her before. She was drop-dead gorgeous.

The bidding was so fierce that they followed it up with another auction, this time it was for lunch with Nancy at the clubhouse. I won both and wrote out the check with a smile on my face. After the obligatory public “thank you” from the event organizer, I went back to my dinner. It was actually pretty good and a definite step up from the standard rubber chicken.

“Mr. Billings?”

I looked up and she was standing right there. Stunned, I paused for a second before getting up and offering my hand.

“Ms. Yee, hello. Thanks for stopping by.”

She took my hand and I think that she felt the same shock that I did. It felt like intense static electricity and it ignited everything in me that had been dormant for the better part of a decade.

“No, thank you for the donation. It was generous. Overly generous. I’m not sure that some golf and a lunch is going to cover it. What brand of clubs do you use? I might be able to get some of my sponsors to chip in some clothes or equipment.”

“Uhm, well, this is embarrassing. I use the clubs at the range. I don’t, uh, actually play golf.”

Eyes a bit wider, she leaned back slightly in surprise. “Never?”

“Yeah, I mentioned it was embarrassing. I’ve never set foot on a golf course. I was wondering how I’d bring that up when the time came, but I guess now works. I’m a little concerned that I’m going to look like an idiot out there. That would be bad with some friends from the office, but humiliating with one of the world’s best players.”

She sat down in a chair next to mine and I followed suit. “I don’t get it. If you don’t golf, why go to a range?”

“It relaxes me. If I’ve had a bad day or I just want to clear my head, I go down and beat the heck out of a bucket of balls.” I didn’t mention that it started when a friend took me to a driving range after I found my wife on her back in our cabin with a cop who had pulled her over. She said that she thought that some harmless flirting would get her out of the ticket and one thing led to another. I was supposed to be at the office and nowhere near the cabin. Well, surprise, bitch!

“Huh. Okay. I didn’t realize that people did that. I thought that the only people there were golfers trying to improve their game. So, if you don’t golf, what’s up with the round?”

I didn’t want to admit that I was bidding on spending time with her and couldn’t care less where it was. “I figured that after all these years, I should learn about the game. Half of what the people at the range say goes right over my head. Who better to learn from, right?”

Her smile was incandescent. “We’ll get you up to speed on the jargon in no time and I’ll still look into those clubs. You might as well look good while you’re beating up those balls, right?”

There was a father-daughter duo playing violins and I considered asking Ms. Yee to dance, but I didn’t want to press my luck. We spoke for an hour or so before she was pulled back to her duties as celebrity hand-shaker. Three days later, I received a phone call from a number I didn’t recognize.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Billings?”

Whatever she was selling, I wasn’t buying. This was my cell, not a business number. “I’m on the no-call registry. Please lose this number.”

“Mr. Billings, my name is Alice Tarent. I’m Ms. Yee’s assistant. She asked me to give you a call.”

“Oh, now I feel like an idiot. Alice, I have to apologize. Telemarketers drive me crazy.”

She had a nice laugh. “No problem. Ms. Yee wanted to know if you’re available next Thursday at Elmwood for a 7:00 AM tee time?”

“Elmwood? Uhm, sure.”

“It’s off Thatcher. I can text you the address if it helps.”

“That would be great, Alice. Thanks.”

I was walking on clouds for the rest of the day. I worked nine hours, instead of my usual 10 or 11, and spent some time watching golf tutorials and videos of Nancy playing. I needed to go shopping, but there was only so far I was willing to go here. There was no way I was going to wear plaid pants and a day-glo Polo shirt. The way golfers dressed was probably a stereotype, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

Going to Pueblo Sporting Goods was a mistake. They were very gun centric and carried little else. I stopped by DICKS, but it seemed like both of the employees called in sick that day. It was a cavernous shopping mecca for sports fans who didn’t need customer service. Big 5 Sporting Goods had what I needed and actual employees.

After overspending, I tipped the girl who helped me with my fashion choices. In return, she slipped a piece of paper in my hand and blushed. It was her phone number. She was more than a little young for me, but I smiled at her and walked out the door. Intellectually, I know that I’m not a bad looking guy. One of the charities I was involved with kept pushing me to be part of their bachelor auction every year, and women were sometimes a bit forward, but after my divorce, my confidence was put on ice.

When I looked in the mirror, I saw me, just me: an average guy whose twenties were behind him. Caroline, my sister, kept telling me that I was an idiot, and in some ways I agreed. For a while she kept trying to set me up with her friends. I appreciated her efforts but told her that I wasn’t ready. Caroline said that she was doing them the favor, not me. Supposedly, she was the friend who had the hot single brother.

In reality, she had the damaged brother on whom someone had no problem cheating.

I made my way to the Hemisphere’s Driving Range at the corner of Lifeson and Lee streets. I found a college-aged kid who was driving the crap out of the ball and gave him a hundred for some tips and his time. He played on the golf team for Colorado State University, and we met up another four times before my appointment with Nancy.

Surprisingly, Elmwood was a public course. I’d sort of expected a pro to choose a private course. I was waiting at the front desk for someone to get off the phone and hopefully tell me where I should be when I heard my name called out.

“Scott!”

Nancy walked up, accompanied by a man and a woman.

“You found it okay?”

She looked great and I’m relatively sure that they wouldn’t have been able to pry the smile off my face.

“Absolutely. No problem at all.”

“Great. This is Alice. You spoke to her last week. And this is Peter Morton, he’s the Facilities Manager.” She stopped and looked me over. “You look great. Not what I was expecting. I figured you’d be at one or the other extreme. Either just short of a three-piece suit or jeans and a tee shirt.”

I was going to go back and tip that girl at Big 5 again. “What? No, of course not. I’ve had this in my closet for ages.”

“Well, it’s working. You ready to go?”

As she led me through the building, Alice leaned over and whispered. “The tag’s still on the back of the shirt. Hold on.”

She pulled out a small pair of scissors from her bag and cut the price tag off. I don’t know what she was being paid, but she deserved a raise.

We played nine holes and had a great time. I’d borrowed my brother-in-law Jim’s, clubs, and Nancy showed me which one to use and why. She was very patient and there was no ridiculing of the new guy. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it. She was a celebrity. I thought she’d have security, or at least a group of assistants at all times. Instead, it was just the three of us; Nancy, me and her favorite golf cart. It was painted black and red and had a silver golf ball painted on it for each tournament she’d won.

We were having lunch in the clubhouse when she apologized. “I’m really sorry about this.” She was looking over my shoulder.

A man and a teenage girl approached the table, passing me and seemed to appear both patient and pleading. Nancy smiled. “Hi.”

The man seemed nervous and hesitant. “I’m sorry, I know how rude this is. Would you mind signing my daughter’s scorecard? She’s a huge fan and she spotted you across the room.” He turned to me. “Seriously, very sorry.”

Laughing lightly, Nancy smiled and motioned for him to hand her the card. “Not at all. Happy to do it.” She turned to the daughter. “What’s your name?”

The girl swallowed, paused and then answered. “Beth.”

Nancy looked down at the card. “90? That’s a great score. You play with your dad often?”

“Yeah, we try. Once a week or so, right Dad?”

More relaxed, he smiled. “That’s the goal, once a week.”

Nancy signed the card and handed it back. “Well, it’s working. Great job. Do you have time for a quick picture? Dad, do you have your cell phone?”

“Uh, yeah, absolutely. Beth, get in there.”

Nancy stood next to the excited girl while the father took the picture. They apologized again for interrupting us and walked off.

Pushing my plate forward, I looked at Nancy. “Does that happen a lot?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, it was sweet. So, I’m really feeling good about myself. How many more of these lessons before I’m ready for the PGA?”

She nearly choked on her water and laughed. “Oh, not many. One or two at the most. Seriously though, for someone that’s never been out there, you have a decent swing. You need a little finesse, sometimes it’s like you’re killing a fly with a cannon, but you can work on that.”

Our lunch lasted a few hours and as much as I dreaded it, she eventually had to go. From teenagers to octogenarians, I was the envy of every male in the room. Nancy was tall and had an amazing body, but oddly it was her hair that pulled me in. It was long and as black as a vault with the lights out. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair and ... well, I pulled myself together and made my way to my car.

It was a one-off, but that had been my best day in years.

I settled back into my routine, but I kept an eye on the sporting news. Nancy’s career became a pleasant diversion in my life of isolation. I set up some Google alerts and became a fan.

I was in eight fantasy baseball leagues, some for money, most not, so I kept an eye on sports updates throughout the day anyway. I studied the analytics, tracked trends and potential break-out stars. Unless something odd happened, I usually won half of the leagues I was in and was in the top three for the rest.

One of my few pastimes was participating on the various baseball boards, mostly those dealing with fantasy. I could switch over from one screen to the next while working, taking a brief break without going anywhere. It was ideal for 11 and 12 hour days when I was stuck in the office. I integrated watching for news about Nancy and it was pretty seamless.

That’s how my life proceeded. My breaks from work consisted of calls from my sister or her kids, checking sports sites, crushing balls at the range or hitting the gym I had installed in the basement of our office. The worst of those diversions, by far, were the kids. I loved the heck out of them and tried not to make promises that I couldn’t keep, but it happened time and again. I’d miss a recital or a soccer game and tried to assuage my guilt with expensive Uncle Presents, the type that every parent dreads, because they don’t want their child to become spoiled.

My niece had pulled a commitment from me to attend her eighth-grade concert the following Tuesday evening. She sang and was in chorus and although I knew she loved me, I wasn’t sure whether she wanted me there or the inevitable “I’m sorry” gift when I didn’t show up. My sister threatened to throttle me if I didn’t make it, so I made every effort to clear my calendar.

A day after agreeing to attend, I received a phone call on my personal line.

“Hello?”

“Mr. Billings? This is Alice. We met at the course? Ms. Yee has received a set of clubs for you and was hoping to get them to you next Tuesday. Are you available?”

“Hi, Alice. Please, call me Scott. Seriously? I ... that’s very generous. Tuesday? What time was Nancy thinking?” My mind went into a tailspin. I didn’t want to choose between Nancy and my niece. Please say early, please say early, please say early.

“Would you be available for lunch?”

YES! “I can work that out. Would 21 Steak work?”

“I’m sure that would be fine. One o’clock?”

“Yeah, that would be great.”

“Excellent. I’ll pencil it in. Thank you, Mr. Billings.”

“It’s still Scott.”

“Okay ... Scott. She will see you then.”

I arrived early and spoke to the maitre d’. “Look, I need the best table you have, and the bill has to come to me. I don’t care what my guest says or does, I get the check. We good?” When I lifted my hand from his little lectern thing, there were three hundreds under it.

“Completely understood.” The money was removed so smoothly I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn he’d interned with Penn and Teller.

As she entered, the sound dimmed and the only thing I heard was a couple of utensils clanking on their plates. Every man in the restaurant watched her as Nancy was escorted to the table. She was wearing heels and was about my height of 6’1”. Her dress seemed like it was sculpted for her body by a latter-day Michelangelo and her long, lustrous hair flowed down her back. Nancy Yee was definitely a conversation stopper.

Standing, I kissed her cheek. “Thanks for coming. That was incredibly generous of you.”

She sat. “The clubs are in my trunk. Don’t worry about it. I’m pretty sure they’re used. They’ve probably been to at least half a dozen trade shows and the salespeople used them in demonstrations.”

“I’m sure they’ll be fine, really. After only using the loaner clubs at the driving range, they’ll be an embarrassment of riches.”

We spoke effortlessly over our meal, without any of the hesitation you’d expect with someone you barely know.

“So, what do you do for a living, Scott?”

She had to already know. There wasn’t a chance in hell that they didn’t do a background check on me after I won the bids. They wouldn’t risk her potentially spending time with a lunatic. I guessed that she wanted an opening to talk about me instead of herself.

“I own a brokerage house. We help people with their investments.”

“Are you local?”

“Pretty much. Right off 21st street and 12th avenue.”

“Is it a one-man operation?”

I didn’t want to come across as a braggart, so I undersold it. “No, I’ve got a few employees. We’re not Morgan Stanley, but we’re not some fly by night company either.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

“You know, I never really think of it in those terms, but yeah, I guess I do. It sort of suits me. Analytical, but passionate about what I do.”

Finished with our entrees, we enjoyed an aperitif.

“So, what’s your life like, Scott Billings? What do you do when you’re not working? What’s a typical Tuesday night for you? Is tonight laundry night or do you go out clubbing?”

“Ah, no. Tonight is sort of an anomaly. I’m going to hit up a florist and spend a fortune to make up for being a crap uncle and go to my niece’s recital or concert or ... I don’t know, whatever they call those school things.”

She smiled. “Really? I can’t picture you as an uncle, but then I also can’t picture you as a crap uncle. I bet you’re great with your niece.”

“I am when I see them. Her and her brother. But I let myself get sidetracked too often. I’ll be there tonight, come hell or high water.”

“Does she play an instrument?”

“No, she sings.”

Nancy had a knack for getting me to talk about myself and the things I cared about. Within a few minutes she knew pretty much everything there was to know about my niece and her hobbies, grades, likes and dislikes.

When we finished and I had the check, we had our first awkward silence. Nancy looked at me expectantly and I was drawing a blank. Should I ask her out for another night?

Her smile flattened and she tilted her head slightly. “Okay, you don’t seem to do subtle, so I’m going to have to drive into the obvious, blurring on obnoxious, lane. We just spent ten minutes talking about a recital you’re going to tonight. I’m obviously interested, and I gave no indication that I had plans. Is this a family-only event?”

Leaning back in my chair, I was a bit gobsmacked. “No, not at all. I’m just a little dense. Nancy Yee, would you care to join me at the very best eighth grade concert in Pueblo?”

“Well, Mr. Scott Billings, I think that I would.”

She caused a bit of a stir as we entered. The fathers all stared and some people recognized her. After the concert, I gave my niece a bouquet that was almost larger than she was and was rewarded with a huge hug. We all went out for burgers and ice cream and my family seemed to love Nancy.

A week later my phone rang.

“Mr. Billings...”

“Alice, if you don’t call me Scott, I’m hanging up.”

“Uhm, okay, Scott. Ms. Yee has received some shirts from Nike and Titleist. She was wondering if you were available this Thursday for dinner. She could give them to you then.”

We soon dropped the pretense of the gifts from sponsors and just started dating. I accompanied her to a few events, which likely disappointed most of the single males attending. She joined me at the charity outings my company sponsored. Most often, we had low-key dates, often renting a movie and having dinner at home. For someone of her stature, Nancy was remarkably down to earth.

We’d been seeing each other for about two months and had been intimate for a while when I decided to step up my grilling game. I had a Big Green Egg on the porch and we’d often throw in some fish in a foil pouch or some marinated skinless chicken breast. She kept pestering me about what we were going to have, but I refused to give up my secrets.

I drove us over to Frank’s Meat Market on Santa Fe Drive. It was a beautiful day, so we had the top down. Getting out of the car, she started guessing.

“Bison?”

I smiled. “No.”

“Elk?”

“Nope.” I started getting a little concerned. She was guessing exotic and I was going for fancy. I was going to get us two dry-aged prime tomahawk-chops. It was a stupid cut that allowed the butcher to charge outrageous prices for bone, but it looked impressive as hell. It was a thick steak at the end of a bare bone as long as my forearm.

I opened the door to the shop for Nancy and heard the voice. My shaking was mild, but it was there. It was selfish beyond belief, but I didn’t want to see her or her family, but there it was, the voice I couldn’t escape, the emotions I couldn’t avoid.

“Scott Billings! There’s no way you’re getting away without a hug.”

Amber Casseli looked like she stepped off a California beach. Long blonde hair, large breasts, deep tan, and a perfect white smile. She had a bag of something from the liquor store next to Frank’s when she stepped up and wrapped her arms around me as we stood there blocking the entrance to the meat market.

“Hey, Amber. How’ve you been?”

“Well, you’d know if you weren’t such a stranger. I’ve been good, Scott. It’s ... it’s gotten easier. I don’t know if that’s the right word. I’m dealing. How about you?”

“Yeah, good. Good. Things are...”

“Good?”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Yeah. Listen, this is Nancy. Nancy, this is Amber, an old friend.”

They exchanged hellos and Amber hugged me again. “Listen, I’ve got to go, but give me a call, okay? You don’t have to be ... you know what I’m saying. Call me.”

“Sure. I’ll give you a call. Same number?”

“Absolutely. Nancy, it was nice meeting you.”

She walked off to her car and I leaned back into the door that I was still propping open. Closing my eyes for a minute, I clenched my fists, got control and wiped the sweat from my brow. It all came tumbling back. The anger, the frustration and sheer outrage all oozed past the mental door I hid them behind. I tried to push it back, but it refused to accede the ground it had taken. Nancy looked at me oddly and we went up to the counter.

The rank injustice infuriated me.

When the clerk was free, I spoke up. “Hey. I have two steaks waiting under Billings.”

“Two minutes, let me grab them.”

He went into the rear of the store and was soon back. “I’m sorry, what was the name?”

“Billings. Scott Billings. I called in the order on Monday.”

“And what were you getting?”

“Two tomahawk chops.”

“Okay. Be right back.”

He returned empty-handed. “Mr. Billings, it seems as though there was some sort of mistake. We don’t have your steaks, but I did see them listed for pick-up. I spoke to my boss. Can we offer you two shell steaks on the house? 21 day dry-aged.”

Looking at the floor, I slowly counted to three before responding. “Let me ask you something. If I wanted shell steaks, what are the chances I would have ordered shell steaks? Pretty damn good, right? This was a special dinner and I knew what the fuck I wanted. How many people do you get in here ordering tomahawks? Enough that you just forget an order? No big deal, you can afford to lose customers? Okay. No problem. Give me two A5 Kobe strip loins.”

“Ah, we don’t ... Kobe has to be special ordered.”

The door in my mind was buckling and emotions were bubbling out, drowning my self-control. “What the fuck sort of butcher shop is this? You lose my order, you don’t have my second choice, what do you have? How about a fucking hot dog? You have hot dogs? I’ll just grill up some fucking hot dogs instead of the steaks I went out of my way to order five days in advance. Don’t worry, hot dogs will work. That’s impressive, right? Totally romantic. You have some kick-ass relish to go with that?”

“Listen, I’m really sorry. I can get the owner if you’d like. Could you just hold it down a bit?”

“Hold it ... No, I’m not going to hold it down. You think you’re the only butchers in Pueblo? Fuck this place.”

I stormed out and was turning on the car before Nancy managed to get in. The radio was blaring as I drove, and she eventually leaned over and turned it off.

“So, how long were you with Barbie and how badly did it end?”

Pissed off, I looked at the radio, the road and then at the woman sitting next to me. “She’s not a Barbie, all right? If you don’t know what you’re talking about, just keep your mouth shut.” I snapped the radio back on.

She looked out her window for a while, before speaking. “Drop me off at my condo. I’ll get an Uber and pick up my car tomorrow.”

Embarrassment was overwhelming the anger. We were about fifteen minutes from her place when I turned the radio off. “Amber’s not a Barbie. Farthest thing from it. And we were never together. She’s happily married and has three kids. She’s ... She was Anthony’s mom. What sort of a world...” I paused. “It was always Anthony, never Tony. Make that mistake and he’d correct you right away in the sternest voice you ever heard come from a five-year-old.”

Pausing, I remained silent for a minute. “I’m sorry, Nancy. Really. You familiar with the Ronald McDonald House?”

“I’ve been to the one in L.A.”

“So you know. They provide housing adjacent to hospitals for kids that are seriously or terminally ill and their folks. Free of charge. My family’s been volunteering there the third Saturday of every month since ... Well, for a long time. I usually call ahead and find out if there are any new kids and if they had any hobbies or interests or anything. You know anything about American Girls Dolls? Girls love them and I don’t have a clue. Anthony? He was obsessed with baseball. He was a kid I met there. Just crazy about the game. Anthony wanted baseball cards. That was my ... I don’t know, my field, I guess. Baseball cards I could do.