Chapter 67: Thursday, Oct. 18

Having an extra hour before I needed to be at the fieldhouse was quite welcome. Having my car for the first time this week was even better.

Having Marie drag me out of bed a little after 6 a.m. was not welcome, but she was a morning person. She also was following orders from a higher authority.

“You need to get up, Daddy,” she said, shaking my shoulder. “Your mother wants you to stay on schedule for when you have to go back to school next week.”

Of course she did, I thought as I slowly moved closer to consciousness. In less than eight months, I’d be old enough to move out on my own. Mom had to get in all the mothering she could before then.

It was almost enough to make me feel sorry for Kacie, who would get almost all Mom’s attention next year when I went off to college. But just almost. Kacie had the advantages of being a girl and the baby. She’d always received special treatment.

I staggered to the bathroom and began getting ready for another day. If I had everything straight, I’d meet the agency folks at the club after football practice, saving me nearly two hours of travel to the city and back. I didn’t know if we’d be doing more tennis shots or get going on the golf. Guess I’ll find out when I get there.

A check of the weather showed it had stopped raining after some overnight showers and was already in the upper 50s. It was supposed to get about 10 degrees warmer and be mostly cloudy all day. Just about perfect for mid-October.

I dressed the same as I had every day this week, reasoning that I would be changing clothes at least a dozen times today. The second windbreaker Marie had brought from the house was put to use. I wondered which of my girlfriends would make off with this one. As long as they replaced what was taken, I didn’t really have reason to complain.

Marie was scrambling eggs after frying bacon for breakfast. I should be in no danger of puking it up during the walkthrough and wasn’t sure when I’d get a chance to eat lunch. That would be determined by the photographer.

“What do you have planned for today, baby?” I asked as Marie placed my plate and glass of pineapple juice in front of me.

“The girls want to do some more clothes shopping and we might come by the club to see how things are going,” she said. “Julia never went in for location shoots. She said there were too many variables, like weather and lighting. I don’t know what convinced Armand to decide to do it.”

“It’s what the advertising people requested,” I said before digging in. “Money talks and they’re the ones providing the money.”

I ate quickly and downed my juice, wondering how long it would be before I got to demonstrate the benefits of my “male-health” regimen with one of the girls. It had been a while and I kind of missed getting blowjobs.

It still wasn’t 7, but I decided to get moving. I could get some more reading done at the fieldhouse without worrying about being late for practice.

With a loving smooch, I thanked my submissive bitch for the wonderful meal and admonished her to not spend any of her own money on me. She’d be able to take her payout from the investment pool in two weeks, though I hoped she’d roll it over into the next one. If she took the money now, she’d have enough to be comfortable. If she left it in for another six months, she’d have enough to do pretty much whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t get too extravagant.

I grabbed my backpack and stepped out of the apartment into the cool morning. The security detail was waiting in the driveway. Buck got out of the SUV as I popped the lid of the trunk to stow my bag.

“We’d feel better if you rode with us again,” he said. “There was an incident last night that we’re still getting intel on. It looks like somebody tried to whack the guy who paid you a visit.”

“Did they succeed?” I asked, wondering how close I’d come to being involved.

“That’s one of the things we’re still working on,” Buck said. “What we do know is there was an attack at the private airfield he uses. At least six dead, but none have been identified yet. An unscheduled flight departed just about the same time. No flight plan had been filed, but reports have a private jet registered to some shell company headed southeast on a route that would take it to South America.”

Huh. If Howard Tankersley was still alive, that wouldn’t really change my situation. If he was dead, there’d be no reason to drop the libel suits. I’d have to talk to Grandpa and George Patterson again.

“I think I’ll ride with y’all,” I said, shouldering the backpack and closing the trunk.

“Smart move,” Buck grunted as he turned to reclaim his seat.

I climbed into the back seat, greeting Sarge as I buckled in.

“The walkthrough won’t take too long, but we’ll have a test on the game plan right after,” I said as we began backing down the driveway. “I’m supposed to report to Prairie Star Country Club for another location shoot as soon as I’m done with football.”

“So, no trip into the city?” Sarge asked. “Gonna miss lookin’ at them gals. Some of ‘em don’t wait to get to the changin’ area to start strippin’ outta their outfits.”

Yeah, the job has certain perks. It’s dirty work, but somebody’s gotta do it. Those boobs won’t ogle themselves.

Sarge dropped me off at the fieldhouse a little after 7. I went ahead and dressed for the walkthrough, then got back on my reading as guys began arriving. I finished the section and made some notes before it was time to be on the field. I’d have to check and see what I could find on Aunt Karen’s websites tonight.

We were on the field in time for Coach Tucker and spent a little longer than normal running through the script. It looked like the power sets would play a significant part in our offense this week, but we’d spend most of the time in our regular sets.

The special teams segment included more work on the fake to the wing blocker, but we hadn’t called one of those plays yet. I was put back on kickoff return, but we didn’t do any work on the starburst. I think the coaches were holding onto that one.

Gassers, huddle, “TEAM!” on three. Coach Tucker said we’d done well considering the circumstances this week. The proof would be in our performance Friday night.

While this game would go a long way toward determining who fell into which spot in the playoff bracket, we were told we couldn’t take anything for granted. The Cougars would certainly give us their best shot. They were considered a favorite, but not an overwhelming one. If we each focused on our assignments every play, the details would work themselves out.

All in all, it was a lot like any other pep talk we’d received so far this season.

We were sent to shower and told to report to the team room by 9 o’clock for our test. That gave us almost 15 minutes. We’d better get a move on. We were burnin’ daylight.

I raced through my shower, getting as clean as I could in the time available. It wouldn’t surprise me if the photographer had me shower again when I got to the club.

After dressing, I grabbed my backpack and detoured by the offensive line section of the locker room on my way to the team room.

“Hey, Jed,” I called out, “you doing anything for lunch?”

“Wasn’t plannin’ to,” my buddy replied. “Whatcha got?”

“The modeling agency’s doing a location shoot at the club,” I said. “Thought we could hit the 19th Hole or the indoor pool depending on what they have me doing.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Jed said as we moved toward the team room.

“Who all’s invited?” Chuck asked, catching up to us. “I missed my extra helpin’ of meatloaf this week.”

“Whoever wants to come, I guess,” thinking maybe one or two guys from the cabana crew might tag along. “You’re on your own for a ride, though. My security detail’s acting a little protective today. I’m riding with them again.”

“Whachoo get yaself into now?” Marshawn asked from behind us. “Better not be more o’ them fools from the Bears.”

“Not that I’ve heard,” I said as we entered the team room. “I think they just want to feel like they’re earning their pay.”

I figured there was no need to let my teammates know about my involvement, however small it may have been, with an alleged drug kingpin.

The test was nothing we hadn’t faced before. I would resume my role as messenger when we were in our regular sets, so I had to know all the plays in the script. The tight ends would assume that job when we went to power sets.

I did make a point to put down my observations on the Cougars’ blitz package and hot reads for both the regular offense and power sets. I just had the feeling that Reggie and the running backs could pop some big plays if we caught them at the right time.

After turning in my test to Coach Wilson, I gathered everything up and prepared to depart. We were to report to the fieldhouse at 5 p.m. Friday, just like normal.

Since there was no school, there’d be no pregame meal. We were advised to eat at our regular time to make sure there would be no digestive issues come game time. It was our responsibility to be on time and ready to play.

I stepped out of the locker room to see the black SUV parked in my spot. I don’t know if that was intentional or a coincidence, but at least I didn’t have to search for my ride.

We got to the club before 10. Mom and Aunt Patty were again talking to the agency people, this time in the main office. I was handed the first set of clothes I’d model and sent to the men’s locker room off the golf pro shop to shower again and change. The folks calling the shots were pleased with the tennis photos, allowing us to spend the rest of the week on golf.

At the risk of committing another crime of fashion, I donned the windbreaker I’d worn this morning. I’d take it off before any pictures were taken, but it was still on the cool side out there.

I emerged from the locker room to find Mr. Horton, the head golf pro, had joined the confab. He seemed even more interested in stocking some of the clothes I’d be wearing today than Serge, the tennis pro, had been yesterday with the tennis apparel. I admit the garments looked nice and allowed ease of movement, but I didn’t think they were that special.

But what do I know? I’m still in high school.

The first problem we encountered was the shoes that had been provided were not my size. That wasn’t really that big a problem, though, since they technically weren’t part of the shoot. The clothing line didn’t make shoes, so any brand that wouldn’t be recognized — like Nike — would do.

The next problem was more of an issue. The assistant who handed me a bag of clubs didn’t understand why left-handed clubs wouldn’t work. I had to point out that I was right-handed and would look extremely uncoordinated trying to swing from the other side.

Actually, I’d probably look pretty uncoordinated swinging from either side, but we wanted things to look as believable as we could. At least I didn’t have to worry about keeping score.

“I’ve got shoes and clubs at home,” I said. “I can walk there and back in maybe 20 minutes. It’d be faster than driving.”

“Or,” Mom cut in, “I could have your sister bring them over. She’d better be up by now, anyway.”

That might be faster if Kacie was dolled up enough to be seen in public. If she still had to get dressed and do her makeup, it would probably be faster for me to hoof it. But I kept my mouth shut and let Mom be Mom. When she was in charge, she was in charge.

“Does she know where everything is?” I asked.

“Probably still in the middle of your floor,” Mom smirked. “Those girls didn’t put everything back the other day when they raided your closet. I think a few of them took things home for themselves when they decided what needed to be replaced.”

Just great. Looks like Goodwill will be receiving a smaller donation from me than I’d envisioned.

Mom was on her phone and — wonder of wonders — my sister was not only up, she was just about to head out. She and the other girls had more shopping planned, but she guessed she could make a quick detour to deliver the things we needed after she picked up Morgan.

Rather than just stand around and wait, the hair and makeup lady ordered me into the women’s locker room, where I was sat in front of another mirror with makeup lights. This time, Mom personally stood guard at the door. From what I could tell, any female golfers playing today were already long gone, but there was always a chance a club member would decide this was the nearest facility if the need arose.

Fortunately, it didn’t take much to get me prettied up today, just a light base to reduce glare and a quick combing of my hair. I’d be wearing a selection of caps with the clothing company’s logo in different colors to compliment whichever outfit I had on at the moment.

I think Kacie may have bent some traffic regulations because she and Morgan, who wore the windbreaker she’d purloined yesterday, came strolling into the pro shop about 15 minutes later, greeting me with hugs and little smooches. My sister handed me my FootJoys, which were a neutral color and worn enough to not be recognizable, but told me I’d have to get my golf bag myself.

“That thing’s heavy,” she whined as I took a seat to change shoes. “I didn’t think I was going to be able to lift it into the back of the Rover.”

I just shook my head and went to collect my clubs. If Kacie thought my bag was heavy, she’d be in real trouble if we’d used Dad’s.

The girls came out as I was closing the back hatch of the Rover, intent to get on with their shopping excursion. But first, they had to get in one more kiss. I thought Kacie was going to get us busted the way she pressed up against me and stuck her tongue in my mouth. It probably would’ve helped if I hadn’t groped her ass, but a quick look showed no one around.

With a promise to be back in two or three hours — four or five at most — my first two sexual partners loaded up and headed out.

When I returned to the pro shop, the photographer ordered me to move my clubs into the bag they’d brought. It bore the clothing company’s logo. The lefty clubs were placed in my bag, which I stowed in Dad’s locker. We’d just have to remember to switch everything back at the end of the day. I don’t know if I would ever play golf again, but I sure didn’t want to show up with the wrong clubs if I did.

Just before I left the locker room, I remembered my glove was still in my bag. I went and retrieved it, but it took time and effort to get my hand in without tearing the leather. It was pretty stiff. Of course, the last time I’d worn it was nearly five months ago. Shoulda let it dry out before stuffing it back in the bag after the Memorial Day scramble, but I had been a little distracted what with winning a car and all.