Chapter 21

During our short run in the RV down to Southern Pines, Tess and Kim argued politely about who should win the U. S. Women's Open.

"It's practically in your back yard," Kim said, "so it's yours! I've already got my win in a major. It's your turn, now."

"But, imagine what a National Hero you'd be, back in Korea," Tess told her, "if you picked up two-straight majors! Hell, even the North Koreans would probably give you a medal!"

"If they did, they'd have to mail it to me," Kim said, "I'm not going up there to pick it up!"

"Damn!" I said, "aren't there any other entrants in this tournament? You two are divvying it as if you could just flip a coin! I hear a few other halfway-decent golfers are going to be arriving on the scene. Annika Somebody, I heard. And some Lorena person. I don't think her last name was 'Bobbett," either!"

"We are acutely aware," Tess said haughtily, "that there are many other great players competing. Even so, if Kim and I want to engage in a little fantasy, here, then it's no skin off your nose."

"Your first order of business, Thursday and Friday, should be just-plain survival. Lots of folks who won last week missed the cut the next week. Remember Paula Creamer, after Turtle Bay?"

"Jeez, Will, who are you, the Voice of Doom? Son of the Grim Reaper? What possible good can come from our thinking bad thoughts like that?"

"Humility, My Child," I intoned, trying to sound like Caine, on Kung Fu, or maybe Caine's Master, whatever the hell his name was. "... The path to Enlightenment lies in humility, Grasshopper."

"Kim shot a 64 in the third round of the McDonalds' -- now that's my idea of the true path to Enlightenment!" Tess said.

"Not so, not so!" I said, Kung Fu-ing it for all I was worth. "Remember: Kim's 64 put her on the True Path, but that other broad's 63 -- and on the final day, yet -- was insufficient to bring that Infidel into the sunlight of first place!"

"It was enough, though, for the Infidel to take a bite out of my second-place money," Tess reminded. "What say you to that, Kimo Sabe?"

"You are speaking of material things," I said. I'd have gotten into the Yoga position at that point, but, hey, I was driving the bus at the time. "You speak of meaningless, materialistic concepts like this 'second-place money.' But, as the Ancients will tell you, 'dinerious nunca whatchacallet itmus Attica' which simply means, in modern parlance, 'money ain't where it's at, chump!'"

"God!" Tess said, admiringly, "You're so full of shit, it's like an art form!"

"It's going to get harder, you know -- winning," I told her, returning to my own persona -- such as it was. "They'll all be gunning for you, now. You two can't sneak up on anybody. Not anymore."

"Listen to him, Kim. He's the love child of Vince Lombardi and Rush Limbaugh!"

"Who?" Kim asked.

Southern Pines was a golf enthusiast's wet dream. If you had trouble getting on the tournament course at Pine Needles, hey, no worries, there were seven or eight other primo courses, with quite similar characteristics, literally within biking distance. The real trick was in not hitting a drive so wild that it ended up, not merely on another fairway, but on whole 'nother golf course!

Kim loved the place, and she got in as much practice as she was able. The press was still hounding her. When Tess and Kim had skipped the Wegmans event, it had caused a minor sensation on the tour. Apparently, it was bad form for rookies who'd won big to snub the following week's event -- most especially when those selfsame rookies had previously indicated their intent to play there.

It was news to me (and, I think, news even to Tess), but we were catching some negative publicity because of it. There were hints in the press that Kim and Tess had gotten the big head; that they lacked The common touch. It was strongly suggested that they were deficient in noblesse oblige.

Worst, Tess was depicted, occasionally, as a snooty rich girl, a dilettante of the links. Sort of a Paris Hilton with tits.

Well, this was truly a bum rap. I knew that both these women (despite their leanings toward kinky sex) were solid citizens in every respect. They were kind to animals, contributed to charity, always called their mothers on their birthdays.

They were All Americans, the both of them. Well. Kim was maybe All-Asian, but anytime she wanted to apply for U.S. citizenship, I was certainly ready to sign the endorsement.

But the press was willing to make a story out of anything -- or nothing. The Wegmans people had been unhappy, naturally, although their event had been a big success, with or without my girls.

Tess got so bothered by all the negativity in the press that she called her father for advice.

When she hung up, she said to Kim, "You got $25,000 around that you don't know what to do with?"

"Huh?"

"Disabled Children's Fund," Tess said. "That's the principal charity sponsored by the Wegmans Tournament. My dad says we should give the Fund some money -- maybe $25,000 each. We should say, if we're asked, that it's intended to make up for any lost revenues that our absence might have contributed to what the tournament itself was able to raise for the charity."

"Wow," I said. "Won't that kind-of create a bad precedent? I mean, next time you skip an event on the tour, won't the sponsors there expect an equivalent gesture?"

"Not if we had never committed to going there," Tess said. "Dad says the reason people are pissed at us for skipping Wegmans is that, before the Maryland event, we were scheduled to play there."

"If you hadn't made a big splash in the McDonalds, nobody would have cared if you'd finked out on the Wegmans people."

"Yeah. But we did make a big splash," Kim said. "The biggest."

They decided to write checks -- each of them -- for $40,000 to the Disabled Children's Fund.

"You going to issue a statement or something?" I asked.

"Nope. We just wait until the people at the Fund publicize it. Then we'll explain ourselves, and our thinking."

"Ahh, the price of fame," I said.

"It's a pretty cheap price, really," Tess said. "And if Dad thinks it'll help, I bet it will help."

We were two days away from the first round when Tess got more mail from home. Routine mail was often opened by her family and either faxed to us in the bus or its contents were outlined in an e-mail from Tess' mother or father. This time, it was a letter, faxed to Tess, from Kalendar Krafts, Inc. of Knoxville, Tennessee.

I happened to be the one to pick up the fax. I glanced at the faxed letter, and then kept reading.

Oh, shit. Here we go again.

It was a letter inviting Tess to model for the fourth annual "Jockettes" calendar, created and distributed by somebody known as Kalendar Krafts. It was proposed that Tess be "Miss July" for the coming year's calendar. Two other well-known professional golfers, the letter said, had already agreed to pose. In addition, top female athletes from countries the world over would be featured -- gymnasts, soccer players, basketball players, swimmers and softball players, as well as track and field stars.

How many months, I wondered, was next year going to have?

All the featured photographs, the letter assured, would be in the "utmost good taste," although the models would be depicted in "glamorous" poses, settings, and costumes.

An attached note from Tess' mother explained that a sample calendar, from the previous year, had been enclosed with the Kalendar Krafts letter, but that it was being brought down to Tess by her brother, Roy, Jr., when he came down Wednesday night to watch the Open for all four days.

"I have never heard of this before!" Tess said. "I wonder who was in the other calendars? I wonder who they've got lined up to be in the next one?"

Clearly, Tess was interested.

"I never heard of it either," I told her, "but I did hear that one LPGA pro, Natalie Gulbis, has done a girlie calendar or two, in the past."

"I've heard of her!" Tess said. "She's played in some of our events -- this year! Hey, she's pretty good, too! She's not some fringe player -- she's good!"

Oh, boy. Tess was into this again, and with both feet. But both her feet were the least of my worries. My only hope was that this outfit from Knoxville knew what the words "utmost good taste" really meant.

I wasn't too optimistic. I also knew that if their taste turned out to be too good, Tess wouldn't regard that as a plus. For Tess, the object of the exercise was to show the world a little more Tess than the world had any right to see.

Roy, Junior arrived in Southern Pines the following (Wednesday) evening, called Tess, and we arranged to meet him at his hotel in town, and go from there to dinner with him.

Away from the country clubs and golf courses, Southern Pines and the other surrounding towns were small, picturesque, and not notably upscale. We finally settled on a pedestrian looking "western style" steakhouse close to Roy's hotel. Before we left for dinner, Tess made sure Roy had the calendar with him.

At the restaurant, Tess could hardly wait to get through the polite preliminaries, so that she could ask Roy for her mail from home. Naturally, when she got it she went right for the 8 x 10 envelope -- already opened -- with the calendar art inside.

Kim, too, was interested. Roy, who'd heard nothing about the calendar proposal, hovered over Tess' other shoulder as she turned the pages.

I just sat there, on the opposite side of the table, postponing gratification.

"No nudity," Tess said, finally, sounding a little disappointed. "Lots of girl, though! These shots are pretty sexy!... What do you think, Kimmy?"

"Not as -- explicit -- as that Fresh thing," Kim said.

"Fresh?" Roy, Junior said, with what sounded like alarm. "Somebody approached you from Fresh?"

"Yes!" Tess said immediately, and with great enthusiasm. I knew she was going to seize the opportunity to tease her big brother. "Isn't it wonderful? I'm going to be featured in their October issue!"

Roy was in a near-panic. "No! Tess, for God's sake! Mom'll have a stroke! That's awful!"

Mom? I was afraid Roy, Junior was going to have a stroke.

Roy looked across the table at me accusingly, figuring it must have been Tess' oversexed bus driver who'd put her up to this.

Tess read the look instantly. "Oh, Will tried to talk me out of it!" she said, "but, golly, Bro, it's just something I've always wanted to do!"

"Fuck!" Roy said, too loudly for our public location. "Fuck me! You're absolutely crazy, Tess!"

Some of our fellow diners were beginning to look up from their meals.

"She's just pulling your chain, Roy -- relax! Tess isn't going to be in Fresh."

"You're not?" he said, looking straight at Tess for confirmation.

"I'm not," she said. "They asked me, but I'm not. Honest! Don't worry. I was only teasing you."

"Jesus, Tess! My heart is still pounding after that one!"

"C'mon, Roy! I've seen the magazine. It isn't that bad!"

"Tess, you scared me because I know you. You're almost -- almost -- crazy enough to do it. I thought you really had! You just don't know. I mean, you could look at pictures of some other woman -- some stranger -- in that magazine, and say, Oh, it's not that bad, ' but if it was your picture in there... Well, you might feel differently!"

"I know, Bro. Really. Will didn't even have to talk me out of it. I decided, for myself, that it wasn't the kind of thing I wanted to do... But this calendar thing, here. I don't know. That's kind of... interesting!"

Our steaks arrived and we spent a little time on them. Tess, though, had the calendar on the table there, next to her, and she thumbed through the photographs several times, no doubt imagining herself in each of the varied poses. Maybe with a little more Tess-flesh showing, here and there... And there.