Chapter 24

The trouble started midway through the week. Bailey and Jack had spent most of there time at the course and on the practice greens and tees. I spent most of my time on the beach, usually with Judy but sometimes without. On Tuesday, I took the three-hour drive to visit Sara who got a big kick out of my predicament. Sara was feeling better and was going to get to go home later in the week. We celebrated with an afternoon stroll on the hospital grounds and a bowl of lime Jell-O.

One of Bailey's crew of photographers must have followed me because, by Wednesday morning, Sara's picture was included in one of the lower publications. A publication so low it's willing to make money from publicizing a 13-year-old girl's cancer. There were three pictures. One of me and Sara holding hands while walking; one of us hugging when she told me she got to go home this week; and one of me giving her a kiss on the cheek. The photos were bad enough, but the story made it seem that Sara, who was not named, and I had some elicit pedophilic love affair.

Bailey saw it first and tried to break it to me gently.

But Sara called my cell phone in the middle of our morning talk. Sara wasn't angry — she thought the pictures were cool but she was hurt by the story. I was furious. I had a fair recollection of patient privacy laws and I also could tell from the pictures where they were taken. I knew the photographer had to be on hospital grounds when he took them.

Bailey and her parents tried to stop me, but before they could, I was at the newspaper's offices in West Palm Beach, with Rick Elliott and the hospital attorney, on a conference call. Bailey and her parents had followed me in the van. Bailey had the pro-am event that morning but Judy refused to leave until I calmed down. Even then she sent Bailey and Jack back to the tournament and stayed with me.

It had the makings of an ugly scene, and it reached its full potential, when the editor got smart with me. I was over the desk before he could blink and had I him pinned to the wall of his office.

"This is what I'm talking about," I hissed. "You have the expectation of privacy and safety in here. You think you can do or say anything you want in this office and you're protected. You feel I've violated that, don't you?

"That little girl has an even bigger expectation of safety in that hospital. You violated that. Your paper is going to pay financially, but you're going to pay with a very public ass whipping."

The cameras were whirring full speed as I dragged the man from his office into the street.

"See, here you have no expectation of safety," I yelled. "So you're fair game, and I'm going to beat the living fuck out of you."

Honest to God, the poor man wet himself as soon as I stepped toward him.

Judy quickly pointed it out to the crowd that gathered, and some started to point and laugh at him. My anger abated some, but not entirely.

Thankfully, I did keep from hitting him by the time the cops pulled up, but I wouldn't let him return to his office until someone gave me a camera so I could take his picture as he tried to cover up the stain on his pants. I must have taken 50 pictures — and anyone else with a camera fired off a few shots, too.

I made sure Judy had the camera tucked safely away when the cops put me in the squad car and took me to the station house.

The editor wanted to press charges, of course, but his boss decided it wouldn't be in anyone's best interest. I think the trespassing charges against the paper's photographer were enough to calm down everyone but me.

I hadn't had any official dealings with police officers before but the West Palm Beach officers were cordial and efficient. When they saw the pictures and story, and I explained when and where they were taken, they immediately contacted the district attorney for a warrant for the photographer's arrest. It seems privacy is taken seriously in Florida. I was in a cell waiting to see if I was going to be charged when they brought the photographer in.

"There is no video in here, so no one will see anything if he falls a few times," the female guard told me. "You're going to be released, Mr. Hartley. It will take about five minutes, but I can stretch it out to 15 or 20 if you'd like this piece of shit in the cell with you."

I considered it, but then I knew I'd already hurt Bailey's reputation enough for a day.

"Anyone who uses sick kids for shit like that deserves a beating," she said. "Don't worry, though. I'll make him piss his pants myself before too long. We can trade pictures later."

She took me out as she put him in and I couldn't help but start toward him.

"I should beat the shit out of you," I said. "But I'm going to leave it to other people who'll be in here. I'm sure the officer will let anyone else arrested today know you like to exploit sick children."

Thankfully, Bailey was on the course by this point, so she was out of the loop. Judy, however, wasn't. She was waiting for me when I was released. She had strict instructions that I was to call Rick Elliott first thing, then let Mack, Ellie and Beth know I wasn't spending time in jail.

We rode quietly for a while before Judy spoke.

"You need to watch things like that," she said simply.

I told her I didn't get mad often, but when I got mad, I got really mad, very quickly.

"I won't tell you I'm sorry for what I've done," I told her. "I'm sorry for how this might affect Bailey. I'm only sorry for that because this had nothing whatsoever to do with her.

"If it had been a picture of me leaving the hospital, I wouldn't have been mad. I don't advertise that I go there, but I don't hide it either. But they took an extremely private moment between Sara and me and turned it into a public event. The intrusion was bad enough but to taint the bond that Sara and I share with their lurid insinuations was beyond the pale.

"If something like that happens again, I'll do exactly the same thing. I won't even tell you otherwise. You folks can jump through their hoops, let the media call the shots, and wonder if every time you take a shit someone is going to be waiting outside the stall.

"But not me, I'm done. I'm not playing their silly fuckin' games anymore."

That seemed to put an end to the conversation for the time being, but I knew the reprieve was only until Bailey and her dad returned. It was after 5 p.m. when I got back to the hotel and it seemed almost everyone knew about my day already. I guess I wasn't going to get the break the news to Bailey anymore than she got to break the news to me.

I was right. She knocked on my hotel room door about an hour later.

"I heard prison could be hard on a man," she joked. "After we talk for a minute, maybe I can help you out."

I relaxed a little. I was still on edge, and I was worried I'd lose my temper with Bailey if she had started in on me.

Bailey told me she heard about things before she was even off the course.

"It was a major topic of conversation at the awards dinner," she said. "When the facts came to light, I had a dozen people stop me and ask me to thank you for them. But, on a personal note, I'd rather you don't put yourself in that position again."

I told her I'd rather not be in that position again, either.

"Bailes," I said. "You know this had nothing to do with you. But I know it affects you. For that I'm sorry, but as I told your mom earlier, I'll do the same thing if this situation ever arises again.

"You and I willingly subject ourselves to this shit. Sara is off limits. So are the Fergusons. So is anyone you want off limits. If I'm somewhere I should have privacy and they violate that, I'm going to act. If they start taking pictures of me or you in a hotel room or a restaurant without your permission, I'm going to take care of it. And if anyone writes a story like that about you or anyone else I care about, it's going to be very difficult for you to dissuade me to stop where I stopped today."

Bailey said she understood.

"Dad thinks I should release a statement to the media," she said.

I told her I agreed and handed her something I'd written on her behalf.

"I think this might work," I said.

She read it and said she wanted to add a couple of things she'd spoken about with her mom and dad, but it would be a good start.

"I want you there when I read this," she said. "I know you're a private person. But right now I'm not. Will you stand beside me?"

I told her I would.

"I'm responsible for you having to do this at all," I said. "I'm not going to let you go it alone. I won't answer questions, and I'm not sure you should either. That's up to you."

She went back upstairs and called me a few minutes later and asked me to meet them in their suite in a few minutes.

When we went downstairs, there must have been 50 reporters and two dozen photographers waiting. I guess this was bigger than I thought.

Bailey silenced them by raising her hand. Now that's power.

"By now you've heard about this morning's events at the Palm Beach Daily Gazette," she said. "I've been asked questions about it for most of the day, but I didn't want to comment until I had all the facts. I have them now.

"First, in no way does what happened today have any bearing on me. The newspaper intruded on a private moment between my boyfriend and a dear friend of his — a young girl he has visited in the hospital for the last seven months."

So far it was word for word from what I'd written.

"The newspaper overstepped its bounds and the photographer is facing trespassing charges and the newspaper is facing libel and slander charges. I expect the outcome of each of those cases will vindicate R.J. even more fully."

She was little off script here, but still close to the text I'd provided.

"Finally, I not only condone what R.J. did today. I applaud it."

Uh-oh. She was way off track now, but Jack and Judy were nodding forcefully.

"I defy any person with any backbone to tell me truthfully they wouldn't have done the same thing to protect someone they care about from public scrutiny. I'm happy to know a man like R.J. Hartley, who is willing to stand up to those of you in the media who insist on being bullies.

"R.J. told me today he's finished jumping through hoops. I realized today that it's exactly what my family and I have been doing — providing you with photo opportunities in hope that you'd leave us alone.

"We have offered cooperation. You have demanded capitulation.

"Be warned. From here on out, if you choose to invade my privacy, my family's privacy or the privacy of anyone I care about, I'll react the same way R.J. did today. R.J. and I are amateur athletes. We receive no money for our talents. In fact, neither of us is even on an athletic scholarship.

"On the golf course and at designated media events, I will allow photos and answer your questions. But nowhere else.

"We are private citizens, and even the most amoral among you will have a hard time justifying otherwise. In public, we will ensure we're treated with respect. So long as you keep your distance, you may take photos if you like. If you choose to invade our private moments, you'll see today was just a warm-up act for the main event.