Once Upon a Tee Time
Chapter 15

In his hotel room, high above the hustle of Los Angeles streets, Jingles tried to catch a nap before dinner. In the past, the mere touch of his cheek to a pillow triggered slumber. Now the world was different. For one thing, he was becoming rich beyond his wife’s wildest dreams. The very idea tended to keep his eyes propped open.

An afternoon meeting with Calloway had gone well. Beyond well. National coverage of the Jingles/Jenks match had pushed the company into immediate action. The $5.5 million lifetime contract, payable in four equal installments over the first year, would take care of Pat’s credit card bills forever. On top of that, the clubmaker was custom-designing his next set of sticks.

Tomorrow’s meetings included Hilton Worldwide, Carnival Cruises, and AOA. Thus far, the American Optometric Association had been unwilling to part with more than a million, far less than Mr. Quinn had in mind. That was fine with him, even a blessing. He had decided to strike them from his list altogether.

Looking back on his first interview with Jane Friend, he regretted talking about his vision at all. He hadn’t thought things through. By discussing his eyesight without revealing the uniqueness of the bubble lens, he’d been pulling “a Knickers” on innocent people. That had never been his intention, just the way it worked out. He would never mention his eyes again.

If he could tear up the contract with Eagle Optics, he’d hand their money back in a second. The company wouldn’t even talk to him. Why had he believed they could replicate his lens in the first place? Old Sid Wexler had been right from the start. Its creation was by accident, not design.

His thoughts turned to Knickers, Mulligan, and Harvey. They were due back from their vacation today. Or was it yesterday?

He punched Harvey’s number on his cell phone. Lucy answered.

Jingles said, “Como estas?” It was one of a few Spanish phrases he learned in Mexico.

Lucy paused. “It’s Jingles, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not Andy Devine! How was your trip?”

“It was a lot of watching you on SportsCenter. They have the same shows over there, in both Spanish and English. Where are you calling from? We haven’t been able to reach you.”

“We’re in Los Angeles. Pat’s out shopping.”

“What’s Harvey supposed to do with those three sets of golf clubs in the garage?”

“Oh, those. They came last week. I asked Pat to leave them at your house as a welcoming present for the guys. Harvey can have first pick. Can I talk to him?”

“Jingles, is that really you?” Harvey asked. “I’m on the other line.”

“Yep, it’s me. Wish I could’ve met you at the airport. The best I can do is invite you to our house for Thanksgiving supper! That’s the next time we’ll be home.”

“We can’t believe what’s happened, Jingles. We’re gone for a while and the whole world changes ... at least your world. You’re the most talked about man in the country! I can’t even believe I know you.”

“It just happened, Harv. My golf keeps getting better.”

“That’s hard to imagine. I guess you won’t be golfing with us anymore, huh? When we told other golfers that we were your regular partners, they laughed at us.”

Jingles felt an ache inside. His success had triggered collateral damage. He changed the subject. “How was your trip? I can’t wait to hear all about it.”

“It was good. I like your website! News just went up that you signed with Calloway.”

“Only because of the novelty. You know, the age thing.” He decided not to mention Pebble Beach. “Did Knickers get to see his friend over there?”

“We all did. He’s a great guy. What was it like to play with Tommy Jenks?”

“You can’t imagine how hard he hits a ball. You’d have to see it in person to really appreciate it. How’s your game? Did you play lots of golf?”

“C’mon, Jingles. I’ve got no game. They said on the news that you’re going to play on the tour in January. Knickers says he’s a fortune teller! He says it all started when he played that trick on you.”

“Did you get to Haiti?”

“We did. It’s kind of a mess over there. Where do you play next?”

Jingles paused to think. Harvey, his best friend, was talking to him like one of the Phoenix City Bank directors. Why couldn’t they have a normal conversation? “Harvey, let’s talk about your trip first. Take me through each day.”

“C’mon, Jingles. We were on vacation. You’re the one who’s been on a trip. When a golfer makes a long putt on the Golf Channel, the announcers say, ‘He Jingled one in!’ I can’t watch for five minutes without hearing your name mentioned. The most famous pros in the world are talking about you and Pinger! One of them speculated that maybe a remote control was directing your ball. Funny, huh?”

Jingles felt another tug inside. Harvey was a friend, not a fan. “Don’t take that stuff seriously. You know me. I’m just lucky enough to see better than most people.”

“I know. Knickers explained about that crazy right lens. I thought you only rotated lenses to avoid irritation. Now I understand all that better.”

Jingles felt an urge to run for the toilet, like he was about to vomit. He’d told Harvey only half the truth, maybe less than half, and now his friend knew it. He took a deep breath and popped the question that had been nagging him for weeks. “What did you guys think about the whole defective lens thing?”

Harvey cleared his throat. “I’d rather you ask the others personally. They think it’s your contact lens making all those putts, not you. It’s all about that ‘big as a bucket’ you were always talking about. I asked when they ever saw a contact lens swing a golf club, but that didn’t change their minds.”

Jingles pondered the news. “Well, those guys are probably right for the most part. You all know how I played before I got the lens. I don’t remember Calloway knocking on my door back then. Anyway, welcome home. Birdie Chaser is yours while I’m gone. I’ll call again soon and Pat will be in touch with Lucy. Oh, and don’t forget to open the compartments on those three fancy golf bags in your garage. They’re full of Oreos and new balls.”

Calls to Knickers and Mulligan confirmed their ambivalence. Were his friends changing? Or was it he who had changed? The strength of relationships forged over years had to prevail, didn’t it? Knickers wouldn’t talk about his trip. He didn’t seem to believe that his old friend was genuinely interested. He never mentioned the Champions Tour. Mulligan’s primary interest was whether he would be abandoning Leisureville in favor of Hollywood. Jingles didn’t have the heart to mention his new house. Both men said they looked forward to Thanksgiving. That was something at least.

After his calls, Jingles considered Prescott Hills. The new development would need a leader like Mulligan to run a new homeowner association. It would need a personality like Knickers to keep things lively and entertaining. And Harvey. Who could do without a friend like Harvey around? Always loyal and supportive.

The door opened and Pat entered, dropping plastic bags to the floor in a heap. He had insisted that she do some shopping after the Calloway signing.

Jingles chuckled at the volume. “You saw something that you liked?”

“I didn’t see much that I didn’t like,” she laughed, “but I only bought half of it.”

“I was just thinking about Prescott Hills. Wouldn’t you miss all your friends in Leisureville? What about Lucy? You girls are peas in a pod.”

“Of course, I’d miss them,” Pat said, sitting down on the bed, “just like I miss all our friends and family in Alaska. But I’m not afraid of change anymore. You talked me into moving to Arizona and it worked out fine.”

“Do you think the Greens would consider moving to Prescott Hills too? And the Wettmans and Knickers and Bess?”

Pat shook her head. “They’re happy where they are. Besides, they can visit as often as they like. We’ll have three guest bedrooms. And remember, some of our old friends from Eagle River might join us soon. Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

She waited for a response, but got none. “I’m going to shower and get ready for dinner. Gillian is picking us up in an hour. Some people from Cadillac are entertaining us tonight. I’ll set your clothes out.”

Jingles leaned back on his pillow, looked up at the ceiling, and wondered when he’d be golfing again. Life was so simple on a golf course. He’d been staring at ceilings too much lately.

The following morning, Herman Winston arrived to work on time. Even with crucial business on the table, he hoped for a short workday. On the previous afternoon, he had broken ninety for the first time ever. He was anxious to get back to the course.

The lens was everything Zimmer said it would be, including painful to wear after a short time. Jingles had apparently solved that problem by using it only to putt. The old golfer wasn’t so stupid after all.

Roarke and Wilhelm, the company attorney, joined Herman in his office. He got straight to the point. “Okay, Wilhelm. As I explained yesterday, I need a way out of that option agreement with Zimmer. If he thinks he can buy a multi-billion-dollar property for next to nothing, he has another thing coming. What did you come up with?”

“I came up with nothing,” the attorney said. “If he puts the money into your account by December first, three p.m., he owns exclusive rights. You didn’t ask me to write a contract with loopholes or out-clauses.”

Herman nodded. “Well, you didn’t surprise me. I was pretty confident you’d come up with a goose egg, so I’ve done some thinking.”

Roarke and Wilhelm glanced at each other. What now?

“We have a lady in Flagstaff who suffered because Zimmer released an unlicensed lens.”

Roarke interrupted. “Zimmer didn’t release the lens, we did.”

Wilhelm said, “It’s my understanding that the lady returned the lens without complaint. She merely asked for a replacement.”

Herman raised his hands, shaking his head. “Zimmer failed to return two of his lens buttons to inventory. We have proof of that. Therefore, he is ultimately responsible for what happened to the woman in Flagstaff.”

“Nothing happened to the woman in Flagstaff,” Roarke pointed out.

“What if something did happen to her?” Herman asked. “What if the lens caused trauma to her eye? What if she sued us over it?”

Wilhelm stared at Herman. “She claimed no such thing. Why are you even creating such conjecture?”

“Conjecture this,” Herman replied. “If this lady sued us over discomfort caused by Zimmer’s lens, would his financial backers still feel good about their investment? Would they feel confident about getting FDA approval?”

Herman noted that his attorney was at least listening. He pushed a copy of Zimmer’s report across the desk. “You’ll replace everything you need right here, starting on page forty-one. Zimmer reviews the risks of improper use, all the specific problems that could result. In the case of this woman, bring them to life. Zimmer won’t be able to refute them.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Wilhelm asked. “You want to sue your own company?”

“It wouldn’t be a real lawsuit,” Herman answered. “We’d be in full control. You’d draft it and get some bonehead ambulance chaser in Flagstaff to file it right before Thanksgiving, a few days before the option expires. All he’d have to do is get it signed by the woman and drop it off with the court. Then he’d go on vacation for a week. We’ll give him ten thousand cash for his trouble.”

“And the woman?” Roarke asked.

“I had her checked out. She’s seventy-eight and widowed. She’s half-crippled by arthritis and lives on social security. Let’s say a lawyer came to her door with some great news. He’s settling disputes about some faulty contact lenses that were mailed out. Her name is on his list. If she signs a few documents, he promises her five thousand dollars within a week. I ask you, what’s she going to do?”

Wilhelm assumed most people would accept such an offer. “And you want to do all that just to scare off Sherman MacPherson? They’d smell a rat in a second.”

“What rat?” Herman asked. “We’re obligated to advise them of the filing because it relates to the Zimmer lens. We simply convey the facts: a suit alleging eye damage from the lens was filed; and we hope to settle it quickly. We send them a copy. We acknowledge that the lens in question was Zimmer’s, and we hold him accountable for its illegal distribution. Naturally, we’d express hope that the problem wouldn’t derail the purchase of the option.”

The attorney shook his head. “Sherman MacPherson would ask to extend the option deadline until the litigation ran its course. That’s what I’d advise them as their attorney.”

“I thought of that,” Herman said. “If they want an extension, we demand that the fifteen million be held in escrow pending settlement.”

Wilhelm nodded. “That’d be reasonable. They might be perfectly willing to do that.”

Herman raised an eyebrow. “Yes, they might. And they might not. Would they want that kind of money tied up for long? Would their investors approve of that? And what would they think of Zimmer? He put an unlicensed lens on the eye of an unsuspecting woman. Their investment is based on faith in him. Let’s destroy that faith and see where it takes us. There’s too much money riding on this. We have to take this chance.”

Wilhelm scowled. “We? It’s illegal, unethical, and wrong in every way. Take your fifteen million and be happy. At least your golf game has improved.”

Herman rolled his eyes at the sermon. “Would twenty-five thousand solve your ethical conundrum? This can all be done in a single day. I know you can pull it off without any link to us.”

Roarke finally spoke. “Wouldn’t a lawsuit interfere with your effort to sell the company before the end of the year? Things are looking so positive right now.”

Herman had anticipated the question. “The lawsuit will be settled the day after the option expires. The woman will acknowledge, in taking my money, that there was no wrongdoing on our part.” He looked to his attorney. “You can draft the settlement agreement in advance. Just give it to the Flagstaff lawyer with the other paperwork. He’ll like that.”

Herman turned back to Roarke. “If Zimmer exercises his option, heaven forbid, I lose big and console myself with scraps. Then we auction off the company as scheduled.”

“And if Zimmer doesn’t exercise?”

Herman beamed. “Then we have a whole different outlook. We delay the sale of the company, examine Jingles’ lens, and issue a press release: ‘We have discovered that Jingles Plumlee has been wearing an unlicensed lens for which we have patents pending. We apologize to him for Zimmer’s mistake.’ That ought to shake the world! How much will someone pay for my company then?”

“You can deal me out,” Wilhelm announced. “If you want a legitimate way to cash in on this miracle lens, negotiate with Zimmer on the up and up. Offer him a fifty percent interest in Eagle Optics. Maybe he’d be interested. As for this plan of yours, I’ll play no part in it.”

Herman shrugged. “Then replace me an attorney who will.”

Early Friday afternoon, Gillian Constantine sat with Jingles in the Quinn Group conference room. In preparation for his first TV appearance, they watched a recent recording of The Tonight Show on the big screen. The show’s former host, Jay Leno, was serving as guest host for the week. Gillian wanted her client to be familiar with the surroundings, the timing, the whole feel of the program. Preparation was everything.

Gillian pushed a key on a laptop, pausing on a scene of the audience. “That’s what you’ll see, Jingles, when you come on the stage.” She stood and walked to the screen, then faced him from in front of it. “I’ll be right here in the front row. Now, what do you do when you’re introduced?”

“I smile and walk to the center of the stage. I wave, and then I do this.” Extending his arms as if he held a seven iron, he took an easy swing and held the follow-through.

Gillian clapped and whistled. “You hold that pose for about five seconds. It’s going to remind the older crowd of Johnny Carson. He pretended to swing a golf club too. People are going to love it.”

Jingles laughed. “I remember that. Do you have any old video? I could probably copy the way he did it.”

She lifted her cell phone. “Why didn’t I think of that?” After tapping a number, she asked someone to replace footage on the internet.

Returning to her client, she sat at the head of the table. “Now, you sit in that guest seat, and I’ll be Jay Leno. Let’s go over the questions again.”

Gillian lowered her chin, trying to extend it like Leno’s. “I’ve gotta ask, how did you ever get a nickname like Jingles?”

Her client smiled. “Some people think that’s a funny story. My friend Lucy Green gave me that name because I reminded her of the Jingles character on the old Wild Bill Hickock show.” He turned to the frozen screen audience. “Is anyone old enough to remember that show?”

Gillian’s Leno chirped, “I’m old enough! Jingles was played by Andy Devine, right?”

Jingles nodded. “That’s right. Remember how he was always whining about something? Well, I guess I had started to complain about my golf game. I was losing it quickly.”

Gillian released a deep laugh. ‘I’ve heard of ask and you shall receive, but whine and you shall receive? That’s a first. I should start whining more!’”

The meeting room door opened slightly, just enough to accommodate Mitchell Quinn’s head. “Big news, Jingles. You’ll be playing golf on network television on Sunday the 30th. The Senior Skins Game. You’re in!”

Quinn turned his eyes to Gillian. “It’s a ten-a.m. start on the Big Island. Pull all the info on it and prep Jingles for tonight’s show. He’s going to want to talk about it.” His head disappeared and the door closed.

Jingles stared at his new friend. “Just like that? How can that be?”

Gillian flashed her dimples and typed on her computer. “I knew there was talk about it. Unless it was certain, I didn’t want to say anything. It’s all about Calloway. They pull lots of strings.”

“But I thought the field was already set.”

“Here it is,” she said, studying her screen. “Mr. Quinn copied me on the e-mail. Appleman is out. Pulled a muscle doing yard work, it says. A press release is probably going out as we speak.”

“What bad luck for him,” Jingles muttered, surprised that someone of Appleman’s stature would be doing his own chores in the yard.

“Sure, it was bad luck … bad for him that people would rather see you. Don’t worry about it. He’s a Calloway client too. He’ll get paid more not to play than he would have earned for his favorite charity anyway.”

“When will Pat and I be heading over there?”

“You’re booked through the day before Thanksgiving, and you want to fly back to Phoenix for the holiday. We can go to Hawaii on Friday afternoon. You’ll have time to practice on Saturday.”

Jingles called his wife, who answered on the first ring. “Are you ready for this? We’re going to Hawaii to play in the Skins Game right after Thanksgiving!”

He nodded at her excitement, then asked, “Could you call Lucy and have her tell everybody to watch The Tonight Show?”

After more nodding, he said, “Oh, that’s right. It’s not on until late. Tell her to at least record it.”

Gillian had waited patiently, checking the rest of her e-mail. “Everything okay?”

“I guess. I was hoping my friends could catch the show, but it’s not on the air until kind of late. That’s why I never watch.”

“Looky here,” Gillian said, her attention still on her screen. “More good news. Your deal with Hilton is done. You’ll be filming not far from here on Monday. They want to get a spot ready to run in the days before the Skins Game, while you’re in the headlines. Then in December, you’ll be flying to some of the most exotic locations in the world … and that means so will I!”

Jingles knew Pat would want to know the contract amount, but figured Gillian could tell her. The whole situation seemed surreal to him.

His coach had more instructions. “It’s time for you to go across the street and get ready. The limo will pick us up at two in front of the hotel. The taping won’t start until five, but we need to allow extra time for the drive. Twelve miles can take twelve years around here. Bring your white Calloway polo shirt and black slacks in a bag. You can’t wear them in the car. We’ll be eating Chinese food on the way.”

At Leisureville’s Sleepy Hollow, Harvey had been drinking coffee since supper. On nights before golf, he usually hit the hay before ten. Tonight was an exception.

GAF, Golf After Jingles, had begun on Wednesday morning. His new playing partner, Walter Crabtree, was recruited by Knickers to round out The Foursome. As the runner-up in the most recent club championship, he passed inspection. A toddler at age 66, he was a former educator as well.

Knickers, Mulligan, and he had contact lenses in their mailboxes when they returned from their trip. Harvey hadn’t noticed any improvement in his game and was considering going back to glasses. Knickers and Mulligan refused to try them on.

As the time for The Tonight Show approached, Harvey wondered if the others were in front of their televisions. Based on their sour attitudes of late, he suspected they might already be asleep.

Jingles’ play had become a sore subject even prior to the revelation about his lens. The first record-smashing round at Leisureville had been an unlikely wonder. The second came as a total shock. The third, with all the accompanying coverage, had scrambled their brains. Once armed with knowledge of Jingles’ secret, their discussions became passionate arguments. When Jingles made his way from Newswatch to SportsCenter, an all-out war of words ensued. Ultimately, they agreed to stop talking about their famous friend, just to salvage their vacation.

Mulligan’s position on the lens jumped around at first, but settled on the idea that Jingles was in bed with the devil. Knickers contended that Jingles was cheating the game with trick vision and forecasted a very bad ending to it all. Harvey saw it all as a fairy tale, a bedtime story. He would wake up in the morning, Ray would pick him up in front of his house like always, and the dream would be over.

One part of the old Ray still hung around: Birdie Chaser. Walter owned a cart and offered to drive, but Harvey insisted on using the loaner. He purchased a jumbo box of Milk Bones and stopped to treat each passing dog, just like Ray always had.

Sitting next to Lucy on the couch, Harvey watched a Leno monologue that ran too long - until he came to a Jingles joke. “And then there’s this golfer Jingles that we’re all reading about.” He had to pause while the audience, aware that Jingles was a featured guest, applauded. “He’s almost seventy-three. At an age when most guys are losing the use of their putters, he’s just replaceing his!” There were lots of cheers and a shot of the band leader, covering his mouth in feigned shock.

Lucy nudged her husband. “Can they say that on television?”

Harvey laughed. “I guess that’s what we miss by going to bed so early.”

When Jingles was introduced, the band played “Jingle Bell Rock.” He strolled out from behind the curtain, stopped, and swung an imaginary club.

Lucy jumped up. “That’s the most beautiful thing! He did it like Johnny Carson. He even looks like Johnny!”

Harvey was overwhelmed, and driven right over the edge by his wife’s response. Tears streamed down his cheeks. That was his friend standing there! His best friend!

The audience wouldn’t stop clapping and the band didn’t stop playing. Tired of nodding, Jingles faked a few putts. Finally, Leno walked over and saved him.

“He doesn’t even look nervous,” Lucy said. “How can he not be nervous? Pat must be so proud.”

Once they sat down, Leno asked Jingles about his name. He told the story of how she, Lucy Green, had given him the nickname! Lucy was beside herself. She started crying with her husband.

After a commercial, Leno asked Jingles about life in Leisureville. He replied, “I’ve spent my retirement years playing with the best group of guys you could imagine. That’s what golf’s all about, right? My partner is Harvey Green, a retired high school principal from Indiana. We play with Knickers Collins and Mulligan Wettman.”

Leno slapped his hands on his desk and looked at the audience. “You’ve got to be kidding. First Jingles, now Knickers and Mulligan?”

“That’s right. Knickers, who’s Mickey on his Topps baseball card, used to play for the St. Louis Cardinals. He got the nickname because he wears knickers to play golf. As far as Mulligan goes, golfers will know where that comes from.”

Leno gave an exaggerated nod. “I know all about mulligans. I never leave a tee without them.”

Jingles smiled politely. “Mulligan’s real name is Irvin. He does a great job as the head of the homeowner association.”

“I understand you’re from Alaska. They have golf there?”

“Oh, yes,” Jingles said. “That’s where I started playing.”

“Tell me something,” Leno said, lowering his voice and leaning toward his guest. “I’ve always wanted to know this. Is it hard to play with frozen balls?”

“I’m not going to touch that one,” Jingles laughed, slapping his knee.

“Well, frozen balls won’t be a problem where you’re playing next. I hear you’re going to be in the Senior Skins Game in Hawaii at the end of this month.”

Jingles nodded and waved to the cheering audience. “That’s my understanding. I’m looking forward to it.”

“But hold on a second. You got into the Skins Game because of a leg injury to George Appleman. You didn’t do a Tonya Harding on him, did you? Knock him on the knee with a five iron maybe?”

Jingles grinned and shook his head. “No way!” Then he pretended to swing a club again. “I went with a three iron.”

Lights flickered in most Leisureville homes until the show ended. The Wettman and Collins houses were no exception.