Chapter 27 #4
She didn’t know much about golf, but she did know there was a not so thin line between a golfer who could make a career out of the sport and a golfer who won leagues at their municipal courses or hit a once in a lifetime hole in one at their fancy country club.
“I guess you could say a little bit of both.” He smiled.
“I played well my four years at Penn State and knew my game was at a level that would be competitive in the professional realm, but no matter how talented a player is, it’s a very expensive endeavor—the coaches, the tournament fees, the travel.
I started applying for jobs at courses in Ohio and when someone from a club in Cleveland called Mr. C for a reference, he hung up on them and called me to say he wanted me to consider going pro.
He offered to back me until I landed some bigger sponsorships.
I stayed pro for eight years before hanging up my cleats and joining the crew at Liberty Oaks. ”
“All this time you led me to believe you’re a glorified maintenance man who has a penchant for Inside Edition when really you’re a retired professional athlete who runs one of the most prestigious golf courses in the country?
” She shook her head, thoroughly impressed with her own exceptional taste.
“I’d love to hear more about your adventures some time.
Good chance we’ve crossed paths at airports in the past and didn’t even know it. ”
She took a minute to realize how much she enjoyed the process of getting to know him.
Every encounter she learned something new, something different, something that made him more attractive than the day before.
In the spirit of Carl Gustav, she was letting things happen.
Two weeks ago, Kenny would have employed the stealth stalking skills of Colby and the research department at WBS to cull every detail and fact about J.P.
that was public record. There would be no mystery, learning, or peeling back layers. This was refreshing.
“You know, I think I’ve told you more about me during this time on the water than I’ve shared with anyone in a really long time,” J.P.
said. “What about you? Why are you really here? It doesn’t seem like one messed up interview would be enough to rattle someone like you so much that you leave home and basically take a sabbatical. Journalists usually have thick skin.”
“It’s not for the faint of heart,” Kenny admitted.
“Clinton White wasn’t the only catalyst. The same day news of the interview broke, I found out that the manuscript for a book I wrote was turned down by a big publishing company.
And I got into an epic, let’s say, situation with my best friend.
‘Fight’ sounds so juvenile, doesn’t it? It was a perfect storm of events that led to me being here,” she said, surprising herself she wasn’t embarrassed to admit these failures to J.P.
“You’re a hotshot network news producer and an author? Looks like someone else hasn’t been totally forthcoming.”
“First, there’s nothing ‘hotshot’ about the producer gig.
” She laughed. “Second, I’m not an author.
I poured my heart and soul into this piece of important, compelling work of investigative nonfiction and the only cover it’ll ever see is the white, plastic binder I stole from the WBS supply room where I keep edited versions. ”
“Why don’t you shop it around to other publishers? I’m sure there’s more than one out there?” he asked with an expression that she interpreted as why didn’t you think of that.
“Unfortunately, it’s not that simple. The woman who turned down the manuscript is the GOAT of the publishing world.
No one will give it a second thought if they know that Muffin Evans passed on it.
To add salt to the wound, she’s asked me to write a romantic comedy!
I’ve been called a lot of things over the years, but a hopeful romantic is not one of them. ” Kenny laughed.
J.P. scratched his head. “Who names their kid Muffin?”
“I know. Don’t let the name fool you, there’s nothing sweet or savory about her. She’s known in the industry as the Manuscript Eater.”
“Then it’s even more flattering that this Manuscript Eater has the confidence that you can go outside of your comfort zone and be successful.
I think you should give it a shot,” J.P.
said with a wink. “That is sacred advice from a fifteen-year-old J.P. who used to wear a soccer uniform. See what happens.”
“Well thank you for the vote of confidence,” Kenny managed to say before being surprised by a giant wave that sneaked up behind them, causing the two kayaks to collide together and crash to shore.
They braced tightly but barely stayed atop the boats on the unexpected, bumpy ride that whisked them back to land.
They ended up with mouthfuls of ocean water and appeared as if they had gone white water rafting through angry rapids but looked at each other with amusement and bewildered relief once the kayaks halted to a hard stop, front ends grounded into the sand, and they regained their composure.
“I guess that’s a wrap.” J.P. climbed out of his kayak and swept his wet hair back and out of his face with one hand while reaching to assist Kenny up with the other.
“That’s a wrap.” She smiled and gladly gripped J.P.’s strong forearm, allowing him to pull her to her feet. “That was the most fun I’ve had in a long time,” she said with sincerity. “One thing, J.P. How did you know that first fin you saw wasn’t a shark?”
“Honest answer?” He hesitated. “I didn’t.”