Page 43 of Putting Out
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“Here is my prop-po-sition.”
Reilly, Kenny, Pop, and Grams were all seated around the kitchen table waiting to hear the list of demands Odie was planning to make in order to make magic happen. Although, in all honesty, Grams had one eye on Odie and one eye on the oven. She was baking cookies for the new guest.
Odie had shown up shortly after dawn. He’d gotten a late flight from Houston to Omaha the night before. He had no luggage with him, no books, and no equipment one might expect from the Zen master of tech-nah-logy.
Just his usual scruffy self with his bushy eyebrows and twenty-year-old baseball cap Reilly remembered from her training days with him. He moved slower and there was a hitch in his step as a result of a hip replacement. But other than a few more lines around his eyes and mouth and possibly a few more degrees of condescension thrown in for good measure, Odie was as always Odie. Short, squat and sometimes meaner than a rattled rattlesnake.
But he knew golf.
“I’m listening,” Reilly told him.
“You will do what I say. You will jump when I say when and ask how high. I will not be contra- dict-ted. I will not be count-ter-minded. I will not be sassed.”
Kenny leaned into Reilly and whispered, “You get that? No sass.”
“I don’t think sass is still an official word.”
“There will be no talk-king when I am speak-king,” Odie continued. “Am I clear?”
“Yes,” Reilly hissed.
“All expenses will be paid by you. There is the matter of my fee. Ten thousand dollars.”
Both Pop and Grams gasped, but Reilly didn’t blink. It was a hefty amount for sixty-odd days’ work, but she had it and it was what he wanted.
“Plus...” Odie paused to let the idea that he was adding more to the equation sink in. “If you finish in the top twenty, I want another five thousand dollars for my bonus.”
Reilly snorted. “Sure. I’ll tell you what. If I finish in the top twenty, I’ll give you another ten thousand dollars… as a bonus.”
“Well, then lil’ girl, you have yourself what is known in the vern-nacular as a deal.”
He stretched his small hand out and Reilly reached out and shook it.
“Can I ask not to be called lil’ girl?”
Odie seemed to consider it. “No.”
“Swell. When do we start?”
“Today. I have a truck on its way here as we speak. I felt con-fi-dent my terms would be met. This truck is bringing equipment as well as an emp-ploy-ee I recently found to be very suc- cess-ful in physical motivation.” He turned to Grams. “Is that all right with you, ma’am?
Having another guest here? I surely do not wish to be a bother.”
Grams waved off his concerns. “No bother, no bother. Seems to me, though, it sure is a lot of fuss for a tournament. After all, Reilly is a very good golfer, everyone says. Seamus tells me she has a sweet swing. To my way of thinking, cookies and cake are sweet, but that’s what he says. And ten thousand dollars! That sure is a sum of money for some advice. Why, I’m asked advice all the time and I give it away free. The other day, Madison from the next farm over called asking about a crust for a pumpkin pie and I told her.”
Grams would never get the game like Pop did and would never understand Reilly’s role in it. She saw the expensive gifts at Christmas and understood her granddaughter had been successful at hitting the white ball in a way few people were. But to her it was and always would be a game.
Pop had flushed a little with Grams’s speech, probably worrying Odie might take offense, but Odie wasn’t going anywhere. There was ten thousand dollars on the line for him.
“It’s okay, Grams. Odie is worth every penny.”
“I truly am.”
The timer on the oven went off and Grams began her journey over to the kitchen. Odie looked as if he wanted to help with setting up the walker for her, but Pop shook his head. Both Reilly and Kenny knew Grams wanted to do it on her own and the more people fussed, the more irritated she became. Besides, she had purposely set the timer two minutes short knowing how long it would take to reach the oven.
One of the secrets to baking, after all, was in the timing.
