The traffic was surprisingly light. It was turning into a really good day. My work day had been cut short when my out of town clients called to say that there had been a power outage in one of their distribution centres, and they were busy trying to reroute product through other centres. Apparently it was more important than meeting with me to sign the papers for the second round of modifications. So instead of flying to Chicago this afternoon, I was driving home. It was Friday, the sun was out, the top was down, and I was on my way to spend some time with Jenny. I was smiling like a man on top of the world.
I sell a modification to transport truck engines. The state of California changed an emissions law, so every transport operation that runs trucks into California was scrambling to find a solution. My partner Greg, a brilliant engineer, came up with and patented an after-market exhaust kit that not only brings the engine into conformity, but improves mileage. It is typically only an improvement of one or two percent, but when that is worked into the thousands of miles those rigs travel, the system pays for itself in short order. We are busy, and we are making money. Lots of it. Today's trip to Chicago was just a formality. We were nearly done the work on the first two hundred trucks. We would be doing the next two hundred as well, and both sides knew it. We just needed to meet, exchange signatures and have dinner. That's my job. Meet the clients, identify the decision makers, explain the modification, explain the math, pull out the contract, and then go buy dinner for all my new friends. All of my clients pay hand over fist for the exhaust kit and installation, which by contract must be done in our Detroit shop. The best part is that over the life of each truck, with the improved efficiency, they save thousands of dollars, even after paying for the system. Everyone is happy. The boys in Chicago were no exception. They were good clients and new friends. That bit of business wasn't going anywhere.
As I drove down I-96, I felt my phone vibrate. In hindsight, I should never have answered it. I was after all on the interstate without my blue tooth. I was endangering other drivers the moment I answered it. I should have gone with that thought. Had I let the phone go to voicemail and continued home, none of this would have happened. I looked at the display. It was Greg. I answered.
"I spoke to Melissa, and she told me Mackson Logistics had some crazy power problems today." Greg said.
"Yeah, I don't see it being a problem though, it's just a hiccup on the calendar. The guys in the shop won't miss any time though, they still have nearly a month to go on the first order, and we have other work piled up waiting. Oh, and leave Melissa alone. She's getting married." I laughed into the phone.
Greg is my business partner and my best friend. We were friends through high school and university, and he was the best man in my wedding. He had infuriated my bride, Jenny, when he slept with her sister on our wedding night. Greg had said it was the best man's duty to bed the maid of honour. He was an infamous party animal and skirt chaser. He worked hard, and played harder. And it was no secret that he wanted my assistant Melissa.
"I have a quick question. Do you have your clubs in the car?" asked Greg.
"Yeah, why do you need to borrow them?"
"No, I am standing on the putting green of Whitetail and we need a fourth" he replied.
Whitetail is a golf course. Well, not really a golf course, but more of a resort. It is impossible to play. It is beyond private. There are to my understanding, fewer than a dozen local members. It caters to royalty and celebrities from around the world. You don't ask to play it, you are invited. I had always wanted to play it, and had never been given the chance. In fact, I fully expected to live a full long life and never play it.
"How in the hell did you get on?" I asked incredulously.
"Don't ask. Just get here. We tee off in twenty minutes."
"I need to talk to Jenn..." I began.
Greg was gone. I hated that about him. He was terrible on the phone. He never said hello, goodbye, or anything other than the issue at hand. That is of course, unless you were a good looking woman. I bet Melissa had a hell of a time getting him off the line.
I looked at my watch and grimaced. I was lucky that I was fairly close to the course, but it was still going to be close. I tossed the phone onto the passenger seat, checked the rear view mirror for police, and bit my lip. I punched the accelerator. With a little luck and no police, I would make it. Thank God the traffic is light, I thought. I couldn't believe it. Holy Crap, I was going to play Whitetail.
As I pulled up to the gate, I was amazed at how hidden it really was. If you didn't know it was there, you would just pass it by, and never be the wiser. You couldn't see any of the course or clubhouse from any of the public roads that encircled it. I know that because I have tried to sneak a glimpse in the past. The landscaping was breathtaking as I drove up the lane. As it slowly opened to the club house, my jaw literally dropped open. This was breathtaking. It was a huge two story building that quite literally looked like it had been plucked from a southern plantation and dropped right here in Southeast Michigan. It had huge sweeping balconies, gorgeous woodwork, and massive windows with impressive flower boxes adorning each one. As I came to a stop, a valet opened the door of the car. I pressed the button to close the roof and pressed the trunk release as the motor whirred to close it up. A course attendant was right there to help retrieve the golf clubs from the trunk. I reached for my golf shoes, as he pulled out the golf clubs, and told me that they would be waiting for me at the first tee. This place didn't miss a beat. It was already surpassing my imaginations of it, and I hadn't even seen a hole yet! I followed the signs towards the first tee, and heard the engine rev in my beloved Cadillac, as the valet drove it away.
I could see Greg and two other men up at what must have been the first tee box. Between them and me was an ornate metal bench with a teenager sitting on a stool to the side. I wasn't quite sure what to make of it. As I approached, I realized the boy had a complete shoe shining kit under him.
"You can leave your shoes here, Sir, and they will be polished and waiting for you inside after your round." he explained. This was just getting better and better.
"Thank you." I said as I sat down and removed my shoes, and pulled on my golf spikes.
Jenny would not believe this place I thought to myself.
"Oh Shit!"I blurted. In my excitement to play this place, I had forgotten about Jenny. Our last conversation would have put me in our driveway ten minutes from now. I could imagine her looking out the window for me. She would probably be in some sort of negligee. Oh God...I felt my pockets for my phone. A sinking feeling came across me as I remembered throwing it onto the passenger seat of the car. I didn't even know where the car was parked right now.
"Sir?" the young man looked confused.
"Oh, nothing, I just forgot to make a phone call, and left my cell in my car." I said, trying to regain my composure. "Is there a phone I can use?"
"Of course, you are welcome to use the phone at the club house, Sir."
