Tiger Tales
The real story about Tiger Woods going out for a night on the town.
Tiger alighted from the limousine with his two best friends, retired NBA stars, Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley. Michael and Charles were dressed in suits. Tiger wore a sport coat over his polo shirt with a baseball cap and dark glasses. Immediately, they were escorted in the back entrance of a private club by two big, beefy bouncers, every inch as big as Charles Barkley.
"Are we safe here," asked Tiger of his friend Charles.
"No worries man, so long as we're protected by the twin towers here," he said pointing to the two pistol packing powerful men that flanked the three men. "Ain't no one gonna get by them to bother us. Trust me, I hired these dudes before and they do what you pay them to do, separate us from the masses and keep their mouths shut."
Escorted to a private room in the rear of the club, Michael and Charles took a seat on the couch. Unlike Wild Bill Hickok of the old west, who always kept his back to the wall, Tiger sat in a chair with his back to the door for fear of being recognized. Free from autograph seekers, gawkers, and the dreaded Paparazzi, the twin towers guarded the door to the room allowing no one in except for invited women.
"What if there's a fire," asked Tiger. "I don't want to be stuck in here not knowing that the club is on fire."
"There's a back door, a fire exit, in back of the room, and a sprinkler system," said Charles pointing to the ceiling. "Chill Tiger. It's all good."
"There's some amazing white pussy here tonight, Tiger," said Michael Jordan rubbing his hands together, as if a fly about to launch himself on a piece of excrement. "I can feel it, sense it, and smell it. I just need to taste it."
"Yeah, well, you have the nose for pussy, Michael," said Charles. "I'm just gonna put my trust in you, Michael, and follow your lead."
"Mario, the owner, said he arranged for us to meet some hot ladies, handpicked, and very discreet. We can party right here," said Michael patting the soft seat of the black leather couch with his big hand. "These couches open to beds and whatever we need and want, just tell the waitress and she'll get it for you."
"There's even a restroom in back, so we never have to leave here to go out there to the main part of the club," said Charles giving a nod to the back of the big room. "And it's soundproof in here, too, but if we want to hear the music out front, we just turn on the intercom there," he said pointing a knob on the wall. "We can hear them, but they can't hear us. That other button summons the waitress and the red one is to call for the manager."
"Once we settle in our den of debauchery with our champagne and women, we give the word to Dwayne and Wayne out front that we don't want to be disturbed, they'll guard that door with their lives," said Michael.
"Dwayne and Wayne? Is that their names? What are they, twins," asked Tiger.
"I don't know what their names are, Tiger. I just made those names up. Who cares what their names are. They're just hired muscle is all," said Michael showing his annoyance with his friend. "C'mon, liven up. You're ruining my good time."
"I'm nervous. I can't help but have a foreboding feeling that I'm going to get caught by El," confessed Tiger to his two celebrity star friends. "I have a lot to lose in endorsements."
"Listen, Tiger, Michael and I have been doing this forever," said Charles, "and there ain't no one who had more endorsement money to lose than the great Michael Jordan, now, that is, except for you. So, don't worry. We know how to get our grooves waxed and our dipsticks oiled without tipping off our wives. You dig? So, don't worry. Seriously, man. It's all cool, baby. It's all cool. So just chill."
"Yeah, Tiger, this is a very private and exclusive club. I personally know the owner. He's even been out to my house. He knows we're back here with you and he'd never allow that knowledge to get out to the Paparazzi. If he did, he'd lose business and ruin our friendship. The only ones who know we're here, other than Mario is the limo driver, twin towers, and the waitress. Ain't none of them gonna talk for fear of missing out on a good thing. The word would get around and none of us would come here anymore. Beyonce is in the room next to us with a couple of Dudes, if you know what I mean."
"Beyonce? She's married," said Tiger and the three men laughed.
Twin towers opened the door for the waitress, a wide eyed blonde who immediately recognized the three men and smiled.
"Three bottles of Christoff from a good year," said Charles. "Open a tab for us and keep the champagne coming," he said looking up at her and giving her a big smile, while tucking a folded C note in her pretty little hand. "Oh, and bring us some extra glasses, too," he said. "We're expecting guests."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir," she said backing out of the room and returning within a few minutes with the three bottles of champagne, along with a half dozen fluted glasses.
Tiger sat with his head down and his hand concealing part of his face, until the waitress left.
