Michael Balkind: Sudden Death

“Good morning, bright eyes,” Buck grumbled with an irritated look. “Read it and weep,” he said, forcing a bundled newspaper into Reid’s chest as he pushed by him into the suite and sat on a bar stool. “Sit down and listen to this call.”

Buck’s dominant air annoyed Reid. He thought, How early did he wake up? We were both out partying until 1 a.m., and here he is showered, shaved and immaculately dressed in pressed slacks and a blazer. Even the shine from Buck’s bald head, diamond stud earring and bright white teeth were too much for Reid to handle in his barely awakened state. At least the cigar in Buck’s hand was unlit.

With a deep breath Reid held back his anger, watching curiously as Buck pushed the buttons on his cell phone, then held it to his ear. Reid could hear the ring of the phone from where he sat on the couch.

“Hi Jay, it’s Buck, sorry to wake you so early. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t have time for chit-chat. We got another e-mail threat last night and I’d like you to check it out. This one gets a little personal. Now they’re threatening me and Reid. Hold on and I’ll read it to you.” Buck lifted a piece of hotel note paper and read: “Remember my last e-mail, you know, the one that said ICSF means I can see a fatality? Well, let’s add two more new meanings; REID now means – Reid’s life will soon End In Death, and the new meaning for BUCK is – Buck Ultimately Can be Killed. Are you guys sweating yet? Am I ruining your day, gentlemen? Ahh, revenge is soo sweet. Good luck in Augusta boys.”

Buck listened, then spoke again. “Yeah, I’m with Reid now. We’re heading down to Augusta in a little while. We have an endorsement meeting, then of course the Masters… Great, thanks Jay. I’ll be waiting for your call… Alright, you too. I’ll have Cathy Biggers forward you the e-mail. She’s our e-mail administrator. Evaluating every message we receive has become a full time job for her and an assistant…I know, but we have no choice. I’ll talk to you soon. ‘Bye.”

Reid slowly shook his head and said, “Great, just what I need, more stress. As if finalizing the endorsement deal and the Masters weren’t enough? Now another threat!”

“Put it out of your mind for now,” Buck said as he stood up. “It’s noth ing.” “If it’s nothing, why did you call Jay Scott?” “Because I run everything by him. He’s a good friend and the best private investigator in the country. He’ll clear this up quickly. We’ll be fine. Let it go.” Reid crossed his arms and let out a sigh. “Go get ready and meet me out front at the limo in an hour.” Buck spun on his heels and walked out. The phone was ringing again. Reid knew Buddy, his caddie, would continue to call until he answered it. On edge, he lifted the receiver and barked, “I’m up, I’m up. I’ll see you in Augusta.”

He slammed down the phone and threw the newspaper on the coffee table. The nagging ache that had been in the back of his mind was now consuming him. Buck was totally irritating, but he also was right; Reid had to put the e-mail out of his mind. This stuff happens to top athletes and celebrities all the time, right? Still, as a very successful PGA golfer, having been on the tour for six years now, he was at the top of his game with earnings more than $30 million and endorsement contracts topping $40 million. He had already won six tournaments this season and was favored by many to win the Masters. Why, then, was he so worried? If Buck could dismiss the emails so easily, why couldn’t he?

After showering and dressing, he grabbed a comb and ran it through his wavy dirty-blond hair. No matter how often he combed his hair, it always had that windblown look. As he looked in the mirror, his crystalblue eyes gazed back. He laughed at what he saw. Sun bronzed skin, strong chiseled cheekbones, tall lean 210-pound body with a tight washboard gut. He had the body of someone who worked out every day, when, in reality, all he did were a few occasional sit-ups.

Women were attracted to his rugged good looks. His fame and fortune probably helped, but he knew he could make women melt with his grin alone. Magazines had listed him as one of the sexiest men in the world. While he enjoyed the company of beautiful women, he felt they were a distraction to his career. He had time in his life for only one obsession.

Without complete devotion and concentration, his game could fall apart. Until recently, he had never stayed loyal to any woman. He had broken many hearts and left a trail of angry, scorned ex-lovers in his path. In fact, the jury was still out on his current girlfriend, Jennifer. Everyone else seemed convinced she was a golddigger. Only after the press ran a few stories about her extreme shopping sprees did he begin to agree. He wanted to believe she actually liked him more than his money, but it was getting more difficult every day.

He glanced at the clock; he still had 20 minutes. He picked up the newspaper with a little apprehension, wondering what Buck meant when he said, “Read it and weep.” He leafed through the paper until he arrived at the sports section. His entire body tensed as he saw a quarter page picture of yesterday’s scuffle with the photographer. “Shit,” he seethed through gritted teeth. He walked to the recliner, fell back and read: Will he never learn? PGA tour leader, Reid Clark, once again, proves his nickname, The Bad Boy of Golf, is right on the money. His unprovoked assault of Post photographer, Will Mendelson, was the last straw.

Reid chuckled. “Unprovoked, who are they kidding?” He continued reading:

It is almost laughable that instead of a single lawsuit against Mr. Clark, we could probably start a class action suit. Mr. Clark seems to think it’s funny when he attacks unsuspecting reporters and cameramen, often destroying their expensive equipment. His abuse is often directed at other players on the tour, caddies, fans, girlfriends and the list goes on and on. Mr. Clark’s sexy looks and great athletic ability may earn him titles and money, but they do not earn him the right to abuse others. Mr. Clark’s one downfall, his uncontrollable temper, might eventually rip apart the empire he and his agent, Buck Green, have built. Good luck, Buck!

Reid sighed as he finished. Great , he thought. E-mail threats, bad press, what’s next? This should make my day with Buck lots of fun. As much as he wanted to deny it, he knew the story was correct. His temper had been a problem ever since the death of his father when Reid was a kid. The media took advantage of his outbursts, never hesitating to play them up in the news.

Everyone who cared about Reid, especially Buck, pleaded with him to exercise more self-control. The PGA had already warned him that another incident might jeopardize his eligibility.

Usually, Buck could spin even bad publicity into profits, but not this time. This article could destroy their endorsement negotiations with Eagle later today.

He checked his watch. Time to go, he thought. Better not keep Buck waiting. I don’t want to add fuel to the firestorm I’m already going to get from him.

On his way out of the room, he thought about his relationship with Buck. As far as agents were concerned, Buck was the best of the best. Their friendship had grown over the years, as did their bank accounts. They had a mutual admiration for each other’s strengths. But, although they usually enjoyed the time they spent together, their relationship frequently was strained because they antagonized one another. Buck was sick and tired of Reid’s childish behavior. He was worried that Reid would bring on a damaging lawsuit, or worse yet, get kicked off the tour. Reid was fed up with Buck’s constant hen-pecking. He’d had enough of that from his mother while growing up. Sometimes he actually wondered whether or not Buck really cared about him at all or was only concerned with the money. Aside from their agent-client relationship, they were also partners in various business ventures. They had become a unique winning team over the past four years.