When I get out of the shower, and after I dry off, I spend some extra time on my beard, making sure it’s nice and trimmed. Hope made a comment about it yesterday, and the last thing I want is for it to be a turn off for her. I know some women dig the beard. The longer, the better, but it’s not for everyone.
After I dress in khaki shorts and a polo, and after I make sure my clothes for tonight are hanging nicely in my garment bag, I call the garage where I park my car. It’s a two-block walk from my apartment and cheaper than the parking structure right across from my apartment. Growing up in a blue-collar family taught me the value of a dollar, and while I have done very well for myself, I like to save as much money as possible. I never want to be like my dad, living paycheck to paycheck. I remember when I was younger, my mom would do odd jobs to help, but my father didn’t want her to work. While I’d love it if my wife stayed home and raised our children, I know it’s unrealistic to think this way.
It’s the day after St. Patrick’s Day, and you would think the streets of New York City would be covered in green, white, and gold everything, but it’s not. Sure, there are some things lingering, but the sanitation crew works through the night to make sure all the trash is gone. The walk to my car is easy. As soon as I arrive at the crosswalk, the light turned. No one spilled their coffee on me, and I wasn’t assaulted by random shoulder slamming, which usually happens because someone is paying attention to their phone and not where they’re walking. I’m also trying to keep a wide berth because I don’t want to hit anyone with my clubs.
When I arrive at the garage, I show the attendant my pass. He walks me to my car and opens the trunk, so I can put my bags in there. This isn’t how all garages operate with their monthly users. It’s part of the package the garage offered when I bought my parking spot. At the end of the year, it’ll expire, and I’ll be like everyone else, climbing many flights of stairs to retrieve my car.
As luck would have it, there’s a traffic jam on my way out to the golf course. I turn the up the radio and roll down the windows of my Camry. My head bobs to the music, while my fingers tap against the steering wheel to the beat. The weather is meh. It’s nice for March, but still a bit on the chilly side. However, anything above forty and I’m in shorts.
By the time I arrive, I’m about forty minutes late. I rent a cart, load my clubs and cruise the course until I run into Stewart and the rest of the party. I’m not surprised to find them on the second hole, teeing off. Behind my sunglasses, I roll my eyes at them. Normally, Stewart and I can get in a decent game in about three hours or so. But with all the guys playing and already drinking, it’s going to take all day. I contemplate staying in the cart and being their caddy, but Stu wouldn’t appreciate it.
“Where have you been?” Stewart asks as I get out of the cart and reach for my driver.
“Got stuck in some traffic, got here as soon as I could.”
“Should’ve left earlier,” he says. This is classic Stewart. He was probably here when the doors opened. That’s not me. I’m not always late either, but typically fifteen minutes early. It’s the best I can do.
“Rough night,” I tell him. “Someone was having a party in my courtyard.”
He shakes his head. “I don’t know why you insist on living there when you could live on the Upper East Side in a penthouse.”
Because I don’t want to waste my money, and I don’t want to be a pretentious asshole. I’ve had this conversation with Stu many times. Stewart likes to flaunt his wealth. That’s his choice. I want people to like me for me, not my bank balance.
I take my turn at the tee and watch my ball sail off into the trees.
“That was rough,” one of the groomsmen says while laughing. I shake my head at his ridiculous pun.
“If you were on time, you’d have gotten some practice swings in,” Stewart says sharply. I grip my club tightly. My hand cramps, and I ease up. The last thing I want to do right now is break my club. I remind myself Stewart is under some stress with the wedding. Hallie expects everything to be perfect, and there isn’t a single thing Stu wouldn’t do for her. So, I’m going to bite my tongue and not say something smart ass in return.