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.
"Relax, Tiger," said Michael popping open one of the bottles of bubbling with a pop and a gush of wine. "Here, have something to drink," he said pouring a glass of champagne and handing it to his golfing buddy.
"Listen to me, Tiger," said Charles. "You're not going to get caught. No one knows you're even in the country. They all think you're still overseas in Australia. They don't know you took an early flight home on Michael's private jet. Even your wife doesn't know you're back in the states. Tonight is your night to party."
"I have to make a call. Excuse me," said Tiger pulling out his cell phone. "Hello, ya, this is me, Tiger. Listen, I need for you to do me a really big favor. I need for you to remove my name from your phone. Can you do that? My wife is going through my phone and is threatening to call you. So, if you can do that for me, I'd really appreciate it. Take my name off your phone, so that it just shows the number. Okay? Talk to you later. Bye."
"Chill, Tiger," said Charles again. "You're all up tight and jumpy. You're all paranoid when you're supposed to be having a good time. Relax brotha and drink your champagne the ladies will be here soon."
"I've been calling all my lady friends asking them to remove their name from their phone, so that it just shows up as an unknown caller. El's been acting funny, jittering, as if she knows something or suspects something. I'm just afraid that El's going to find out that I've been stepping out on her, again. She forgave me the first few times, but she's fed up and she has a bad temper. She told me that if she ever caught me with a woman again, she'd wrap a nine iron around the back of my head, before teeing off on my balls."
"No one's going to find out, Tiger. Just relax and enjoy yourself. The women will be here soon. Michael just texted them."
"Texted them? No, no, don't do that. Texting can be traced."
"Nah, nah, it's all good, Tiger," said Charles. "They can't trace texting in the way that they can trace cellular phone calls. Why do you think the police set up all those texting crime hotlines? It's 'cause they know that the brothas, who would never rat out another brotha, would text them their tip."
"Yeah, okay, you have a point there," said Tiger. "Only, I remember back with some of the other black athletes and celebrities being found out they were stepping out on their wives, Magic, Wilt, Tyson, Colby, even Cos."
"Listen," said Michael. "The only reason they found out about Magic Johnson is because he wasn't careful. He didn't even use a condom. You gotta keep the spout shrouded, the cock cloaked, and the dick slicked over. Ya dig?"
"Listen to Michael, Tiger. He makes a lot of sense."
"You don't want a bunch of Tiger cubs running around the planet, hanging onto your tail, and growing up to bite you in the ass, one day, when you least expect it. Suddenly, there's a kid on the national news, one who looks just like you swinging a golf club just like his Daddy," said Michael. "Had Magic not contracted HIV, no one ever would have suspected him being with all those women. Hell, at first, back then, they were so ignorant about HIV that they thought he had AIDS. They thought he was gay."
"Yeah," said Charles. "Wilt Chamberlain outted himself by writing that book about bedding 20,000 women. He was a dumb fuck to brag like that because, much like Jose Conseco did with the steroid scandal, he put the evil spying eye on all of us. After that happened, my woman thought I was getting it on with a woman in my dressing room at the club, which I was, but I was good at denying that shit."
"And Tyson, was just a dumb ass nigga, in the way he carried himself, flashing all that cash, spending all that money on homes, cars, drugs, and broads. You just can't take some guys out of the ghetto, you know," said Michael. "Had he been smarter about things, he'd never would have went to prison for rape. And he'd have plenty of money now, too, and plenty of friends, but he didn't listened to the wrong people in his little entourage."
"Yeah," said Charles. "Tyson was the exception and not the rule. Tyson was out of control with drugs."
Michael shook his head in agreement to what Charles just said.
"My friend, Colby Bryant, allowed his horniness to get the better of him. He thought he could do and get away with anything. No one's above the law, except maybe for Bush and Cheney. It took a trial and an acquittal, after my boy, Colby, paid off that bitch, for the press to get off his back. He found out different that he was no Superman when he had to buy that 5 million dollar rock to get his wife to forgive him."
"Now, that was just a crying shame about Bill Cosby," said Charles. "That woman making all that stuff up about him because he wanted to end their relationship. He gave her everything she wanted, cars, cash, a condo, but that wasn't enough for her. She wanted him, too. She didn't want the gravy train Sugar Daddy to end. She wanted the Bill man to leave Camille. You can't do that to a man, give him an ultimatum like that and demanding he leave his wife of 40 years and ruin his family. Yet, a woman scorned, my friend," said Charles, "is a dangerous thing, as dangerous as a loaded handgun."
"Ah, here are the ladies now," said Michael.
In walked three gorgeous blondes with one taller, prettier, and more shapelier than the other.
Tiger, Charles, and Michael partied with the woman and would have stayed all night, but Tiger, after eating one pussy and banging another one and getting a blowjob from a third, got up abruptly.
"Listen, I gotta go. I need to go home. I just have a funny feeling about all this."
"Do what you gotta do," said Michael waving a hand of indifference, already on his way to being drunk on champagne and women. He looked down at the woman on her knees that was poised between his legs, while sucking his cock.
"We'll somehow go on without you," said Charles laughing, while slapping a naked white ass, before mounting her and banging her for the third time.
"I'm going to take the limo and have him drive me to my truck. I'll send him back for you guys."
"Take care, Tiger," said Michael.
"Chill Tiger. It's all good," said Charles. "Don't worry about nothin'. I'm sure El is already tucked in bed sleeping. She'll never hear you get home.
Tiger climbed in the back of the limo. Not as big of a man as Michael and Charles, he couldn't drink as much as they could. They could drink him under the table. They could drink that Christoff shit all night and barely get a buzz. Feeling a bit woozy, he put his head back and closed his eyes.
"We're here, Sir," said the limo driver pulling up to Tiger's ride, a new, black Cadillac Escalade. The limo driver looked at him with a jaundiced eye. "Are you okay to drive, sir? May I take you somewhere?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine," said Tiger waving him off with a tired hand and handing the driver a few folded up C notes. "I only live a mile from here."
He climbed in his truck, started the engine, and drove home. When he pulled in his driveway, the porch light snapped on and El came out in her nightgown holding a golf club. Even just getting out of bed, she was beautiful.
Why he cheated on her, he didn't know. Maybe he has a sex addiction. Maybe because of his Dad, an ex-marine always pushing him to learn the game of golf, he never had the chance to have a normal childhood. Maybe he's screwed up and doing something wrong that feels so good when he's doing it, cheating on his wife, is his release, albeit a self-destructive release.
Much in the way of Martin Luther King or Muhammad Ali, he could have such a worldwide and lasting influence on people. Only, that was a lot of pressure, too much pressure to hold steady upon his shoulders. It was easier for him to be human.
He looked at his wife standing there and smiled. That's so cute, he thought. She thinks I'm a burglar or a trespasser and instead of calling security and/or calling the police, she's defending the property. Damn, he thought to himself, I'm glad I'm not an intruder. I wouldn't want to be on the wrong side of her. She does have a nasty temper.
Tiger put down his window.
"Hey, baby, how are you? Did you miss me?"
"Miss you? Get out of the truck and we'll see how good my aim is."
"Easy, baby," said Tiger putting his window back up and leaving it open just enough to talk to her. "What's wrong?"
"What's wrong? I'll tell you what's wrong. One of your whores called looking for you. And I found your other phone upstairs in your locked desk drawer, the one you use to call for booty, when you're horny, with all you whores phone numbers on it."
"Listen, El, I can explain. Uhm, that's not my phone. That phone belongs to Charles and, uhm, it fell out of his pocket and I was just holding it for him, until when I see him again to give it to him. Only, I haven't seen him. I've been on tour in Australia."
"When did you get back from Australia? Why didn't you call me to pick you up at the airport? Where have you been? Were you with Michael and Charles again? Were you out drinking? Look at you, you're drunk. You'd better not get out of that trunk, if you smell like pussy and if you smell of sex."
"Hey, back off, El, and calm the fuck down. Don't you forget that I'm still the man of this castle."
"Oh, yeah," she said swinging the club and smashing his rear window. "A real man wouldn't cheat on his wife and child. A real man would have respect for his family," she said whacking the side of his door. "I called my mother. She's coming to take me home."
Tiger swerved the truck around trying to get away from her. He figured he'd drive back to the club and stay at Michael's house for the night, until El calmed the fuck down. Only, she stood directly in his escape path blocking his truck. He swung the wheel to the right to avoid her and to the left to avoid the mailbox, when he skidded and careened off a tree before hitting a fire hydrant.
El pulled his drunken body from the trunk and whacked some sense in his head with her golf club. She would have killed him, had it not been for the neighbors already looking over, after hearing the noise, and seeing Tiger laying out in the street.
"Help me," she said. "My husband has been hurt in an accident."
"911. What's your emergency?"