Belle

"Sir, this is difficult to talk about, but to put it in plain English. I couldn't afford to go with her."

"Carl, I'm sure an intelligent young man like yourself could find ways. Belle did say she offered to pay for your tickets."

"I can't live like that, Sir. I need to be able to look at myself in the mirror and like who looks back at me. I have my pride."

"That's admirable, Carl. I respect your desire for independence. Those are great qualities, but we live in a different world these days. If a beautiful woman said to me come with me, let me pay for everything and we will travel around the world together, I would jump on that in a second."

I tried to hide my grin as I replied. "Sir, with all respect, that's bullshit. Excuse the language, but that is an absolute crock of shit."

Laughing, he nodded. "Yes, you're probably right."

On the thirteenth he played a miserable shot, slicing badly into the rough and we were smacking our way through the scrub looking for his ball when he said, "You know you have single-handedly ruined her career, don't you?"

I stopped, and stared at him. "What did you just say?"

"Carl, you broke her heart, you stole her confidence. Ever since that day you two broke up, she has played like shit." He

"We're never going to find this damn ball..." he grumbled. "Tell me, what about you... do you still think about her, do you miss her?"

"Of course, I do. She is never far from my mind, of course I miss her."

"Yes, well, I imagine it's the same for her; it's destroying her confidence and the longer she goes on without a win, the worse it will get. It will eat right into her core, she will question everything, trust nobody and eventually it will eat her up."

"Maybe she's just in a slump, like the scribes say."

"No, young man, it is you... she as much as told her mother."

"She can't be that worried; she has been dating plenty of guys."

I saw his eyes drop and he winced. "We raised Belle to be a strong independent woman, I make no excuses for that. She dates, big deal. For heaven's sake Carl, she is lonely. It is you who has her heart."

By the time we were sinking our last putts, he had won easily. While we were having a drink, he asked, "Carl, would you do something for me?"

Confused, I replied, "Absolutely, sir, how can I help?"

"I want you to go to Florida and meet up with Belle, stay for the tournament and just keep her company."

I choked on my drink. "Christ, I can't afford that, I don't make that much money, I can't just jet off to the other side of the world."

"Carl, I will pay all your expenses, and I will have a chat with your boss. I'm sure I can get him to accept it."

"Why would you do that?"

"Call it an experiment. I know in my heart how she feels about you. If I'm right, you are the tonic she needs to get out of her run of bad form. If I'm wrong, then all that's lost is a few dollars and you get a pretty good holiday."

Like a Tom and Jerry cartoon, my mind was spinning wickedly and I could get no traction, I could find no argument. "Sir, what happens if you're right? All it does is create more tension when I leave."

He glanced at me. "Carl, how do you think I make my money?"

"Well, you were one of the most successful solicitors in the country. I suppose that's a good start."

He chuckled. "Yes, granted, that's where it started, but I make more money from investments than I de from the law. I am an investor. What would you say if I said I could turn you into a millionaire within two years?"

Disbelievingly, I grimaced. "I don't have much money; I wouldn't even know where to start."

On a roll he asked. "How much equity do you have in your home?"

Flinching, I thought deeply before whispering suspiciously. "About thirty grand I suppose."

"If you have the balls to put that on the line, I promise that within the year that could be tripled."

"Why would you do that?"

"There are a couple of reasons. Firstly, I like you; It would be my pleasure to mentor you. Secondly, if the only thing separating you and my daughter is money, then I want to change that."

When I didn't answer, he smiled. "Carl, what do you have to lose?"

"Uuuummm, my house, everything I own."

He clinked his glass in a toast with mine and stated, "No guts no glory, son." When he noticed I was still unconvinced, he added, "It took me many years to develop my strategy, and these days it's pretty foolproof. I will sweeten the pot, what if I guarantee your investment? I give you my guarantee that I will repay your initial investment if it doesn't work out."

Changing subject, I said, "What if I get over there and she's dating some other bloke?"

He shrugged. "That's a chance we will both have to take, do I have to teach you to box as well?"

Noticing my grimace, he laughed. "C'mon, Carl, that was a joke. You have nothing to lose in this venture. I am already losing... I hate seeing my daughter like this, she's almost too scared to swing the club... a bit like me today. Based on the way you played today, I would beat you 80 times out of a 100, but my mind wasn't in it and I didn't have my eye on the ball. Right now, she's feeling the same."

As much as I wanted to take him up on his offer, it just wasn't the way I did things. I couldn't take his money but I was sold on the trip. When I got home, I checked my bank balance and checked out airfares. I could do it, but it would take every cent I had.

On a whim, I booked the fares. The next bit was convincing my boss to give me the time off. He was not a happy camper when I rang. In fact, he was pretty pissed off. He agreed to let me have the time off unpaid, but he did warn me if they got busy while I was away, he would take on somebody else.

The day before I was about to leave, a large folder turned up at work. When I opened it. There was Thomas's investment strategy. There were reams of pages, all outlining his well developed plan.

That night I had a laugh. What the fuck was I doing? When Belle and I parted ways, she was pretty angry; I still felt like we had unfinished business. On the plane I started to read Thomas's business plan and investment strategy. He certainly appeared, at least on the surface anyway, to be on the money. The question was, did I have the balls for it?

It was a hell of a trip before arriving in Boca Raton. My mind was full of doubts. Was I doing the right thing? Could I throw everything I own into Thomas's investment strategy? I was totally confused.

I found a hotel close to the course and settled in. I toyed with the idea of contacting her, but decided I would surprise her at the course in the morning.

I rocked up early, not expecting the queue. It stretched out into the carpark, and Christ it was expensive. As I got in past the club house, I stood with a huge gallery of fans watching the girls on the driving range practising before the main tee-off. I noticed Belle in the middle, and I have to say her swing looked terrible. She looked tense and didn't look relaxed at all.

As she finished and stood off to the side, she talked to a guy and it was obvious they were talking about her swing, I figured it had to be her coach.

As she walked away, there was a queue forming next to the gates where fans could wait for autographs and whatever. I got in line and waited. She was signing T-shirts and stuff. She had her head down as she signed stuff, the guy next to me had one of her caps and she signed it.

As she moved onto stand in front of me, she looked up. "What can I do for you?" Her eyes lifted and she recognised me, "Oh my god, Carl... what are you doing here?"

I smiled. "Thought I would come for a visit, give you some support. I figured the way you're playing, you could use it."

She laughed with a resigned acceptance. "Yep, no arguments there. I'm playing like shit. I can use all the positives I can get."

She signalled for me to go through into the players area, but I shook my head. "Nah, I've already paid. I'm just a spectator, but I will be following you around."

She looked disappointed, but grinned. "I'm glad you're here. It's so good to see a friendly face; the media have been killing me."

We shared a hug and a light kiss. As I held her, I whispered, "You have to relax, your swing looks like shit by the way."

She winced and I offered, "Today, just imagine we are playing the Tasman course, and it's just you and me... oh and I'm winning so you better be good."

She snorted provocatively. "As if... you had me up until you said you were winning."

"Yeah, well the way you were swinging that club on the driving range, I think I could beat you."

Her face took on a more serious expression and she sniggered. "Not today, not ever."

"Yeah, well today you can prove it. I played here two days ago and shot a 69, so if you can't do better than that you lose."

"Bullshit," she snarled, "You just said you just got here; I have been here for two days. And I didn't see you."

"Yeah, well. Sixty-eight, or I win."

With a last-minute kiss, she whispered, "God, I can't believe you're here. Damn it is good to see you."

I wandered off to join the gallery. I watched her practising her swing as she waited for her turn to tee off.

She kept peeking into the gallery to see if she could see me. Her turn came and I watched as she absolutely smashed her drive down the middle. It looked impressive and drew a few ooooohhhh's from the gallery.

She smiled brightly as she looked across to where I was standing, and I gave her the thumbs up.

That first tee shot seemed to give her some confidence, that flowed into her game and she sailed easily around the course. She finished with a 68, four under par, which was probably her best finish in the last few tournaments. It put her 8^th on the leader-board, and being in the top ten for the first time in god knows how long, she was swamped by reporters and well-wishes.

I walked back to loiter as closely to the club house as possible without getting chased away by security. I watched as she moved out of the media area and her eyes surveyed the hundreds of fans waiting to meet the players. Eventually her eyes fell on me, and she ran over and jumped into my arms, "Oh my god," she squealed, "Did you see that, four under...You are my little good luck charm."

As I hugged her, she dragged me into the players area so we could go in for a drink. As we sat at a table, there was a constant stream of players and tour officials who came to talk to her. It was mayhem for the first hour. Eventually, we got to talk and she asked about home, work, whether I had seen her folks and then onto how long I was staying.

I left out the bit about her dad encouraging me to make this trip, but gave her a good rundown on the general stuff. When I said I was only here for this tournament, she looked disappointed.

We ended up going out for dinner, which turned into a fight when I went to pay for our meal. She just about had a fit, "Carl, please let me pay."

I snarled, "When we go out, I pay. Please don't insult me."

Afterwards we went back to her hotel and we made love late into the night. In the morning she spent a good half hour on the phone making sure I couldn't hear. When we drove to the course, she went ahead and picked up a package and handed it to me. It was a VIP package giving me full access to everything.

As we walked through the gates, she asked, "What did you mean about my swing being shit?"

I chuckled. "I think it's shit. I don't know why you changed it, you were a thing of beauty and now you look tight and your back lift is so square."

She gave me a cheeky glare. "Square, huh?"

"Belle, you need to go back to what worked for you when you started out. You made it onto the circuit on the back of that beautiful smooth swing. Go back to that."

We shared a sweet kiss and she headed away. The moment she walked through the gate I was accosted by a photographer, or journo. "Hey, buddy, how do you know Belle? That was one hell of a kiss."

I laughed trying to throw him off the scent. "We are old friends, I know her dad."

"Looked more like lovers than friends."

"Nope, just friends. We haven't spoken in a while, so it was good to catch up."

I guess I sold him a good enough story because he wandered away, disillusioned that he missed out on a story.

I did notice him following me around and taking snaps as I watched from the gallery. Belle had another great day on the course and shot a 67, five under par. It was enough to keep her in the top ten on the second day. At the end of play, she came scooting over to me, jumped into my arms and I swung her around as she laughed. I noticed out of the corner of my eye the photographer was snapping away on his camera. "Hey, you might want to lighten up, there's a journalist over there photographing us and he hounded me earlier. I told him we were just friends."

She peeked across at him and laughed. "We don't have to lie to anyone, It's not like I'm in a relationship or anything. I'm allowed to have friends."

I shrugged. "Your call, I figured you'd want some privacy, that's all."

"Hell, I don't care about what they say. So what did you think about my swing?"

"Better, but not perfect."

She gave me a questioning imploring look. "Carl, would you help me... It's like you said, every hack who plays golf has offered me advice and I lost it. Now I can't find it. I've been searching, but I can't get back to the real me."

"Shit I can't help you.

As we drove back to the hotel, she asked, "Are you staying the night? I would like it if you did."

"Is that how you pay all your coaches?"

She grinned. "Only the good ones. Carl, I have missed you so much. I'm sorry I was such a bitch that last time we were together. I should have been more understanding."

I flinched, I didn't want to sound needy, or whiny. "Belle, it's Okay, we both said shit. I missed you as well."

We stopped off at the restaurant for food before heading up to her room. This time it was slower, gentler and we talked, she asked about work and what I was doing, general catch up sort of stuff that two friends would want to know.

In the morning before we left, she said. "Could you just show me, what you think I'm doing wrong with my swing?" Her voice pleaded. I had never seen her so lacking in confidence, so needy.

It was hard to focus with her dressed in nothing but the smallest G-string and tiny-demi bra, her hot naked flesh staring at me. I walked up behind her as she sexily wriggled her bum against my groin. "Stop it, you teasing bitch. If you want my help then let me help."

She gave me a coy smile back over her shoulder, but she stopped squirming. I reached around her, placed my hands over hers on the club. I closed my eyes and tried to recall that beautiful smooth swing she had on that very first meeting. With my eyes shut tight, that vision returned. I could see her.

At first it was difficult, ungainly but as she relaxed against me it got easier. I guided her through twenty or so swings.

She smiled, "Thanks, but it's hard to concentrate with that club of yours digging in my arse."

"Well, we could go back to bed and you could get rid of that for me."

She grinned. "Sorry, babe, but I have work to do."

I was nervous as hell as I watched her set up for the first drive; what if the things I said were wrong and I fucked up her game? What if she hated me for stuffing her up? What if.... ah fuck, the possibilities were endless.

I needn't have worried, she nailed it, an absolute pearler, straight down the middle of the fairway and she had a perfect lie for her second shot.

I watched as she strode away from the tee. She gave me the sexiest smile. Her confidence was back, I saw it in her walk, her stride buoyant and bouncy, her head held high, aloof. Her whole game changed; she was on fire, smoking drives and playing delicate chip shots and her putting... bloody hell, she almost couldn't miss. She ended up carding a 66, and suddenly she was in the top three.

She was now flavour of the month again, and she was surrounded by pesky reporters and TV crews as she made her way back to the clubhouse. With a smile of my own, I walked into the club house and ordered a couple of drinks and found a table. It was almost an hour before she walked in.

She strode purposefully up to me and grabbed my head in both hands and kissed me long and hard. I was trapped by the tightness of her grip and the swirling tongue sliding mercilessly around my mouth.

She sat beside me, her arm linked through mine, her head leaning on my shoulder, "Damn it, Carl, why didn't you come with me when I asked? I wanted you to be there.

I laughed. "Bollocks. You've never needed anybody. You are self-reliant, you just needed to clear your head."

"No, you don't understand. I am better when you are with me. I love having you around. It's not just the golf, I love having you with me. I feel more confident knowing you're there."

When I didn't respond immediately, she added, "You were right, I need to believe in myself... there was nothing wrong with my swing, there never was; I just lost my self-belief."

I chuckled, "See, there you go. You're right, it was all about confidence. You don't need me."

As we sat at the table her phone rang and I watched as she checked it before answering, "Hi, Daddy."

I only heard her half of the conversation. "Yes, Dad, I found my swing again, or should I say Carl did."

She giggled. "Yes, Daddy, he is here with me."

Silence, as she added a little. 'Uh-huh, yes, Daddy, uh-huh, of course. At the end she said, "Tell Mum I love her."

She looked at me with a big smile. "Daddy said to thank you; he thinks I played better than ever today. He said you're not allowed to go home."

"God, Belle. I would love to be able to stay, but it's not that simple, I have a job and a life. I just blew out my credit card to get here. I have things I want to do, as well."

She pouted. "But I do need you, and what's more, I want you to come with me. Before I met you, it didn't matter. It's different now, I think about you all the time. When you're not with me, I can't clear my mind."

We sat in silence for a while, but that was destroyed when a group of fans walked over, seeking autographs. I became nothing more than a shadow, I may as well have evaporated.

Then it was a pool of other friends, golfers and caddies, who descended on our table.

Belle was immediately swept up in the atmosphere of being back on top. The drinks flowed and she pretty much forgot I was even there. After sitting unnoticed for the best part of an hour, I decided to go to the bar and find somebody to talk to.

I met a caddie, who was standing alone. We stood side by side and I asked. "Who do you caddie for?"

He pointed to Caroline Simplatski. I was impressed. "What's she like?"

He gave me a questioning glance, assessing whether I was a reporter. "She's okay, a bit of hard work."

"How so?"

"She thinks she knows it all, doesn't listen and then blames me for her poor choices." He sounded a little bitter. She was a champion golfer, surely that must have made it worthwhile.

"Must be good to work for somebody that famous, though?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, it would be great if she listened. We are a good team most of the time, but when she makes up her mind, well, it's game over. I hand her the nine iron, but if she has decided on the eight, that's what she uses."

"What if she's right?" I asked.

"Well, if she's right, she takes great joy in saying I told you so. But if she's wrong, it's my fault."

I chuckled softly at his revelation. "That must be hard. Why do you stick around?"

"Because it pays the bills. She is okay most times. I just get a bit sick of being her excuses when it goes tits-up."

"Why not find another player?"