Caddy for Hire

Caddy for Hire

*Author's Note: I do a fair amount of research for stories that require it, but I don't pretend to be an expert in many areas. Remember, we get paid nothing to write these stories, and I'm not willing to spend inordinate amounts of time on the details.

Invariably, whether it's the correct order of steps to hang drywall or how one qualifies for the PGA tour, someone will email me and say, "Just wanted to let you know you got such-and-such wrong." That's fine, but stories can't be changed once submitted, so it isn't going to result in an edit, and I'll never write on the same subject again.

If you're a golf purist, take the subtleties of the details of how the tour works in this one with a grain of salt. They're close enough for government work, and that's close enough for Literotica where you pay as much to read stories as I receive to write them.

And, no, I still don't have my mojo back. I just kept pecking away at this one until it was finished.

******

"Marc. Listen. I'm really sorry, bro."

"No big deal. If I'd have made the cut who'd have caddied for me anyway, right?" his brother replied lightheartedly.

"I feel awful, man."

"Why? It's not like you decided to go skiing and intentionally break your leg. Stuff happens."

His older brother sighed then said 'thanks'.

"For what?"

"For not hating my guts. I mean, you're on the friggin' PGA tour, and now you don't even have a caddy."

"I have Dad," his younger brother replied without a lot of enthusiasm.

That drew a loud snort and both brothers laughed.

"Like I said, you didn't have a caddy," Tyler Hardison told his recently-turned-pro-golfer brother. "I'm almost afraid to ask that went."

"Well, let's just say Dad knows the difference between a sand wedge and a pitching wedge now."

Tyler chuckled as he thought about their father, who'd never even liked golf, caddying for his son who'd worked so hard at the game; a game that was expensive and one their father insisted was a waste of time.

Perhaps that was true for Tyler. He had no idea how much money he'd spent over the years on clubs, balls, tees, greens fees, and other expenses. And yet the truth was he was good. Really good. He just wasn't as good as his little brother. Not even close if the truth were told.

So when Marc's talents eclipsed his, Tyler gave up playing and started caddying. There were two long years of Marc working hard both on and off the course to become good enough to get into Q school which was golf-speak for "qualifying school."

It was a brutal and very expensive road to go down with no guarantee of ever playing in a tournament for big money. The cost for all four stages of qualifying school was right around $15,000, but for those who qualified, pro golfers could potentially earn millions upon successful completion. But getting through all of the school's four stages was a feat in its own right. And after that, one had to earn a certain amount of money to remain on the tour or it was back to Q school.

Marc had worked at a local golf course in exchange for being able to play for free and also worked another job part time since he was 16 years old. He'd worked, saved, and borrowed to scrape together the money for each of the four stages, and in spite of the intense competition, he'd passed them all. In fact, he finished a very respectable fifth, and with that, he earned his pro card.

Of course, just getting one's PGA card didn't bring in any money. That still had to be earned, but it allowed him to start competing in tournaments where, if he made the cut in their Monday qualifying round, he would be able to play in that tournament on Thursday and finishing on Sunday.

So for another six months after Q school, he and Tyler hit the road playing numerous Monday qualifying tournaments which cost about $500 each and waited for their first big break.

That had come five months ago when Marc finally made the cut in the Monday qualifier for the RSM Classic at Sea Island, GA. The tournament purse was $6.6 million and Marc would make at least $25,000 even if he finished last. But to everyone's surprised, the newest man on the tour finished a very respectable 15th and took home $125,000. That was a big deal, in and of itself, but unless he could earn another hundred grand or so that year, he'd have to go back to Q school the following year and start all over again. But if he could earn enough, he'd be exempt for two years, and then the time-money clock would start again to send him back to re-qualify.

It wasn't actually $125,000 that he took he home, though. By the time Marc paid local, state, and federal taxes it was closer to $75,000, but it was so far beyond anything either he or his brother had ever made that it felt like a fortune.

For Tyler's part, there was no set formula for how a caddy was paid, but on average pro caddies who worked for top tour professionals made just over a hundred grand a year. A typical deal was a base salary of $1,500-$2,000 a week plus 5-10% of the player's winnings. In this case, because Marc felt he owed everything to his big brother, he split the after-tax winnings with him. Tyler initially resisted saying, "Dude, YOU earned this. You're the one hitting the golf ball and making the shots. I just carry your clubs."

That wasn't true and both of them knew it. Tyler could read a course as well as anyone, and his suggestions had paid off in spades numerous time during the Sea Island tournament. On one such hole Marc wanted to hit a 'hard 8' meaning an 8-iron, but Tyler insisted that a soft 7 would be the better choice. Marc listened and dropped his second shot to within six feet of the hole to make eagle on a par 5 the second day. And that had moved him up three places on the leader board and that one shot was worth well over $25,000.

What no one but Tyler knew was that his younger brother used a chunk of his remaining money to pay off the remaining balance on their dad's truck, and a significant chunk of what was left went to charity. Specifically, Marc had a soft spot for children's charities, and especially hospitals that helped kids. He gave $5,000 to two different hospitals that worked with children who'd been burned or lost limbs. It was all done very quietly and no one outside of the hospital administrators knew. Except for his brother.

He also bought his mom a new refrigerator she desperately needed and fully stocked it for her. The rest went into his own meager bank account to fund future travel and pay off some bills of his own and catch up on the back rent they owed on their shared apartment.

Today, Marc had failed to qualify for another tournament, and having failed, he now set his sights on the next one that was reasonably close to their Columbia, South Carolina, home in Hilton Head, South Carolina. As with the tournament in Georgia, he and Tyler could drive there in a few hours, eliminating the need to risk losing his clubs in a baggage fiasco on an airplane.

The RBC Heritage in Hilton Head was an annual event played at Harbor Town Golf Links on Hilton Head Island with a purse of $7.1 million.

Tyler had two weeks until the qualifier for the Heritage, and the need for a caddy was growing stronger by the day.

"I won't be able to get this cast off for another three weeks, bro. And that's if everything heals up right. Even if it does, I won't be able to lug around your clubs for at least another couple of weeks after that and maybe more."

"No worries," Marc told him. "I'll be home later tonight and we can put our heads together."

Tyler laughed and said, "The only thing that'll do is give us both a headache when they hit."

Marc was a little down after failing to qualify, but talking to his brother had cheered him up the way it always did and he laughed once he 'got it'.

"Then maybe we should just talk."

"Over a beer?"

Marc rarely drank, but a cold beer sounded really good to him all of sudden.

"You know what? I could use a cold one."

"Safe travels, Marco," Tyler said, using his brother's childhood nickname.

Marc did the same when he said, "See you in a few hours, Tye-Dye."

Tyler hung up the phone then looked down at the cast on his leg for the thousandth time.

"Shit," he muttered before reaching for his crutches so he could go take a leak before grabbing another beer.

*****

"Mommy? Are you gonna be on TV?" her six-year old daughter asked.

"I am! But just on the local sports channel."

"Will you be famous?"

Her mother laughed, then knelt down to be more her daughter's size.

"No. Not hardly. But Mommy does need to find a job. Soon."

Her little girl hugged her mother and said, "You will, Mommy. I promise."

Trying not to tear up, the former LPGA golfer held her daughter close and told her how much she loved her.

"And Daddy loves you, too."

That comment was too much for her, causing tears to well up in her eyes, and Renee Roberts started blinking fast to hide them from her little girl.

"Yes. Yes, he does, honey."

"Can he see us?" her daughter, Lexi, asked in that innocent way only young children could.

Renee had no idea whether or not anything survived physical death, but she had hopes that something--like a soul--lived on in a place like heaven.

So she pulled back, put on a happy face then told her daughter she was sure he could.

"Let's wave to Daddy!" Lexi suggested.

Renee bit her lip then looked up and waved just like her daughter did.

"We love you, Daddy!" the first grader said, believing that her late father really was watching and listening just before blowing him a kiss.

"Okay. Let's get ready to go to Grandma's so she can watch you, okay?"

"So you can be famous!" Lexi replied, that sweet smile back on the young girl's face.

Renee's husband, Don Roberts, had been killed in a car accident just shy of three years earlier. At the time of his death, he was earning good money, and that was roughly the same time when Renee's golf career hit the skids. She'd never won much in the way of money, but she'd done okay during the 10 years she was on the LPGA tour. It was actually "off and on" with most of it being "off", but she had made cashed in several tournaments, with fourth place her best-ever finish.

Her last 'cash' had been 15 months before the accident, and by then, they were 100% dependent on his income. Most of her winnings had gone into paying for their four-bedroom home which they owned outright, one of the better decisions they'd ever made. Even so, after a state patrolman informed her of Don's passing, she also learned they had a fairly large amount of debt. He'd done the finances, so she really had no idea where they stood, and when she found out, it took her breath away.

The only bright spot had been the life insurance policy Don took out when they got married. She was a struggling young pro golfer and he'd just gotten hired as a junior attorney. They struggled to get by, but looking back, those were some of the best days of their lives.

One of the first things Don had insisted on was a term life policy that would allow his wife 'breathing room' to get back on her feet should someone ever happen to him. Being so young it seemed like a waste of money to her at the time, and neither of them ever really thought it would be needed. And until that fateful day when there was a knock at her door, there'd been no reason to think it would.

Those days were long behind her now as was her marriage, and in spite of living as frugally as she could, the money was nearly gone. The mortgage might have been paid off but property taxes and homeowner's insurance premiums and HOA fees still had to be paid along with all of the other bills people had each month.

Renee loved golf and knew the game inside and out. Her playing days were over, but she'd stayed in good condition thanks to daily walks and Pilates. Even so, at 40, the chances of landing a caddy job for anyone, let alone someone with real earning potential, seemed bleak. Thanks to a friend at a local news station, she was being interviewed as a 'hometown pro' although she was actually a former hometown pro very people had even heard of unless they really followed women's golf.

It seemed unlikely the interview would generate any interest in her as a caddy, and she'd already used up every favor from any and all former pros on the tour and come up blank, but she had to try. If this didn't do the trick, she had no idea what she'd do, but she would have to find a job in a world where the only thing she really knew was golf.

"Maybe the station will hire me onto their sports team," she thought with a sad little laugh. "And maybe will pigs will fly and bullfrogs won't...." as she grabbed her purse and got Lexi out the door.

*****

The local news aired at 6pm, and while Marc, who was now home, wanted to watch something lighter, he knew his brother too well. He had an evening routine, and watching the news on Channel 4 was a part of it. The only good thing he could think of was that he wouldn't have to watch the golf channel for at least 30 minutes. He loved golf, he just didn't love it the way Tyler did, and he needed a break from the sport he now played for a living after the disastrous outing with their dad as his caddy.

"Where's that cold one you promised?" Tyler asked when his brother plopped down on the other end of the couch.

"Me? I believe that was you, Caddy."

"Oh, okay. I see how it is. You want the guy with the broken leg to go fetch your beer. Real nice...bro."

Marc laughed then got up and went to get two cold ones and returned with them a minute later.

"Jeeez. Are you kidding me? Another carjacking in downtown Columbia. Did you hear about this?" Tyler asked as he took the beer and took a first long pull.

"Another car jacking? Here?"

"Yeah! Some woman got drug out of her vehicle while her kid was still in the car when this asswipe took off!"

Marc shook his head because he didn't know what else to say. This kind of thing was happening in cities all across the country now, and no one seemed to really care. Or at least that's how it felt to him.

"If someone did that to my wife, I'd kill the sonovabitch!" Tyler said, the frustration from his injury having been building up inside him being released in the form of venting.

"You don't have a wife, bro."

"I'm just sayin', okay? Sheesh."

Neither of them said anything through weather or traffic, but during the break Tyler asked for another beer. Marc had only sipped a quarter of his but got up to help his brother out. As he returned, Tyler called for him to hurry up.

"Dude! Check this out!"

"We're here tonight with a local hometown star, former LPGA pro, Renee Roberts, who's turned to caddying since leaving the tour several years ago."

The reporter turned toward the very attractive woman of 40, whose smooth, fair skin and naturally blonde hair made her look much younger, and started asking questions.

"So have you found someone on the tour to caddy for?" was the first question.

"No. I've had a gig here and there, but I haven't found anything permanent so far."

"There isn't a lot of turnover in the top 20 or 30 golf caddies on tour. Do you have your eyes set on maybe catching their eye and landing a job with one of them?"

The woman laughed and told him, "No. I'm a realist above all else. I'd be very happy caddying for anyone who's on the tour or maybe has their PGA or LPGA card but hasn't qualified yet."

He asked several other questions, but Marc wasn't listening. He was staring at the blonde woman with the perfect smile who looked more like a model than a golfer or a caddy. Her face, and her name, were indelibly burned into his brain as he finally came back to reality himself and asked Tyler a question.

"You know her?"

"Hell yeah!" Tyler told him. "I know everyone who's ever been on tour for the last 25 years and pretty much anyone who was any good before that. She knocked around for a lot of years and never won a single tournament. Not sure if she ever even had a top-ten finish. But damn that woman is still hot as hell!"

"Yeah, she's definitely attractive. How old do you think she is? Mid-thirties?"

"Nah. She just turned 40, bro. And she's been off the tour for quite awhile now."

Tyler looked over at him and asked, "Why?"

"I don't know. I...I guess maybe she just caught me a little off guard."

"Off guard?" Tyler laughed.

He looked over at Marc then said, "Ah, okay. Yeah, you better believe I'd hit that, too!"

Marc didn't laugh, but he also didn't say anything. Unlike most brothers, where the older one is the quieter of the two, Tyler was the outspoken sibling. It was Marc who was quiet and measured. So much so that his brother occasionally called him the Professor, because he always seemed to be deep in thought about something.

Additionally, Marc wasn't about to point out that this very attractive woman was out of her brother's league. Tyler wasn't a bad looking guy, he'd just let himself go the last few years in which beer slowly became his best friend.

"You hungry yet?" Marc asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Hell yes I'm hungry. Unless you're cooking."

"No. I'm not cooking. But I can go pick up some takeout."

"What are you waitin' for? Don't let the door hit you on the way out, bro!" Tyler told him as he drained his second brew since Marc got home but his eighth of the evening at it wasn't even 7 o'clock yet.

Marc started the car but before he put it in gear he looked up the number to the TV station and put it in his contacts. As he drove he thought about the woman on TV named Renee Roberts and the more he thought the more he wanted to meet her.

After picking up the food and putting the takeout in the seat next to him, he picked up his phone again, brought up the number and hit 'dial'.

"WQXY, your local station," he heard.

"Um, yes. I uh, I was watching the uh, the sports broadcast tonight, and I...well, I'm a pro golfer...a new pro...and I saw the woman looking to caddy for someone, and...."

"Mrs. Roberts," the woman on the other end of the line said cheerfully.

"Yes. Renee Roberts, right?" he asked even though he was 100% sure of the names, both first and last.

"We're not allowed to give out her number, but we are permitted to take yours and pass it on to her. Would you care to do that?"

"Yes. Absolutely."

Marc provided the requested personal information and was then asked what would be the best time to call.

"Um...anytime, really. I'm usually up until around midnight and up by six or six-thirty every morning."

"Okay. Got it. I'll pass this along, and thank you for watching WQXY, your local station!"

Before he could say, "You're welcome," the line went dead, and a couple of minutes later he was watching Tyler shovel Chinese food in like it was the first meal he'd had in days.

Marc was less than halfway done with his meal and the first, now-warm beer, when Tyler finished up and let out a loud belch. He'd also polished off a third beer with the food and asked for a fourth, or rathe his fourth that Marc knew of. Rather than try and tell Tyler he needed to slow down a little, Marc got up to get it for him just as his phone rang.

"I need to take this. I'll get your beer as soon as I'm done, okay?"

"Then make it quick, Marco!" Tyler called out as his brother disappeared.

"Hello?"

"Hi. Is this...Marc?"

He knew who it was, and when he heard her voice, he felt something he hadn't felt in quite some time.

"Yes. Is this...Mrs. Roberts?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes. But please call me Renee," she said, clearly smiling as she did. "They told me you saw my mug on TV and left a message to call you."

She said it lightheartedly, and just those few words in a voice as sexy as she was caused him to have to...readjust things.