Homeless – CHAPTER 4

Adult story: Homeless – CHAPTER 4

by senorlongo

Jennie moves in. I make some important changes.

I usually spent around thirty minutes getting ready in the morning between washing, shaving, brushing my teeth, and dressing. I planned on a few minutes extra this morning because of Jennie. We were dressed, bed made, and out the door right on time. I knew from experience that Dr. Whitney’s office was exactly sixteen miles away. Normally, that would take me about twenty minutes to drive.

Unfortunately, at this hour there was always the chance of running behind a school bus and that’s exactly what happened. There was no chance of passing on the narrow twisting road. Finally, as we approached the South Carolina state line the bus turned off into a housing development and the traffic cleared. Ten minutes later we pulled into the parking lot exactly three minutes early.

Jennie, as expected had to complete several forms that were mostly blank because she had never visited a doctor during her five-plus years on the road and she couldn’t remember the rest. She had no records of vaccinations and had never received a flu shot or any other treatment. Jennie was called and she asked me to join her. “Please, Doug, I’m deathly afraid of needles.” I held her hand as we followed Jan into the office. I explained that we both wanted blood and STD testing.

“Then you’ll both have to give urine and swab samples. The urine must come at the beginning of your stream. Jennifer, I’ll need a swab of your vagina and Doug, I’ll need a swab of your urethra before you urinate. Understand?” We did. Jennie went to the lavatory while I gave blood. I stayed with her when she returned, telling her to close her eyes. That worked; she never felt the slight pinch. I went to the lavatory when she was finished. “Dr. Whitney will have your results next week.” I paid my co-pay and Jennie’s bill and we left. Two minutes later we passed the shopping center where I met Jennie only a few days ago.

There are dozens of restaurants in North Myrtle Beach so we had no trouble finding a place for breakfast. We had just ordered when I asked if she had ever played golf. “I played softball and soccer in high school, just like all the other ‘out of control’ kids did, but never golf, why?”

“I usually play two to three times a week, even in the winter. I wouldn’t mind having some company. If we went out in the afternoon it would be warmer and we could play without even keeping score. If you played softball I think you’d pick up on it pretty easily. You probably won’t be great, but neither am I. You’ll be part of a vast majority. I’ll need to get you some clubs and some golf clothes.”

“Special clothes? Just for golf?”

“Yeah, you’ll find them helpful even for daily wear. I have what’s known as a ‘wind shirt’ although it’s more of a pullover jacket that I take whenever I travel. It’s thin and light, but warm because it keeps the wind from penetrating to your skin. I also have a merino wool sweater that’s reserved for days in the 40’s. It’s really thin. I usually wear four layers—tee-shirt, mock turtle neck, the sweater, and a wind shirt. I have five, some heavier than others because the weather changes and sometimes they need to be washed. There are two big golf shops right down the road.”

“Isn’t this going to be expensive,” Jennie asked. I just laughed, smiled, and winked. I’d told Jennie the truth—I had pocketed more than a hundred million—much more. I had been offered more than a billion dollars for my investment program. I accepted with a few conditions—employment for the two members of my staff and my ability to continue using the program in total secrecy. In return I agreed to never sell it and to allow them unlimited use forever. I didn’t plan to live forever and I had no family or heirs. It was a no brainer, even for a nerd like me.

I was just finishing my pancakes when Jennie excused herself for the restroom. I paid the check and waited for her just outside the entrance. Soon enough we were driving south on US-17, the main road through virtually every town between here and Charleston. Five minutes later I pulled into the big parking lot at the PGA Superstore. Golfsmith was right across the street. “How do you know which one to go to,” Jennie asked.

“It really doesn’t matter that much. Their prices are virtually identical, but here they’ll fit the clubs to you. That’s important. I’ll explain that you’re a novice so the salesman will spend like forever with us. You’ll see.” I took her hand and led her into the big store. The one difference between the two stores was that this one also sold clothing and equipment for tennis. I had no interest in that. Sometimes I could barely hit a stationary golf ball.

Once inside I led Jennie to the area where she would be able to try various clubs. I wasn’t at all surprised that we were intercepted halfway there by one of the salesmen. These guys must work on commission. They were even more attentive—always had been—than even the car salespeople.

“Yes, you can help us. I want a set of clubs for my friend here. She’s a total novice.”

“Then I assume you’ll want an inexpensive set of clubs.”

“On the contrary, I believe that one should always have the very best equipment. Let’s see what you have then I’m sure she’ll want to try them out.” He smiled and led us to the back of the store where the ladies’ clubs could be found. They had a good selection from TaylorMade, Nike, Adams, and Callaway—all top brands. He showed Jennie how to hold the clubs using several types of grips. I always used an interlocking grip so that’s what I suggested to Jennie.

Apparently, the salesman agreed. “It’s the most popular and I find it helps control the club more effectively. He helped Jennie select a glove and we proceeded to the practice area. “These shafts will seem light to you. Don’t let that fool you. They’re graphite and they’re extremely strong. I’ve never even come close to breaking one of mine so you don’t have to worry about that. Now…here’s some advice—golf is a game of contradictions.” Jennie replied with a puzzled look. I’d heard all of this before. “Believe it or not, to get the ball into the air you have to hit down on it. It’s called trapping the ball—squeezing it between the club and the ground or, in this case, the mat. Next, if you want the ball to go far, swing easy. Swinging hard, or over-swinging, just gets your body out of rhythm. Only bad things will happen then like hooking or slicing and your distance will suffer, too. Just relax and swing in an arc. Ever play softball?”

“Yes, I played on our high school varsity four years.”

“That should help you—it’s basically the same swing except now the ball is smaller, on the ground, and not moving.” Jennie tried a few practice swings before actually addressing a ball. Her first few swings were weak, but then she seemed to get the hang of it. All told she hit five shots with each club before going back to the TaylorMade Aeroburner’s.

“I like the way this one feels, Doug. Is that okay?”

“It’s more than okay—it’s exactly right.” She tried several drivers and some fairway woods. Why they’re still called “woods” when they’re made of metal has always astounded me. Anyway, Jennie liked the TaylorMade there, too. Once we had the clubs we walked over to get a couple of bags.

“Why do I need more than one?”

“You’ll need a cart bag for when we play. It’ll help you organize the clubs and it’s big enough to hold extra gloves, raingear, plenty of balls, tees, and first aid supplies in case you get a blister or a cut. It’ll also have a compartment that’s insulated to keep cold water or Gator Aid. On the downside, cart bags are heavy so when we go to the range to practice you’ll want something lighter and easier to carry. I also use mine when I travel. She selected one in pink and the second in purple. They were both excellent bags so I was satisfied. I handed them to the salesman, telling him to meet us in shoes.

“Shoes?”

“Yeah, you can play in your sneakers, but they’re not waterproof like golf shoes and you can slip quite easily. Golf shoes have cleats.” She tried several, picking a pair that was more like sneakers than shoes. We bought two. Next: putters. I explained and Jennie tried a few on their putting green. After almost an hour she picked an Odyssey Works Superstroke—a good choice in my opinion. We spent another hour on clothes before buying three dozen balls and several ball markers, towels, and other assorted tools. My bill came to $3,427.16, not too bad all things considered.

On the drive home I told Jennie that I’d be away for the weekend. “I think it would be good if you came with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“Santee, South Carolina.”

“Where on earth is that?”

“I-95 runs right through the middle of it. That’s how we’re getting there. I’m getting a dog.”

“Why can’t you get one here?”

“I could, but this will be a special dog. Before you came to live with me I was there alone every day and night except for when May was there cleaning. I had a team of burglars break in early one morning about two months ago. The alarm went off and I grabbed my pistol. It’s a smart gun that requires my thumbprint to be fired. I shot one of them when he tried to knife me and the other ran. The guy lived, but he’ll be paralyzed for the rest of his life—the bullet went through his lung and severed his spinal cord. For a while I thought I might go to jail, but the DA decided not to prosecute. The one I shot had a long record of burglary and even armed robbery and the fact that he did cut my arm made the case one of self defense.

“I thought at the time that I might need a guard dog. Dogs are notoriously light sleepers and they have sensational hearing. I think a barking dog would probably scare most burglars away, besides you could always call the dog back. You can’t do that with a bullet. I’d like to have you with me so the dog will know you. We can take our clubs and practice. Then when we come home I’ll arrange some lessons for you.” Jennie leaned forward and kissed me. It had been a wonderful morning.