Jeeves and the Game of Gof
Morning dawned a bit too chirpy for me. I slept pretty well for someone bedded out on a sleeper sofa. Good drugs. Jeeves came in with my breakfast, saving me from having to dress and be civil earlier than I wanted. He noiselessly set out some clothes for me.
"Sir, you have a ten A.M. tee time." He informed me.
"Tee time? But I don't play golf. Can't I just sit around here?" I sipped my coffee.
Jeeves shook his head, "I regret not sir. It is the activity slated for today." He waited for me to rise up out of bed and face the day. Unfortunately I was in one of my moods.
I don't know if you've ever had to live with chronic pain, but if you have, you'll understand. When you are in pain all of the time, even with a good prescription, it takes something out of you. That Saturday all I wanted to do was lay about, read magazines and perhaps soak in the tub. For about the millionth time I wished that I had just stayed home. If you ever are put in a situation where someone asks you to do something and you don't want to do it. Take my advice, don't. Jeeves stared at me, waiting. "Oh fine. I'll get showered and I'll get out of here."
I stomped into the shower. Far from the luxurious affair one might see in the main house, my shower was ordinary. Good and hot, I'll grant, but not the shower experience that I craved. I wanted to be blasted by seven separate jets. I wanted to feel like I was in a waterfall, in a rainstorm in the ocean. But no it was just your standard water falling out of a pipe in the wall. Disappointing.
Just as Jeeves was helping me get that jaunty look to the sweater on my shoulders, there was a tap at the arcadia door. Jeeves left me to fend for myself as he went to answer it. It was Cameron, all done up in the LPGA's best gear. She looked positively at home in her very snappy golf togs. "Good morning, are you ready?"
"Ready? For what?" I got that I was being tossed off the premises, but I didn't really think that I was going to play golf. I don't even own clubs. When I did sports, I preferred something a tad more—active.
"Golf, we're plaything together. Come on, I don't want to miss it." She tried to shove me towards the door.
"I don't play golf." I thought it was obvious.
"You putt don't you? Everyone putts. We can play best ball." She moved me towards my car. I noticed that a golf bag was sticking out of the space behind the front seats.
"What's this?" I indicated the offending bag.
"My clubs. Come on!" She opened the door for me and curveted around to the other side to let herself in. "Let's go!" She put some sunglasses on.
We found our way to the country club and by ten I was outfitted with some clubs, some spikes and some balls. I felt like an ass. "I feel like an ass." I complained as Cameron drove the cart out to the first tee.
"House, I'm dying to play this course, it's supposed to be awesome, please don't ruin this for me." She steered the cart to a hard right and we screeched up to the first tee. We hung out and waited for the foursome ahead of us to move on before she hit the ball. She drove it nearly 200 yards and it landed on the green.
"Damn. You really play don't you?" I was impressed. Little Cameron plays golf.
"Junior champ. Come on, let's putt." She sunk the ball easily and I batted it around for a while.
We hacked about; or rather I did while Cameron did a damn fine job of nearly making par on the course. "So why are we teamed up? Wouldn't you rather be making a couple of bucks off of some unsuspecting chumps?" It was time for my mid-morning dose.
She waved at me in annoyance. She thwacked the ball again and I hauled out grandfather's binoculars to chart its course onto the green. "I like playing by myself. Other people suck." She gave me a pointed look.
"I've been saying that for years." I muttered. She eagled the hole and I couldn't help but notice the self satisfied smile on her face. It's funny, but she has a very sweet smile and I can't remember when I've ever seen it.
I just sat in the cart. It was a hot, sunny day and I didn't even care about hitting the best ball. I wished I was at home, I had some new sheet music and I wanted to play. It was around two by the time we got done and we made our way back to the clubhouse. The rest of Vogler's guests were drinking and joking when we walked in.
We sat down and Cameron ordered a club sandwich. "It's what I always get after 18 holes." She explained as she sipped at a ginger ale.
I drank a large glass of water and waited for my hamburger with some interest. "I hate golf." I was just hoping to get back to the house so that I could log some sofa time.
Cameron sighed, "You said that. You know, it's a pretty day, can't you just enjoy it?"
I fixed her with my cold stare, "no."
"You like to say that a lot. I'm beginning to think that you were stunted in your emotional growth at the age of two." She rolled her straw wrapper.
"Ha. Ha." I sprinkled her with water. "So what new horrors await us when we get back to the 'big house'?" I asked.
"Didn't you read your agenda?" She shook her head as if lamenting my pitiable lack of intelligence.
"There was an agenda? Jeeves must have it. Trust me; I came here kicking and screaming." Our food had arrived and I spent a happy minute thumping ketchup onto my burger and fries.
"You aren't the only one who doesn't want to be here. How do you think I feel? I'm leaving and I managed to get my tail up here." She rearranged the contents of her sandwich as she spoke. Kind of persnickety if you ask me.
I took a big bite and had to stop and chew before I could respond. "Yes. Why are you here? I mean, if I were you, leaving and all, I'd have told Vogler to shove his invitation where the sun doesn't shine. So why did you come?" The contents of my burger slowly slid out as I waited for her answer.
She sipped her soda and took another bite. "Because I didn't want to burn any bridges."
I laughed, "Bridges? What ever would you need this place for? You and I, we think totally differently. I couldn't give a rat's ass about what anyone thinks about me. You've got a new job, you'll do it brilliantly. Why would you continue to subject yourself to this crap if you didn't have to? I think you're just playing the martyr again." I bit into the burger again, taking care to have condiments drip down my wrist.
"Well, that's you. You can afford to be an asshole. I'm just a normal person. I'm not brilliant, or famous. I don't have a disease named after me. I don't have companies begging me to endorse their products. I have to protect myself and if it means eating some shit every now and then, I guess that's what I'll have to do." She put a wedge of her sandwich back on the plate.
"Don't get upset. Eat your sandwich, you're wasting away. If you turned sideways, we'd lose you." I offered her a fry dredged in ketchup.
She took it from me and savagely bit the red head off of it, "You know, it wouldn't take much of an effort on your part to be nice. I think it's in you somewhere."
I sighed, "Why be nice? Ordinary people are nice. As you just eloquently stated, I'm not ordinary."
"All the more reason you should try harder. What do you think of people who bully the waitress?" She picked the bacon out and crunched it.
She had me there. I might be a jerk to patients and to administrators, but they're liars and sycophants. She knew that I was always pleasant to the staff. "That's self interest. I don't like spit in my food."
"Right, but you're willing to make an enemy out of a man like Vogler, a guy who can buy and sell you." She finished the final bites of her lunch. It did my heart good to see her clean her plate.
"No he can't. I think we've proven that." I pushed the remains of my food away.
She laughed, "Well, perhaps you did. So what's it like, being eminent?" She picked at the fries left on my plate.
I felt myself smile, dashed unnatural. "It's pretty great. I get to do exactly what I want, except when I get corralled into crap like weekends in the Hamptons. You never answered my question. What next?"
She smiled at me and reached for my hand, then she realized that I meant on our itinerary. "Oh. We're to go back to the house and play croquet or badminton or tennis or something."
I sulked, "Did he get his ideas about house parties from Henry James? It's anachronistic. I have a better idea. There's a DVD player in my room. Want to buy a couple of disks and hide away from the other guests?"
"Sure. I'm done with sports for the day." We got up and left under Vogler's hawk eye.
We cadged a few DVDs and headed back to the house. The rest of the guests were milling around politely, but without any real enjoyment. Cameron and I repaired to the pool house, which had been converted from my bedroom back into a cabana. We popped the first DVD in and lounged back on the numerous sofa pillows. I drew the shades to keep out the curious eyes of the few who were sunning their pallid skin at the pool.
At around seven Jeeves poked his head in. We were in the middle of Animal House. Made me pine for my college days, when I was young, callow and taking my health for granted. "Sir, shall I set out our dinner suit for tonight?"
Cameron giggled, "He's so classy. What's he doing with you?"
"I'm a classy guy." I waited for the laugh track, there being none, I continued. "Class isn't about ostentatious displays of wealth. It isn't about brand names and replacing things just because they're old. Class is that, je ne sais quoi, that element of effortlessness. Jeeves here has class, but that alone doesn't make me classy. Jeeves is the symbol of my class. Right Jeeves?" He was holding up a hanger with a black dinner jacket.
"Indubitably, Sir. How about our black jacket?" He waited patiently for me to decide.
"Jeeves, can't we just blow it off? I'm sure you could find a way to sneak some dinner into us. We're protesting; we're not going." I settled deep into the cushions of the sofa.
He cleared his throat and stared at us as though we were recalcitrant children. Cameron groaned and slowly rose up from the sofa. "I'll come back later to finish the disc. I'll see you at dinner."
I watched her walk out of the pool house. Absolutely adorable. Jeeves suggested a quick duck into the shower before I dressed. As usual, Jeeves was right, it set me right up. While you couldn't say I was looking forward to the evening at least I felt like I might survive it. "On with the soup and fish my man!" I said, just like my grandfather used to say. I provoked a small smile from Jeeves. "He really was a great old guy, wasn't he?"
"I didn't know him personally sir, but my Grandfather has said as much." He helped me on with the jacket and smoothed the shoulders down. I was becoming quite the natty dresser.
I gave him a Roman salute, he bowed and I biffed off to dinner.
Cameron and I were teamed up in the middle of the table between a couple of CEOs. It wouldn't surprise me to discover that either one of them was about to be indicted. The one to Cameron's left tried to engage her in conversation about golf. He had seen her on the course, and while he didn't see her play, he assumed that she was new to the game. She didn't disabuse him of this fact, but she was clearly tiring of his description of his own golf swing. On my right I was seated next to a woman who was so stiff and proper that I thought she might shatter if I used the wrong fork.
The dinner featured oysters, which I found odd. Oysters are rather a personal thing. You either love them or hate them. I never met anyone who was on the fence about them. I loved them and was prepared to slurp them down. These were elegant, blue point oysters served with the classical French sauces. I prefer my oysters like they serve them in New Orleans, hot sauce, horseradish and tons of fresh lemon. I had waded into my serving and was enjoying them noisily. The lady to my right gave them a delicate push away. Cameron looked distressed.
I leaned over to assess the problem, "What's the matter?"
She whispered in my ear, "Oysters. I don't trust myself."
"Don't you like them?"
"I love them," she confided in me, "but they make me…"
I paused with my shell in midair, "say no more. Go ahead; I'll be around to keep an eye on you." I swallowed my last one down and realized that I wanted more. I politely exchanged plates with the dinner partner to my right. She seemed relieved.
It was fun watching Cameron eat oysters. She got this look on her face. Eyes closed, moist lips, a slight flush in her cheeks. "You can taste the ocean," she breathed.
More courses followed. I wondered if we were going to be so old fashioned as to 'turn the table' by the time the main course showed up. This was a thing my grandmother used to do. If it seemed that each person was growing too fond of their companion on their left, she'd subtly shift the conversation to the right, causing the others to follow. It kept things lively. I also wondered if we'd be retro enough to have a Baked Alaska for dessert.
As it turned out we had some pear, pepper and port concoction that was meant to challenge our taste buds. I find chocolate challenging enough, thank you. But after a few hours Vogler attempted to herd us into his 'home theater' for some viewing. I started back out to the pool house when I felt a tug on my jacket. It was Cameron.
"Wait for me." She begged as she hurried up the staircase. Light on her feet.
I idled in the hall for a moment watching the crowd, full of wine and carbohydrates, wend their way into the theater. Just as the last lemming went over the cliff, Cameron descended the staircase. She had dressed in some sort of workout attire with a fluffy sweater over it. She had taken down her hair and she was barefoot. She looked about twelve years old. I felt about one thousand years old. We had made it as far as the French doors when Vogler stopped us. "Don't you want to see the movie?" He puffed on what I can only assume was a Cuban Cohiba. He had no imagination.
I was about to say something pithy when Cameron piped up. "That's okay; we've got something going ourselves. We'll see you in the morning." She grabbed my hand and we left without looking back.
As soon as we were on the patio she burst out laughing. "Oysters and wine are a ba-a-a-d combination."
"I think you've sufficiently messed with his head." I observed, steadying her on my good side.
We got to the pool house and I decanted her onto the sofa. She fiddled with the remote and started the movie at the food fight. I got out of my suit and joined her. She put her head on my shoulder.
There are things a gentleman doesn't do; one of them is take advantage of a young lady who might have had too much to drink. On the other hand, I enjoyed her company and I didn't want to ruin what had turned out to be a pleasant weekend. I shifted a bit, feigning discomfort. She adjusted herself, but left her hand on my knee. I could live with that. It was getting to be awkward. I think she had talked herself into believing that she was drunk enough to make a move. She seemed so vulnerable. A man would have to be further gone than I was to not be moved.
There was a quiet tap at the door and I saw Jeeves through a chink in the blinds. The man was some kind of mind-reader. I called for him to come in.
"Sir, if I might…" He came in and began to tidy up and hang up my suit and in general he found a hundred small things to do without actually being in the way.
Cameron and I finished up Animal House. It was late but neither one of us was done with the evening. She grabbed the remote and turned it to The Food Network. Iron Chef.
"Oh! I love this. There's a drinking game we can play!" She got up from her nest on the sofa and grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from the wet bar in the corner.
Jeeves couldn't pretend to find anything else to do. He looked at me, waiting for me to give him a signal. "It's okay Jeeves, we'll…I'll…see you in the morning."
"Very good, sir." He drew the blinds shut and left.