Life Unbothered Read online

  “Thursday will do,” Wink said. “It’s three hundred bucks an hour plus expenses. I’ll also need a return plane ticket, preferably from LAX, on Thursday night.”

  “Okay, I can do that.”

  “Great. Give me your address and I’ll be there at nine in the morning on Thursday, give or take a few. I’ll have to get an Uber friend to drive me over.”

  It sounded like he was grunting in pain while I gave him my information. I imagined him writing it down somewhere, perhaps on the tits of his exotic cowgirl dancer.

  “So I’ll see you at nine this Thursday?” I asked.

  “Ohhhhh, yes darling. Yes!”

  I didn’t think that was a confirmation of our appointment, but I assumed he got all the information he could handle at the moment.

  I stared at the phone for a couple of seconds after I hung up. It amazed me that someone could actually have a large enough clientele to make a living by moving invalids while charging $300 an hour, plus expenses. But if Wink could spend his afternoons sitting in strip joints shoveling bills to dancers, then he must have been doing something right.

  Putting Dr. Travel out of my mind, I looked at my to-do list and saw there was only one more call I needed to make. I dialed Cameron Engernald’s office number. Cameron was an insurance agent about my age who handled all my business and health insurance needs. At least that’s the way she described it. My last attempt to reach her was when I was looking for a date while driving back from Los Angeles the week before. I was calling to cancel my health insurance because it was an overpriced policy with very little benefits.

  “This is Cameron Engernald.”

  “Hi Cameron, Wade Hampton here.”

  “Wade Hampton,” she said my name slowly. “What’s up? Started another business and need a quote?”

  Before I answered, I noticed how officiously sexy her voice always sounded.

  “Uh, no Cameron. Actually, I want to cancel my health insurance.”

  “What? Cancel it? Did someone give you a better price, because if they did—”

  “No, nobody’s cutting your throat. I’m moving to California and just don’t want to pay that much for a single policy, so I’m going to forego insurance for a while.”

  “Why? You can keep your policy even if you’re moving. And besides, you’ll be hit with the lack of coverage tax penalty.”

  “I don’t care,” I said with zero emotion in my voice, or my soul.

  “When are you moving?”

  “On Thursday.”

  “This Thursday?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Just because you’re moving doesn’t mean you have to cancel your policy. Why don’t you call me after you move and we can adjust it?”

  “I’d rather just get rid of it for now, Cameron.”

  There was a short pause. I heard Cameron ticking her keyboard before she broke the silence.

  “Hey Wade, let’s play golf tomorrow. We haven’t done that for a while. We used to play a lot before you started living with… Pamela.”

  “Yeah, I know,” I muttered.

  “How’s that thing doing?”

  “We broke up,” I said casually. “Hey, I don’t know if I can make it for golf tomorrow. Why don’t you come over tonight? We can talk about the policy.”

  “Can’t do it. I’ve got a training seminar to go to.”

  “Blow it off. Those things are usually boring anyway.”

  “No, I can’t. But let’s play golf tomorrow. I’ve got a tee time at TPC for eleven. I was going to play with a couple of potential clients, but they backed out. It’ll give me time to talk you out of canceling your insurance with me.”

  “Tomorrow? Isn’t Tuesday ladies day or something?”

  “No, they don’t have that anymore. Reverse sexual discrimination, you know. So you won’t get kicked off the course by angry men-haters.”

  I thought about it for a moment, and realized I had taken care of all the moving details and did have time to play golf—and the unexpected possibility arose that I may be able to snuggle next to Cameron one more time.

  “Okay, I’ll play. But I still want you to cancel the policy.”

  “Great. I’ll meet you at TPC tomorrow at eleven. I won’t do anything with your insurance until after the game. At least give me that.”

  12. Golfing with the Enemy

  Upon awakening the next morning at nine o’clock, I took my morning dose of Xanax, shaved, and jumped in the shower. In my current state, anxiety would be bringing me to a status of pre-panic as I would obsess about leaving the house. The fact that I had never experienced an authentic panic attack on a golf course was one of the few comforts that afforded me.

  Cameron and I used to play golf together almost weekly until Pamela moved in. In college, she was a member of the Arizona State University golf team until a wrist injury ended her competitive career. Her skills hadn’t diminished much over the years. She still carried a three handicap. Off the golf course, our relationship was laced with casual athletic sex. Cameron was a driven woman, the kind who would screw around with no need for emotional attachment—as long as it served her purposes. That was her endearing quality.

  I ironed my golf outfit, socks and underwear included, which took an hour to get the clothes just right. I rounded up my golf bag and hit the button on the garage wall to engage the door opener. The air rushing into the garage revealed a beautiful spring morning. Crisp, clean eighty-degree air swirled around me as I put my clubs in the trunk.

  At twenty minutes before eleven o’clock, I exited my driveway. It was a short drive to the TPC of Scottsdale, the course that hosts the Phoenix Open, a PGA tournament held every year in January or early February. Though a corporate sponsor had attached its name to the tournament as with most professional golf venues, I sided with the old timers and still referred to it as the Phoenix Open.

  Although I hadn’t played much golf since the engagement to Pamela, the one thing I still loved about living in Scottsdale was the accessibility to some great golf courses. The Phoenix area boasted over two hundred courses within an hour’s drive. Many of the nicer courses in the area catered to people visiting from the North and Midwest to escape the harsher winter climates. The snowbirds flocked by the thousands to the milder temperatures the Sonoran desert offered during the winter and early spring.

  I changed into my spiked golf shoes in the TPC parking lot and toted my clubs to the rack in front of a row of golf carts. A climb up a short flight of stairs lined with purple pansies brought me into the pro shop.

  “You’re on the tee in five minutes,” the aspiring young golf pro working behind the counter said. “Put your clubs on cart number twenty-seven. Ms. Engernald’s clubs are already on the cart.”

  “Are there just the two of us?” I asked.

  The guy looked down at the starter sheet. “No, you’re playing with a gentleman named Mr. Michaels. He’s from out of town.”

  As I walked back down the steps outside the pro shop, a familiar voice called out.

  “Hey, Wade.”

  I saw Cameron Engernald in her pressed golf skirt and red sleeveless top. She was slender and tall, about five feet ten. She had her blonde hair pulled back in a short ponytail. From the back, she could’ve been the prototype model used for a Barbie doll. But in close proximity, her face had a rough look to it and her frizzled hair teemed with split ends. The complete close-up package would be more appropriate for the “Unwholesome Barbie” model.

  “Hi Cameron,” I said.

  “I was wondering where you were. Didn’t see you out on the range.”

  “Didn’t make it to the range this morning.”

  “Going out cold, huh?” She laughed nervously as I hugged her. We hadn’t been together for a long enough time to feel immediately comfortable. “How many strokes do you want for that?”


  “No strokes, that’s okay. I haven’t even held a club for a couple of months.”

  “Excuses will get you nowhere, Wade. But I’ll play from the blue tees with you.”

  I strapped my clubs on the passenger side of the cart. Cameron always drove the cart. It was a control thing. I inspected Cameron’s tan legs as she bent over to retie one of her golf shoes. She looked up and caught me staring. Taking it in stride, she smiled.

  “So, you broke up with Pamela.”

  “Yeah. I had enough of her and called off the wedding plans.”

  “I’ll tell you what, I almost beat the shit out of that bitch the last time I saw her.”

  “I know,” I said, then followed my words with a laugh. “Jamie Holitzer’s party. When was that, about seven months ago?”

  “Uh-huh. She threw a drink on me for some reason. If you hadn’t gotten her out of there, I would’ve killed her. I guess that was also the last time I saw you.”

  “It was.”

  “Next on the tee is the Engernald, Hampton, Michaels, threesome.”

  Cameron looked at the speaker that announced our names. “Come on, let’s go to the tee.”

  We drove to the first hole as the foursome of tourists playing in front of us finished their tee shots. A man in checkered slacks dribbled his drive through the desert brush before the ball skidded its way to the first cut of fairway grass.

  “May be a long day for him,” a squat round man in the cart next to us said. “I’m Maury Michaels. My wife was going to join us, but she decided to go shopping. So it’s just us three.”

  Cameron extended her arm to him while I went to the back of the cart to retrieve my golf glove. “I’m Cameron,” she said, then pointed to me, “and that is Wade.”

  “What a pretty couple,” Maury noted as he glanced at both of us. “Are you married?”

  I slipped the glove on my left hand. “No, but we’ve slept together on many occasions. That was before I got engaged.”

  Maury’s face pursed as if someone had slapped a wet towel across his cheek. After my answer registered in his head, he belted out a boisterous laugh.

  “Are all you Arizonians this funny?”

  “No,” Cameron answered. “Wade is about as funny as it gets—at least in Scottsdale.”

  As we waited for the foursome in front of us to clear the fairway, Maury told us he was visiting from Canton, Ohio to scout for a residence when he retired in the next couple of years.

  When the group ahead moved to the green, I volunteered to hit my tee shot first. From the blue tees, the hole was a short par four, three hundred sixty-six yards. The wise choice was a long iron, but I foolishly chose the driver, trying to put my ball past the wash that would leave a short approach to the green. End result: I yanked a shot left of the fairway and luckily caught the fluffy rough about two yards shy of the desert waste and prickly cacti. Cameron then stepped on the tee and placed her shot perfectly in the middle of the fairway about ten yards in front of the wash. Maury’s shoulders tightened a bit when he saw Cameron’s shot—adding to the stress was the fact that she didn’t use the ladies tee.

  The next few holes were challenging, but I managed to avoid making a fool out of myself. My timing was a little rusty. The finesse shots such as chipping and putting were out of sync, but I wasn’t concerned with the way I was playing. It was nice to get out in the fresh air and scenery… and the possibility of being next to a woman after the round. Maury seemed to settle down and relax after getting over the initial intimidation of playing with two low handicappers. Between shots, he would ask me questions about the Phoenix area.

  “Where’s the best place to stay in town?” Maury asked.

  “Where are you staying now?”

  “Camelback Inn.”

  “Yeah, Camelback is a nice older resort. But the next time you come out, try The Boulders. It’s always been run with class.”

  Maury proceeded to ask me questions about housing developments, restaurants, and golf courses around the area.

  “You’re like a one-man fucking chamber of commerce,” Cameron commented as I informed Maury about the area.

  After our tee shots on the eighth hole, Cameron got down to business as we carted along the edge of the fairway.

  “Hey Wade, I want to talk to you about your insurance,” she said.

  “I think I’m going to cancel it.”

  “You don’t want to be without insurance. What happens if you have a medical problem?”

  “That policy doesn’t even pay for my medical expenses. The last four times I visited a doctor, the insurance paid nothing. I still have the stack of mail they sent me that probably cost more than the stupid visits.”

  “The insurance should pay,” Cameron insisted, “unless you’re seeing a bunch of shrinks or something.”

  I glanced at her and tried to suppress a reaction. “Just cancel the policy, Cameron. Hell, if you did personal auto insurance, I’d transfer that over to you. But I don’t want to pay for medical.”

  “So, your car is more important than your body?”

  I looked to the sloping green about eighty yards ahead and thought about it. Right now it is.

  Cameron scooted closer to me on the vinyl seat and creased her eyebrows together. “You know what? I brought you out here and played golf with you to save one little health policy. You used to be a great customer of mine when you had all those insured employees at your company, now you’re down to one policy. You know how that affects me?”

  Maury pulled his cart to the side of ours. I glanced at him and smiled, trying to diffuse the tension created by Cameron’s raised voice.

  “Yeah Cameron, I noticed that we haven’t played golf for a while,” I said.

  She sighed hard as she jammed the pedal down on the cart, leaving Maury behind to hit his next shot. She didn’t speak again until we were standing on the green watching Maury line up a particularly slippery downhill putt.

  “Business is business, Wade. If I can’t make money, there’s no use doing it. I’ve got big plans and goals I’m trying to meet—just like it seemed you used to.”

  Cameron’s mood cooled for the next few holes as she simmered down. I had forgotten how hot her temper was; she could be giggling one moment and ripping out your eyeballs the next. Luckily, most of her outbursts were short-lived.

  The round sped up on the back nine as the tourist foursome in front of us quit playing. They must have had enough of the dry air and the beautiful contrasting scenery of green and brown—or their ill-matching plaid outfits were suddenly deemed unfit to be worn on the course. A birdie on the fourteenth hole lifted Cameron’s spirits. It brought her to three over par and two strokes ahead of me. After she executed a perfect tee shot on the next hole, I saw an opportunity to make a move.

  “You know, Cameron, I’ve been thinking about what you said. I’m not quite sold on keeping the insurance, but I’m considering it. Let’s talk about it more tonight at my house.”

  “Tonight? I’m not going to be with you tonight.” I could see the wheels turning in her mind as she realized what I was asking. “Is that why you called? To get a piece of ass?”

  “That’s not exactly why I called, but it would be nice.”

  “You asshole!” she shouted.

  From across the fairway, I saw Maury’s head jerk up and look our way as he scouted for his errant ball.

  “I know we used to be fuck-buddies,” Cameron continued, “but I’m a professional now.”

  “A professional fuck-buddy?” I asked.

  “No, a professional businessperson, you dick. And I’m not going to go out and screw you for the night. Those days are gone.”

  I put my left arm around her as she drove the cart. “You know, it used to be so much more fun when we played golf.”

  “Fuck you!”

&nb
sp; The remainder of the round—complete silence with the exception of calling out my score after each hole. When we walked off the eighteenth green, Maury Michaels seemed amused by our somewhat volatile company, but relieved it was the last hole. Cameron walked to the cart while I said goodbye to Maury.

  “Sorry about all the commotion. Cameron and I have a fiery past.”

  Maury smiled. “Well, you still make a pretty couple.”

  On the drive back to the clubhouse from the eighteenth green, Cameron handed me the scorecard.

  “You shot a seventy-nine. I beat you by four strokes,” she said.

  I stared blankly at the card. “Then I guess I owe you a drink.”

  “You don’t owe me anything, except maybe an apology.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “Not good enough.”

  We stopped in front of the clubhouse and lifted our clubs off the back of the cart. Without saying anything, Cameron started walking to the parking lot.

  “Cameron,” I called from behind her. “Wait.”

  She stopped and turned around.

  “Come over to my house for just an hour,” I pleaded.

  “You want me to come over because you’re probably lonely and on the rebound. I’m not going to replace that bitch just so you can shoot your load. You know, things are different. I have a career. I’m successful. I now eat guys like you for lunch.”

  “Well, I’ve eaten you for breakfast, lunch, dinner, a midnight snack, high tea, happy hour, and even on Bastille Day. So what’s your point, Cameron?”

  “My point is I’m not the easy girl you used to have under your spell. Go to California and find some new victims, you asshole.”

  “I’m just asking you to come over and talk.”

  Her lips became toothpick thin as she shifted her eyes away from me. “You know what? I’m going to cancel your menial insurance policy. And now that we’re not doing business together, there’s no reason to talk again.”

  “Cameron, I never knew our relationship was based on me doing business with you. That’s pretty screwed up.”

  Cameron looked at me, spread her arms apart in surrender, and beamed a sarcastic smile. “Well, Wade, welcome to the wonderful world of commission sales.”