"I think I'm going to take up golf,"
Justin announced.
Chris groaned loudly.
Joey and Lance both looked over at Justin, nodded to acknowledge they'd
heard him, and then turned right back to their movie-watching.
Only JC gave any kind of positive response. "Golf? Like Tiger?"
"Yeah. Only, you know, not as good as Tiger. Yet, anyway," Justin grinned.
Chris groaned again.
Either he wasn't being very loud or Justin was deliberately ignoring
him. Chris decided the second option was more likely.
Golf.
What the fuck?
Basketball was all right. Chris knew how to play. And what he lacked
in skill, he made up for with effort. Of course, sometimes that effort
was completely thwarted by playing against guys a foot taller than him,
but that was okay. He could play a mean game of one-on-one with Justin,
and he wasn't afraid to play dirty, which Justin appreciated. It made
Chris Justin's favorite basketball buddy, since Lance and JC both completely
sucked and Joey just didn't care.
But golf?
Chris hated golf. He hated the pretentious preppy outfits. He hated
how every shot took painstaking effort and patience to set up just right.
When he watched it on TV, he was bored out of his mind. What was so
exciting about watching a bunch of old white guys try to get a little
ball in a little hole in the fewest number of shots? Chris didn't get
it. Maybe that's why he hated it so much. He just didn't get it.
He looked over at JC and Justin. JC's eyes had glazed over as Justin
discussed hiring a golf pro to teach him the basics and how he wanted
to install a putting green at his new house. Chris chuckled. Justin
just liked to hear himself talk. Didn't really care if anyone was listening.
"Hey, Chris, wanna learn how to play golf with me?"
"Okay."
Fuck.
***
Justin moved back and forth on the balls of his feet, attentively listening
to the golf pro as he explained and demonstrated the proper golf stance
and the proper way to grip the club. Chris watched too, but he was having
more fun watching Justin watch the pro. The way Justin bit his lip when
he was concentrating on something. The way his brow would furrow and
he'd nod slightly to show he was listening. Chris always got yelled
at for never sitting still, but Justin was perpetual motion.
Chris watched as the pro drew his golf club back slowly, letting Justin
and Chris see the motion that made up a good backswing. He looked over
at Justin again and tried not to laugh when he noticed Justin was tilting
his head in the same direction the club was moving. The pro brought
the club down and swung into a good follow-through, and Justin's head
moved in synch with it.
Chris couldn't help it. He laughed.
Justin was blissfully unaware. "What's so funny?"
Chris shook his head. "Nothing. Go. You try to hit it."
Justin took up the stance and folded his hands over the club, carefully
arranging his fingers in their grip. He drew back and the club whizzed
through the air, making a small thwack when it came into contact with
the ball.
Chris and Justin both watched as the ball flew up and away, coming to
land squarely in the middle of the fairway maybe fifty yards away.
Justin grinned.
"Well, then." Chris said. "My turn." He rolled his head around and shrugged
his shoulders, making a big show of loosening up. He stood over the
ball, lining the club head up. He kept his eye on the ball, drew back
his club, and swung.
Justin instinctively turned his head to follow the ball's trajectory
and searched the air for a moment before turning back to Chris.
Chris and Justin looked down. The ball was still sitting on the tee.
Chris swore. Justin laughed.
***
By the end of the day, Chris had managed to actually hit the ball a
good chunk of the time. Now his problem seemed to lie in making the
ball go where he wanted it to go. It had this nasty habit of veering
off to the left, coming to rest in clumps of trees or pedestrian walkways
and once even in the duck pond.
To put it quite simply, he sucked.
On the other hand, much to Chris's annoyance, Justin was good. He was
nowhere near making pars or even quadruple bogeys, but his ball usually
went where he wanted, and he'd only hit it out of the fairway twice.
The pro said he had a natural affinity for the game.
Of course he did. Justin had a natural affinity for everything he tried.
Chris trudged across the parking lot, cursing the bag of golf clubs
for being so heavy. This was hell on his knees. Another reason to hate
golf.
Next to him, Justin chattered away about various courses he wanted to
play. Pebble Beach. Augusta. Cypress Point. Pine Valley. Chris idly
noted that even though Justin was well, Justin, he still probably wouldn't
be allowed to play the exclusive courses. He debated whether or not
he wanted to tell Justin this, and decided he'd save that particular
piece of information for another day, another cutting remark.
". . and you really have to have a decent follow-through," Justin was
saying as Chris tuned him back in. "I mean, that's the moment all the
cameras snap the pictures. It's the gold shot."
"Wait. Whoa. Cameras? I don't know about you, but last I checked, golf
was not a red carpet event," Chris said.
"Well, no, not now. Not till we're good. But then I figured you know,
we can play those celebrity Pro-Ams and the charity tournaments. And
there'll be cameras all over there. You gotta look good," Justin said.
"I don't know about you, but I'm not about to take my golf game public,"
Chris pointed out. "Did you not see the spectacular shots I was making
back there? There's a number of trees back there that are glad I'm gone
and can't inflict further damage."
"Oh, come on," Justin said. "It was your first time ever. You can't
possibly get any worse."
"Thanks, Justin. Your words of support are touching," Chris groused.
"Anytime," Justin grinned. "So when do you wanna hit the links again?"
Chris groaned. "You wanna do this again? I was hoping this was going
to be just some random whim of yours. Like when you decided you liked
disco music and wanted to write all your songs in that style."
"No, man. I'm serious! I wanna play golf. I like it. It's quiet. You
have to focus. It's about skill."
"Can't you focus on something a little less obnoxious?" Chris asked.
"You're just mad cause you can't play good," Justin said.
"Play well, Justin. God. Knew you should have gone to high school.
And yeah, forgive me if I happen to not want to play a game that ended
up kicking my ass."
"How 'bout Saturday?" Justin said.
"Yeah, fine," Chris said.
Sometimes Chris really hated Justin.
***
"Oh, come on. No. Motherfucking stupid thing," Chris muttered, groping
around for his alarm clock to turn it off. "It cannot be morning yet."
He forced an eye open. The clock blinked 5:45 back at him from the digital
display.
"Fuck."
***
"You know, Chris. Your follow through really does need some work," Ralph,
the golf pro, told him. It was 8 in the morning, and they'd been at
the driving range for Chris's private lesson for about an hour now.
Chris debated whether smashing his golf club into the guy's skull would
be justifiable homicide. "I've been out here for an hour, hitting balls
off the tee over and over and over," Chris said. "How about instead
of telling me that it needs work, how about you show me how to do it?"
"Well, for starters, this is golf, not baseball," Ralph said. "It might
help if you weren't swinging the ball like it's coming at you at 90
miles an hour."
Chris glared. "Then. Show. Me. How. To. Hit. The. Ball."
"I will. But you know, if you hate golf so much, why are you so insistent
on learning how to play?" Ralph asked.
"I paid you a lot of money to teach me how to get the little ball in
the little hole. I did not pay you to Psych 101 me," Chris said.
Ralph showed him how to hit the ball.
***
After a month or so of covert private lessons, Chris had made some improvement.
He hit the ball 99% of the time now, and upped his fairway percentage
to 45%. He still sucked royally, but at least now he sucked in such
a way he could pretend he was doing it on purpose. The Ray Romano Approach
To Golf, Chris called it.
So when Justin dumped the information for a charity celebrity golf tournament
in his lap, Chris gladly agreed to do it with him. Fun in the sun, the
ability to drive around in those little golf carts, and a weekend hanging
with Justin sounded perfect.
Well, perfect until Justin cancelled on him.
"I'm sorry! But this is the only time me and Brian can sync up our schedules
to get this track done," Justin said. "Come on, Chris. You know how
important this album is to me."
"You're going to leave me to play GOLF with a bunch of people I don't
know and who are two hundred times better at it than me, and I'm not
gonna have you around to goof off with, I'm just going to be goofing
around by myself and looking like a fool so that you can keep working
on your little I-Hate-Britney catharsis that you call your debut solo
record. Thank you very fucking much, Justin."
Chris hung up on him.
***
In the end the tournament wasn't too bad.
Yes, he sucked. Spectactularly. He managed to come in dead last and
was told he set a new course record for highest score ever, but he wasn't
sure if the guy was kidding or not. He really hoped the guy was kidding.
But it was held near Pittsburgh, so in a way it was like going home.
Even though home then had on occasion been a car.
Riding around now on his motorcycle, Chris felt far removed from the
slightly-familiar streets and places. As if his childhood had happened
to someone else. Now that he was Chris Kirkpatrick, Fucking Pop Star,
and absurdly rich, going into the Five and Dime to get some candy didn't
hold the same thrill it used to. He used to feel rich if he had a dollar
to spend on Hershey Bars and jawbreakers. Now hundreds were his dollars
and he thought nothing of losing ten grand at the craps table in Vegas.
Ten grand would have gotten them an apartment, in another time, another
place.
Justin wouldn't get it. He'd never wanted for anything growing up. He
wouldn't know how it had felt. But he still would have listened. And
tried.
***
The summer after the Celebrity tour was insane, even though he was supposed
to be on a break from the insanity of his life. Lance, the little fucker,
had gone to Russia to train to become a cosmonaut. Chris was both incredibly
proud of him and incredibly pissed at him. Joey'd gone and auditioned
for "RENT" and had dreams of being a Broadway star. JC turned into a
hermit, but a productive hermit, churning out songs and producing all
sorts of shit. And of course, Justin was putting the finishing touches
on his album.
Chris? Well, he rented an RV and drove around smoking pot with Ron Irizzary.
By the time he rolled into Virginia Beach, he was really missing Justin.
"Hey, J," Chris said into his cell. "Your favorite person is in town."
"Kobe's here?"
"Funny. Your second favorite person."
"Nelly?"
"Look I know you miss your little dirty boy or whatever you two call
each other, but you've got to move on. The love is gone."
"Fuck you, Chris."
"There's the love. Guess what?" Chris said. "I got us a 8 am tee time
at Bow Creek tomorrow."
Chris was met by silence. "I know you're probably stunned by the generosity
of my humble gesture, but really, there's no need to be speechless."
"Uh, you really should have called ahead," Justin said. "I mean, I thought
you hated golf."
"So, maybe I don't hate golf. Or maybe I do, but I like hanging out
with you. Shall I get my spiked shoes?"
"Well, tomorrow I kinda maybe told Carson I'd play golf with him."
"Carson? As in Daly?"
"No, as in Johnny."
"Really?"
"No! Fuckwit. Yes, Carson Daly," Justin said.
"You're dissing ME to go play golf with CARSON DALY? The world's biggest
tool?" Chris yelped.
"He knows Tiger," Justin offered lamely. "He thought maybe we could
get a threesome going."
"Well, everybody loves a threesome," Chris snarked and then he clicked
the cell phone off. After a moment he turned it back on again, dialing
a new number.
"Hello?" someone picked up.
"He's fucking playing golf with fucking Carson Daly," Chris told him.
"Who, Justin?" JC said.
"Yeah," Chris said.
"Don't you hate golf?" JC asked.
"Yes," Chris said.
"Then why do you care so much? Now Justin will play golf with Carson
and not bug you," JC said. Chris could tell he was distracted, he could
hear the plinking of piano keys over the phone line.
"Because . . because," Chris finished lamely. There was a moment of
silence. "I can't hear you if you nod, C."
"Oh," JC said. "Ha. Well. Yeah. Because. Good reason."
"Ah, shut up, go back to your writing. Sorry I bugged you."
"You're not bugging me," JC said. "Later."
Chris hung up and sighed.
***
Can't nobody love you like I love you, you're a good girl and that's
what makes me trust you . . .
Chris was bouncing around nervously backstage at Radio City, occasionally
smacking Joey on the arm when Justin hit certain points during the song.
Justin was terrified. Before he'd left to go get into the giant boombox,
he'd been pacing nervously. Telling Chris how his solo career was riding
on this song. If it flopped, if he fucked it up. . .
Chris was having a hard time reining in his instinct to go onstage,
feeling like he had missed his cue somehow and he was supposed to be
out there with him. Justin was wrapping up the song now, and Chris could
already tell what Justin's reaction was going to be.
He stormed offstage. Chris handed him a towel and a jacket, there were
only seconds before they were all about to be hustled onstage to present
together. "Could have done it better," Justin muttered. "Didn't hit
some stuff."
Chris put a hand on Justin's forearm. "Justin."
Justin stopped talking to himself and looked up.
"You did fine," Chris said. He wouldn't lie to Justin. He could have
done better. But it was fine.
Justin nodded. He knew. "Thanks."
***
The album was huge.
Nearly half a million copies sold the first week. Critics loved it.
"Like I Love You" was doing well on the charts. "Cry Me A River" was
gonna do even better, Chris knew.
Justin was on top of the world.
"Chris!" Justin said on the phone. "Johnny told me you're going to Jamaica
in December. Some golf thing?"
"Yeah," Chris said. "Charity thing again. I think I was smart this time.
I made sure all the people who are playing are also no good at golf."
Justin chuckled. "Hey, maybe I can come with you. We can pair up, kick
some people's asses."
"Lance is coming," Chris said quietly.
"Lance?" Justin asked, a note of confusion in his voice. "Lance doesn't
even know how to play."
"He said he wanted to," Chris said. "So I asked him."
"You asked Lance to come play golf with you?" Justin said. "Why didn't
you ask me?"
"Dunno," Chris said. "I hate golf."
"Then why are you playing it?"
Chris didn't answer him.
***
Chris found himself flying solo in Jamaica again. Lance had bailed,
opting to go schmooze at Marc Anthony's wedding instead of humiliate
himself playing golf. "I've had enough public humiliation for awhile,"
Lance said when he called Chris saying he changed his mind. Chris couldn't
argue with the guy.
So he went. And he played golf.
And he won.
***
"I heard you won that tournament," Justin told him while they were waiting
for their wax likenesses to be revealed.
"I did," Chris said. "My ingenious plan of making sure everybody sucked
worked."
Justin smiled. He opened his mouth to say something else but the people
in charge of the event started talking so he shut up.
A few minutes later, Chris was inspecting Justin's doppelganger up close
and personal, with Justin keeping a watchful eye on him. "You're not
going to do something evil to him, are you?" Justin said, watching Chris
like a hawk.
"Evil? Like this?" Chris made a move as if he were going to kiss Justin's
wax figure.
Justin laughed and covered the figure's mouth. "Hey, knock that off!
People are watching!"
"I'm surprised they didn't give you a golf club," Chris remarked, heading
into an adjoining room where a catering spread was laid out. "Or me
one."
"I don't get it, Chris," Justin said, following him into the empty room.
You say you hate golf. And you play golf more than I do now."
Chris shrugged. "Maybe I don't hate golf as much as I let on." He looked
over at Justin.
"Oh?" Justin said. "So maybe you kinda like golf."
"Maybe I kinda like you," Chris said.
Justin was confused. "So. . I like golf. And you like me. So you decided
to like golf?"
"It made a whole lot more sense in my head," Chris said.
Justin looked at Chris in disbelief. Then he stepped forward and slides
his mouth over Chris's. Chris doesn't kiss back until he feels Justin
licking at his lips and then he opens his mouth to him instinctively.
Justin pulled back and kissed Chris at the corner of his mouth. Then
he smacked Chris on the arm. "You're so stupid. You don't have to play
golf to get me to like you."
"Now you tell me."
12.21.2002