The Color of Law_ A Novel - Mark Gimenez [77]
“What the hell are you doing, Bobby?”
“Trolling for clients, man. Scotty, I’m a street lawyer and this is the street. You look at them and see homeless people, vagrants, dime players, bottom-feeders—I see clients! This is my Downtown Club.”
Bobby quickly realized his error.
“Shit, I’ve been trying my best for an hour to get your mind off that, now I bring it up. Sorry.”
But Scott’s thoughts had already returned to his perfect life sixty-two stories above them. He now knew that Mack McCall was not going to beat Scott Fenney senseless with brass knuckles. He was going to do something much worse. He was going to take Scott’s perfect life away.
That feeling of impending doom enveloped Scott Fenney.
If she made this putt, Rebecca Fenney would finish with a 74, her lowest score ever. She stood behind the ball and took two practice strokes, then walked over and assumed her putting stance, carefully placing the putter behind the ball and adjusting her weight until she was comfortably balanced. She knew Trey, the young golf pro whom she was paying $500 for today’s playing lesson, was watching her closely, but he wasn’t eyeing her putting stroke. He was eyeing her butt. He always managed to stand directly behind her when she putted.
Trey had already holed out for a 62. He was twenty-six, gorgeous, and a former All-American golfer. He had just received notice from the PGA that he was eligible to play in the remaining tournaments that year. This was his last week at the club.
She made a smooth stroke, sending the ball on a true line six inches outside the cup, and watched as the ball broke left and rolled into the hole.
“Yes!”
Trey walked over to her. They high-fived on the eighteenth green of the country club. He looked at her like he always did, and she saw the need in his eyes: he needed her more than life itself. They had been having sex for the last seven months.
They turned and walked up the grassy slope to their cart and climbed in for the short drive to the clubhouse. Trey parked the cart, and the black bag boy appeared.
“Your car be the black Mercedes coupe, Miz Fenney?”
“What?”
“Your car, it the black coupe?”
“Yes, what about it?”
“Make sure I take your clubs to the right car.”
“Don’t take my clubs to my car. Put them in the clubhouse, like always.”
“Mr. Porter, he tell me take them to your car.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “Don’t know, ma’am.”
Rebecca turned to Trey. He shrugged. She walked inside the clubhouse, into the golf shop, and directly to the head pro’s office, where Ernie Porter was sitting. Ernie couldn’t make it on the pro tour, so he had spent the last twenty years giving golf lessons, running tournaments, and pocketing a percentage of every club, golf ball, and pair of shoes sold in the pro shop.
“Ernie?”
He looked up. “Yes, Mrs. Fenney?”
“The bag boy, you told him to take my clubs to my car?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“If that’s inconvenient, Mrs. Fenney, I’ll have them delivered to your house.”
“I don’t want my clubs at my house. I play here every day.”
Ernie suddenly appeared sick. “Mrs. Fenney, you don’t know?”
“Know what?”
Ernie shuffled some papers, squirmed in his chair, then said, “Your husband, Mr. Fenney…Well, he’s…He’s, uh…He’s no longer a member here.”
“What? We’ve been members for four years.”
“Well, technically, Mrs. Fenney, your husband is the member. You have playing privileges as his spouse. Since he’s no longer a member, you no longer have privileges. It’s in the bylaws.”
“Since when isn’t Scott a member?”
“Since today.”
She found her husband sitting at the kitchen table, their daughter cradled in his lap and sobbing into his shoulder as he stroked her braids. Pajamae was sitting across the table, her face glum, her chin resting on her hands on the table.
“Mother, Consuela’s gone and she’s never coming back!”
Rebecca put her hands on her hips and tried not to scream.
“Didn’t Sue pay our club dues this month?”
Scott raised his eyes to her. He nodded blankly.
“Ernie said you’re no longer