Chez and the Unreal Girl - Part 2

Okay, where was I? It feels like a month since yesterday. Oh yeah, I was waiting until after the niece's jumping classes to show her this...

...so I could get the skinny on what happened when she knocked on Chez's door at 10:15pm, the night before his final day/round of the Bob Hope Classic. At this point I should say I was pretty uncomfortable with the fact that she would have the nerve to knock on the guy's door. Which is very odd because it was a behavior I had seen a million times by groupies during my years of shooting rock stars. But I guess not so odd since I never had the balls to do something like that myself, even though I had plenty of opportunity.

So, I showed her the stalkeresque photo I shot of the subject in question on his way out the door for his fifth and final round. She flipped out in the "that's so cool...I so want to get with him" way. The door was open...that was easy. I stepped through and asked...

"Did you actually knock on his door last night?"

"Yes."

"I thought I heard light knocking, then harder knocking and even louder and longer knocking...was that all you?"

"I think he was asleep."

"And you kept knocking?"

"Uh huh."

"Did he answer the door?"

I really wanted her answer to be no, because I knew if he answered the door he had to come all the way down the stairs. And if that happened I would have to be embarrassed for my niece.

"Yes."

"Oh my God." Pick myself up off the ground. "What did you say?"

"Hi."

"Hi? You woke the guy up before a tournament to say Hi?"

"It was kind of awkward. I wished him luck on his game."

Over the next hour or two we probably went over what was said or not said at least twenty times. We all had lunch at the Mexican place again.

This time they had a part of a mariachi band playing outside...but we sat at the same table we had the day before. And continued our conversation about Chez among other things. At some point in one of the conversations I told the niece she had a chip on her shoulder. Sure enough when I looked up at her it was there...

After lunch we returned to the condo to go for a swim. I was happy to see that none of the cars belonging to the occupants of the upstairs condo were there. I was still ragging on the niece for her skanky (I guess since nothing happened it wasn't skanky) behavior and told her she better hope he had a good day on the course 'cause if he didn't it would be all her fault. With that thought, I immediately got on the internet to check his score...

Okay, he had a -6, -6, -4 and a -3 in his first four rounds...and on his fifth and final round...the day after he was awakened from his peaceful pre-last round sleep by the niece...he shot a...oh my God...he shot a 75!...yikes...that's +3...aka 3 over par...or should I say six shots over what he shot on his previous worst day...man, that sucks...or should I say, he must have choked...he must have choked because he had sleep interuptus at the hand of the niece rapping on his door.

If you don't believe me you can check out his scores right here.

I ragged on her some more. Then, as we began cross the green outside our balcony door on our way to the pool I said, "You better hope he doesn't come back to the condo carrying a bomb with your name on it." And at that very moment an SUV comes barreling up the road doing twice the speed limit and screeches to a stop facing the wrong way at the curb in front of the condo. The door opens and - I kid you not - Chez Reavie jumps out of the driver's seat. I grabbed the niece's arm and we high-tailed it to the right, heading to a different pool where he wouldn't see us.

By the time we got out of the jacuzzi and back to the condo Chez was long gone. We thought he was just out for the evening because there were lots of lights on in his condo. I was thinking I should drop a copy of EISID to him as an apology for his crappy round. But we never saw him again. The next evening the same lights were burning. He hadn't been back. I guess his mom never taught him to turn out the lights when he left a room...or a condo.

I'm figuring at some point Chez, or one of his friends, will show up here after googling Chez Reavie. If you are reading this, Chez, I hope you brought your sense of humor and realize, while this story is all true, I may be embellishing the motivations of some of the characters within it. Call it artistic license. Oh, and I still have a copy of Everybody I Shot Is Dead for you in thanks for behaving like a gentleman when facing the intrusion of the niece...just email me and let me know where to send it. It's the least I can do.