Installment 4 of the book in progress, The Girl who could be a ‘Lyon. Now we meet Lyon Forrestts who is taking time off his golf tour schedule to do fundraising events in Minnesota, specifically near the Milacky area. I will shoot straight with you, this Lyon is a little more wild than most people would believe. If you feel lucky take a good read of this installment.
What might happen if Wallander met The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo and they both lived in Minnesota.
Excerpts from the soon to be released fictional blockbuster:
The Girl who could just be a’Lyon
Published by Pass the Swede, Bro’ Ltd publishers
Chapter Two: Call of the Loon Part II
Ding, Ding, Ding rang the spoon against the water glass. Pannenkokken Kountry Klub President Nathan “Shanker” Swensson brought the banquet hall to a quiet as their dinner of chicken cordon bleu, green beans and instant potatoes was being cleared away and the much anticipated better-than-sex chocolate cake was about to be served.
“I want to thank all of you for coming out and making this year’s fundraiser the biggest and best we ever had. Though the final totals have yet to be counted it looks like we’ll beat last years total by many thousands of dollars.” Nathan waited for the applause to die down and he continued. “I am sure six months ago many of you felt as I did that, that there was the real possibility of the foundation going the way of the Dodo Bird. Let me just say Henny Decker has been a long term friend of mine and without his support over the years this foundation wouldn’t have helped all those many who have suffered traumatic brain injuries and other long term medical problems from wayward golf balls. Yes golf balls that for the grace of God could have come from myself and probably any one of us, with the possible exception of tonight’s honored guest.” Nathan again waited for the laughter to quiet down and he again continued. “I don’t know if any or all of the charges against Henny are true or what his fate will be, may God have mercy on his soul, but to me he will be remembered for his generous spirit and for those six or seven mulligans per round he was so fond of. Of course, if found guilty, I will deny to have ever known the SOB, but until that time comes, let’s take a minute to remember a man who saved so many he almost killed single handily with one of the worst golf strokes ever witnessed at this club. Lets us bow.” Nathan bowed his head and gave the room a whole five seconds to silently celebrate hopefully never having to dodge another Decker ball of death.
“When the foundation’s days seemed to be as dark as Henny’s jail cell and cellmate, Marquis, I believe that was the name Henny had written to me before he had to be taken to the prison infirmary with that bad bout of hemorrhoids; there seemingly out of the thick rough, come our dark knight in shining spikes, Lyon Forrestts.” The room roared with clapping, whistles and shouts of ‘it’s in the hole’ and much of the banquet hall rose in a standing ovation. Nathan turned to Lyon and flashed him a big smile, which Lyon returned with a slight nod and half smile, wishing to himself that his flight was tonight and not tomorrow morning, though he did look forward to another sexual adventure with some lucky gal. But that cheap ass meal was playing havoc with his intestinal tract and he forgotten to bring his Pepto Bismol with him. “I don’t think our guest of honor needs any further introduction, he’s just the best golfer in the world and bestest person in the universe and not too bad at blackjack I hear as well. Ladies and Gentlemen, give it up, for Lyon Forrestts!!
Again the room erupted with cheers and seemingly a thousand flashes from digital cameras went off as Lyon arose, shook Nathan’s hand and took to the podium.
“Thank you Mr. Swenssen for your kind words. And give yourself a round of applause for your generous giving and for supporting The Forrestts Foundation’s Gerald Ford Memorial Spectator Trauma and Support Association, formerly known as the Decker Duck and Cover Special Fund.” Lyon raised his right arm out and with a sweeping gesture waved his arm over the crowd. A loud round of clapping again filled the hall. “As some of you may remember, though for me personally, I was just gleam in Papa Lyon’s eye back then, President Gerald Ford had the habit of not only falling down stairs but he could hit an errant golf ball from time to time. But he and his wife Betty, whom have helped so many with drug dependency through the Betty Ford Center as well as many other good works, we wanted to honor them with renaming the foundation for his ongoing memory and pull it under the umbrella of the Forrestts Foundation organization. And despite what Mr. Swenssen would have you believe, I have had my share of bad shots and have given much punishment to fans over the years. But as President Ford himself once said,“I know I am getting better at golf because I am hitting fewer spectators.” Loud laughter rang out, Lyon had the crowd in the grasp of his well insured hands.
“I must tell you I have had an incredible couple of weeks here in Minnesota. Many of my colleagues have been incredulous that I have spent a chunk of time off from the tour to be here in the middle of winter, well early spring, maybe. You know I had heard about Minnesota Nice before but I always wondered if it was a typo and they meant Minnesota Ice. But seriously I have had nothing but warmth from Minnesotans at every turn during my stay here. Warmth much needed by this Floridian.; whereas just a generation or two back you might have said ‘let’s get blackie’ or ‘lets show dat coon a lesson’ if you had seen a young black man on your course as a member rather than a greenskeeper or a cook or a caddy. But times have changed and today I feel nothing but warmth and your love and support.
“I wish my lovely wife Olay could have joined me on this trip, but we do have a young family and even though she is from Sweden her fondness for cold weather has faded. But she gives her love to you all as well.
“I love having started my own family and the responsibility of being a role model for today’s youth not just as a golfer, but as a husband and father as well. When I hit a wide left hook on a dogleg right, I try to use only the common four letter cuss words and not the compound swear words that you can’t say on non cable TV. Or when I go out to relax after grinding out another win, I try to celebrate moderately with no tobacco products or harmful drugs passing my rather full lips. It’s hard to keep on the straight and narrow road in this world; the lonely path of the high road. But it’s worth the price my friends, for goodwill triumphs over bad choices and keeps me motivated to keep on making more and more millions not for my personal gain, but so I can redistribute it back to great people like yourselves.
So when I do screw up and bean an elderly man with a 300 yard piss-poor drive or crack a young girls skull with a screaming fade that doesn’t fade, I feel I have a personal onus to make things right. What do I mean by that? Well if we can have the lights, I like to share the story of little Timmy Ziffleberg who come into my life two years ago.” The lights dimmed and a white screen descended from a slit in the ceiling. On the screen a video began to play.
A narrator began the story: “Timmy Ziffleberg had no idea how his life would change that Friday back in July 2008, how fate would bring Timmy and his hero Lyon Forrestts together bonded by a tragedy that transformed both Timmy and Lyon forever.” Timmy was shown in home videos as a vibrant, normal third grader; shooting bb guns, playing T ball with his dog, beating up his little sister, and of course engaging in miniature golf.
“But as fate had it, Timmy was at the Brickhouse National Open that Friday in July with his father in hopes to see Timmy’s hero win his third Brickhouse title in a row. But just like the weather that stormy July day, Lyon’s mood was dark and cloudy as well. After several hours of rain and lightning delays Lyon’s four shot advantage as the day started had shrunk to being three back of the leader, as a frustrated Forrestts saw his round start with bogie, double bogie, par, birdie and then another double bogie. His driving game had seemed to have vanished and he was spraying shots all over the course with only his penchant for miraculous saves keeping him even close to the leader board.” The video show various bad shots and an increasingly angry Forrestts slamming his club to the ground or saying something that looked like godbless, motherplucker, shotbed, corksoaker if you could read lips.. .ahem.
“Lyon’s shot off the long par 4 sixth tee remained consistent with his day; it sliced into the right- hand woods and fall harmlessly behind a large oak tree. But it was the final straw for Lyon and he stomped up to the ball washer, swung his club like the Babe hitting a crushing home run. Then the unthinkable happened, the club head broke off the shaft after hitting the ball washer stand and sailed into the gallery and as you probably guessed hitting poor little Timmy Ziffleberg right in the center of his forehead.” The video showed the incident with special slo-mo as Timmy looked down the fairway laughing at the poor shot and turning back towards the tee box just at the time the club head made contact. The audience audibly gasped in horror seeing the horrendous accident.
“Timmy was immediately unconscious and barely breathing as Lyon run over to the spot Timmy laid. Nearby medical personnel gave Timmy immediate CPR and got him ready to be transported to the hospital. But Lyon was visibly upset and his first reaction was to withdrawal from the tournament with his confidence and focus clearly shaken. But Timmy’s father, Zeigfelt, said to Lyon. ‘Don’t quit Lyon, Timmy would want you to defend your title no matter what, and after my brother’s lawyers sue your ass you’ll need all the money you can get.’ Lyon knew Zeigfelt was sorta kidding about that last part, but he took to heart that the game goes on and dammit this Lyon is no quitter and he would win this one for little Timmy Ziffleberg. Over the course of the next three days, Lyon Forrestts shot an incredible 25 under par, hitting every green in regulation and one putting every hole except one where he holed the green from 125 yards out with a sand wedge. Never had Brickhouse Open seen such a performance, and even by Lyon Forrestts standards this was exceptional.”
“But on that victorious Sunday, Timmy was in an intensive care unit, in a coma where he would remain for the next two months with a swollen brain. But Lyon immediately went to his bedside after the victory and left the Brickhouse trophy and the winning check at his bedside under the watchful eye of Zeigfeld and his wife and Timmy’s mother, Zelma, as well as, half the lawyers of the personal injury attorney office of Whorley, Douglas and Ziffleberg. Lyon called or emailed every day to see how Timmy’s progress was going. Lyon also introduced the Ziffleberg’s to Henny Decker’s Duck and Cover Special Fund, letting them know that Timmy’s care was to be paid in full by this charity.” The video showed Timmy with the team of doctors and Lyon and Timmy’s family surrounding him at his bedside at various times.
“When Timmy came out of his coma it was obvious that his brain damage was severe and would be a very long road back to having a life outside of a hospital. But Lyon made sure Timmy got the best care possible. Lyon had a special motorized wheelchair made for Timmy that allowed him to become mobile again. And Lyon made sure Timmy knew he was the one who had inspired Lyon to his record breaking performance. Slowly in small steps Timmy made progress in regaining motor functions, when one day in November of 2008 he uttered his first words since the accident.
“ ‘Timmmmeeeeehhhhh’ he cried out. Many tears flowed out that day. But Timmy continued to surprise everyone when later that week Lyon came for his weekly visit. Timmy upon seeing Lyon brightened right up and got excited. His now cross-eyes seemed to almost go normal and he burst out, ‘LLLLIiiiiii ooonnonono eeesseess a a ah mmamamammm fa fahj fah kaa errrr.’ Lyon was taken aback and helped Timmy with his first sentence. ‘Yes ‘Lyon is my friend’ and Timmy I am your best friend forever as well.’ Timmy shook his head rapidly in a no-like motion, but most agreed Timmy was just overcome with joy to see his idol Lyon Forrestts and hear his kind words. It was a day few involved with Timmy’s recovery would ever forget.”
“Yes this was a terrible ordeal for the Ziffleberg’s and for Lyon or anyone connected with the PGA tour. But the Henny Decker Duck and Cover Special Fund continues to help in oh so many ways. They provided a new Cabo San Lucas ocean villa for the Zifflebergs with a special heliopad for transporting Timmy and family to get away from the long weeks of intense therapy. And the Zifflebergs enjoy getting around in their especially equipped Hummer 2 with five satellite uplinks so Timmy can enjoy all his favorite shows. And we can’t forget to mention the Ziffleberg’s new 50, 000 square foot gym, therapy center, Olympic pool, whirlpool and golf driving range where Timmy and his family can leave their troubles behind.”
“Timmy can now comprehend at a three year old level and drools at less than 50% of the volume of just a year ago. Timmy is his school’s mascot and official water boy for his synogogue’s peewee basketball team, The Chosen Ones. His love of drawing can be seen in these sketches where he is playfully running over Lyon in his wheelchair or a triptych of Timmy taking a sword and cutting Lyons various appendences off in almost a classic Greek Byzantine Period look.”
The video ends showing a close up shot of Lyon’s face looking at the camera. As Lyon begins to speak the camera pulls out showing Lyon kneeling next to Timmy in his wheelchair and then the rest of the Ziffleberg family around Lyon and Timmy. And finally the screen fills in with members of the hospital and the foundation staff that surround the core group. “Yes, I will never be the same or take life for granted. And I now know that anger is one letter short of being danger. Danger that no one should ever have to suffer from. I can never bring Timmy’s old life back, but by the grace of God, I can help him to live the rest of his life to the fullest and dedicate myself to helping others who may be hurt by the game they love so much. My heart and I’m sure yours as well goes out to Timmy. But Timmy doesn’t want our pity. Rather he wants your love, your financial support for others like him, and for you to smile at the courage he displays on a daily basis. As the French playwright Moliere once said, “The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.” Timmy shines in that glory for he overcomes more everyday than most of us will ever have to. That’s why I support this foundation and its work.” The camera zooms back in on Lyon as he turns towards Timmy and says “Right, Big Man?”
Timmy moves his head and arms wildly and says “Timmmmeeeehhheeehhh, ffffinns finnkss Liliilll iiii ooononon su suuaaah sucahhccc ukkkkss dddddaa daad iii…. “ and his right hand and wrist brace hits Lyon in the face as the video fades to black.
The hall was at first in silence as the film ended and the lights come back on. Only the soft sounds of sniffling and people blowing their noses could be heard . And then slowly one, and then another person, and yet another stand up to clap until the entire room shook with applause.
“Thanks. Yes Thank you. God bless you all and for your support. Timmy needs us and we need the Timmy’s of the World. Have a great night and hope to see you on the tour sometime, and hopefully at a safe distance. Goodnight.”
Lyon stepped back from the podium waved vigorusly to the crowd , shook hands with Nathan. He walked out a side door to the sound of continued loud cheers. Mr. Swenssen went back to the podium and ended the program, “Give it up one more time people for Lyon Forrestts, damn what a guy!! Good night and drive safely and enjoy ever bite of that better-than-sex chocolate cake, because guys I know that cake is sure thing, which is much better odds than I would give for us having sex tonight. I mean am I right or am I right?”
Lyon walked quickly out of the Pannenkokken Klub House to his waiting stretch limo. The usual hangers-on were waiting outside in the cold night hoping for his autograph, but Lyon blew them off saying he had an early morning and had to get some sleep. His driver Rocco Ricardo held open the back door and Lyon slid onto the padded leather back seat next to his publicist Britt Schiller.
Britt asked, “How did it go in there tonight, Erckle?” Britt liked to keep Lyon’s public veneer to minimum by using his legal name which he knew irked the crap out of Lyon.
“They loved it and we should have a record smashing number of pledges to deposit into the foundation. Maybe we can finally put that cancer called Henny Decker behind us. Has he still been trying to get a meeting set up?”
“Shit he calls me three times a day, I don’t know how many times and ways I have to tell him no. He was time bomb ready to go off before he got caught and he is beyond toxic now. He was tolerable as a sugar daddy sponsor for your foundation, but nothing to gain from seeing him… just bring you down into his muck. I’m sure he wants the photo opp to remind people what a great guy he is. By the way, Olay wanted to talk to you right after you were done.” Brit picked the limo phone, dialed Lyon’s home number and got one his servants on the line. “Can you tell Ms. Forrestts I have her husband on the line.”
Britt handed the phone to Lyon who looked back at Britt with a pained expression. “Hello, my little pooh bear, it’s your little tryin’ Lyon baby.”
“Ja, cut the crap Tigs, when the hell you getting home and more importantly when you going to get back on tour and make some money. I got some sweet summer fashions to buy and you know Olay doesn’t like delay Ohhhkay!”
“No worries sweetums, I’m leaving tomorrow morning, should be home in the early afternoon. What do you think am doing out here on the Frozen Tundra? Having a two week orgy? I had to make some personal appearances and do some public relations which will pay off many dividends. Hell I think we’ll bring in a quarter million just to our little Gerald-have-you-stumbled-a-Ford-lately Slush Fund with the event we had tonight. I am as anxious to see you and have you in my arms again. I love you, pooh bear. Myah”
“Whatever, you better have gotten Olay something that’ll make her say, Hooray. Or you will pay. Good …day? “
Lyon gave the phone back to Brit and swore “What a fucking bitch, Jesus. What was I thinking? “ Over the car intercom Lyon called to his driver. “Hey Rocco put on my party mix CD number 3 and crank it.” Over the limo stereo system came the tune ‘Let’s Get this Party Started’ and Lyon began jiving and bopping to the electronic beat. “So Britt make sure we get something from Targkett jewelry department for my beaatch, you know what she likes. So where’s tonight’s poo tang for Lyon to bang? Hell what’s the name of this casino we are going to, Takkadumpadummy or something?”
Britt shouted to be heard over the music: “Sorry to have to say this, but for christsakes Erckel, you should learn to wack off to keep your urges in check. You are endangering a lot of people, most of all your family and your own career with your little sexcapades. The casino’s called Takkadatwhitee and it’s on an Indian reservation, so try to be a little PC to make my job easier. I am sure there will be plenty of ‘ass’ for you to choose from tonight at the casino. We have reserved a private room and you’re guaranteed to win a nice pot tonight at blackjack; of course in exchange for some free publicity for the Injuns.”
“Listen Bert, or is it Ernie”, said Lyon who was now enjoying a Cuban cigar and had opened a bottle of Brutus Champaign with some Red Balls energy drink as a way to wash away the aftertaste of the banquet dinner and get his buzz on, “I pay you a fuckuva lot money so I can do what I want when I want and to do it well without any damage to my image. I don’t pay you to be my therapist or mother. How many times have I asked you to get Van Schlepper to come and spend some time with me during this trip. I know my life is out of balance, my feng shui is all fucked up and he is the one person who can seemingly get my head together.”
“I tried, I swear, hundreds of times to get him to schedule some appointments, but the bastard doesn’t even respect you enough to return your calls. It’s not like him, especially since you are in his backyard.” Britt said referring to Lyon’s “life coach” or personal guru, Heimlich Van Schleeper, who was based in the Minneapolis area. Zwishy, as his friends called him, or sometimes The Pink Baron as Britt like to privately refer to Van Schleeper for his very effeminate manners, had starting working with Lyon some years back during the self-improvement craze. Van Schleeper’s book, Turning Swinehunds into Pearls A guide to changingyour pig-dog like manners into a beautiful pearl necklace had resonanted with Lyon. He had his minions contact Van Schleeper’s minions and they began a professional relationship helping Lyon with his personal demons. But now Britt could not get Van Schleeper’s staff to tell them where he was or when or if he would get back to him.
“Well keep trying, he is a busy guy, and if there’s anyone who knows how the demands of being famous can be crushing it’s me. Also Britt contact my law firm and see if they can find some way to stem those bloodsucking Zifflebergs. My God they’d take every goddamn last dime from me if they could. And little Timmy, … he hates my guts, and I get that, but saying “Lyon sucks dick” right on my video and his motherfucking father forces me to keep it in, luckily you really can’t make out what he is saying, but Jesus… I’d like to… Ah fuck that shit, let’s PARTY, Lyon’s feeling lucky tonight!!!!” Lyon took a big swig from the Brutus bottle and a long series of puffs on his cigar. He then put them both down, brought his arms up and grabbing his right wrist with his left hand and with his right hand he pointed his index finger out and his thumb up at a ninety degree angle like you did when you played cops and robbers as kids. He pointed the “gun” at Britt’s head and said in a weak Dirty Harry imitation. “I know what your thinking, did I shoot five silver bullets or six. Well, do you feel lucky tonight? Well punk…. Do yeah?” and Lyon laughed uproariously as they sped into the dark, chilly Minnesota night.