what Myron had seen today. His skin was dark and rough;
his eyes dropped inside black circles; his features jutted out in classical Semitism; his beard and hair were too long and somewhat unkempt.
'You look like Jerry Rubin at the Chicago Seven trial,' Myron said.
'Just the look I wanted,' Norm said. 'Retro. Hip.
Attitude. That's what's in nowadays.'
'Hardly Tad Crispin's look,' Myron said.
'I'm talking about the real world, not golf. Golfers don't know from hip or attitude. Hasidim are more open to change than golfers, you know what I'm saying? I'll give you an example: Dennis Rodman is not a golfer. You know what golfers want? The same thing they've wanted since the dawn of sports marketing: Arnold Palmer.
That's what they want. They wanted Palmer, then Nicklaus, then Watson always good ol' boys.' He pointed a thumb at Esme Fong. 'Esme is the one who signed Crispin. He's her boy.'
Myron looked at her. 'Quite a coup,' he said.
'Thank you,' she said.
'We'll see how big a coup it is,' Zuckerman said.
'Zoom is moving into golf in a very big way. Huge.
Humongous. Gigantic.'
'Enormous,' Myron said.
'Mammoth,' Win added.
' 'Colossal. ' '
'Titantic.'
` ' Bunnyanesque. ' '
Win smiled. 'Brobdingnagian,' he said. +
'Oooo,' Myron said. 'Good one.'
Zuckerman shook his head. 'You guys are funnier than the Three Stooges without Curly. Anyway, it's a helluva campaign. Esme is running it for me. Male and female lines. Not only have we got Crispin, but Esme's landed the numero uno female golfer in the world.'
'Linda Coldren?' Myron asked.
'Whoa!' Norm clapped his hands once. 'The Hebrew hoopster knows his golf. By the way, Myron, what kind of name is Bolitar for a member of the tribe?'
'It's a long story,' Myron said.
'Good, I wasn't interested anyway. I was just being polite. Where was I?' Zuckerman threw one leg over the other, leaned back, smiled, looked about. A ruddy-faced man at a neighboring table glared. 'Hi, there,' Norm said with a little wave. 'Looking good.'
The man made a huffing noise and looked away.
Norm shrugged. 'You'd think he never saw a Jew before.'
'He probably hasn't,' Win said.
Norm looked back over at the ruddy-faced man.
'Look!' Zuckerman said, pointing to his head. 'No horns!'
Even Win smiled.
Zuckerman tumed his attention back to Myron. 'So tell me, you trying to sign Crispin?'
'I haven't even met him yet,' Myron said.
Zuckerman put his hand to his chest, feigning surprise. 'Well then, Myron, this is some eerie coincidence.
You being here when we're about to break bread with him what are the odds? Wait.' Norm stopped, put his hand to his ear. 'I think I hear Twilight Zone music.'
'Ha-ha,' Myron said.
'Oh, relax, Myron. I'm teasing you. Lighten up, for crying out loud. But let me be honest for a second, okay?
I don't think Cripsin needs you, Myron. Nothing personal, but the kid signed the deal with me himself No agent. No lawyer. Handled it all on his own.'
'And got robbed,' Win added.
Zuckerman put a hand to his chest. 'You wound me, Win.'
'Crispin told me the numbers,' Win said. 'Myron would have gotten him a far better deal.'
'With all due respect to your centuries of upper-crust inbreeding, you don't know what the hell you're talking about. The kid left a little money in the till for me, that's all. Is that a crime nowadays for a man to make a profit?
Myron's a shark, for crying out loud. He rips off my clothes when we talk. He leaves my office, I don't even have undies left. I don't even have furniture. I don't even have an office. I start out with this beautiful office and Myron comes in and I end up naked in some soup kitchen someplace.' ' `
Myron looked at Win. 'Touching.'
'He's breaking my heart,' Win said.
Myron turned his attention to Esme Fong. 'Are you happy with how Crispin's been playing?'
'Of course,' she said quickly. 'This is his first major, and he's in second place.'
Norm Zuckerman put a hand on her arm. 'Save the spinning for those morons in the media. These two guys are family.'
Esme Fong shifted in her seat. She cleared her throat.
'Linda Coldren won the U. S. Open a few weeks ago,'
she said. 'We're running dual television, radio, and print ads they'll both be in every spot. It's a new line, completely unknown to golf enthusiasts. Naturally, if we could introduce Zoom's new line with two U. S. Open winners, it would be helpful.'
Norm pointed his thumb again. 'Ain't she something? Helpful. Nice word. Vague. Look, Myron, you read the sports section, am I right?'
'As rain.'
'How many articles did you see on Crispin before the tournament began?'
'A lot.'
'How much coverage has he gotten in the past two days'?' I
'Not much.'
'Try none. All anybody is talking about is Jack Coldren. In two days that poor son of a bitch is either going to be a miracle man of messianic proportions or the most pitiful loser in the history of the world. Think about it for a second. A man's entire life both his past and his future will be shaped by a few swings of a stick. Nuts, when you think about it. And you know what the worst part is?'
Myron shook his head.
'I hope like hell he messes up! I feel like a major son of a bitch, but that's the truth. My guy comes back and wins, you wait and see the way Esme spins it. The brilliant play of newcomer Tad Crispin forces a veteran to crack. The new kid stares down the pressure like Palmer and Nicklaus combined. You know what it'll mean to the launch of the new line?' Zuckerman looked over at Win and pointed. 'God, I wish I looked like you. Look at him, for crying out loud. He's beautifiul.'
Win, in spite of himself laughed. Several ruddy-faced men turned and stared. Norman waved at them, friendlylike. 'Next time I come,' Norm said to Win, 'I'm wearing a yarmulke.'
Win laughed harder. Myron tried to remember the last time he'd seen his friend laugh so openly. It'd been a while. Norm had that effect on people.
Esme Fong glanced at her watch and rose. 'I only stopped by to say hello,' ' she explained. 'I really must be going.'
All three men stood. Norm bussed her cheek. 'Take care, Esme, okay? I'll see you tomorrow morning.'
'Yes, Norm.' She gave Myron and Win demure smiles accompanied by a shy lowering of the head. 'Nice meeting you, Myron. Win.'
She left. The three men sat. Win steepled his fingers.
'How old is she?' Win asked.
