Nicole sighed hard. “I don’t know if a few tips would even help. I have been to all sorts of coaches and classes that Sidewinder brings in. I’m way better at designing golf clubs than I am at the game, and I knew that when I took the job. I thought I might get better while I worked here, but I was delusional. I’m hopeless.”
He inclined his head and bit his lip for a moment, obviously calculating what he would say next. “You don’t really have a lot wrong with your swing. It’s just that each minor variation from the classical club path?—”
“Variation? Is that what we’re calling themassive flawsin my swing?”
He continued, enunciating precisely, “—each minor deviation is multiplying the effect on the club head path and angle.”
“That is the nicest way I’ve ever heard someone tell me that my swing sucks.” He must really want to have sex with her.
“Some deviations can compensate for each other, like in Jim Furyk’s swing. I heard an announcer once say that his swing hasmore movement than an octopus falling out of a tree, and yet he shot afifty-eightat the Hartford Open. That was a miraculous day.”
They both stood in reverent silence for a moment at the pinnacle of golfing prowess, the holiness of the perfect round of twelve-under par, ten birdies and an eagle, no bogies.
Kingston continued, “I think just a few tweaks would vastly improve your results.”
Nicole shook her head. “Joe brought in pros every week to work with us so we would understand the game better, and every one tried to fix my swing. I made one guy cry. Surely, one of those PGA professional golf instructors would’ve picked up on ‘a few tweaks.’”
He shrugged. “Too many instructors try to force everybody into the same classical swing. Most people can’t do it. Let’s try something else.”
“I’m willing to tryanything,”she grumbled.
Kingston retrieved his driver, the longest club in his bag, and stood directly across from her. “Assume the stance.”
He ordered people around really easily for a sales guy.
Nicole braced her legs and made a triangle of her arms, holding the club like she was ready to hit the ball. “How’s this?”
“Fine.” Standing across from her, Kingston held his golf club at the wrong end, wrapping his fingers around the bulbous head, and gently rested the foam grip on her head. “Now swing.”
She looked up from under his club lying on her skull. “But I’ll hit you!”
“There is no way you can hit me. At the bottom of your swing, your club should hit the golf ball, which is three feet in front of my shoes.”
“But if it bounces off the toe of the club?—”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Okay. Your funeral.”
“No more arguing. Hit the ball, Nicole.”
Considering where he was standing, if she mis-hit this golf ball off the toe of the driver, it would more likely be hisnut shotthan his funeral, but okay.
She screwed her eyes closed and flailed into her backswing.
With Kingston’s club’s handle resting on the top of her head, her shoulders rotated instead of her torso swaying. Even with her eyes shut, the sharptickof her club head meeting the ball sounded better.
His low voice said, “Good girl.”
When she opened her eyes, the white trail soared above the fairway on the video screen and still leaned to the right, but the ball landed barely in the rough instead of far into the trees. “That sucked significantly less!”
Kingston was holding his club to the side and watching the flight of her ball on the simulator screen. “There’s one more thing we can work on.”
Nicole was so jazzed by her lack of complete ineptitude that she almost squeaked. “What’s that?”
“Assume the stance.”
Nicole did. “Okay.”
