Santa Fe Edge

8

Tip Hanks stood outside the clubhouse at Las Campanas, hitting chip shots to the practice green. About one out of six was going into the cup, but, of course, he was hitting from the same position. Still, he was getting better at sinking chip shots, and that could win tournaments. Tip had had a number of top-ten finishes this season, and one in the top five. He was determined, in the next season, to start winning, instead of just making a good living.

The season playoffs were just ahead-four tournaments-and the winner on points would win the FedEx Cup, and that was a ten-million-dollar check. Tiger Woods was out with a knee injury, so it was anybody’s to win.

A member ambled by and stopped for a moment to convey his condolences. Tip was momentarily surprised. He had been shaken by Connie’s death but, he reflected, more shaken when he had been arrested. It had not been much of a relationship beyond sex, and he wondered-not for the first time-if God had somehow short-changed him in the emotions department.

He walked over to the driving range, teed up a ball and snapped into his brain’s swing mode, which obviated any other thought, even of his dead wife. He hit a bucket of balls with his driver and fairway woods and was satisfied with the results. He had improved his driving a lot this season by shaving ten yards off his length and hitting fairways instead of hooks and slices.

He had lunch in the bar, then put away his clubs and went home. When he got out of the car he saw an envelope propped against his front door. Inside was a letter.

Dear Mr. Hanks,

My name is Dolly Parks, and first of all I want to tell you how sad I was to hear of Connie’s death. We had met only recently, but I liked and admired her.

We met when I posted a notice on a bulletin board at the farmers market in town, seeking an assistant’s position, full- or part-time. She called me, and we had lunch, and she told me that the two of you had discussed hiring someone to deal with the bills, the house maintenance and travel arrangements. I was supposed to start next Monday.

I don’t know if you are still interested in hiring someone, but I would appreciate the opportunity to talk with you about it. My number is below.

Her résumé was attached. She had held office and secretarial jobs in New York for a period of ten years or so.

Connie and he had talked about hiring a secretary, Tip remembered. He picked up the phone, called her and asked her to come to the house for a drink in the late afternoon.

He showered and shaved and dressed, then took an hour’s nap. By the time he had roused himself and dressed, the doorbell was ringing.

Dolly Parks was unexpectedly attractive-small, blond and shapely. She had dressed in informal but appropriate clothes for her interview. Tip invited her into his study. “Would you like a drink?” he asked.

“No, thanks,” she said. “Maybe later.”

“I liked your résumé,” he said. “Sounds like you’re a well-organized person. When did you last see Connie?”

“At the end of last week. She called the day before she… died and said that she had checked my references and that I was hired.”

“At what salary?” he asked.

“Twenty-five dollars an hour, health insurance, three weeks’ vacation after six months. She said that she thought you would need me only half a day, but if the work mounted up, maybe longer. That’s why we agreed on an hourly rate. I have one other client in Santa Fe, but I work for him only a couple of hours a day, three days a week.”

“That sounds fine to me. I’m leaving on Tuesday to play a tournament. Can you start tomorrow? I’d like to get you familiar with the computer banking I’ve set up.”

“Of course. I’d be glad to.”

“Come on, I’ll show you some ropes now.” He went to his computer and began explaining the banking program.

“I’m already working with that for my other client,” she said, “and for the same bank, so I can hit the ground running.”

“That’s good news,” he said. “My caddie, Mike, has been doing the travel arrangements, but he’s not very good at it, so I’d like you to take over that. I have an airplane and fly myself, so there won’t be much in the way of airline reservations, except for Mike, if he’s meeting me at a tournament. He lives in Dallas.

“My checks from the PGA are deposited into a savings account at the bank here, and I make computer transfers to the checking accounts, one for business, one for household and personal. I’ll make you a signatory on those two, so you won’t need my signature to pay bills, and I’ll transfer funds into them as needed. My accountant does regular audits on my accounts, so he’ll catch you and send you to prison if you steal.” Tip laughed, and she laughed, too.

“I understand,” she said. “Do you travel with a laptop?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I can scan the bills and e-mail them to you for approval. After a while, I’ll learn your spending habits, and you might want to give me a little more freedom.”

“Probably.”

“I would like you to check every credit card bill, though, to see if the charges are genuine. There’s a lot of credit card fraud around, and you don’t want to fall victim to that.”

“Right. I’ll also want you to keep track of my tax-deductible expenses, so you can give them to my accountant at the end of the year. I don’t like to deal with taxes any more than I have to.”

“I’m very familiar with the IRS schedules and which expenses belong on which schedule,” she said, “so that won’t be a problem. How much are you gone?”

“I play, on average, about three times a month during the season, which is drawing to a close now. This winter I’ll play some in Japan and maybe Australia and the Middle East, to keep the income stream going. I could be gone for six or seven weeks at a time.”

“Well, before you leave I’ll be familiar with everything, and we’ll have e-mail to stay in touch.”

“Right.” He got up and led her to a door that opened into an empty room next door. “We’ve used this for storage. Why don’t you clean it out and outfit it as an office for you? Get yourself a computer, some file cabinets and bookcases, whatever you need. There’s a closet over there for supplies. We have an account with a local office-supply firm.”

“I’m good with computers,” Dolly said. “If you’ll give me a credit card number I’ll order a computer online and transfer all the business software to the new computer.”

Tip handed her his business credit card. “Call American Express and order a card for you. I’ll speak to them when you’re on the line with them.”

They went back into the study, Dolly made the call and the card was ordered.

“Stop by the bank tomorrow and get new signature cards, and we’ll both sign them.”

“Certainly.”

“I can’t think of anything else to tell you, Dolly. Would you like that drink now?”

“Yes, thanks. That would be very nice.”

Tip made the drinks from the concealed bar in his study, and they watched the sunset together.