GREG: I said what are your intentions Johnny? I know. You come here to Phoenix to sell me your frames, maybe fit in some 'gars and golf. But intentions… The fact of the matter is John our father's taught us well. Price. Margins. Inventory. The power of a handshake. Live to close. Close to live. "Never make them buy a product, you make them buy-- an opportunity." You have one. Ten Grand is a fair deal. But what exactly. Are. Your. Intentions. [Greg is about to putt, but stops short.] Hey, it all comes down to intentions. Intentions Johnny. Yours. Mine. The worlds? The fact of the matter is I'm glad you came John. Very. We've always been close. Two men each carrying out their respected father's wishes. That's more than just business acquaintances. That's a connection. Sorry about the old man by the way. Damn shame. But enough business. The fact of the matter is your trip to Phoenix couldn't have come at a better time. Heather and I just parted ways. Not much to tell. It all comes back to intentions John! Heather was always a bit self-conscious. Preoccupied with her looks. Always a great body. A very "hot" body. But for whose intentions? The fact of the matter is Johnny-- somewhere she crossed the line. I mean--She wasn't well. Psychologically. Between you and me? All she'd eat? Carrots. Carrots! Raw carrots John. That's all she was eating. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner. Swear to God. Carrots. Even if we went out to eat, she'd throw down the menu and pull out a carrot. I didn't have a wife. I had a rabbit. But that's not all. It got worse. Listen I don't know if you know what happens when all your diet consists of is carrots, especially in sun like this… the fact of the matter is Johnny: Heather turned orange. My wife. Her skin. My wife was orange. The carrots and the melanin or the keratin and this climate…? I don't know Johnny, but when you come home and there's something orange sitting on your couch watching Oprah and eating a carrot, and you can't get to your beer in the refrigerator because it's filled top to bottom with carrots, and everywhere you go you're seeing carrots… the fact of the matter is Johnny and I'm trying like hell to quit saying "the fact of the matter is," but the fact of the matter is-- it gives you pause. What were her intentions John? What were her intentions for turning orange? Were they hers at all? Were they mine? Yours? The world's? The questions are confounding. But we must believe in our answers. [Greg finally putts. He misses.] Goddamned son of a bitchin' cocksucking bastards! [He breaks his putter.] Bastards! [A pause] Tell you what. I'm gonna take an eleven. [He picks up his ball.] The next hole has a ball washer!