It Had to Be You (29 page)

“It’s about time I got some respect.”

Their leader’s face was red with embarrassment as he came to a stop near Molly. He was tall, all knobby knees and bony elbows, well-scrubbed, well-fed, his long hair clean and shiny. The boys shuffled their feet as if they were stomping out ants. Dan still had his arm draped over Molly’s shoulders, but he deliberately turned his head toward Phoebe, making it difficult for the boys to address him.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?” he said.

“Lovely,” she replied, understanding immediately what he was doing. “I hope it doesn’t rain.”

“Weatherman said it was going to be nice all week.”

“You don’t say.” She watched out of the corner of her eye as the long-haired boy’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his neck. The boys seemed to realize they could only get to Dan through Molly. Their eyes darted back and forth between him and her.

“I’ve seen you at school, haven’t I?” their leader muttered.

“Uh-huh,” Molly replied.

“Yeah, I guess I have the next locker.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

In Phoebe’s opinion, someone with her sister’s astronomical IQ could have come up with a more interesting reply. Where was that handy quote from Dostoyevski when it would do some good?

“My name’s Jeff.”

“I’m Molly.”

While Jeff was introducing the other boys, Dan began pointing out the sights of the Riverwalk to Phoebe. He commented on the trees. The flowers. The ducks. But he never took his arm from around Molly’s shoulders, and the warmth Phoebe had felt for him when she’d opened her front door turned into a soft melting.

The conversation between Molly and the boys was becoming a little less torturous. Phoebe saw the Pom Poms approaching, their mascaraed eyes alive with a wary curiosity.

“Lots of feathers on those critters, aren’t there?” Dan kept his eyes on the river.

“Brown ones,” Phoebe replied, “although the one in the lead seems to have a spot of blue.”

“I believe that’s green.”

“Do you? Yes, I think you’re right.”

Dan’s presence was like a magnet. Several other boys passing along saw who their friends were with and charged through the Pom Poms to approach.

“Hey, Jeff, how’s it going, man?”

“Hi, Mark. Hi, Rob. This is Molly. She’s new this year.”

Dan and Phoebe traded a few more observations on duck plumage, before Dan finally turned his head to acknowledge the boys.

“Well, hi there, fellas. Are you guys friends of Molly’s?”

They all enthusiastically agreed that they were very good friends. Responding to Dan’s geniality, they gradually forgot their shyness and began asking questions about the team. The Pom Poms had joined the group and were regarding Molly with new interest. When several of the boys announced they were on their way to get ice cream, they invited Molly to go along.

She turned pleading eyes toward Phoebe. “May I?”

“Sure.” Phoebe made arrangements to meet Molly at the Riverwalk’s dandelion fountain in an hour.

But Dan wasn’t done. As the kids began to move away, he called after them. “Molly, you should bring a few of your friends to a game one of these Sundays. You could introduce them to some of the players afterward.”

The boys’ jaws dropped. “Yeah, Molly!”

“Hey, that’d be neat!”

“Do you know Bobby Tom, Molly?”

“I’ve met him,” she said.

“Boy, are you lucky!”

As the boisterous gang moved away, Phoebe smiled at Dan. “That was blatant bribery.”

He grinned. “I know.”

“I’m not sure about some of those girls, though. A few of them looked as if they’d sell their best friend for lunch money.”

“It doesn’t matter. We just gave Molly an even playing field. Now she can make her own choices.”

Pooh, impatient to strut her stuff, tugged on her leash. They walked down the slope of lawn and began to wander through the exhibits, but although Dan had once again donned his hat and sunglasses, too many people had noticed him as he’d talked with the teenagers, and some of them began to call his name, while they gazed at Phoebe with avid curiosity.

He nodded in response to their greetings and spoke to her under his breath. “Keep moving. Once you stop, it’s all over.” He glared at Pooh. “And would you mind either walking in front of me or behind me? I don’t want people to think—”

“Your image as a macho man is more than a match for one small dog. Lord, if you’re making this big a fuss over a poodle, I can’t imagine what you’d do if Viktor were along.”

“I like Viktor. It’s that major embarrassment at the end of the leash I want to get rid of. Did you have to put that purple bow on her?”

“It’s not purple, it’s mauve. Have you been this insecure all your life, or does it go along with advancing middle age?”

“I’m not the one that girl thought was Molly’s mother.”

“Good thing. Considering how easily your masculinity is threatened, that might have pushed you over the edge.”

The mutually pleasant volleying of insults continued for some time, each verbal serve immediately returned, but with no hard spikes and no balls hit out-of-bounds.

Dan bought her a handblown green and pink glass “witch’s ball” to hang in a sunny window. She bought him a matted black-and-white photograph of the Chicago skyline with a fingernail moon high in the sky.

“I’m gonna hang this in my office. I’ve been looking for something special to put up.”

As he admired her gift, another set of photographs came into her mind, and some of the pleasure she had been taking in the day faded. As they walked on, she realized she was mutilating the sack that held the glass witch’s ball. She wondered if she had the courage, just once, to be honest with a man instead of playing games.

“Dan,” she said softly, “I’m still upset about your reaction to the
Beau Monde
photographs. I’m proud of them.”

“So much for our nice afternoon.”

“I wish you wouldn’t act as though they’re pornographic. They’re some of Asha Belchoir’s best work.”

“They’re pictures of a naked woman, is what they are.”

She felt like a fool for even trying to reason with him. “I can’t believe how narrow-minded you are!”

“And I can’t believe a die-hard exhibitionist has the gall to criticize me.”

“I’m not an exhibitionist!”

“No offense, Phoebe, but you’ve taken your clothes off for more people than Gypsy Rose Lee ever did.”

Her temper flared, and she came to a stop next to a clump of mock orange shrubs. “You redneck jerk! You wouldn’t recognize art if it hit you in the head. You have the aesthetic judgment of a— a—”

“Football player?”

“No. A football!”

He whipped off his sunglasses and glared at her. “Just because I happen to think that nice women should keep their clothes on in public doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate art.”

“Last week I was a bimbo and now I’m a nice woman. Maybe you’d better make up your mind.”

She saw by his expression that she’d scored a hit, but that wasn’t what she wanted. She wasn’t interested in putting points on some imaginary scoreboard; she simply wanted him to understand. Her temper faded, and she slipped her hands into the pockets of her shorts. “It bothers me a lot that you’re trying to make those photos into something sordid. They’re not.”

He looked out toward the river, and his voice lost its belligerent edge. “I can’t help it.”

She gazed at him, trying to understand the expression on his face. “Why? What does it matter to you?”

“I don’t know. It just does.”

“Because it reflects on the team?”

“You can’t deny that.”

“I’m sorry about the timing.”

“I know that.” He turned to her, and his expression was surprisingly gentle. “The photographs are beautiful, Phoebe. Both of us know that. But they’re still not as pretty as you are.”

They stood there without moving. She gazed into his eyes and felt as if he were pulling her into an embrace. She could feel herself leaning forward, see that he was doing the same. And then Pooh barked, breaking the mood.

He took her arm and propelled her forward. “Come on. I’m gonna buy you your very own hot dog bun. With a little mustard and pickle relish, you might not notice the best part is missing.”

Taking his cue, she fell into step beside him. “Do you have any idea what goes into hot dogs?”

“No, and I don’t want to know. Unless— Hey, Pooh, you interested in going into the meat industry?”

“That’s not funny. Don’t listen to him, Pooh.”

He chuckled.

Five minutes later, she was munching on a french fry, while Dan bit into his second hot dog. A wistful note crept into her voice. “There isn’t any possibility, is there, that the Stars are going to win the AFC Championship?”

“I start every season planning to win the Super Bowl.”

“I’m not talking about fantasies, I’m talking about reality.”

“We’re going to give it our best, Phoebe. A lot of it depends on whether or not we can stay healthy. Injuries always play a big part. Last year, for example, the Cowboys were a better team than the Sabers, but they lost the Super Bowl because so many of their starters were hurt. Right now we’re not playing up to our potential, but things are going to start falling into place soon.”

“This weekend?”

He gave her a rueful smile. “Probably not that soon.”

“Everybody says the men are grumbling about how hard you’re pushing them.”

“That’s my job.”

She sighed. “I know you’re looking forward to working for Reed, and I can’t really blame you.”

She expected a wisecrack, but instead, Dan looked thoughtful. “Frankly, I’ve never been too crazy about your cousin. I’m also getting the distinct impression he’s behind some of our bad press. Over the years, he’s cultivated a lot of friends in the media.”

Phoebe had suspected the same thing. Still, she could hardly take Dan’s statement as a vote of confidence. “At least he knows something about football.”

“That’s true.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders and gave her a comforting squeeze. “But he sure is going to look funny kissing Bobby Tom.”

The Stars had been ineffectual against the bloodthirsty Los Angeles Raiders. Jim Biederot was intercepted four times, Bobby Tom couldn’t keep his footing, and the defense didn’t make the tackles that counted. Phoebe gave one last glance at the final score:
Raiders 34, Stars 3
.

“Never mind,” she said. “It’ll be better next week.”

“We’re playing the Giants next week. They only have one loss this season, and that was to the Sabers.”

Before she could respond, one of Bert’s cronies came up to talk to him.

The next morning, as she drove to work for the eight o’clock meeting Ron had requested, she once again found herself reliving Saturday afternoon. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had such a wonderful time. From the art fair, the three of them had gone to an area restaurant for an early dinner, and Dan had proved to be as good a listener as he was a storyteller. She’d invited him back to the condo, where he’d talked Molly into modeling all her new clothes for him. His teasing compliments had done more for Molly’s self-confidence than anything Phoebe had said. He’d left a little after eight, and she’d spent the rest of the night torturing herself with images of him in bed with his ex-wife.

Unusually heavy traffic on Naper Boulevard held her up, and she arrived at Ron’s office a few minutes after eight. Dan was already there. She gave them both a cheerful smile as she took a seat around the conference table and hoped Dan couldn’t see how skittish she felt being with him again.

As soon as she was settled, Ron began. “Now that your suspension is over, Dan, I wanted all of us to have a chance to clear the air. As you’re both aware, we’ve taken some hard hits in the press these past few weeks. This morning’s papers are the worst. I received a call at home from our new commissioner last night stating, in the strongest possible terms, that we have become an embarrassment to the League.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little extreme,” Dan said.

“He cited the
Beau Monde
photographs, your suspension, Phoebe’s manner of dress on the sidelines, and, of course, the rumored romantic liaison between the two of you. He also mentioned a phone conversation he had with you last week, Phoebe. I wish I’d known about it. Is there any reason you didn’t tell me you’d spoken with the commissioner?”

Phoebe shifted her weight in the chair and decided she’d liked Ron better when he was a wimp. “It slipped my mind.”

Dan regarded her skeptically. “That’s a little hard to believe.”

“He’s still rather upset about it,” Ron said.

“I’m the one who should be upset.”

“Would you like to tell us why?”

She tried to figure out how to present this so they wouldn’t jump all over her. “He was actually sort of fatherly. He told me that sometimes a person can get in over her head—especially a pretty little thing like myself who is trying to do a man’s job. He said I wasn’t being fair to Reed. He mentioned all the things he spoke to you about, plus a rumor he’d picked up that I was also carrying on with Bobby Tom.” Her mouth tightened. “He suggested that monthly hormonal fluctuations might be at the root of my troubles.”

Ron knew her well enough to regard her warily. “What did you say?”

“I—uh—” She looked past him out the window. “Never mind.”

“Phoebe . . .”

She bowed to the inevitable with a sigh. “I told him I had to get off the phone because
Playboy
was on the other line.”

Ron winced, but Dan laughed.

“Don’t encourage her.” Ron was clearly annoyed. “You know that if the Stars were winning, we wouldn’t be getting all this flak.”

“I was suspended last week! It’s real hard to win a football game when you’re not coaching the team.”

“That’s one of the reasons I wanted to talk to both of you.” Ron toyed with his coffee mug. “As far as I’m concerned, what’s past is past. We can’t do anything about the photographs, and as for Phoebe’s dress on the sidelines— Well, I believe the commissioner’s wrong.”