It Had to Be You (30 page)

“I can just imagine how thrilled he was with that Stars’ tattoo she had on her shoulder blade yesterday. It showed up real nice on TV.”

“It’s removable,” she said. “And I was simply displaying my team spirit.”

“You were displaying a lot more than team spirit.”

“She’s filling up some of the empty seats,” Ron said. “Many of them with women, by the way.” He looked at Dan. “Your suspension was my decision and I take full responsibility for yesterday’s loss. I’m also giving you both a warning. I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you, but I don’t want to get caught in the cross fire again. Is that understood?”

“Understood,” Dan said brusquely.

“There’s nothing going on,” Phoebe said. Dan’s steady gaze was making her uncomfortable. Once again she reminded herself that—temporarily, at least—these two worked for her. She stood. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

The corner of Dan’s mouth kicked up. “Say howdy to your buddies over at
Playboy
for me.”

She repressed a smile as she left the room and headed for her office, where she spent the rest of the day reading reports and studying the spreadsheets on her computer screen that detailed the team’s complex finances. As she jotted figures on the steno pad she kept next to the keyboard, she admitted to herself that it felt good to use her brain again.

Their next game was being played at Giants Stadium in the Meadowlands for ABC’s “Monday Night Football.” Since no team wanted to lose in front of such a sizable television audience, Monday night games were considered to be among the most important of the season. As the week advanced the already tense atmosphere at the Stars Complex grew so explosive that fights began to break out among the players, while the staff snapped at each other, and Dan snapped at everyone. The team’s recent bad publicity had made it impossible for Phoebe to continue hiding from the media, and her dread of the upcoming game was compounded when she reluctantly agreed to ABC’s request for a halftime interview.

The players were tightly strung, the chartered plane virtually silent as it left O’Hare on Sunday afternoon for Newark. “It’s like a morgue back there,” Phoebe said to Ron as the flight attendants handed them the drinks they had requested: beer for Ron, tomato juice for her. “I don’t think it’s good for the players to be so tense.”

“Dan’s worked them as hard as I’ve ever seen this week, and they know what’s at stake. We have everything riding on this game.”

She had done more than stare at spreadsheets this week; she had also read a year’s worth of back issues of several well-regarded sports magazines, and she nibbled thoughtfully on her lower lip. “I still don’t think they should be so uptight. Maybe that’s why they’re fumbling the ball so much.”

“The only thing that will make them relax is finally having a win behind them.”

“If they don’t loosen up a little, that might not happen.”

“I sincerely hope you’re wrong.”

He turned his attention back to
Forbes.
She hesitated for only a moment before she leaned down and surreptitiously lifted the latch on the small dog carrier she had stowed beneath her legs.

Seconds later, the interior of the plane was filled with shrill yips as Pooh tore down the center aisle.

In the row of seats ahead of her, Dan’s head shot up, and he whirled around to face her. “Damn it, Phoebe! You brought that dog with you!”

“Oops.” Her lips formed a small, pink oval as she stood and squeezed past Ron. “Excuse me. I seem to have misplaced my pooch.”

Ignoring Dan, she made her way into the coach section of the plane, where she immediately heard the rumble of male laughter. As she had hoped, the players welcomed the distraction Pooh was providing. The poodle scooted between their feet, scrambled over their carryons, and licked any uncovered human part she could reach.

Bobby Tom reached down to snare her, but she dodged and crouched between Webster Greer’s feet. Phoebe couldn’t help but laugh at the sight of Pooh’s fluffy little head with its perky periwinkle bow perched on top of Webster’s size fourteen sneakers. She gazed warily up the aisle at her mistress and tried to figure out how much trouble she’d gotten herself into.

“I don’t think she wants you to catch her,” Webster observed.

“She’s not too fond of her carrier.”

Since Pooh seemed to be doing fine on her own, Phoebe began chatting with the players nearby, asking them about their families, the books they were reading, the music they were listening to on their Walkmans. Pooh had moved on to curl over the prized right foot of the team’s placekicker, but as Phoebe came closer, the dog darted across the aisle only to have Darnell Pruitt, the Stars’ largest offensive tackle, scoop her up.

“This what you’re looking for, Miss Somerville?”

Phoebe hesitated. Of all the men on the team, Darnell Pruitt was the most intimidating. A gold tooth studded with a half-carat diamond glistened in the front of his mouth, and heavy gold chains draped his black leather vest. He was shirtless beneath the vest, revealing a huge chest and heavily muscled forearms displayed in all their polished ebony glory. His eyes were hidden behind menacing black sunglasses, his nose was broad and flat, and a heavy scar puckered one shoulder. An article she had read just the day before in
Sports Illustrated
had described Darnell as one of the five meanest men in the NFL, and as she studied him, she saw no reason to disagree. She noticed that his teammates had left the seat next to him empty.

Even Pooh was intimidated. The poodle crouched on Darnell’s lap, muzzle down, peering up at him with wary eyes. With a flash of alarm, Phoebe saw that she definitely looked nervous.

She quickly moved along the aisle, absolutely certain that it was not a good idea for Pooh to get nervous while she was sitting on Darnell Pruitt’s lap. When she reached his row, she regarded him anxiously.

“Maybe—uh—I’d better take her.”

“Sit down,” he barked.

It was a command, not a request, and she collapsed into the empty seat like an accordion.

Darnell’s chains rattled.

Pooh began to tremble.

Phoebe chose that inopportune moment to recall the quote Darnell had given
Sports illustrated. What I like most about football,
he had said,
is seeing my man being carried off the field.

She cleared her throat “It’s—uh—not a good idea for her to get nervous.”

“Is that so?” he said belligerently. Scooping up the dog in hands the size of stove mitts, he brought the animal to eye level.

They stared at each other. Darnell’s menacing black sunglasses reflected Pooh’s round brown eyes. Phoebe held her breath as she waited for catastrophe. The seconds ticked by.

Pooh stuck out her long pink tongue and licked Darnell’s cheek.

The diamond in Darnell’s gold tooth flashed as he grinned. “I like this dog.”

“I can’t tell you how happy that makes me,” Phoebe said on a single rush of breath.

Pooh nuzzled through Darnell’s chains to cuddle closer. He stroked the dog’s topknot where the periwinkle bow had come undone as usual. “My mama wouldn’t let me have a dog when I was growin’ up. She said she didn’t want fleas in the house.”

“Not all dogs have fleas. Pooh doesn’t.”

“I’m gonna tell her that. Maybe she’ll let me have one now.”

Phoebe blinked. “You live with your mother, Darnell?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am. She keeps threatenin’ to move out, but I know she won’t do it till I get married. She says she doesn’t trust me to take care of myself.”

“I see. Are you getting married soon?”

“Oh, no, ma’am. Not sayin’ I don’t want to, but life can get complicated, you know.”

“I certainly do.”

“Sometimes the ladies you’re attracted to might not be attracted to you or vice versa.”

She regarded him curiously. “Which one is it?”

“Pardon me?”

“Vice? Or versa? Is the lady attracted to you, but you’re not attracted to her, or—”

“The other way around. I’m attracted to her, but she’s not too crazy about me.”

“That’s hard for me to believe. I thought you football players could take your pick of women.”

“You just try explainin’ that to Miss Charmaine Dodd.”

Phoebe adored hearing stories about people’s love lives. Slipping off her loafers, she drew her legs beneath her. “Tell me about her. If you want to, that is.”

“Well, she’s a real stubborn lady. And stuck on herself. She’s the organist at Mama’s church, and the rest of the time she’s a librarian. Shoot, she doesn’t even dress right. Wears these prissy little skirts and blouses buttoned all the way up to her chin. Walks around with her nose in the air.”

“But you like her anyway.”

“Let’s just say I can’t seem to put her out of my mind. Unfortunately, the lady doesn’t respect me in return because she’s got a education, see, and I don’t.”

“You went to college.”

For a moment he was silent. When he spoke, his tone was so quiet only she could hear him. “Do you know what college is like for somebody like me?”

“No, I don’t.”

“They take a kid like me, eighteen years old, never had much in life, and they say, ‘Darnell, you play ball for us, and we’ll take real good care of you. We’ll give you a fine scholarship, and— You like cars, Darnell? ’cause one of our alums got a big Chevy dealership, and he sure would like to give you a shiny new Corvette as a sign of his appreciation for choosing our fine university. We’ll take good care of you, Darnell. We’ll give you a high-payin’ summer job, except—dig this—you won’t even have to show up for work. And don’t worry too much about your classes, ’cause we’re gonna sign you up for some independent studies.’ “ He regarded her through the dark lenses of his sunglasses. “You know what independent study meant for somebody like me? It meant, I work my man over real good on Saturday afternoons, and I got an A when the grades came out.”

He shrugged. “I never graduated, and now I got all kinds of money. But sometimes I think it don’t matter. What good does money do when a lady like Charmaine Dodd starts talkin’ to you ’bout some white dude wrote this famous poem she loves, and her eyes get all lit up, but you don’t know jack about poetry, or literature, or anything else she thinks is important?”

Silence fell between them. Pooh had worked her muzzle into the crook of Darnell’s neck and was snoring softly.

“What’s stopping you from going back to school?”

“Me? Aw, no, I couldn’t do that. Football takes up too much time.”

“Maybe you could go during the off-season.” She smiled. “Why don’t you ask Miss Dodd what she thinks of the idea?”

“She’d laugh at me.”

“If she laughs at you, then you’ve got the wrong woman for sure.”

“I wasn’t ever much of a student,” he admitted with obvious reluctance.

“Probably because nobody expected you to be.”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, Darnell. You chicken?”

He glowered at her.

“Just kidding,” she said hastily. “The fact that you’re not a natural student could work to your advantage.” She grinned. “You might have to request some private tutoring.”

Darnell laughed, and half a dozen players swung their heads around to stare at him in disbelief.

Elvis Crenshaw stood up. “Hey, Darnell, you gonna hog that dog the whole trip? Pass it over. I like dogs, too.”

Darnell scowled at him. “Why don’t you go fuck— Er—”

The men hooted as Darnell ducked his head in embarrassment. And then their laughter abruptly snapped off.

Phoebe turned her head to determine what had caused the interruption and saw that Dan had entered the cabin. The men returned to their magazines and music, or closed their eyes and pretended to nap, acting as if they had been caught laughing at a funeral.

Dan’s power over even the most hardened of these veterans amazed her. She knew from snatches of conversations she’d overheard that, even though the men resented the relentless pressure he put on them, they still respected him. Ron said that one of the reasons Dan kept himself in such excellent physical shape was because he never asked the men to do anything he couldn’t do himself.

His eyes had widened slightly at the sight of Pooh sound asleep on his star tackle’s chest. He regarded Phoebe suspiciously, chatted for a few moments with the trainer, then, to everyone’s obvious relief, disappeared back into the first-class cabin.

“That is one cranky man,” Phoebe muttered as she stood.

“Coach has a lot on his mind,” Darnell replied.

Pooh stirred and Darnell reluctantly passed her over to Elvis Crenshaw. Phoebe stopped for a few minutes to ask Webster about Krystal and his children, then Bobby Tom wanted to talk to her about an idea he had for marketing his own line of salsa. She asked Jim Biederot about his shoulder and talked to several of the rookies about Chicago nightlife.

When she finally reclaimed Pooh, the atmosphere in the cabin was considerably more relaxed, but she was certain Dan would reverse that tomorrow. She couldn’t fault him for his dedication, but sometimes she wondered how much he knew about human nature. By the time the last team meeting was over, he’d have them all so tightly strung they’d be vibrating.

She spent the evening and much of the next day with Viktor. He chatted enthusiastically about the game and was pleased that she had invited him to share her skybox. He took Pooh with him when they parted, promising to bring the poodle back with him for the game.

For the first time since she had taken over as owner, she joined the team for their pregame dinner at the hotel at five that evening. Instead of taking the chair next to Ron, she sat with Darnell and Elvis Crenshaw, where she bypassed the plate-sized sirloin that was set before her in favor of her baked potato and salad.

It was a grim, silent meal. Afterward, as the players filed out, she saw that a group of Giant fans had somehow gotten into the hotel lobby and draped it with red and blue signs that left no doubt about where their sentiments lay. Her quick flash of anger made her realize how much the Stars had come to matter to her. Instead of an anonymous sports team, they had become a group of people she cared about.