It Had to Be You Part 16

"Oh, no."

Color photographs of Phoebe in her hot pink carwash dress and rhinestone sungla.s.ses glittered on the pages of the a.s.sorted papers he spread in front of her. In one of the photographs, she had her knuckles pressed to her mouth. In another, her hand was resting on her waist and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were outthrust so that she looked like a World War II pinup. Most of them, however, showed her kissing Bobby Tom Denton.

"That headline is my particular favorite." Ron pointed toward one of the papers.

STARS' OWNER COMPLETES FORWARD Pa.s.s "Although this one has a certain poetic quality."

BOBBY BUSSES BOMBSh.e.l.l BOSS.

Phoebe groaned. "They've made me look like a fool."

"That's one way to interpret it. On the other hand-"

"It's good for ticket sales." She no longer had any trouble reading his mind.

He took a seat across from her. "Phoebe, I'm not certain you understand how dismal our financial picture is right now. This sort of publicity is going to fill seats, and we need to do everything possible to generate revenue immediately. With that brutal stadium contract we have-"

"You keep mentioning our stadium contract. Maybe you'd better fill me in."

"I suppose I should start at the beginning." He looked thoughtful. "You're aware that the days of the purely family-owned football team have just about disappeared?"

"How many are left?"

"Only two. The Pittsburgh Steelers, owned by the Rooney family, and the Phoenix Cardinals, owned by the Bidwells. Football has simply gotten too expensive for single-family ownership. Tim Mara sold off his half of the Giants in the late eighties, the McCaskeys got rid of a piece of the Bears, and, of course, Bert sold off fifteen percent of the Stars to some of his cronies."

"Those are the men who keep leaving me the phone messages I'm not returning?"

"The same. For now, corporate ownership violates league rules, but that's probably where we're eventually headed. How can the Green Bay Packers, for example, which is a publicly owned team, compete with all the land barons, oil and gas men, and automobile fortunes that are pumping money into the Chiefs and the Cowboys, the Lions, the Saints, all the rest?"

He shook his head. "Teams have astronomical expenses and only limited ways of generating revenue: network television contracts, ticket sales, licensing agreements, and, for some of the teams, their stadium contracts. We don't get a penny from any food or liquor sold at the dome. We don't receive a cut from any of the advertising that's displayed, our rent is astronomical, and we have to pay for our own security as well as our cleanup."

"How could Bert allow something like that to happen?"

"He let his heart rule his head, I'm afraid. In the early eighties when the Stars' franchise became available, Bert wanted to buy it so badly that he didn't hang tough enough with the consortium of businessmen behind the sports dome. He also expected eventually to renegotiate the contract by making some threats and showing a little muscle."

"Apparently he thought wrong."

"The consortium that owns the stadium is headed by Jason Keane. He's a tough businessman."

"I've heard of him. He shows up at a lot of Manhattan clubs."

"Don't let his reputation as a playboy fool you. Keane's smart, and he had no intention of losing his sweetheart deal with the Stars. The contract comes up for renewal this December, and so far we've made no progress at all improving the terms."

Resting her elbow on her desk, she plowed one hand through her hair and swept it back from her cheek. The Stars had lost their final three exhibition games as well as their season opener, so there was little possibility of the team's qualifying for the AFC Championship game. All the sportswriters were predicting that the Portland Sabers would make it to the Super Bowl again this year, and she hadn't failed to note that the Sabers had won their opener against the Buffalo Bills 2510.

The stadium contract was going to be Reed's problem, and there was no reason for her to waste time thinking about it except for an inescapable need to accomplish something her father hadn't been able to do. But how could she expect to remedy a situation Bert couldn't fix when she knew nothing at all about such things?

Reed had called her several times since the night he'd come to visit her. He'd even sent her flowers before the opener. Each time they'd spoken he'd been unfailingly polite, although he wasn't happy about the two-year contract she'd signed with Ron. She knew he was afraid that she was going to destroy the team before he could take it over. He would never understand that her need to be more than the figurehead her father had envisioned outweighed any desire she might have to get back at him for his childhood bullying.

She gazed at the computer that sat idly on the corner of her desk. "Could you set me up with someone who can teach me how to use this thing?"

"You want to learn how to operate a computer?"

"Why not? I'm willing to try anything that's nonfattening. Besides, it might be fun to use my brain again."

"I'll send someone over." Ron got up to leave. "Phoebe, are you sure you don't want to move into Bert's office? I feel guilty having all that s.p.a.ce to myself."

"You need it more than I do."

After Ron left, she looked around at the blue-gray walls, steel case desk, and football artwork. She'd decided she wasn't going to be here long enough to bother personalizing Ron's former office with her own belongings. The utilitarian furnishings provided a marked contrast to the luxurious condo she and Molly were moving into. One of Bert's mistresses had obviously been blessed with good taste in decorating, if not in men.

Peg Kowalski, Bert's former housekeeper, was spending the day supervising the transfer of Phoebe's and Molly's clothing and personal possessions. Peg, who was in her late fifties and tired of managing a large house, had immediately agreed to help out with cleaning, laundry, and grocery shopping as well as staying overnight with Molly if Phoebe needed to be out of town.

Molly had shown little interest in the move. She'd also turned down Phoebe's invitation to a shopping expedition so they could update her hopelessly drab wardrobe before she started school on Wednesday. Phoebe had decided there was no point in confronting Molly with the lies she had told Dan. It would only make a bad situation worse.

She had reports to read, phone calls to return, but, instead, she once again swiveled her chair so she could stare out the window. She had been playing games with men for so long she had no idea how to let one know she was honestly attracted to him. Mixed with her feelings of embarra.s.sment and sadness was regret. If only she had been woman enough to let Dan Calebow make love to her, maybe she could have been healed.

Dan saw that Valerie was regarding him suspiciously as he entered the office she kept in one of Oak Brook's granite and gla.s.s commercial buildings. She gestured toward the nubby, rose-colored chairs that sat around the small conference table.

"Do you want coffee?"

"No, thanks."

He sat down, pushing the chair back on its wheels so he could stretch his legs out. As she rose from behind her desk and walked over to him, he took in her conservative navy business suit and white silk blouse b.u.t.toned to the neck. Knowing Valerie, she probably had on a G-string underneath.

"I heard you lost again on Sunday," she said, as she sat next to him. "I'm sorry."

"Stuff happens." He'd wanted to do this right, so he'd told her they needed to talk and asked her to meet him downtown for dinner at Gordon, which was her favorite restaurant. When she'd refused and told him to come to her office instead, he'd figured she knew what was on his mind and just wanted to get it over with.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed a pack of cigarettes from the middle of the conference table. "That incident at your house last night was appalling. I hope she keeps her mouth shut."

"She prob'ly will."

Valerie gave a cynical laugh. "My entire life flashed in front of me when I realized what had happened."

"I imagine hers flashed in front of her, too, when I was draggin' her into the woods. Unlike you, she didn't know I wasn't really going to hurt her."

"You did manage to calm her down?"

"We talked some."

She inhaled deeply on the cigarette she had just lit and made her first not-so-delicate probe. "It's going to put a damper on any seduction plans you have for her."

"Believe me, Val, the only plans I have for Phoebe are to stay as far away from her as I can."

He meant it, too. He was furious with himself for letting things go so far with Phoebe. He should never have kissed her, and he promised himself he wouldn't ever get carried away like that again. Finally, he had his priorities straight.

Val regarded him warily. "Then what's this about?"

He knew she wasn't going to like what he had to say, and he spoke softly. "I've met someone."

She was cool, he'd give her that, and if he hadn't known her better, he would have believed she was unaffected by his news. "Anyone I know?"

"No. She's a nursery school teacher." Val wouldn't understand if he told her he hadn't yet asked Sharon out for a formal date, but after last night's incident, he knew he couldn't indulge in any more s.e.x games with his ex-wife, not when he was getting ready to launch a serious courtship.

"How long have you and this nursery school teacher been seeing each other?" She took a quick, angry drag.

"Not long."

"And she, of course, is everything I wasn't." Her mouth tightened as she stabbed out her cigarette in the ashtray.

Valerie had a good-sized ego and she didn't usually give in to petulance, but he understood that he was hurting her. "I'm sure she's not as smart as you, Valerie. Not as s.e.xy, either. But the thing of it is, she's real good with kids."

"I see. She's pa.s.sed your Mother Goose audition." She gave him a bright, hard smile. "Actually, Dan, I'm glad this came up because I've been wanting to talk to you about the same thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Our arrangement isn't working for me."

He feigned surprise. "You want to break it off?"

"I'm sorry, but, yes. I just didn't know how to bring it up without hurting you."

He jumped up from his chair and gave her a little of the outrage he knew she needed to hear. "Who is he? Have you got another man, Val?"

"It was inevitable, Dan. So let's not have any scenes."

He looked down. Shoved his foot around in the carpet pile for a little bit. "d.a.m.n, Valerie, you sure know how to cut a man down to size. I don't know why I even try to have the last word with you. Here I came over to break it off with you, and all the time you were getting ready to dump me."

She regarded him suspiciously, trying to see if he was putting her on, but he kept the same sincere expression on his face he'd used in Sunday's postgame interviews when he talked about how well the Broncos had played and how friggin' much they'd deserved to win.

She gave the conference table a brisk thump with her fingertips and stood. "Well, then, I guess there isn't anything more to say."

"I guess not."

As he looked down at her, the good times came back instead of the bad. Most of them had taken place in bed, but he supposed that was more than a lot of divorced couples could say. He wasn't sure who moved first, but the next thing he knew they had their arms around each other.

"Take care of yourself, y'hear?" he said.

"Have a good life," she whispered back.

Twenty minutes later as he pulled into the parking lot at the Sunny Days Nursery School, he was no longer thinking about Valerie. Instead, he was frowning into his rear-view mirror. The gray van that had been following him looked like the same one he'd seen behind him a couple of times last week. It had a crumpled right fender. If he had a reporter on his tail, why the cloak-and-dagger stuff? He tried to see the driver as the van pa.s.sed by the nursery school entrance, but the windows were tinted.

Shrugging off the incident, he parked his Ferrari and walked into the low brick building, smiling as he heard the various noises of the school: squeals of laughter, off-key singing, chairs sc.r.a.ping. He was due in Wheaton in half an hour to speak at a Rotary luncheon, but he couldn't resist stopping off for a few minutes. Maybe it would clear out his confusion over what had happened with Phoebe last night.

The doorway to Sharon's cla.s.sroom was open, and as he looked inside, his chest swelled. They were baking cookies! Right then, he was ready to drop down on his knees and propose marriage. What he wouldn't have given when he was a kid to have baked cookies with his mother. Unfortunately, she had been too busy getting drunk. Not that he blamed her. Living with a b.a.s.t.a.r.d like his father would have driven anyone to drink.

Sharon glanced up from the big mixing bowl and dropped the spoon she had been holding as she spotted him. Her face flooded with color. He smiled as he saw what a mess she was.

Her curly red hair had flour in it, and a streak of blue food coloring decorated her cheek. If he owned Cosmopolitan Cosmopolitan magazine, he'd have put her on the cover, just like that. In his mind, Sharon, with her pixie's face and freckled nose, was a lot more alluring than those big-breasted blondes in sequins and Spandex. magazine, he'd have put her on the cover, just like that. In his mind, Sharon, with her pixie's face and freckled nose, was a lot more alluring than those big-breasted blondes in sequins and Spandex.

An image of Phoebe Somerville flashed through his mind, but he pushed it away. He wasn't going to let l.u.s.t interfere with a search for his children's mother.

Sharon fumbled for the wooden spoon she had dropped. "Oh, uh-Hi. Come in."

Her nervousness appealed to him. It was nice being with a woman who wasn't used to being with a man like him. "I just stopped by for a minute to see how my pal Robert was doing with his broken arm."

"Robert, somebody's here to see you."

A cute little black kid in shorts and a T-shirt came rushing over to show off his cast. Dan admired the signatures on it, including his own, which was somewhat the worse for wear.

"Do you know Michael?" the child finally said.

In a town like Chicago, there was no doubt which Michael he meant, not even when the question came from a four-year-old.

"Sure. He lets me play basketball with him at his house sometimes."

"I bet he beats you real bad."

"Naw. He's afraid of me."

"Michael's not afraid of anybody," the child said solemnly.

So much for trying to make jokes about Jordan, even after his retirement. "You're right. He beats me real bad."

Robert led Dan over to the table to admire his cookies, and before long some of the other children had claimed his attention. They were so cute he couldn't get enough of them. Kids tickled him, maybe because he liked a lot of the same things they did: eating cookies, watching cartoons on TV, generally messin' around. Even though he was running late, he couldn't bring himself to leave.

Sharon, in the meantime, had spilled a measuring cup of sugar and just dropped an egg. He grabbed a paper towel to help her clean it up and saw that she was blushing again. He liked that curly red hair of hers and the way it was always flying all over the place.

"I seem to have the dropsies today," she stammered.

"That's one of those words you're not supposed to use around quarterbacks. Even retired ones."

It took her a few seconds to get the point, but then she smiled.

"You've got food coloring on your cheek."

"I'm such a mess." She dipped her head and rubbed her cheek with her shoulder, so that she ended up with food coloring in two places instead of one. "Honestly, I don't look like this all the time."

"Don't apologize. You look great."

"Ethan took my sprinkles," a little girl wailed.

Sharon immediately turned her attention to the child who was tugging on her slacks with messy fingers. This was something else he liked about her. Even when she was talking to an adult, the children were her first priority. He watched with admiration as she negotiated a settlement that would have done a diplomat proud.

"They could use you in the Middle East."