It Had to Be You Part 28

She busied herself with the cap of the aspirin bottle. "d.a.m.n. I can never get these things off. I hate safety caps."

"Don't look at me. I can bench press 290, but I can't budge those suckers."

She fiddled with the cap and finally gave up. Dan was right. They needed to talk. Setting aside the bottle, she folded her hands on the desk in front of her. "Do you want to go first?"

"All right." He stretched out his legs and crossed them at the ankles. "It's pretty simple, I guess. I'm the head coach, and you're the owner. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell me how to do my job, just like I don't tell you how to do yours."

Phoebe stared at him. "In case it's slipped your mind, you've been telling me how to do my job since you broke into my apartment in August."

He looked injured. "I thought we were going to have a discussion, not an argument. Just once, Phoebe, make a little effort to hold on to that quick temper of yours."

Her hand crept toward the aspirin bottle. She spoke slowly, softly. "Go on, Coach Calebow."

Her formal mode of address didn't deter him. "I don't want you to interfere with the team again before the game."

"What do you consider interference?"

"Well, I guess it pretty much goes without saying that showing up in the locker room before the game would be at the top of my list. If you have something you want communicated to the players, tell me and I'll pa.s.s it on. I'd also appreciate it if you'd stay in the front of the plane when we're traveling. I guess the only exception to that would be on the flight home if we've won. Then it'd probably be appropriate for you to make a quick walk-through to congratulate the men. But I'd want you to do it in a dignified fashion. Shake some hands, and then leave them alone."

She slipped on her leopard-spot gla.s.ses and gazed at him steadily. "I'm afraid you're operating under the mistaken impression that I was having an attack of female hysteria last night when I reminded you-quite forcefully as I remember-that the Stars are my team and not yours."

"You're not going to start that again, are you?"

"Dan, I've been doing my homework, and I know that a lot of people with some impressive credentials think you're on your way to being one of the finest coaches in the NFL. I know that the Stars are lucky to have you."

Despite the sincerity in her voice, he regarded her warily. "Keep talking."

"The Stars entered this season with a lot of high expectations from fans and the media, and when you didn't win the early games, the heat was turned up hard and fast. The stories about me didn't help, I'll admit. Everybody from the coaches to the rookies got understandably tense, and in the process, I think you may have forgotten one of the most basic lessons you learned when you were playing. You forgot to have fun."

"I'm not playing now. I'm coaching! And believe me, if I had a whole squad raising the kind of h.e.l.l I used to raise, we'd be out of the game fast."

Judging from the stories she'd heard, that was undoubtedly true. She slipped off her gla.s.ses. "You're a tough disciplinarian, and I'm beginning to realize just how important that is. But I think you need to figure out when to turn up the heat and when to relax a little."

"Don't start this again."

"All right. You tell me why the Stars weren't able to hold on to the ball until last night's game."

"It's a cycle, that's all. Those things happen."

"Dan, the men were too tense. You've driven them hard for weeks, beaten up on them for the smallest mistake. You've chewed out everybody from the secretarial staff to Tully. You pushed too hard, and it was affecting everyone's performance."

She might as well have lit a keg of dynamite because he erupted from his chair. "I don't f.u.c.king believe this! I can't believe you're sitting there like John f.u.c.king Madden and telling me how to coach a f.u.c.king football team! You don't know s.h.i.t about football!"

Profanities exploded like firecrackers over her head, his anger so scorching she half expected the paint on the walls to blister. She was shaken, but at the same time, she had the weird sense he was putting her through some kind of a test, that his ranting and raving were a carefully staged ploy to see what she was made of. Leaning back in her chair, she began inspecting her nail polish for chips.

He went ballistic. The veins in his neck stood out like cords. "Look at you! You barely know the difference between a football and a f.u.c.king baseball! And now you think you can tell me how to coach! You think you can tell me my team's too tense, like you're some G.o.dd.a.m.n psychologist or something, when you don't know s.h.i.t!" He paused for breath.

"You can shoot off that gutter mouth of yours all you want, Coach," she said softly, "but that doesn't change the fact that I'm still the boss. Now why don't you take yourself to the showers to cool off?"

For a moment she thought he was going to leap right over the desk and come after her. Instead, he gave her a furious look and stalked from her office.

Half an hour later, Ron found Dan behind the building slamming a basketball through the hoop near the outer locker room door. Dark patches of sweat soaked the front of his knit shirt, and he was breathing hard as he dribbled the ball to the center of the concrete slab and spun toward the hoop.

"Tully told me you were out here," Ron said. "I need some information about Zeke Claxton."

The hoop vibrated as Dan slammed the ball through. "Phoebe isn't happy with my coaching!" He spat out the words, then threw the ball at Ron's chest with so much force that the general manager stumbled backward.

"Take it in," Dan roared.

Ron looked down at the ball as if it were a grenade with the pin already pulled. He had observed Dan's murderous games of one-on-one when he was upset over something, and he had no intention of getting involved. a.s.suming an expression of deep regret, he gestured toward his newest navy suit. "I'm sorry, Dan, but I have a meeting, and I'm not dressed for-"

"Take it in, G.o.ddammit!"

Ron took it in.

Dan let him shoot, but Ron was so nervous that the ball bounced off the backboard well above the rim. Dan s.n.a.t.c.hed the rebound and dribbled viciously to center court. Ron stood nervously on the sidelines trying to figure out how to get away.

"Guard me, for chrissake!"

"Actually, I was never too good at basketball."

"Guard me!"

Ron did his best, but Dan was nearly a foot taller and forty pounds heavier, as well as being a professional athlete instead of a born klutz.

"Move in closer! Use your elbows, for chrissake! Do what you friggin' have to to get the friggin' ball!"

"Uh- Elbows are illegal, Dan, and I-"

Dan stuck out his foot and deliberately tripped him.

As Ron sprawled to the concrete, he heard the knee of his new navy trousers rip. He felt the sting in the heels of his hands and looked up in outrage. "You did that on purpose!"

Dan's lip curled. "So what are you going to do about it, p.u.s.s.y?"

Furious, Ron scrambled to his feet and threw off his suit coat. "I'm going to shove that ball down your throat, you smug son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"Not if you play by the rules." Dan held the ball out, deliberately taunting him.

Ron went after him. He slammed his elbow into Dan's gut and punched the ball free with his opposite fist. It shot across the court. He raced after it, but Dan beat him there and s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. As the coach spun toward him with the ball, Ron punched him hard in the ribs then kicked at the back of his bad knee, knocking him off-balance. Before Dan could recover, Ron had the ball and drove to the basket, making a perfect shot.

"Now you're getting the idea." Dan grabbed the ball.

Ron moved in. Unfortunately, his violent b.u.mp didn't keep Dan from making his next shot. Ron took the ball, b.u.t.ted Dan with his head, and dribbled to the edge of the court, where he just missed.

The ensuing battle was vicious, fought with flying fists, jabbing elbows, illegal trips, and teeth. Dan, however, played clean.

When it was over, Ron examined the damage. He had destroyed his suit, bruised his hand, and only lost by three baskets. It was the proudest moment of his life.

The watery autumn sun came out from behind a cloud as the two of them collapsed on the gra.s.s next to the court to catch their breath. Ron propped his forearms on his bent knees, sucked in air, and gazed with deep satisfaction at the goose egg puffing up Dan's left eyebrow.

"I'm afraid you're going to have quite a shiner there." He tried, but couldn't quite hold back his glee.

Dan laughed and swiped at his dripping forehead with the sleeve of his knit shirt. "Once you stopped playing like a debutante, you came on strong. We'll have to do it again."

Yes! Ron wanted to throw his arms in the air like Rocky on the museum steps but contented himself with a macho grunt. Ron wanted to throw his arms in the air like Rocky on the museum steps but contented himself with a macho grunt.

Dan stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankles as he leaned back on the heels of his hands. "Tell me something, Ron. Do you think I've been pushing the men too hard?"

Ron pulled off his ruined necktie. "Physically, no."

"That's not what I'm asking."

"If you want to know whether or not I approve of what Phoebe did in the locker room, I don't. She should have talked to you about her concerns first."

"She says I can't handle criticism."

He looked so outraged that Ron laughed.

"I don't see what's so d.a.m.ned funny."

"You can't can't handle criticism, and the fact is, you deserved some. Phoebe's right. You have been driving the men too hard, and it was affecting their mental att.i.tude." handle criticism, and the fact is, you deserved some. Phoebe's right. You have been driving the men too hard, and it was affecting their mental att.i.tude."

Ron probably wouldn't have been so blunt if he still weren't on an adrenaline high. To his amazement, Dan didn't explode. Instead, he managed to look injured.

"It seems to me that as the Stars' general manager, you might have worked up enough gumption to talk to me about the problem yourself instead of sending a woman who doesn't know a thing about football to do the job."

"That's exactly what she said to me this morning."

"She go after you, too, huh?"

"I don't think she's too crazy about either one of us right now."

The men stared at the empty basketball court. Dan shifted his weight and the dry leaves rustled beneath him. "That was some sweet win last night."

"It really was."

"Her locker room speech is gonna go down in football history."

"I'll never forget it."

"She sure doesn't know much about football."

"In the third quarter she cheered when we went offside."

Dan chuckled, then gave a long contented sigh. "I guess, all in all, Phoebe's working out better than either of us could've expected."

"Dan!" After their argument that afternoon, Phoebe was stunned to see the Stars' coach standing on her doorstep holding a deep-dish pizza box. It was nearly ten o'clock, and her makeup had long ago worn off. She was dressed for comfort in a faded pair of fake-Pucci leggings with a baggy purple sweater that barely covered her rear.

"I wasn't expecting you." She pushed her reading gla.s.ses to the top of her head and stepped aside to let him in.

"I can't imagine why not. I told you I'd be here."

"That was before our altercation."

"Altercation?" He looked annoyed. "That was nothing more than a business discussion, is what it was. You get riled about the strangest things." He shut the door.

Phoebe was spared a response by Pooh, who scampered into the foyer, yapping and shivering with bliss when she saw who had come to call. Phoebe took the pizza box and watched with amus.e.m.e.nt as the dog circled Dan's legs so rapidly that she skidded on the floor.

He regarded the poodle warily. "She's not going to pee, is she?"

"Not if you kiss her and call her 'sugar pie'."

He chuckled and leaned down to give the dog a macho knuckle rub on her topknot. Pooh immediately flopped to her back so he could get to her tummy.

"Don't push it, dawg."

The poodle took his rejection good-naturedly and followed them through the living room to the kitchen.

"What happened to your eye?"

"What eye? Oh, this? Basketball game. Your GM plays dirty ball."

She stopped in her tracks. "Ron did that to you?"

"That boy's got a mean streak a mile wide. I'd advise you to stay clear of him when he gets riled."

She didn't believe for a minute that Ron had done that to him, but she knew from the glimmer in his eye that she wouldn't get any more out of him.

Molly's face lit up as they came into the kitchen, and she rose from the table where she had just been gathering up her homework. "Dan! Phoebe said you weren't coming."

"Well now, Phoebe doesn't know everything, does she? Sorry for arriving so late, but Mondays are long days for coaches."

Phoebe knew that Dan and his a.s.sistants generally worked till midnight on Mondays and she suspected that he would return to the Stars Complex as soon as he left here. She appreciated the fact that he was keeping his promise to Molly.

As she set plates and napkins on the table, he said, "I hope you ladies didn't eat so much dinner that you don't have room for a little bedtime snack."

"I do," Molly said.

"Me, too." Phoebe had already blown her fat intake for the day with a chocolate eclair, so what difference did a few hundred more grams make?

Dan took a seat at one end of the kitchen table, and as they all helped themselves to a gooey slab of the thick pie, he asked Molly about school. Without any more encouragement than that, she chattered on about her new best friend, Lizzie, her cla.s.ses, and her teachers, effortlessly presenting him with all the information Phoebe had been trying to drag out of her for days.

Molly reached for her second piece of pizza. "And guess what else? Mrs. Genovese, our neighbor next door, hired me to baby-sit her twin boys for a few hours after school on Tuesdays and Fridays. They're three and a half years old, and they're so cute, but she says she needs a break sometimes because they wear her out. She's paying me three dollars an hour."

Phoebe set down her fork. "You didn't say anything to me about this."