It Had to Be You (20 page)

He could feel her wildness matching his, her maniac hands digging into his arms, her hips pushing and thrusting against him, grinding. She was crazy, as crazy as he was, and just as needy. And those sounds, almost like fear, almost like . . .

He went rigid as he realized that she was trying to get away from him, and he was holding her against her will.

“God
damn!”
He pushed himself away, knocking over a chair in his haste.

Her mouth was swollen and bruised from his kisses. Her breasts heaved and her hair was tousled, as if he’d plunged his hands through it, which maybe he had because he sure as hell didn’t know what he was doing anymore. As he looked into her stricken eyes, he felt sick. He’d been with a lot of women, and this was the first time he’d ever had any trouble sorting out
no
from
yes.
The accusation in those tilty-up eyes made him feel like a criminal, and that wasn’t right because they’d gone into this together.

“I’m not apologizing again, goddammit!” he shouted. “If you didn’t want me to kiss you, all you had to do was say no!”

Instead of arguing with him, she lifted her hand in a small, helpless gesture that made him feel like the world’s biggest bully. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Phoebe . . .”

She grabbed her purse and ran from the kitchen, from his house, from the dangerous heat of two bodies on fire.

Why had she let him kiss her last night when she’d known that she wasn’t woman enough to see it through? She couldn’t blame him for his anger; both of them knew she had gone into his arms willingly. But when she had heard the hot rasp in his breathing, felt his strength, and known she couldn’t control him, she had panicked.

She looked down at the body that made up the lie of who she was. If her outside matched her inside, she would be flat-chested, scrawny, brittle from lack of moisture. What good were curvy hips and full breasts if she couldn’t let a man caress them, if they would never bring a baby into the world or nurture its new life?

She didn’t want to be this way anymore. She wanted to go back to those moments before her fear had taken over, when Dan’s kiss had sent fresh new blood pulsing through her body. She wanted to go back to those moments when she had felt young again and infinitely female.

She heard a knock and the door of her office opened. “Now, Phoebe, don’t get upset.” Ron crossed the carpet toward her, a stack of newspapers in his hands.

“An ominous beginning.”

“Well, as to that . . . I suppose it depends on your outlook.” He spread the newspapers in front of her.

“Oh, no.”

Color photographs of Phoebe in her hot pink carwash dress and rhinestone sunglasses glittered on the pages of the assorted 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 breasts 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 PASS

“Although this one has a certain poetic quality.”

BOBBY BUSSES BOMBSHELL 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 space 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 embarrassment 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 glass 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 buttoned 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 snatched 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 sex 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 sexy, either. But the thing of it is, she’s real good with kids.”

“I see. She’s passed 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. “Damn, 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.