It Had to Be You

by Susan Elizabeth Phillips

  Phoebe felt as if she'd stumbled into the center of the American dream, a place where poverty and ethnic strife had been held at bay. She knew the city had its troubles, but for someone who had spent the last seven years in Manhattan, those troubles seemed small. There were full stomachs here and a sense of connection with others rare in a society that had become increasingly disconnected. Was it wrong, she wondered, to wish every community in America clean streets, unarmed citizens, families with 2.4 children, and a flotilla of Chevy Broncos filling its parking lots?.

  She decided that Dan must have read her mind when his steps slowed beside her. "I guess this is just about as good as it gets."

  "I guess so."

  "Sure is different from the place where I grew up."

  "Yes, I imagine it is."

  Molly had gone ahead of them with Pooh, who was tossing her ears and prancing on her leash to show off for the crowd. Dan slipped on a pair of Ray-Bans and pulled the Bulls' hat lower on his head. "This is about the best I can do for a disguise. Not that it's going to work. Especially with you in that hat."

  "What's wrong with my hat?" Phoebe put her hand to the silk rose holding up the floppy brim.

  "Not a thing. Matter of fact, I like it. It's just that we were going to have a pretty hard time looking anonymous anyway, and that hat makes it even harder."

  She saw his point. "Maybe this outing wasn't such a good idea."

  "It's a great idea. Now the press won't know what to think about us. I personally like the idea of thumbing our noses at all of them."

  In front of them Molly tugged sharply on Pooh's leash and came to a sudden stop. "I want to go."

  "We just got here," Phoebe pointed out.

  "I don't care. I told you I didn't want to come."

  Phoebe noticed Molly glancing toward a group of teenage girls sitting on the grassy slope just ahead. "Are those girls friends of yours?"

  "They're bitches. They're all Pom Poms and they think they're better than everybody else. I hate them."

  "All the more reason to hold up your head." Dan slipped off his sunglasses and studied the group for a moment. "Come on, Miz Molly. Let's show 'em what you're made of." He took Pooh's leash and passed it over. "Phoebe, hold on to your little rat. Miz Molly and me have a job to do."

  Phoebe was too worried about Molly to take Dan to task for calling Pooh a rat. She watched as he drew her sister toward the girls. It was obvious she didn't want to go any closer, but Dan wouldn't release her. Only when he pulled off his cap did she see what he was up to. Next to Bobby Tom and Jim Biederot, his was the most recognizable face in DuPage County, and he obviously intended to let Molly use him to impress the girls from her school.

  But as Phoebe walked up the slope to get closer to the girls, she saw that Mr. Big Shot had overestimated himself. While males might recognize him, these teenage girls were definitely not football fans.

  "Your daddy wouldn't happen to be Tim Reynolds, the realtor, would he?" she heard Dan ask a gum-chewing nymphet with long hair and mall bangs.

  "Nuh-uh," the girl replied, more interested in the contents of her purse than exchanging pleasantries with the terror of the gridiron.

  "Nice try," Phoebe murmured under her breath as she pulled up behind him. And then, more loudly, "Hi, girls. I'm Molly's sister."

  The girls looked from Phoebe to Molly. "I thought she was your mother," an overly made-up redhead said.

  Dan snickered.

  Ignoring him, she searched her mind for a topic of conversation while Molly stared miserably at her feet. "How's school going so far this year?"

  "Okay," one of them mumbled. Another slipped the headset to her Walkman over her ears. The girls ignored Molly to scan the crowd for more worthy peers.

  Phoebe tried again. "Molly said most of the teachers are nice."

  "Yeah."

  "I guess." The redhead got to her feet. "Let's go, Kelly. This is boring."

  Phoebe glanced at Dan. This had been his idea, and it was a disaster. But instead of looking repentant, he seemed distinctly pleased with himself.

  "It sure has been nice to meet you girls. Now y'all have a good time today, y'hear?"

  The girls looked at him as if he were a Martian and began to move down the slope toward a group of boys coming along the path.

  "You didn't exactly wow them," she pointed out.

  He slipped his sunglasses in his T-shirt pocket. "Just you wait, honey lamb. I've been impressing females all my life, and I know what I'm doing."

  Molly's face was crimson with embarrassment, and she looked as if she were ready to break into tears. "I told you I didn't want to come! I hate this! And I hate you!" She started to rash away, but before she could leave, Dan shot out his arm and pulled her to his side.

  "Not so fast, Miz Molly. We're just getting to the good part."

  Phoebe immediately saw the cause of Molly's increasing distress. Approaching the group of girls was a gang of four boys, their baseball hats turned backward, oversized T-shirts hanging nearly to the bottoms of their shorts, tongues flapping on big black sneakers.

  "Dan, let her go. You've embarrassed her enough."

  "I've got half a mind to leave the two of you to your own pitiful devices, except I'm not that cruel."

  The girls were calling out the boys' names, and at the same time trying to look aloof. The boys jabbed each other in the ribs. One of them gave a loud belch that was obviously intended to impress.

  And then they saw Dan.

  Their mouths dropped, and for several moments they seemed to have lost the power of movement. The girls, chattering and tossing their hair, had surrounded them, but the boys paid no attention. Their eyes were riveted on the Stars' coach.

  And Dan's eyes were riveted on Molly. He grinned at her and chucked her chin. "Now smile, Miz Molly, and act like you don't have a care in the world."

  Molly saw what was happening. She swallowed hard as the boys all turned her way.

  "Do you know any of them?" Dan asked quietly, keeping his eyes on her.

  "The one with the long hair has the locker next to mine."

  Phoebe remembered Molly's reference to the cute boy who made guitar noises.

  "All right, now. You just lift your hand and give him a little wave."

  Molly looked panicked. "I can't do that."

  "Right now he's a lot more nervous than you are. Do what I say."

  Dan had been a leader of men since he'd thrown his first football, and an insecure teenage girl was no match for him. Molly gave a short, jerky wave before her arm dropped back to her side and her cheeks turned crimson.

  It was all the encouragement the boys needed. Led by Molly's locker neighbor, they rushed forward.

  "I stand in awe," Phoebe whispered to Dan.

  "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 s
ome 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."
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  "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."

  Chapter 16

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  Ron stared down at the field from the skybox window. "I knew what would happen when I suspended him, but I was hoping it wouldn't be this bad."

  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.