While the waitress prepared their table with water, rolls, and menus, Rachel pondered his unusual interest in every facet of the Augusta area. Was he only making small talk or was there more to it? Was he trying to discover everything about her surroundings that might affect her personality and lifestyle? If so, why? If there was another reason for his intrigue and study, what could it be? She placed her order, listened to Quentin give his, then watched the waitress leave. Mercy, he looked handsome and his smile was tantalizing; and she was certainly susceptible.
“You were saying?” he prompted her for a response. Concentrate on her words, not on how lovely she looks or how appealing she is.
“We have two large shopping malls and numerous small centers and the downtown section of stores and shops, plus free-standing ones. If you want to shop, I suggest Augusta Mall on Wrightsboro Road beside Bobby Jones Expressway; it’s closest to where you’re staying and easy to find. Or Washington Road is overflowing with almost anything you might need and you can’t get lost so close to home. As for schools, we have plenty of them at all levels, including the colleges and MCG which I showed you yesterday. Many of the eating places on the list I gave you are located on Washington Road in either direction from your hotel. There might be a list of industries in one of those Chamber of Commerce folders in your packet.”
The waitress brought their food and drinks, then left again.
Quentin studied her on the sly. She was wearing a long ivory tunic with elbow-length sleeves that was accented with thick ebony chenille cording on the neckline and cuffs and ran downward along both sides, the center front, and from shoulders to cuffs. Paired with tailored black pants and flats, the outfit was a striking contrast of casual elegance. Pearl earrings were worn in her pierced ears, revealed by her hairstyle. A gold bracelet of hearts banded her right wrist, and she had on the same watch and two rings from yesterday. Between bites, he said, “You mentioned the Fort Gordon dinner theater. What other types of arts and cultural offerings and entertainment do you have?”
Rachel finished chewing and sipped a diet cola. “Let’s see…We have the symphony, opera, Augusta College theater, Augusta Players, Sacred Heart Cultural Center, Bell Auditorium, Civic Center, Gertrude Herbert Institute of Art, Morris Museum.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Riverwalk Amphitheater, riverboat dinner-dancing cruises, National Science Center, comedy clubs, plenty of nightspots, scads of movie theaters. Then there’s the Exchange Club Fair in October, bowling, upscale poolhalls, rollerskating rinks, and many kinds of festivals and craft shows. Plus, Atlanta, Savannah, Columbia, Charleston, and beaches and mountains, are within a few hours of us. Of course, being from Colquitt, you know those things. I keep forgetting you’re a Georgia boy, or were one.” I think of you as a Texan.
“That’s amazing for this size town. What about sports?” He grinned.
“We have ample offerings of golf, fishing, watersports, and camping. Tennis is popular here; we have a large city complex and courts at Westlake County Club, so we draw in big tournaments at both. We have a national futurity at the Civic Center, horse-racing in Aiken across the river, car racing not far away, biking and hiking. International regattas and speedboat races are held on Lake Olmstead and the Savannah River. There are all kinds of youth leagues and county teams. Columbia County has a huge sports complex on Columbia Road called Patriots Park; the Dixie Championship for softball was held there this year and drew a huge crowd. We have the Green Jackets semipro baseball team at Heaton Stadium. You may have read that the Olympic boxing tryouts will be held here.” Rachel paused to sip her drink, and he waited for her to continue.
“As to your major field of interest, we had a semipro football team called the Augusta Eagles, but it didn’t last too long. Best I remember, its failure was due more to being too far off the beaten path than from a lack of finances or local support. The players were featured in Burt Reynolds’s mid-seventies movie The Longest Yard. We do have the Georgia Thrashers that play here; but I don’t know much about them, either. If you’re interested in checking them out, the Chamber of Commerce or Greater Augusta Sports Council might be of assistance. Naturally all of the schools have their sports programs; some of the football teams have big and longtime rivalries, like Butler and ARC. Then, there’s the UGA Bulldogs in Athens, and the Atlanta Falcons and Atlanta Braves not far away. Across the river, there are the Clemson Tigers and South Carolina Gamecocks. I’m sure you’ve played the Falcons.”
“Yep, and beat ‘em. Sorry about that.” He grinned and chuckled.
Rachel laughed. “I doubt that’s true, but thanks for the sympathy. If I were a football addict, I wouldn’t be fraternizing with the competition.”
Quentin leaned back in the booth, gazed at her, and murmured, “I don’t know if it’s good or bad you aren’t one, considering my line of work.”
Rachel noted his mellow mood and sexy smile. Despite avoiding certain subjects, they conversed easily, like years ago. They seemed to have a natural rapport, were drawn to each other. She wondered if his impression matched hers. “I—”
A young man stopped at their table and asked, “Excuse me, but aren’t you Quentin Rawls of the Dallas Cowboys?”
Quentin hesitated a moment before admitting the truth.
“I knew it was you!” He thrust a piece of paper and a pen toward the football player. “Would you give me your autograph for my son?”
“What’s his name?” Quentin asked as he took the items.
“You don’t have to put his name; you can just sign it.”
Quentin’s blue gaze scanned the man’s flushed face. “I prefer to make it out to him. What’s his name?”
“It’s…Jeffery.”
Rachel glanced at the nervous man and concluded from his expression and tone that he was lying, and knew they knew it. She waited while Quentin wrote a short message, signed it, and returned the slip of paper.
“Thanks, he’ll treasure it.”
The moment the man was gone, Quentin frowned and scoffed, “No, he won’t. Old Jeff there was pulling a fast one; he just wanted an autograph he could sell to a collector and make a few bucks.”
“Do people do that often, get autographs and pictures just to sell?”
“More than you can imagine and it’s annoying as…That one won’t be of any value to him.”
“Why not? You’re a big celebrity, one of the greatest quarterbacks to play the game, according to the media.”
“Thanks for the compliment. I ran my name into the message so he wouldn’t have a clear signature. That’s what he gets for lying to me. He—” Quentin went silent as several others crowded near their table. Blast it!
“Mr. Rawls, can we have your autograph, too?”
Quentin said, “Sure, why not?”
Another asked, “Do you have any paper and a pen to use?”
“Nope, afraid not. I just came in for a quick lunch and quiet talk.”
“You can sign on a napkin.”
“Sorry, but it’s too difficult and looks messy.”
“We’ll go get some paper from the waitress. We’ll be back in a minute.”
“Best hurry because we have a tight schedule and we’re leaving.”
Rachel watched the young men rush off while Quentin took a deep breath of annoyance. “Let’s go before more people pester you. We can’t relax or eat this way. If we get hungry, we’ll stop later for a snack.”
“Thanks, Rachel; you’re very considerate.” He stood, collected the check, and was about to guide her to the cashier when the fans almost raced back to their table. He bent over and scrawled his name on the papers, without messages this time.
One handed his back and said, “Date it, too.”
“What is the date?” Quentin asked without smiling.
“July twelfth, I think. That’s close enough.”
When the rude man tried to delay him with questions afterward, Quentin forced a smile. “Like I said, we’re in a rush. Sorry, you guys.”
“This won’t take but a minute. Will you be staying with the Cow—”
“Gotta go, boys; we’re running late as is.” Quentin grasped Rachel’s elbow and walked to the cashier.
While he was paying the bill, the bold man joined them. Rachel blocked his path to Quentin. “Mr. Rawls is trying to be polite, sir, but we are in a hurry and his mind is on our business meeting later.”
“I just want to ask him some questions. It won’t take but a minute.”
“I know, but he doesn’t have time to chat right now.”
“Troy Aikman would take the time to talk to his fans.”
Anger chewed at her. “Not when he’s busy and late. Sorry. ‘Bye.”
They left the restaurant with the man scowling and muttering as his friends joined him.
In the car, Quentin said, “That’s the problem with signing one; as soon as others see you do it, they swarm you for autographs, too. It’s hard to go anywhere and have privacy. You can’t eat out or shop or attend any function without being interrupted or without having at least one person shadow you to try to overhear everything you say. I’ve actually had strangers plop down in a chair at my table and start chatting without asking permission to join me. Some of them can be rude and real pushy. Some even want you to sign lots of autographs, supposedly for their friends and families. I’ve had people ask for things I had used or was wearing as souvenirs, jerseys and footballs in particular. A few will steal them if you turn your back. After a few years, it makes the spotlight something to avoid and dislike. I love my fans and I need their support, but I deserve privacy on occasion.”
“You handled that situation well, Quentin; you were polite to them and patient, even when that one man became rude and pushy.”
“Being or staying polite gets hard sometimes. The minute you answer one innocent question, they think they can ask you anything. It’s as if they think we don’t have feelings,” As he cranked the engine, he asked, “What is this SRS I read and hear about?”
Rachel realized he was dropping the touchy subject, as if he didn’t like coming across as a complainer. “The Savannah River Site, across the river in South Carolina, not far away. It’s part of the Department of Energy, a nuclear energy plant. Many of the people who work there live in Augusta and in Columbia County. It’s huge, and you can’t enter it without special permission. It used to be a bomb plant during the war. Now they handle plutonium and store spent fuel rods there. We can drive over there, but that’s all; we can’t get inside.”
Before he left the parking space, he suggested, “Can you show me a few of the nearest towns across the river?”
“That’s an easy request to fill,” she said as she directed him to the bridge.
For the remainder of the afternoon, they toured North Augusta, Bellvedere, Graniteville, Aiken, Bath, Clearwater, and Beech Island. He asked many of the same questions about those towns as he had about the ones in Georgia; some she could answer, most she could not.
“There’s a visitor’s center on I-20 across the river from your hotel if you want to pick up brochures on South Carolina. Or you can ride over to North Augusta on another day and speak with the staff there. My hospitality duties didn’t include this area, so I’m not that familiar with it.”
“You did fine; I only wanted to know a little about the surrounding locations” since they pull in visitors and workers to Augusta. Seeing if I can obtain enough money will be my next goal. There are some people I need to meet, and maybe you can help with introductions and names, but later, because after I gather the needed facts, I won’t have an excuse to stay. “What about dinner? Where shall we eat? Something very nice and quiet.”
“Michael’s should be a perfect place; it’s on Washington Road, just before we reach 1-20. It’s six, so you’ll get a peek at the going-home traffic on one of our busiest roads.” Rachel realized that restaurant was on the route home for her neighborhood and friends and acquaintances. It was possible people she knew would eat there tonight, but if she was seen with him, she mused, so what? They weren’t on an actual date, just friends eating together. Yet, would it appear that way to others? Stop being foolish and tense, Rachel, and enjoy the evening and Quentin.
He drove to the restaurant as he made observations and light talk. He noticed her distraction and deduced she was worried about gossip, worried because she didn’t trust him completely to keep their affair a secret. Maybe she was wondering why he hadn’t mentioned their past connection or was fretting over when and if he would bring it up. He would, but after they spent more time together and she was at ease.
They were seated at a table in Michael’s near the back of a cozy room, had ordered glasses of blush wine, and studied their menus.
Rachel watched him sip his drink; then she glanced around the room; only a few people were dining this early, but none close to them. He had taken a chair which placed his back to the couples, no doubt to guard his privacy. As they talked about the class reunion, people who had attended, the town, and current events, she again had the suspicion he was unusually interested in the CSRA. But, she wondered, why?
After they gave their orders and chatted a while, Quentin asked, “Do you have a career, work outside the home?”
Rachel lowered her glass. “For years I stayed busy being a wife and mother, and handling social obligations. After Daniel was killed I concentrated on rearing my daughters, taking care of our household, and doing charity work.” She knew that was a little misleading, but she wasn’t ready to mention her writing to him, not yet, not after the unfavorable reaction that news received from her social circle. “Now that my girls are grown and gone, I’ll need to do things other than volunteer work. Currently I’m involved in several big projects for the arts, my clubs, and my church. As soon as they’re finished, I’ll have free time. Since I didn’t finish college, I never studied for a particular career. And what about you; do you plan to continue playing football? Any idea what you’ll do after you retire?” That should focus talk and attention on you, off me for a while.
“I’m one of the oldest quarterbacks in the game, so my years are numbered. I’ve had a little bad luck in the past, injured my throwing shoulder and one of my knees; that sort of decreases my value. Coach Switzer will be making cuts on the roster during and after the preseason games; I might be one of them. We have three top quarterbacks, so four aren’t needed. In the ‘93-94 season, thirty-nine quarterbacks made moves. Kosar and Beuerlein left us in ‘93 and ‘94. I’ve been with the Cowboys for nine years and those guys are some of my best friends; we’re trying to win the NFL Championship and Superbowl for the third time in a row; that’s a sorry time to be released from my contract or to retire. What pro in his right mind wants to miss that kind of challenge and excitement?” he said with a chuckle. “If you play as long as I have, football is a major part of your life; it’s in my blood.”
“I’m sorry you might be forced to give up something you obviously love so much and do so well. I’m sure you’ll be just as good at your next career choice. Anything in mind?”
A waiter arrived with their entrées, as neither had ordered an appetizer or a salad, so Quentin didn’t answer her question. Instead he inhaled, smiled, and said, “Smells great and looks good.”
“I’ve never had a bad meal here,” Rachel remarked as she buttered and seasoned her baked potato and broccoli. She didn’t eat red meat often, but had chosen a small filet mignon tonight.
“My steak is delicious, aged and cooked perfectly,” Quentin noted with pleasure. “How’s yours?”
“Delicious,” she replied as soon as she had swallowed.
As they ate in silence, Rachel noted his excellent table manners and refined bearing. She concluded he came from a good family, as she’d thought years ago. Soft music filtered into the room, and conversation from other tables was almost inaudible. The lights were low and candles burned on the cloth-covered tables. The decor was lovely; a romantic aura seemed to float around the room.
“This is pleasant and relaxing, Rachel; thanks. It’s nice to unwind with good food and a good friend in a peaceful setting.”
Rachel smiled warmly. “I’m glad you like it.”
“Do you eat out often?”
“Besides Sunday lunch at the club after church and a day out each week with friends, it comes in spurts, usually social gatherings or dinner parties. Cookouts are popular here during the summer months. Sometimes club or committee meetings include lunch. What about you?”
“Too much. It comes with the territory of being on the road during preseason or playing season, having social obligations, being too busy or tired to shop and cook after practice. Sometimes my housekeeper cooks meals and leaves them for me, but my schedule can be unpredictable.”
No girlfriend to come over or live-in lover to cook for you I take it…“Can you shop and cook?” she asked with a mischievous grin.
“I’m okay with simple meals and I’m excellent with a grill.”
“I might just test that claim one night, if you want to come over to my house and prove it,” she half jested as her gaze fused with his blue one.
“What about tomorrow night? Say, my famous pork chops? That is, if you don’t already have plans for the evening.” He drank the last sip of wine.
“I’ll be finished with my duties by five-thirty. What about six o’clock? I’ll even do the shopping if you tell me what you need.”
“It’s a deal. Now, back to tonight, what about dessert and coffee?”
Rachel shook her head. “I’m full, but you can order them.”
He grinned. “Have to be careful with that nice figure of yours, eh?”
The seductive glow in his blue eyes and mellow tone of his voice kindled her smoldering desires into wild flames. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “At my age, it’s a constant battle. I doubt you have to worry about calories since you burn off so many playing ball.”
Anything For Love Page 10