Anything For Love

by Janelle Taylor

  “It keeps makeup from sliding off faster than you can get it on in the summer, and Augusta can have sweltering summers,” she said and laughed.

  “A heat lamp to warm you in winter,” when you’re naked and alone.

  “It prevents having to turn up the heat system just to bathe and dress.” But if you were here with me like in that shower, I wouldn’t need it.

  “I like what you’ve done with your bedroom suite; this is beautiful and comfortable. May I peek?” he asked and she nodded. After he opened the door, his eyes widened and he chuckled. “This is what I call a woman’s closet. It must be twenty by eight feet.” She grinned and nodded when he glanced at her. “Wow! Hanging rods of different heights for long and short clothes, even a tall one for gowns, I guess. Shoe racks. Lots of shelves, and to the ceiling so there’s no wasted space, very smart. A built-in dresser, cubby holes for items you can fold. My, even jewelry pegs and tiny cribs. My closet and drawers stay in shambles most of the time because I pack and leave or unpack to repack in a rush. Half the time I can’t find what I need, and I don’t like being messy, leftover training from Mom. You’re a clever woman, looks as if you thought of everything.”

  As he continued studying the area, Rachel quipped, “My friends often tease me about not wanting to sleep in the same room with my clothes. To me, this is just practical and time saving.” She leaned against the doorjamb for support, as her knees were feeling weak and her body was trembling at their close proximity. She fantasized about him pulling her into his arms and then the both of them slowly sinking to the carpeted floor and making passionate love. She ached for his touch, his kiss, his embrace. She didn’t know how she would react if he made such an overture. Would she try to postpone it or surrender in a flash? Though they had spent only two weeks together twelve years ago and a few days recently, she didn’t fear him. She did not doubt he was a gentleman and her safety wasn’t at risk, only her emotions. Yet, she wanted to get to know him better this time before any intimacy occurred, if it did.

  Quentin felt her attention on him and it was arousing, but it was too soon to act on his physical urges. First, there were some things to be settled between them, after he was assured she was the woman he hoped she was. “Even a fulllength mirror to check out your stunning appearance. I’ll have to steal this closet idea, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course not. But be prepared to take teasing from the workers. When I told them what I wanted, they chuckled and thought it was frivolous. I had to meet with the person doing the job to measure and draw out what I had in mind; she was a female, so she understood. I love it, too.”

  “Your ideas should be in home building and decorating magazines.”

  “The house was featured in several right after we moved in, mainly as favors to the builder and interior decorator. But I didn’t let them use our name and location in the articles to maintain our privacy and security.”

  He moved toward the doorway and she retreated, almost in a rush as if to avoid being too close. Don’t press her; she’s wary of you and your intentions. “I certainly know about those things, and they can be hard to come by. Now I’d better get those chops to cooking before we get too hungry.” And I don’t mean for food. As soon as we’ve eaten and relaxed, we’re having a serious talk, woman, even if it’s our last one and you refuse to see me again.

  Seven

  Quentin retrieved the meat from the refrigerator and went outside to place it on the barbecue grill. He checked his watch for timing it.

  “What can I do to help?” she asked after he returned.

  “Check the potatoes and wrap the rolls in aluminum foil for heating. We’ll set the table and steam the broccoli while the chops are cooking. We could sip wine while we’re working.”

  “And talk. Most of our conversations have been about me and Augusta. You haven’t told me much about yourself or about your football career,” she hinted to see if that last topic was a taboo or painful subject, which would determine if she extended Becky’s party invitation where it was sure to come up among the men. She took glasses from a cabinet and handed him a corkscrew.

  While Quentin opened the wine and poured it, Rachel did the tasks he had mentioned. She got out dishes, utensils, placemats, napkins, salt and pepper, and other condiments. She began to set the table in the breakfast room, as the dining room seemed too formal for the occasion.

  As Rachel worked, Quentin sipped his wine, observed her with keen interest and pleasure, and talked. “I was born and raised in Colquitt, played football in high school, and worked on my father’s peanut farm. My parents are Matthew and Inez Rawls. I have a younger brother, Frank, divorced, no kids, in the car-selling business. I have a younger sister, Mary, who’s married to Steve; they have two children and live and work on the farm with our parents. We’re Baptist, maybe because we have only Baptist and Methodists in Miller County. My best friends are football players, most of them on my team. I’ve been married twice: the first time to Casey Niles, a model, for two years; the second time to a secretary named Belinda Jacobs for a year, an old friend’s sister. We called it quits in ‘89. I don’t have any children and I don’t have any contact with my ex-wives or support them. Nor do I have any emotional ties to them, or any other woman.”

  Rachel glanced at him, but he was gazing out the kitchen window over the sink. Good, divorced for a long time and no current girlfriend. Yet, she was surprised he was so open and direct about those relationships. Maybe he would tell her later why those two marriages failed.

  “After Georgia, Florida, and Alabama refused to take me, I earned a walk-on football scholarship to the University of Oklahoma and played for them and Barry Switzer from ’74 to ’78. We won the National Championships in ’74 and ’75. I lost the Heisman Trophy to Billy Sims in ’78; he played for the Sooners at the same time I did and deserved the award. That’s where I earned the nickname of the Man with the Golden Arm.” His gaze never left the window. “Well, now we best go outside so I can keep an eye on those chops.”

  At the barbecue, he took up where he left off as he turned the meat. “I was drafted by the San Francisco 49ers in ‘78. I played for them for seven years, mostly behind Joe Montana. I was in two Superbowls, three Pro Bowls, and picked up six awards for quarterbacking. I injured my throwing shoulder in the ‘82 Superbowl and my right knee in the ‘85 bowl. I was traded to the Dallas Cowboys in August of ‘85. Been there nine years, played in two Superbowls and two Pro Bowls and picked up one award. I reinjured my left shoulder in Superbowl twenty-seven in ‘93. Seems like those Superbowl games are bad luck for me, but I surely would love to play in one more before I’m out for good,” he admitted with a wry laugh.

  “I had to sit out most of the ‘93-94 season due to surgeries and therapy, but came back in time to play in the last Superbowl. If the Cowboys win the next one, it’ll be three championships in a row; that would be some kind of high for me and them, one I don’t want to miss. Plus, this is the seventy-fifth anniversary for football, so it’s a special year. I’ve done sports commentating, product endorsements, and commercials; there’s big bucks to be made in them. When I have time, I visit kids in hospitals and schools, and sometimes help coach kids’ teams in Dallas.”

  “You like children a lot, don’t you?” And you want your own one day.

  “Yep, my sister has good kids, a boy five and a girl eight, and wants more. Who knows, maybe I’ll give them some cousins to play with one day?”

  Not with me. “You love football; it’s evident in your eyes and voice when you talk about it. How long do you men play?” She noticed a tiny frown for a moment until he shrugged and masked it.

  “Once it’s in your blood, you don’t go out until you have to, then it’s kicking and yelling all the way to the exit for most guys.” He looked at his watch as if to check the cooking schedule to give himself time to decide what to tell her. “Age doesn’t matter much as long as you stay healthy and talented. But teams can have only fifty-three men on thei
r rosters, so they want the best in each position. With the number of teams and men limited, a lot of great college players never get a chance to show what they can do, and some veterans get cut too soon after they’re injured.” Maybe his reason for being in Augusta, he mused, would change that for a lot of those men. He couldn’t tell yet because he had more facts to gather first.

  “Besides, having an injured man on the bench costs the team because he still counts against their salary cap when he’s useless. If he’s drawing a big paycheck, it’s too tempting for owners and management to sign up somebody who’s cheaper and healthier. I’ve played in downpours where the ball was so slick that no amount of skill helped you or the receiver, in freezing cold where your fingers wouldn’t work right if your life depended on them, in snow so thick you could hardly see the receiver or lines, and on days so hot you could hardly breathe and you’re drenched in sweat and almost passing out from rapid dehydration. It’s also hard to show your stuff when you aren’t the starting quarterback and he stays healthy and in the game, especially when you have to play behind some of the greats. We were 12/4/0 last season; Troy Aikman has a sixty-nine percent completions record; he led the NFL in ‘93; he’ll remain our starter, and Jason Garrett’s his first backup.” Now, they have Rodney Peete, so where and how will I fit in? They surely don’t need four quarterbacks.

  Rachel saw him grimace at some unwanted thought. She kept silent and alert to learn more.

  “One of the best times in my career was being coached by Tom Landry; now, I’m getting Switzer back. The problem is, the team roster has to be cut to fifty-three players, and injured men aren’t valuable. I hate getting out when we’ve got so many advantages and incentives now: Free Agency and new game rules this year, some excellent protection for quarterbacks. I could have used them years ago when I took late hits and got hurt. It cost the other teams penalties, but it cost me more, much more.” Too much! But don’t sound like a whiner to her.

  “What new rules?” Rachel prompted to keep him talking if he would.

  “They’ve gotten stricter about moves and plays that protect the team members. Most guys don’t try to intentionally hurt you, but accidents happen when you’re tensed up and trying hard to win. Your emotions are so keyed up that you sometimes do things without thinking. Drug testing is near mandatory considering the trouble with cocaine, steroids, and such over the years; that isn’t a problem for me; I was never in to that scene; it’s stupid and dangerous. Besides, pro ball players are in a position to influence young kids.”

  “I’m glad you feel a responsibility in that serious area. I hope you get to play football as long as you want too.”

  “Thanks. I’d like to be there when Emmitt Smith makes history; he’s one of the best rushers and running backs to ever play the game. I guess what I want most is one more season, a great one, to go out in style and glory.” He smiled wryly after making that confession. “I just can’t see myself cooped up like a chicken in an office and wearing a suit and tie. If I make the cut, I’ll have to prove myself again, show I still have what it takes. Coming off serious injuries is almost like starting from scratch and everybody is watching, and some are waiting and eager for you to fail. I have to prove I still have courage, consistency, cunning, and accuracy.” If I don’t retire rather than risk being cut or traded. I’d rather get out than force Coach Switzer into making that tough decision.

  Rachel had rented and purchased sports videos to watch him play and to learn more about him and football. A barrage of images flashed through her mind: the bruising sacks, interceptions, late hits, injuries. He had awesome odds against succeeding, as did she with her writing, so empathy filled her. “You also have to keep from getting reinjured.”

  “Yep, but permanent damage is always a risk when you do anything of value.” We’ll both find that out very soon. “The media is calling us ‘every team’s target.’ As I told you, with the salary cap in force, injured players burden a team with an empty position, and there’s no money in the budget, or a slot available to replace him. I do have one advantage: experienced backup quarterbacks are important because a starter can get wiped out at any time; that might be helpful to me if I can make it through and shine during preseason.” If I can pass the physical, get a chance to play, and play well. “I did some of my best and longest quarterbacking when Montana hurt his elbow while I was with the 49ers.”

  “Do you have any plans for what you’ll do after retirement?” She noted that he hesitated before responding.

  “I haven’t decided. Maybe I’ll ranch or do something else.”

  Change the subject; he’s bled enough today. “You’re lucky to have a brother and sister and nephew and niece, and your parents still living. I miss mine, and I miss my daughters and grandchildren.”

  “I imagine so; family is special. Well, why don’t you steam the broccoli and warm the rolls? I should be ready out here about the same time you finish.”

  Rachel followed his requests. Afterward, she peeked out the window and saw Quentin gazing around her yard at the pool, gazebo, and cabana. She wondered what his ranch and lifestyle were like in Texas. Perhaps he was like her in the sense that she was lonely and unfulfilled when it came to emotional bonds with the opposite sex. Or maybe at this difficult point in his life he just needed somebody whom he could trust to talk and relax with. She saw him place the chops on the dish and head her way.

  “Smells wonderful,” she told him as they sat down to eat.

  “It’s my mother’s recipe; she’s a super cook, so is my sister.”

  While they ate, they chatted easily. Quentin asked about her charity, volunteer, church, and club work.

  “After I married and moved here, I was pulled into most of them by the Gaineses because they’re a prominent family with many business and social connections. But I like helping the unfortunate, so I do it as much as possible. I’ve discovered that most people will contribute money and donate items for sales for worthy causes, but few will give up their time and energy to do the actual work needed. I suppose it’s hard to do with families and busy work schedules. I have extra time, so it isn’t difficult for me. My biggest problem is learning to say no to everyone’s pleas for help. Some think that because I don’t have a husband and children at home, I’m loaded with time and energy, so they make any refusal sound like a crime. I’m sure it’s the same with you concerning public appearances and interviews.” His mouth full, he nodded. “As soon as I finish the projects I’m doing now, I plan to slow down and refocus parts of my life, start a career. For example, tomorrow, I have my bridge club, a luncheon, a woman’s club meeting, and another meeting. Afterward, I have to get some work done on a project that’s due soon.”

  Before sipping his wine, Quentin said, “I suppose you’ve used up a lot of time with me this week.”

  “Yes, but it’s been fun and,” she said after a laugh, “sorely needed. I’ve purposely kept myself busy since my children left on their trips, so I was tired and needed a change.”

  “If your schedule isn’t too tight and you need another relaxing evening out after your hectic day tomorrow, how about having dinner with me on Friday night?”

  “Sounds wonderful; I accept. Say about seven o’clock?”

  “Perfect. We can have a fancy dessert then because I didn’t bring one tonight. I don’t eat many sweets so it never entered my mind to buy something.”

  What I want for dessert is you, Quentin Rawls. Should I mention what happened years ago and risk spoiling our evening or let it slide like you’re doing? Maybe you’re waiting for me to do so and wondering why I haven’t. It might stand between us until I handle it, but how do I explain why I ran like a rabbit without scaring you off? Not yet, Rachel. She took an easier plunge. “There’s a pool party on Saturday at Becky Cooper’s house if you’d like to go with me. It would give you a chance to meet Scott and discuss your renovation ideas with him. You met so many people at the reunion that you might not remember him. They’re terrif
ic people and she’s one of my two best friends. I think you’d like them. It’s from two until six o’clock.”

  “Sounds both fun and profitable to me. I’ll pick you up at one-thirty, okay?” To him, she looked surprised that he accepted without hesitation.

  “Perfect,” she echoed his earlier agreement.

  After they finished eating, they cleared the table, put dishes in the dishwasher, and cleaned up the kitchen.

  “Would you like to get some fresh air and a little exercise out back?” Quentin asked.

  “Let’s go.”

  Without talking, they strolled around the pool, admired the lovely view, and enjoyed the serenity of the evening and each other’s company.

  Quentin halted by the fountain to listen to its soothing ripples before he entered the ivycovered gazebo and leaned against its archway. He watched the reflections of clouds on the pool’s surface as they drifted across the sky. He inhaled fragrant smells of flowers, recently mowed grass, and trimmed shrubs—and the scent of the woman who passed him and took a seat behind him. He heard dogs barking in the distance, nocturnal birds and insects singing, and soft music coming from a neighbor’s house. As the wind picked up, tree limbs and vegetation swayed. He could smell moisture in the air. He half turned and propped his back against the arch post. Light filtered through lattice openings and danced across his companion’s face and body. She was looking at him in a mixture of hesitation, wariness, and—oddly—contentment.