He looked at her for a long moment before he gave a curt nod. "All right." Without another word, he began to walk out of the room.
As quickly as it had come, her anger dissipated and alarm took its place. What had she done? Even a fool could figure out that a person who didn't know anything about running a football team shouldn't go around firing the head coach. This was exactly the sort of impulsive behavior Viktor always warned her about.
She heard his firm footsteps hit the marble floor and rushed into the hallway. "Mr. Calebow, I-"
He turned back to her and his drawl oozed like slow poison. "My five minutes are up, ma'am."
"But I-"
"You're the one who set the time limit."
Just as he reached for the knob, a key scraped in the lock and the door swung open to reveal Viktor standing on the other side. He wore a fitted black silk T-shirt with camouflage pants, orange leather suspenders, and motorcycle boots. His dark hair streamed sleek and straight over his shoulders, and he held a brown paper sack in his hands. He was beautiful and dear, and she couldn't remember when she had been so glad to see anyone.
In the tick of a few seconds, his eyes seemed to take it all in-her frantic expression, Dan Calebow's stony one. He turned his beautiful smile on them both.
"A party! I brought you rice cakes and cabbage kimchi, Phoebe, along with chapch'ae and pulgogi for myself. You know how bad the food will be tonight, so I thought we should fortify ourselves first. Do you like Korean food, Coach Calebow?"
"I don't believe I've ever eaten any. Now, if you'll excuse-"
Viktor, with more courage than most men, stepped directly in front of Dan. "Please. I really must insist. We have the finest Korean restaurant in New York barely three blocks from here." He extended his arm to shake hands. "Viktor Szabo. I don't believe we met at that awful funeral, but I am a big fan of American football. I'm still learning, however, and I would welcome the chance to ask a few questions of an expert. The blitz, for example… Phoebe, we must have beer! When American men talk football, they drink beer. Miller time, yes?"
Viktor had gradually worked Dan back a few steps into the apartment, but now the coach planted his feet, obviously having gone as far as he intended. "Thanks for the invitation, Viktor, but I'll have to pass it up. Miss Somerville just fired me, and I don't seem to be in the mood for company."
Viktor laughed as he plopped the sack of food in Phoebe's arms. "You must learn when to pay attention to Phoebe and when to ignore her. She is what you Americans call-" He hesitated, searching for the proper phrase. "A fuck-up."
"Viktor!"
He leaned forward and planted a swift kiss on her forehead. "Tell Coach Calebow you didn't mean to fire him."
She batted him away, her pride stung. "I did mean to fire him."
Viktor clucked his tongue. "The truth now."
She was going to kill him for this. Holding on to what shreds of dignity she had left, she spoke carefully. "I meant to fire him, but perhaps I shouldn't have done it. I apologize for my short temper, Mr. Calebow, even though you provoked me. Consider yourself rehired."
He turned to stare at her. She tried to return his gaze, but the spicy odors of Korean food were stinging her nostrils and making her eyes tear so she knew she wasn't too impressive.
"The job doesn't hold much appeal for me anymore," he said.
Viktor sighed. "There are still things to discuss, I see, and we will do it over food. One hopelessly stubborn person is all I can deal with at a time, Coach Calebow. Won't you share a meal with us?"
"I don't think so."
"Please. For the greater good of football. And the victorious future of the Chicago Stars."
Dan took his time considering before he gave an abrupt nod. "All right."
Viktor beamed like a proud father, fluffed Phoebe's hair, and nudged her toward the kitchen. "Do your woman's work. We men are hungry."
Phoebe opened her mouth to tell him off, but then clamped it shut. Not only was Viktor her friend, but he was smart about people, and she had to trust him. She sashayed forward, punishing the football coach by putting an extra swing to a pair of hips he'd never get a chance to touch.
As the men entered the navy and white kitchen behind her, Pooh went berserk, but since the dog concentrated her attention on Viktor instead of the coach, Phoebe didn't need to go to the rescue.
Ten minutes later the three of them were sitting on slatted white metal cafe chairs at the matching round bistro table that stood at the end of her kitchen. She served the Korean food on glazed white porcelain plates, each of them painted with a stylized royal blue carp that was the same color as the woven place mats. Only the fact that she had left the beer in bottles so Viktor could get his macho fix ruined the blue and white color scheme.
"Pulgogi is the Korean form of barbecue," Viktor explained, after the men had finished an incomprehensible discussion of the blitz. He picked up another thin strip of sesame-marinated meat with his fork. "Phoebe doesn't like it, but I'm absolutely addicted. What do you think?"
"I doubt it's going to put McDonald's out of business, but it's not too bad."
Phoebe had been covertly watching Dan for subtle signs of homophobia and was disappointed when he showed none because he wasn't giving her an excuse to throw him out. She studied his face. He certainly wasn't as good-looking as many of Viktor's friends. There was that small bump at the bridge of his nose, the thin white scar on a chin. But still, she would be lying to herself if she denied that he was an incredibly attractive man. He could even be charming when he tried, and several times she'd had to force herself not to smile at his offbeat sense of humor.
Viktor set down his fork and wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Now, Dan, perhaps you wish to share with me the reasons for your dispute with my Phoebe. I assure you, she is the dearest of persons."
"Must be an acquired taste. Like that Korean meat."
Viktor sighed. "Dan, Dan. This won't do, you know. She is quite sensitive. If the two of you are to work together, you must arrive at some sort of truce."
She opened her mouth to tell Viktor it was hopeless, only to feel her friend's hand clamp down hard on her thigh.
"The problem is, Viktor, we're not going to be working together because your Phoebe won't take any responsibility for her football team."
Viktor patted Phoebe's arm. "It is fortunate, Dan, that she is leaving you alone. She knows nothing of sports."
The air was so thick with the pollution of male patronization that she could barely breathe, but she held her peace.
Dan nudged Pooh off his right foot. The poodle resettled on his left one. "She doesn't need to know anything about sports. She just needs to fire the current general manager, hire somebody with more experience, and sign the papers that are put in front of her." Briefly, he outlined the difficulties the Stars had been having since Bert's death.
Viktor, who had a good head for business and was notoriously tight with a dollar, frowned. "Phoebe, pet, I'm afraid he has a point."
"You know the terms of my father's will. He left me the Stars only so he could teach me a lesson. I'm not playing his game."
"There are some games you can't walk away from, Miz Somerville, without hurting a lot of people."
"I'm not going to lose much sleep over a bunch of grown men crying in their beer because they aren't winning football games."
"Then how about the staff people who are going to lose their jobs? Our ticket sales are way down from last year, and that means layoffs. How about their families, Miz Somerville. Will you lose sleep over them?"
He'd made her feel like a selfish worm. She'd been so wrapped up in her own feelings that she hadn't bothered to consider the effect her decision to turn her back on the Stars might have on others. If only she could find a way to stay true to herself without hurting anyone else. Several seconds ticked by while she considered her options. Finally, she released an indolent sign.