"That's what I hear." He felt her hand sliding into the pocket of his jacket and knew she was leaving her phone number. He tried to remember if he'd unloaded his pockets from the last time he'd worn this tux. With a moist smile that promised him everything, she moved away.
Tully was so accustomed to having his conversations with Dan broken into by predatory females that he went on as if there had been no interruption. "The whole thing galls me. How could Bert have let something like this happen?"
What Phoebe Somerville was doing to his football team outraged Dan so much he didn't want to think about it when there was nothing around for him to hit. He distracted himself by looking for the beautiful congress-woman and spotted her speaking with one of Chicago's aldermen. Her aristocratic features were composed, her gestures constrained and elegant. She was a class act from head to toe, not the sort of woman he could imagine with flour on her nose or a baby in her arms. He turned away. At this point in his life, a flour-dusted, cookie-bakin', baby-makin' woman was exactly what he was looking for.
After more years of raising hell than he wanted to count and a marriage that had been a big mistake, Dan Calebow was in a serious settlin'-down mood. At the age of thirty-seven, he yearned for kids, a whole houseful of them, and a woman who was more interested in changing diapers than taking over Chrysler.
He was on the brink of turning over a new leaf. No more career women, no more glamour pusses, no more sex bombs. He had his eyes out for a down-home woman, the kind who'd enjoy having a toddler mess up her hair, a woman whose idea of high fashion was a pair of blue jeans and one of his old sweatshirts, an ordinary kind of woman who didn't turn heads and make men crazy. And once he'd committed himself, his roaming days would be over. He hadn't cheated on his first wife, and he wasn't going to cheat on his last one.
Next to him, Tully Archer was still gnawing over the subject of Phoebe Somerville. "You know I don't like to speak ill of anybody, especially the fairer sex, but that blond chicky called me 'sugarplum.' Damn, Ice. That's just not the sort of person should be owning a football team."
"You got that right."
Tully's Santa Claus face puckered like a baby's. "She's got a poodle, Dan. Now both of us know the Bears' coaches are always fighting with Mike McCaskey, but damn, at least they're not working for an owner who carries around a French poodle. I tell you, I've been avoiding all of them since that funeral. I'll bet they're bustin' a gut laughing at us."
Once Tully got wound up. it was hard to stop him, and he moved on to the next subject. Dan noted that the congresswoman was gradually making her way to the elevator banks, a cadre of aids surrounding her as she departed. He glanced at his watch.
"This was supposed to be the transitional year for us, Ice," Tully said. "Bert fired Brewster last November and hired you as head coach. We got lucky on Plan B, did better than we expected in the draft, and even won a couple of games at the end of the season. But who could have figured Carl Pogue would quit and we'd end up having Ronald in charge of operations?"
A muscle ticked in the corner of Dan's jaw.
Tully shook his head. "Phoebe Somerville and Ronald McDermitt, the Stars' new owner and acting general manager. I tell you, Ice, even Vince Lombardi's laughing at us, and just think how long he's been dead."
Silence fell between them as both men's thoughts took equally dismal paths. In the six weeks that had passed since Bert's funeral, Phoebe had disappeared, bringing team business to a standstill because no one else was authorized to sign contracts. When she couldn't be located, Carl Pogue, the Stars' general manager, had quit in frustration and subsequently taken a job in the Commissioner's Office. Now, Ronald McDermitt, the man who had been Carl Pogue's assistant, was the Stars' acting general manager, completing the chronicle of disaster.
The terms of Bert's will had been leaked to the media, leaving all of them stunned. Like everyone else, Dan had assumed Bert would pass the Stars on to Reed immediately, not at the end of the season. Although Reed Chandler had a good reputation in the community, Dan had always found him a bit slippery, and he hadn't looked forward to working for him. Now, however, he would have given just about anything to see Reed sitting in Bert's old office.
"Howie told me you've been trying to get in touch with Ray Hardesty. You're not feeling guilty about finally letting me cut him, are you, Dan?"
Dan shook his head, even though the cut still bothered him. "We had to do it."
"Damn right. He was missing more practices than he was making, and there was no way he was going to pass a drug test."
"I know that." Lyle Alzado's death from steroid abuse hadn't taught guys like Ray Hardesty a damn thing. Dan knew Tully had been right to insist that Ray be cut from the team, and he should have done it when Ray had been picked up for his second DUI arrest of the year. Instead, he'd dragged his heels, giving the Stars' veteran defensive end more last chances than he would have given anybody else. Hardesty had been a great player until his drinking and drugging had gotten out of control, and Dan had wanted to exhaust all of his options. He'd done his best to get Ray into rehab. He'd talked to him until he was blue in the face about showing up on time for practice and at least pretending to follow the rules, but Ray hadn't been listening to anybody except his street corner pharmacist.
Tully tugged at his collar. "Did you know that Ronald took me aside a couple of days after Carl quit and told me to put more pressure on you to cut Hardesty?"
Dan hated talking about the Stars' acting general manager nearly as much as he hated talking about the new owner. "Why didn't Ronald talk to me in person?"
"He's scared to death of you. Ever since you stuffed him in that locker."
"He made me mad."
"Ronald was never anything more than Carl's gofer." Tully shook his head. "Everybody knows he only got the job because Bert owed his daddy a favor. I know Bert would never have let his daughter get her hands on the Stars if he knew Carl was going to quit. Ronald's a candy ass, Ice. Did I tell you about the time Bobby Tom was foolin' around after practice last season when Ronald came out to the field? You know how Bobby Tom is, just havin' a little fun, says, 'Hey, Ronnie, we're looking for a new wide-out.' And he lobs the ball at him real soft, couldn't have been more than five yards. Anyway, Ronald puts up his arm to catch it and jams his finger. He starts shaking his hand like somebody killed him. Bobby Tom like to bust a gut. How can you respect a general manager can't even catch a lob like that?"
Tully's monologue was interrupted by one of the subjects under discussion, last year's starting wide receiver for the Stars, Bobby Tom Denton. Bobby Tom liked to dress well, and his impeccably tailored black tuxedo was accompanied by a ruffled white dress shirt, glittering silver bow tie, lizardskin boots, and a big black Stetson.
As far as anybody knew, the only time Bobby Tom took off his Stetson was when he put on his helmet. One of his many girlfriends had told the National Enquirer he even wore it when he made love. Her word was suspect, however, since she'd also told the Enquirer that Bobby Tom was the illegitimate son of Roy Orbison, a statement that had mightily upset Bobby Tom's mother, despite the fact that anybody who'd ever heard Bobby Tom sing could have figured out it was a lie.
Bobby Tom nodded his Stetson at Tully and Dan. "Coach. Coach."
Dan nodded back. "Bobby Tom."
The wide receiver turned to Tully. "Hey, Coach, what d'ya think? That redhead over there told me all her girlfriends think I'm the best-looking wide-out in the league. What about you? Do you think my profile's better than Tom Waddle's?"
Tully contemplated the wide receiver's profile while he gave the question serious consideration. "I don't know, Bobby Tom. Waddle's nose is straighter than yours."
Bobby Tom tended to get belligerent when anyone challenged his good looks, and tonight was no exception. "Is that so? For your information she said I look like that movie star-what's his name? Christian Slater." Bobby Tom frowned. "Either of you know who Christian Slater is?"