It Had to Be You Part 31

Dan watched Phoebe suck an out-of-season strawberry with her X-rated mouth. As she gazed into Keane's eyes, he told himself he was going to propose to Sharon Anderson that very weekend.

Ron had barely looked up from his dinner plate all evening, but as the coffee was poured, he finally seemed to come to life, about ninety minutes too late, as far as Dan was concerned.

"Excuse me for interrupting your conversation, Phoebe, but I think it might behoove us to discuss the reason for this meeting tonight."

Phoebe looked at him so blankly that Dan wanted to shake her. Was she so eager to add Keane to her scalp collection that she had forgotten why they were here?

"Reason?" she said.

"The stadium contract," Ron reminded her.

"Oh, pooh. I've changed my mind, Ronnie. I don't want to talk about that tonight. Why don't you just relax and enjoy yourself? Jason and I are friends now, and everybody knows you shouldn't do business with friends."

"A woman after my own heart," Jason chuckled.

"All Ronnie thinks about is business. It's so boring. There are more important things in life than some silly old contract."

Dan straightened in his seat. Something was wrong here. Phoebe did care about the contract, and she never called her GM Ronnie.

Keane gave Ron a smug smile. "Why don't you have some more wine, McDermitt?"

"No, thank you."

"Don't pout, Ronnie. You can call Jason tomorrow and tell him what I've decided."

"What is there to decide?" Keane said smoothly. "Everything's pretty much cut-and-dried."

Once again, she curled her fingers around his sleeve. "Not exactly, but let's not spoil tonight by talking about business."

Keane grew almost imperceptibly more alert. "We've sent you a fair contract. The same one your father signed. I hope you're as satisfied."

"I'm not satisfied," Ron said with a forcefulness that earned Dan's admiration. He waited with interest to hear Phoebe's response. not satisfied," Ron said with a forcefulness that earned Dan's admiration. He waited with interest to hear Phoebe's response.

"Oh, I'm not satisfied either," she giggled. "Ronnie made me so upset about the bad deal the Stars were getting that he convinced me I had to do something." Like a small child reciting a well-learned lesson, she said, "Ronnie keeps reminding me that I'm a businesswoman now, Jason. And even though I'll probably only have the team for a short time longer, I have to think like an owner."

Dan kept his expression carefully blank as he leaned back in his chair to watch the show. What was his brainy little bimbo up to now?

She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. "I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that Phoebe Somerville isn't enough of a businesswoman to make the tough calls, but that just isn't true."

"I wasn't thinking that at all." Keane's lazy smile was at odds with the hawklike intensity in his gaze. "What kind of tough calls do you have to make? Maybe I can help. I have a lot of experience with that sort of thing."

Ron's mouth twisted into something that, on any other man, would have been a sneer. "He's trying to manipulate you, Phoebe. Be careful."

Phoebe wrinkled her forehead. "Don't be rude, Ronnie. Jason wouldn't do anything like that."

Keane's eyes were boring holes through her skull, as if he were trying to see whether anything lurked between the air pockets. "Of course, I wouldn't. All of us have to make tough calls now and then."

Phoebe's pout turned into something closer to a whine. "But this one was really hard, Jason. Ronnie kept telling me you wouldn't be mad about it, but I'm not so sure. I don't see how you can be happy about the Stars moving."

Jason choked on the coffee he had been in the process of swallowing. "Moving?" "Moving?" His cup landed in his saucer with a clatter, and all his flirtatiousness disappeared. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about? Moving where?" His cup landed in his saucer with a clatter, and all his flirtatiousness disappeared. "What the h.e.l.l are you talking about? Moving where?"

Dan watched as Phoebe's bottom lip actually began to quiver. "Don't be mad. Ronnie explained it to me, and everything'll be fine. We're going to exercise that one-year option we have with you for next season, so it's not as if we're moving immediately. You'll have lots of time to find another team to play in your stadium."

Keane spoke to Phoebe through gritted teeth. "Exactly where are you thinking about taking the Stars?"

"Manhattan, maybe. Wouldn't that be a gas? I'm not absolutely sure, of course, that the other team owners will go along with it, but Ronnie hired these nerds to do this big market survey, and they told him the New York City area can definitely support another football team."

Keane, obviously having decided where the real power behind the Stars lay, shot Ron a look of pure fury. "That's ridiculous! The Stars won't be able to use Giants Stadium. There are already two teams playing there."

But Phoebe wasn't ready to turn over the stage to her GM yet, and once again she cupped Keane's arm. "Not Giants Stadium. That's in New Jersey, for goodness' sake, and I never go to New Jersey unless I'm on my way to Philadelphia. Just because I won't own the team anymore doesn't mean that I'm not planning on seeing every game. I'm crazy about football now that I know all the players."

"You can't move the team unless you have a stadium!" Keane was nearly shouting. "Didn't McDermitt tell you that?"

"But that's the best part! Donald has just about recovered from all those horrible things that happened to him a few years ago, and he wants to build a domed stadium on that West Side land he owns." Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively. "We're close close friends, you know, and he told me he'd give me my very own skybox as a gift if I'd sign a contract with him before I turn over the team to Reed." She looked stricken. "Don't be mad, Jason. I have to do what Ronnie tells me. He gets all upset if I don't behave like a real businesswoman." friends, you know, and he told me he'd give me my very own skybox as a gift if I'd sign a contract with him before I turn over the team to Reed." She looked stricken. "Don't be mad, Jason. I have to do what Ronnie tells me. He gets all upset if I don't behave like a real businesswoman."

Dan was grateful no one was paying any attention to him because he'd gotten dizzy from the alt.i.tude. He had to hand it to the kid, however. Ron leaned back in his chair with the smug look of a mafioso who had controlling interest in a concrete block company.

Keane's att.i.tude underwent a subtle transformation, and he regarded Phoebe in a manner that was both unfriendly and patronizing. The thought pa.s.sed through Dan's mind that Keane, for all his smarts, had better take care. Dan knew from past experience how easy it was to get suckered by these two con artists.

"I have to warn you that the whole thing sounds much too tentative to me. It's extremely doubtful the League would agree to a third pro team in the New York City area. If I were you, I wouldn't set my heart on moving the Stars to Manhattan."

Phoebe gave the same giggle that only ten minutes earlier had set Dan's back teeth on edge. Now it sounded as musical as church bells. How could he ever have doubted her? Not only was she smart as a whip, but she had guts.

"That's exactly what Ronnie said," she chirped, "but I have a backup plan."

"You do?"

She leaned closer. "You wouldn't believe how much Baltimore wants its own NFL team. Ever since the-" She looked down the table at Dan, and he finally knew her well enough to recognize the glitter in her eyes. As he kept his expression inscrutable, his chest swelled with pride.

"What was the name of that team that left Baltimore?" she inquired.

"The Colts."

"Right Ever since the Colts left, Baltimore's been dying to get another team. And then there's Orlando." An expression of pure bliss settled over her face. "Those men are the sweetest guys in the world. Last week when we talked, they presented me with the cutest little Montblanc pen with gold mouse ears on it." She gave a soft, Minnie-like squeal and sighed with pleasure. "Oh, I just love Orlando. Their stadium site is right next to Disney World."

Keane looked stunned.

"So you see, I do know how to be a tough businesswoman." She slipped her napkin from her lap and stood. "Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I need to make a trip to the little girls' room. And, Ronnie, you be civil to Jason while I'm gone. You've gotten everything you want, so you can afford to be gracious."

As she walked away from the table, she took all of their eyes with her. The door shut.

Dan wanted to jump to his feet and give her a standing ovation. At that moment, he knew without doubt that he couldn't marry Sharon Anderson, and he felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Phoebe filled his heart, not Sharon, and he was going to have to rethink everything. The future he'd been so certain about was now murky, a fact that should have depressed him. Instead, he experienced a surge of exhilaration.

Jason threw his napkin on the table, jumped to his feet, and rounded on Dan. "I thought we were friends! What the h.e.l.l is going on here?"

Dan concealed his elation with a shrug. "It's front office business. I don't get involved."

"Not even when your football team may end up wearing f.u.c.king mouse ears mouse ears on their helmets!" on their helmets!"

Dan set down his coffee cup and deliberately wiped the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "Considering her past history, I think Baltimore's more likely. It's closer to Manhattan."

Jason turned his anger on Ron. "This is all your doing, McDermitt. You've manipulated that f.u.c.king birdbrain! My G.o.d, you're leading her around by the f.u.c.king nose!"

Ron's smile revealed the teeth of a baby shark. "I've done what I had to, Keane. You've been s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g us over for years, and I finally found a way to stop you. Bert would never consider moving the team, but Phoebe doesn't have his sense of tradition, and it was quite easy to persuade her to look elsewhere. She has wonderful connections, you know, and I don't inquire too closely into how she's made them. One day she's on the phone with Trump. The next day with Disney. They've promised low rents, hefty concession percentages. They'll pick up the tab for security. I realize this will leave you with an empty stadium, but perhaps the Bears-"

"f.u.c.k the Bears!" Keane shouted. "Do you think I want McCaskey breathing down my a.s.s?" His eyes traveled from Ron to Dan and back again. And then they narrowed suspiciously. He turned to his attorney. "Stand outside the door and keep Phoebe occupied if she comes back. O'Brian, get Trump on the phone."

Dan could see the flicker of alarm in Ron's eyes, and he couldn't suppress his own dismay. You gave it your best shot, Phoebe, You gave it your best shot, Phoebe, he thought. Unfortunately, Keane wasn't as easily suckered in as he had been. he thought. Unfortunately, Keane wasn't as easily suckered in as he had been.

A heavy silence descended on the room as the men waited for the call to go through. After several moments of muted conversation, O'Brian pa.s.sed the phone over to his employer.

Keane spoke into the receiver with false heartiness. "Donald, it's Jason Keane. Sorry to interrupt your evening, but I'm tracing down an interesting rumor." He walked over toward the fireplace. "The word here is that you're thinking about building a stadium on that West Side land you own. If it's true, I might be interested in getting in on the action. Provided you have a team lined up."

He gripped the receiver tighter in his hand as he listened. "Is that so? No, I understand. I thought maybe the Jets ... Really? Well, those things happen. Yes, indeed. Oh, certainly."

There was a long pause.

"I'll do that. Of course. Good speaking with you, too."

His face was gray as he slammed the phone to the cradle. "The son of a b.i.t.c.h wants the Stars. He told me he's promised Phoebe a pink marble skybox. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d actually had the gall to laugh."

Silence fell over the room.

Ron cleared his throat. "Do you want me to get the names of the men she spoke with in Orlando and Baltimore?"

"Don't bother," he snapped. Dan could almost see the wheels turning in Keane's well-oiled mind. "Dan, I remember you admiring that antique George Low Wizard putter of mine. It's yours if you get Phoebe out of here."

"I'm always happy to help out a friend," Dan said slowly.

"And you." Keane jabbed his finger at Ron. "You're not going anywhere until we put together a new contract."

Ron took his time selecting a cigar from the humidor that had arrived at the table along with the brandy. He rolled it between his fingers like a miniature Daddy Warbucks. "It'll have to be an attractive offer, Jason. Very attractive. I rather like Orlando myself."

"It'll be plenty attractive, you slimy son of a b.i.t.c.h!"

"Then let's deal." Ron smiled as he slipped the cigar into the corner of his mouth. "And Keane- Don't forget who's holding Trump."

20.

"Are you sure you've told me everything that happened after I left?" Since the Ferrari's heater was going full blast, Phoebe's teeth weren't chattering from cold, but from an overdose of adrenaline.

"As close as I can remember."

She still couldn't quite comprehend the amazing fact that right now, Ron and Jason Keane were in the process of renegotiating their stadium contract. She thought about her father and experienced an unfamiliar sensation of peace as she realized she'd never had anything to prove to him, only to herself.

The Ferrari bounced on a b.u.mp in the road and she suddenly became conscious of their rural surroundings. "I thought you were taking me home."

"I am. My home."

"Why?"

"Because the last time I stopped by your house, Miz Molly was there along with three of her girlfriends. I don't think I ever realized what high-pitched voices four teenage girls have." He glanced over at her. "It occurs to me that you and I need some privacy so we can talk a few things over."

Phoebe couldn't think of anything they had to talk about that wouldn't wait until the next day. After what had happened last week in the weight room, she wasn't up to any more rejection, and she knew she shouldn't be alone with him. Since he was already driving down the lane that led to his house, however, it was a bit late to ask him to turn back.

"First we're going to talk," he said. "Then we're going to burn that dress of yours."

He was scowling, so she doubted that his remark was intended to be s.e.xual, but as the Ferrari sped beneath the bare trees whose skeletal branches were silhouetted against the night sky, she realized her palms were damp. "It's Versace."

"Beg your pardon?"

"My dress. Versace. The designer. Or at least it's a Versace rip-off. I have this friend in Manhattan who can rip off any designer."

"What's wrong with your voice? It sounds funny."

"My teeth are chattering." The low-slung car bounced on a rut.

"I've got the heater on. It's warm."

"I'm not cold. I guess it's a delayed reaction. I was a little nervous this evening."

"You d.a.m.n well should have been. Phoebe, in all my born days I never saw anything like what you did tonight. I'm a little disappointed in Ron, though, for not letting me in on your plans, especially since he invited me along."

"Ron didn't know exactly what I had in mind."

"Are you telling me he was winging it in there?"

"Not entirely. I told him the att.i.tude I wanted him to a.s.sume, but not the details of what I planned to do. He has this problem with heart arrhythmia. It kicks up when he gets too nervous, and I was afraid he'd give me away. But he's gotten very good at improvising, so I wasn't too worried."

"My respect for my good friend Ron grows by the day."

They stopped in front of the stone farmhouse, where faint puddles of golden light spilled through the living room windows onto the porch. The Dutchman's-pipe vine hung dry and withered on its trellis at the end of the porch, but it still somehow managed to be beautiful in the cold December night. She waited until he came around to open her door, and when he did, she was forced to swing her legs out first because her dress was so tight.

He extended his hand to help her. When his fingers closed around her own, she tried to repress a s.h.i.+ver of excitement. A leaf crunched under the toe of her beaded black heels as she and Dan climbed the front steps together.

He unlocked the door and held it open for her. "I thought it was all over when Keane placed that phone call to your close personal friend, Donald Trump."

"Donald has quite a sense of humor. It didn't take any persuasion on my part to convince him to back up my story."

The hallway was lit by a single bra.s.s library lamp with a black shade that sat on a small antique chest. She followed him into the living room, where he flicked on more lights until the interior was filled with a cozy glow. Once again, she was struck by how snug his house was. A discarded navy sweats.h.i.+rt lay across the arm of the green and red plaid couch, while copies of the Chicago papers, along with the Wall Street Journal, Wall Street Journal, were scattered on the floor near one of the overstuffed chairs. She smelled clove and cinnamon. were scattered on the floor near one of the overstuffed chairs. She smelled clove and cinnamon.

"This place is so homey," she said wistfully.