shot in the knee, while the trainer worked with another. Many of the men sported ice packs.
They seemed to appreciate the fact that she was willing to converse with them after an embarrassing loss. She noticed that there was a definite pecking order to the way in which they were seated. The coaches, GM, and important press occupied first class, while Stars staff members and the camera crew sat in the front of the coach section. The rookies occupied the next few rows, and the veterans took up the back of the plane. Later, when she asked Ron why the veterans chose the rear of the plane, he told her they liked to get as far away from the coaches as possible.
It was after one in the morning when they landed at O'Hare, and she was exhausted. Ron was taking her home since she hadn't driven to the airport. As she slid into the deep front seat of his Lincoln Town Car, she heard a brisk set of footsteps approaching.
'We need to talk, Phoebe. Let me drive you home.'
She looked up to see Dan standing next to the car, his hand resting on the door as he leaned down to peer inside. He was wearing his wire-rimmed glasses, and he looked more like a stern-faced high school principal who was about to reach for his paddle than one of the gridiron's legendary hell-raisers.
She fumbled with her seat belt buckle as she snapped it together. 'We can talk tomorrow. I'm going with Ron.'
Ron, who was standing on the driver's side, had just finished placing their carry-on bags in the rear seat. He looked up as Dan came around the front of the car.
'I have some business I need to discuss with Phoebe, Ronald. I'll drive her home. We can trade cars at work tomorrow.' He tossed over a set of keys and, ignoring her exclamation of protest, slid behind the wheel. While Dan adjusted the seat to accommodate his taller framer, Ron stared down at the keys in his hand.
'You're letting me drive your Ferrari?'
'Don't put any drool marks on the leather.'
Ron snatched his carry-on bag from the back and handed over his own keys, so pleased at the prospect of driving 'ICE 11' that he dashed off without telling Phoebe good-bye.
She sat in stony silence as Dan pulled out of the parking lot. Within minutes, they were heading south on the Tri State. In the gaudy lights of billboards advertising radio stations and beer, she could see that he was doing a slow burn, as if he were the wronged party instead of her. She made up her mind that she wasn't going to let him realize how much he'd hurt her.
'I suppose you know you disgraced yourself at the game today by showing up in that snake charmer outfit.'
'
'I got ejected, not evicted. That was a football game, not a damn landlords' convention.' He glanced over at her. 'What were you trying to prove, anyway? Don't you know that when you wear clothes like that, you might as well have a For Sale sign plastered on your chest.'
'Of course I know it,' she cooed. 'Why do you think I do it?'
His hands tightened on the wheel. 'You're really pushing me, aren't you?'
'My clothing isn't any of your concern.'
'It is when it reflects on the team.'
'Don't you think those infantile temper tantrums you throw on the sidelines reflect on the team?'
'That's different. It's part of the game.'
She hoped her refusal to respond told him exactly what she thought of his logic.
They drove for several miles in silence. Phoebe's misery settled in deeper. She was so tired of playing a part all the time, but she didn't know any other way to behave. Maybe if they'd met under different circumstances, they would have had a chance.
Dan's belligerence had faded when he finally spoke again. 'Look, Phoebe. I feel bad about last night, and I want to apologize. I liked being with you and all, and I didn't mean to be so abrupt. It was just gettin' kind of late…' His apology trailed lamely into silence.
She could feel her throat closing, and she fought against it. Pulling the fragments of her willpower together, she spoke with the bored lockjaw drawl of a South Hampton socialite. 'Really, Dan, if I'd known you would react in such an immature fashion, I would never have gone to bed with you.'
His eyes narrowed. 'Is that so?'
'You reminded me of a teenager who'd just done it in the backseat of the family car and was having an attack of guilty conscience. Frankly, I'm accustomed to a bit more sophistication on the part of my lovers. At the very least, I expected another round. It's hardly worth all that effort if you're only going to do it once, is it?'
He made a strange, choking sound and drifted into the right lane. She kept at him, prodded on by the pain of knowing he couldn't see through her, that this was the way he expected her to behave. 'I don't think I'm terribly demanding, but I do have three requirements of my lovers: courtesy, endurance, and quick recovery for a repeat performance. I'm afraid you failed all three.'
His voice grew dangerously low. 'Aren't you going to criticize my technique, too?'
'Well, as to that. I found your technique to be quite… adequate.'
'Adequate?'
'You've obviously read all the books, but…' She forced an exaggerated sigh. 'Oh, I'm probably too picky.'
'No. Go on. I wouldn't miss this for the world.'
'I guess I hadn't imagined you'd have so many-Well, so many hang-ups. You're a very uptight lover, Daniel. You should relax more and not take sex so seriously. Of course you were operating at a disadvantage.' She paused, then went in for the kill. 'In all fairness, what man could be at his best having sex with the woman who signs his paychecks?'
She was dismayed to hear a soft chuckle. 'Phoebe, darlin', you're takin' my breath away.'
'I wouldn't dwell on it too much. I'm certain it was just a temporary thing. Bad chemistry.'
In the flash of headlights, she could see him grin. For a fraction of a second she almost forgot the sting of his rejection and smiled herself.
'Honey lamb, there are a lot of things in this world I feel insecure about. Religion. Our national economic policy. What color socks to wear with a blue suit. But, I've got to tell you that my performance in that hotel room last night isn't one of them.'
'With that ego of yours, I'm not surprised.'
'Phoebe, I said I was sorry.'
'Apology accepted. Now if you don't mind, I'm exhausted.' She rested her head against the window and closed her eyes.
He was just as good at nonverbal communication as she. Within seconds, he'd flipped on the radio and filled the interior of the car with the hostile music of Megadeth. Nothing had been settled between them.
Phoebe saw little of Dan during the week that followed. His days seemed to be spent in watching miles of film, attending an endless number of meetings with his coaches and players, and spending some time each day on the practice field. To her surprise, Molly agreed to accompany her to the game on Sunday against the Detroit Lions, although when Phoebe suggested she bring a friend, she refused, saying that all the girls at her school were bitches.
The Stars beat the Lions by a narrow margin, but the following Sunday at Three Rivers Stadium in Pittsburgh, the team once again fell victim to a series of turnovers and lost a close game. They were now one and three for the season. She ran into Reed at the Pittsburgh airport. He was so cloyingly sympathetic, while at the same time subtly critical, that she couldn't wait to get away from him.
The next morning, when Phoebe arrived at her office, her secretary handed her a note from Ronald asking her to meet him immediately in the second-floor conference room. As she grabbed her coffee mug and made her way down the hall, she noticed that all the phones were ringing and wondered what new catastrophe had struck?
Dan was leaning against the paneled back wall, ankles and forearms crossed, a scowl on his face as he stared at the television that rested on a movable steel cart along with a VCR. Ron was seated in a swivel chair at the end of the table.
As she slid into the chair to his left, he leaned over and whispered, 'This is a tape of 'Sports in Chicago,' a popular local program that aired last night while we were flying home. I'm afraid you need to hear this.'
