Fancy Pants (45 page)
* * *
During the next few months, Dallie found a number of excuses to come toNew York. First he had to meet with some advertising executives about a
promotion he was doing for a line
of golf clubs. Then he was "on his way" from Houston to Phoenix. Later
he had a wild craving to sit in gridlocked traffic and breathe exhaust
fumes. Francesca could never remember having laughed so much or felt so
absolutely sassy and full of herself. When Dallie put his mind to it he
was irresistible, and since she'd long ago
gotten out of the habit of
telling herself lies, she stopped trying to cheapen her feelings for
him by hiding them under the convenient label of lust. No matter how
potentially heartbreaking—she realized that she was falling in love
with him. She loved his look, his laughter, the easygoing nature of his
manliness.
Still, the obstacles between them loomed like skyscrapers, and her love
had a bittersweet edge. She
wasn't an idealistic twenty-one-year-old
anymore, and she couldn't envision any fairy-tale future. Although she
knew Dallie cared for her, his feelings seemed much more casual than
her own.
And Teddy continued to be a problem. She sensed how much Dallie wanted
to win him over, yet he remained stiff and formal with her son—as if he
was afraid to be himself. Their outings too frequently ended in
disaster as Teddy misbehaved and Dallie reprimanded him. Although she
hated admitting it,
she sometimes found herself feeling relieved when
Teddy had other plans and she and Dallie could
spend their time alone
together.
* * *
On a Sunday late in April, Francesca invited Holly Grace to come overand watch the final round of one of the year's more important golf
tournaments. To their delight, Dallie was only two shots off the lead.
Holly Grace was convinced that if he made a strong finish, he'd play
out the season instead of going into the announcers' booth in two weeks
to do color commentary for the U.S. Classic.
"He'll blow it," Teddy said as he came into the room and plopped
himself on the floor in front of the television. "He always does."
"Not this time," Francesca told him, irritated with his know-it-all
attitude. "This time he's going to do it." He'd better do it, she
thought. The night before on the phone, she'd promised him a variety of
erotic rewards if he came through today.
"When did you get to be such a golf fan?" he had asked.
She had no intention of telling him about the hours she had spent
reviewing every detail of his professional career, or the weeks she had
spent looking at videotapes of his old tournaments as she tried to find
the key to unlock Dallie Beaudine's secrets.
"I became a fan after I developed this incredible crush on Seve
Ballesteros," she had replied breezily, as she settled back into the
satin pillows on her bed and propped the receiver on her shoulder. "He
is so gorgeous. Do you think you could fix me up with him?"
Dallie had snorted at her reference to the darkly handsome Spaniard who
was one of the best professional golfers in the world. "Keep talking
like that and I'll fix you up, all right. You just forget about old
Seve tomorrow and keep your eye on the All-American Kid."
Now as she watched the All-American Kid, she definitely liked what she
saw. He parred the fourteenth and fifteenth holes and then birdied
sixteen. The leader board shifted and he was one stroke out of first
place. The camera picked up Dallie and Skeet walking toward the
seventeenth hole and then cut for a Merrill Lynch commercial.
Teddy got up from his spot in front of the television and disappeared
into his bedroom. Francesca put out a plate of cheese and crackers, but
both she and Holly Grace were too nervous to eat. "He's going to do
it," Holly Grace said for the fifth time. "When I talked to him last
night, he said he was feeling real good."
"I'm glad the two of you are speaking to each other again," Francesca
remarked.
"Oh, you know Dallie and me. We can't stay mad at each other for long."
Teddy returned from the bedroom wearing his cowboy boots and a navy
blue sweat shirt that fell past
his hips. "Where on earth did you get
that hideous thing?" She eyed the drooling motorcyclist and the Day-Glo
inscription with distaste.
"It was a present," Teddy muttered, plopping himself back down on the
carpet.
So this was the sweat shirt she'd heard about. She looked thoughtfully
at the television screen, which showed Dallie teeing up his ball on the
seventeenth hole, and then back at Teddy. "I
like it," she said.
Teddy pushed his glasses back up on his nose, all his attention on the
tournament. "He's going to clutch."
"Don't say that," Francesca snapped.
Holly Grace stared intently at the screen. "He's got to put it just
beyond the bunker, over toward the left side of the fairway. That'll
give him a real good look at the flag."
* * *
Pat Summerall, the CBS commentator, spoke over the picture to hispartner Ken Venturi. "What do you think, Ken? Is Beaudine going to be
able to hold it together for two more holes?"
"I don't know, Pat. Dallie's looked real good today, but he's got to be
feeling the pressure right now, and he never plays his best during
these big tournaments."
Francesca held her breath as Dallie hit his drive, and then Pat
Summerall said ominously, "It doesn't look as if he's caught it flush."
"He's coming down awfully close to that left fairway bunker," Venturi
observed.
"Oh, no," Francesca cried, her fingers tightly crossed as she stared at
the ball flying across the small screen.
"Dammit, Dallie!" Holly Grace shrieked at the television.
The ball dropped from the sky and buried itself in the left fairway
bunker.
"I told you he'd blow it," Teddy said.
Chapter
31
Dallie had an excellent view of Central Park from his hotel room, but31
he impatiently turned away from
the window and began pacing the floor.
He had tried to read on the plane flying into JFK, but had found that
nothing held his attention, and now that he had reached his hotel he
felt claustrophobic. Once again he had let a tournament victory get
away from him. The thought of Francesca and Teddy sitting in front of
the television and watching him lose was just about more than he could
stand.
But the loss of the tournament wasn't all that was bothering him. No
matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn't stop thinking
about Holly Grace. They'd made up since their fight at the farmhouse
and she hadn't mentioned anything about using him for stud service
again, but some of the spunk had gone out of her, and he didn't like
that one bit. The more he thought about what had happened to her,
the
more he wanted to put his fist through Gerry Jaffe's face.
He tried to forget about Holly Grace's troubles, but an idea had been
nagging at the back of his mind
ever since he'd gotten on the plane,
and now he found himself picking up the piece of paper that held
Jaffe's address. He'd gotten it from Naomi Perlman less than an hour
ago, and since then he had been trying to make up his mind whether or
not to use it. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was already
seven-thirty.
He was going to meet Francie at nine for dinner. He was tired and
jagged, in no mood to be reasonable, and certainly in no condition to
try to straighten out Holly Grace's troubles. Still, he found himself
tucking Jaffe's address into the pocket of his navy blue sport coat and
heading down to the lobby to get a cab.
* * *
Jaffe lived in an apartment building not far from the United Nations.Dallie paid the driver and began walking toward the entrance, only to
see Gerry coming out through the front door.
Gerry spotted him immediately, and Dallie could tell by the expression
on his face that he'd received better surprises in his life. Still, he
managed a polite nod. "Hello, Beaudine."
"Well, if it isn't Russia's best friend," Dallie replied.
Gerry lowered the hand he had been extending for a shake. "That line's
starting to wear thin."
"You're a real bastard, you know that, Jaffe?" Dallie said slowly, not
seeing any need for preliminaries.
Gerry had a hot temper of his own, but he managed to turn his back on
Dallie and begin walking off down the street. Dallie, however, had no
intention of letting him get away so easily, not when Holly Grace's
happiness was at stake. For some reason she wanted this guy, and he
just might be able to give her a shot at having him.
He began to move forward and soon fell in step next to Gerry. It was
dark and there were few people on the street. Garbage cans lined the
curb. They passed the grate-covered windows of a bakery and a jeweler.
Gerry picked up his pace. "Why don't you go play with your golf balls?"
he said.
"As a matter of fact, I was just stopping by to have a little talk with
you before I went to see Holly Grace." It was a lie. Dallie had no
intention of seeing Holly Grace that night. "Do you want me to give
her
your regards?"
Gerry stopped walking. The glow from a streetlight fell on his face. "I
want you to stay away from Holly Grace."
Dallie still had yesterday's defeat on his mind, and he wasn't in the
mood for subtlety, so he went in for
a swift, merciful kill. "Now, that
would be kind of hard for me to do. It's just about impossible to get a
woman good and pregnant if
you're not right there on top of the job."
Gerry's eyes turned black. His hand shot out and he grabbed the front
of Dallie's sport coat. "You tell
me right now what you're talking
about."
"She's determined to have a baby, is all," Dallie said, not making any
attempt to get away, "and only
one of us seems to be man enough to do
the job."
Gerry's olive skin paled as he released Dallie's jacket. "You fucking
son of a bitch."
Dallie's answering drawl was soft and menacing. "Fucking is something
I'm real good at, Jaffe."
Gerry ended two decades of dedicated nonviolence by drawing
back his
fist and slamming it into Dallie's chest. Gerry wasn't much of a
fighter and Dallie saw the blow coming, but he decided to let Jaffe
have
his one shot because he knew damn well he wasn't going to give him
another. Righting himself, Dallie started back toward Gerry. Holly
Grace could have this son of a bitch if she wanted him, but first he
was going to rearrange his face.
Gerry stood with his arms at his sides, his chest heaving, and watched
Dallie coming at him. When Dallie's fist caught him in the jaw, he flew
across the sidewalk and banged into the garbage cans,
sending them
clattering out into the street. A man and woman coming down the
sidewalk saw the fight and rapidly turned back. Gerry got up slowly,
lifting the back of his hand to wipe the blood that was flowing from
his lip.
Then he turned and began to walk away.
"Fight me, you son of a bitch," Dallie called after him.
"I won't fight," Gerry called back.
"Well, now, aren't you a prime example of American manhood? Come on and
fight. I'll give you another free punch."
Gerry kept walking. "I shouldn't have hit you in the first place, and I
won't do it again."
Dallie rapidly closed the distance between them, jerking Gerry around
by his shoulder. "For Christ's sake, I just told you I was getting
ready to knock up Holly Grace!"
Gerry's fists clenched at his side, but he didn't move.
Dallie grabbed the front of Gerry's bomber jacket and pushed him
against a light post. "What the hell's wrong with you? I'd
have fought an army for that woman. Can't you even fight one person?"
Gerry looked at him contemptuously. "Is that the only way you know how
to solve a problem? With
your fists?"
"At least I try to solve my problems. All you've done is make her
miserable."
"You don't know jackshit, Beaudine. I've been trying for weeks to talk
to her, but she won't see me.
The last time I managed to get past the
guards at ihe studio, she called the cops on me."
"Did she, now?" Dallie smiled unpleasantly and slowly let go of Gerry's
jacket. "You know something?
I don't like you, Jaffe. I don't like
people who act like they have all the answers. Most of all, I don't
like smug do-gooders who make all kinds of noble noises about saving
the world but screw over the people who care about them."
Gerry was breathing harder than Dallie, and he had trouble getting out
his words. "This doesn't have anything to do with you."
"Anybody who gets tangled up in Holly Grace's life sooner or later runs
into me. She wants a baby,
and for some reason that I sure as hell
can't figure out, she wants you, too."
Gerry leaned back against the light post. For a moment his head
dropped, and then he lifted it again, his eyes dark with misery. "Tell
me why it's such a goddamn crime not to want to bring a kid into this
world. Why does she have to be so stubborn? Why can't it just be the
two of us?"
Gerry's obvious pain touched Dallie, but he did his best to ignore it.
"She wants a baby, is all."
"I'd be the worst father in the world. I don't know anything about
being a father."
Dallie's laugh was soft and bitter. "You think any of us do?"
"Listen, Beaudine. I've had enough of people nagging me about this.
First Holly Grace, then my sister, and then Francesca. Now you're on my
case, too. Well, it's none of your goddamn business, do you understand
me? This is between Holly Grace and me."
"Answer a question for me, Jaffe," Dallie said slowly.
"How are you going to go about living the rest of your life knowing
that you let the best thing that ever happened to you get away?"
"Don't you think I'm trying to get through to her?" Jaffe cried out.
"She won't even talk to me, you
crazy son of a bitch! I can't even get
into the same room with her."
"Maybe you're not trying hard enough."
Gerry's eyes narrowed and his jaw clenched. "Just leave me the hell
alone. And stay away from Holly Grace. The two of you are old worn-out
history, and if you even think about touching her, I'll come
after you,
do you understand me?"
"I'm trembling in my boots," Dailie replied with deliberate insolence.
Gerry looked him straight in the eye and there was such menace on the
man's face that Dailie actually experienced a moment of grudging
respect.
"Don't underestimate me, Beaudine," Gerry said, his tone flat and hard.
He held Dallie's gaze for several long moments without flinching, and
then he walked away.
Dailie stood watching him for a while; then he headed back down the
sidewalk. As he stepped off the curb to hail a cab, a faint, satisfied
smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
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