Fast Courting

by Barbara Delinsky

  She shrugged in helpless admission, diverted her gaze, then skirted him to open the freezer. “Are you angry?” she asked, pushing aside several packages of vegetables to unearth the steak she had vetoed last night.

  “No.”

  “You could be…” she goaded experimentally.

  “No, Antonia.” He took her arm and turned her around, shoving the freezer door back in place. “I couldn’t be. You owe me nothing, certainly not a love for my game. Moreover,” his dark brown eyes absorbed her attention, “knowing what little I do about you, I can begin to understand the way you feel. Rightly or wrongly, you associate the game of basketball with your past unhappiness. Although I’m sorry that that’s the case, I can’t begrudge you your honest feelings. Now,” his face broke into an abrupt smile, lighting hers reflectively, “I would have been angry had you told me you weren’t home last night….”

  A smile found its way to her lips. Thank goodness, she mused, recalling her thoughts of earlier. The coincidence of hearing him echo them blinded her to a possible second meaning in his vow. “I was home. And I do know that you won. Congratulations.”

  With a shrug, he released her. “Where is that corkscrew?”

  But if Nia thought that the matter of her conditioned response to basketball was to be dropped, she was mistaken. For no sooner had Daniel uncorked the wine and filled the glasses she handed him than he leaned back against the counter, crossed his ankles, and stared thoughtfully ahead. Nia put a wad of butter in the frying pan to melt, then set to slicing onions.

  “Were you ever a basketball fan?” he asked softly, nonbelligerently.

  “No.” The first onion’s papery sheath slid off with a crackle into her hand.

  “You disliked the game from the start?”

  “No. I, uh, I never really got to know it.” The heavy knife cleanly cut one slice, then another.

  “David didn’t talk to you about it?”

  “I overheard him talking to other people, but he never discussed it all that much with me.” A third, fourth and fifth slice fell onto the cutting board. Crinkling her nose against the smell, Nia reached for another onion.

  “How could that be? You were married for five years. If basketball was as much a part of him as I assume, what was there left to talk about?”

  The parched skin crinkled loudly. “There is more to life than—”

  “I know.” He apologized, instantly aware of her tension and intent on alleviating it. “That came out wrong. I’m just wondering how you avoided learning about something that was such a vital part of him.”

  With several slices cut from the second onion, the smell had grown stronger. “David and I talked of other things. Our relationship was a novelty to us. In many ways, the attraction was as irresponsible as it was immature. I suppose I was as drawn to David’s age as he was to my lack of it. At first. Then…well…” Eyes tearing, she sniffled.

  Daniel’s fingers circled her wrist in a gentle bid for attention. “I’m sorry, Nia. I didn’t mean to upset you. If thinking of him makes you cry, I won’t mention it again.”

  “It’s the onions!” she protested, lifting her free hand to dab at the moisture in her eyes. “I may still feel the pain of my marriage, but I stopped shedding tears for it long ago.” When he released her wrist she reached for the last onion. “Why are you harping on this, anyway?”

  “Just curious.”

  “About David?” She hid her expression as she sliced away.

  “No, Antonia,” he drawled in good-natured punishment. “About you. I’m trying to understand you.”

  “Oh, God, this is horrible!” she cried with a loud sniffle. “I can’t see what I’m doing through these damned tears!”

  “Here, let me finish.”

  Half wondering if he could, Nia turned the knife over to him while she sought refuge at the distant end of the kitchen, as far as possible from the odorous storm center. Her eyes had barely dried when a tell-tale sizzle from the pan verified Daniel’s accomplishment.

  “Thanks.” She ventured back into the fray, taking the wine glass he offered. “Say, you did that very well. I thought you said you didn’t cook.”

  The spark of warm chocolate in his gaze tickled her deep inside. “I said that I’m not a very good cook. I can do the little chores, like slicing onions, but I need someone like you to direct the action.”

  Emboldened by the gentle intimacy of sharing, Nia took the bull by the horns. It was about time she learned something about Daniel. Best to start with his avowed strengths, then slyly move on. “I understand that you’re fully in charge of your team. Ten straight is terrific!”

  The swirl of red liquid in his glass caught his eye. “I hate to tally them up like that. It’s far safer to take it one game at a time.”

  “Surely you have to be encouraged by a winning streak….”

  “It could turn at any time.”

  “Are you always a pessimist?”

  “I’m always a realist.”

  “But Chris tells me that the whole season has been great. How can you help but look ahead to the playoffs?”

  “Who’s Chris?”

  If that was jealousy, it was a boost to her feminine ego. “He’s a senior editor at Eastern Edge. He adores the Breakers. He thinks that you’re…brilliant was the exact word he used.”

  “That’s nice.” Lifting the glass to his lips, he sipped its contents slowly.

  “Aren’t you pleased?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Daniel,” she straightened, clearly confused, “I don’t quite understand you. Your team is on a hot streak, your own fans rave about you, and you don’t even crack a smile?”

  He did crack a smile for her just then, but it held a trace of sadness. “It’s only a game, Nia. The winning, the fame, the glory—it’s all fleeting. The public is fickle. They’d as soon boo you off the court if you miss six running as cheer. It’s not all glamour, as most people think. There’s a negative side to it as well.”

  Nia had only to glance at the fast sautéing onions for Daniel to take the long-handled wooden spoon and stir them. “Tell me about it,” she urged him softly. “That negative side.”

  Long moments passed before he spoke, moments during which he organized his thoughts. “The traveling is tough; I’ve mentioned that to you before. The road trips consist of one flight after another, odd mealtimes, strange hotel rooms, unfamiliar locker rooms. Then there’s the precarious status of the players themselves. All it takes is one injury for the entire makeup of a team to change.”

  “Are they common?”

  “Injuries? Very. Take the Breakers. We’ve played our last six games without benefit of our starting center and a forward. Walker took an elbow in the face that required plastic surgery; Barnes hit the floor the wrong way and wrenched his knee. They were two of our key players, lost with the hottest part of the season just beginning. Philadelphia is only five games out; we can’t afford to lose many.”

  Nia got a glimpse of worry lines on Daniel’s brow. She’d never seen them before. If talking out the problem would help ease them, she’d talk readily. “What did you do—about Walker and Barnes?”

  “There’s not much I can do. They’ll be out for several more games apiece. What I have done is reorganize the offense. It’s working out well.” He looked up more hopefully. “I’ve brought Rockowski in as back-up center. He’s a bruiser, can hold his own and pass it around. Flagg is also on the court longer, with Barnes out. He’s young, but his game matures with each outing.” Pausing, he chuckled softly, then shook his head.

  Nia smiled. “What is it?”

  “They call him ‘Sandman’—Johnny Flagg. He’s super laid-back and relaxed. Sleeps just about anywhere. Everywhere.”

  Her gaze grew suspicious. “And what do they call ‘the bruiser’?”

  Daniel’s smile was a broad one. “Rocky…”

  “That’s what I thought.” She turned to unwrap the steak and flip on the broiler before unveil
ing the surf side of the impromptu feast.

  “Lobster?” Daniel’s eyes lit up. “Boy, you literary types sure know how to feed a guy.”

  “This was my lobster, I’ll have you know. I shopped for it in the rain, no less, as a special treat.”

  “Hard day at work?”

  With a grimace, she recalled a major source of her frustration. He stood right beside her now. “Fair.”

  “What are you working on?”

  “Oh, no, Daniel Strahan. You haven’t finished what you were saying.”

  “What was I saying?” He reached to help Nia remove the broiler pan from the upper oven. As she lined it with foil, he glanced around. “Would you like me to make a salad?”

  “A salad? Think you’re up to it?”

  “I make a good salad,” he scolded playfully.

  She grinned. “Then, go to it.” She presented him with a large bowl. “Everything you’ll need is in there,” she informed him, pointing to the refrigerator before turning to slice the thick lobster tails.

  “Have you lived here long?” he asked, his voice muffled behind the refrigerator door. She could just imagine his wise grin and it made her that much more determined not to be sidetracked.

  “What else bothers you?” she asked firmly.

  “Bothers me?”

  “About…your job.”

  “Oh.” He paused. “I thought it made you uncomfortable to talk about basketball.”

  “It does, in a way. But that all had to do with David. Now I’m curious about you. I’ve told you all about my marriage; the least you can do is to tell me about your work.”

  Nia was unprepared for his darkening. “Is this for the record?”

  “You mean, for the piece I’ve got to write?”

  He dipped his head in the affirmative. Before her very eyes, she saw the mask begin to descend.

  “No, this is not for the record. In the first place, you haven’t agreed to my interview. In the second place, I don’t want to do the damn thing, anyway!”

  The mask receded. “Whew. That’s that, I guess,” he mocked her vehemence. “Well, then, what do you want to know?”

  “Those other frustrations. What are they?”

  Daniel spoke as he emptied her refrigerator of every possible salad fixing. “I’ve already mentioned the traveling and the injuries. Then there are the fans. Not only can they be fickle, but they can be downright demoralizing.”

  “How so?” she asked, puzzled. “I would think they’d just roll off your backs.”

  “Let me tell you, ma’am—when a twelve-year-old kid looks you in the eye from his seat overlooking the tunnel and tells you what a so-and-so you were for not beating the such-and-such out of your opponent, it’s demoralizing. Or when you’re in the middle of the fourth quarter and the back-up you put in blows one shot after the next—and the fan in the tenth row announces that you were an absolute imbecile for putting the guy in in the first place. Little things like that.”

  “I’m sure you must get used to some of it.”

  “You turn it off, yes. But it does have a way of sneaking through every once in a while. When the team’s winning you can thumb your nose at just about any fan. When you lose, even if it’s only by a point, then it’s not as easy. That’s why I try to take it all with a grain of salt. I do my best as a coach; beyond that, nothing is certain.”

  “Even your job?”

  “Especially my job.”

  “But…don’t you have a contract?”

  There was a cynical edge to his laugh, punctuated by the steady slicing of carrots. “Con-tracts can be crumpled and burned at any time.”

  “That’s awful,” she exclaimed, shaken by the instability of the picture he’d painted. “Doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t it affect your coaching ability?”

  He deftly lifted the cutting board and scraped carrots, green peppers and radishes into the salad bowl. “As I told you before, I’m realistic. I keep things in perspective. Despite what you may believe, there is more to life than basketball.”

  “Oh, I believe it,” she countered quickly, cocking a skeptical eye his way. “I’m just surprised to hear that you do.”

  “Don’t ever judge a book by its cover, Nia,” he drawled, seizing the head of iceberg lettuce and tossing it high into the air before slamming it flat onto the counter. With a confident twist he turned it over and wrenched off the heel that the blow had dislodged. Then, calmly, nonchalantly, he put the entire head beneath the cold water faucet.

  Nia had followed the maneuver wide-eyed. “That was quite a show,” she laughed. “Now, if you had dribbled it around, I might have worried….”

  “No cause. Didn’t I tell you I made a good salad?”

  “Hmmm,” was the only response she could muster. This was not the Daniel Strahan she had expected to find. With the little he was slowly divulging, she found herself more and more curious. Unfortunately, between setting the table in the dining room and broiling the sirloin to the proper rareness, serious conversation was left hanging until they sat, at last, across from one another at the bleached elm table. Looking down at her plate, Nia couldn’t restrain herself. “This is what you’d call a mixed bag.”

  “Some bag! I’ll take half-steak, half-lobster any day!”

  “You’re willing to foot that kind of bill?”

  “If…” he lowered his voice, “I had someone to share it with. This is lovely, Antonia.” Their eyes met and held, then parted.

  “It is nice,” she mused softly, reflecting on the pleasantness of companionship once in a while. Once in a while—that’s all she’d get with a man like this. He would be off and running before long. “So, what’s on tap for the team? Are you off to God-knows-where next week?”

  “We are. It’s a short trip, though. New York, New Jersey and finally Pennsylvania.”

  “Pennsylvania!” she exclaimed. “I’ll be there next week, too.”

  “You will?”

  “Yes. I’m doing a feature story on the Amish. I’ll be spending two days driving around the countryside between Reading and Lancaster.”

  “Are you driving down from here?”

  “Uh-uh. That would take too long. I’d planned to fly into Philadelphia and rent a car from there. It’s just a matter of making the final reservations.”

  He nodded. “I see. …You’re going alone?”

  “Looks that way. The man with the money is generous when it comes to travel allowances, but he’s not about to throw it away on an unnecessary entourage.” She lifted her fork. “Actually, I prefer it that way.”

  “Traveling alone?”

  “Yes. I can really work; then, as soon as I’ve got what I need, I come home.” That was the advantage of traveling alone, but there were disadvantages, too, such as the lack of a familiar face in a strange place, or, more simply stated, loneliness.

  “Do you travel often?”

  “On and off. This is an ‘on’ period. I’m even hoping to get out to the West Coast on an assignment.”

  “The West Coast? For Eastern Edge?”

  With a patient smile she told him of the sister publication for which she was hoping to write a contributing article. “My family lives in San Francisco.”

  “Really! Is that where you grew up?”

  “Uh-huh. My parents and brothers still live there. I also have a married sister in Seattle. I’m the one who really broke from the mold.” Her features tensed in recollection of the sharp differences of opinion she’d had with her parents.

  “When you married?”

  “Before that. Long before that.” She grinned guiltily, then explained. “I was rebellious as a teenager—never could seem to learn when not to argue. In spite of myself, I did well in school and on my college boards, though. I was accepted at Stanford and Radcliffe. When I decided to come east, my parents were not thrilled.” She gave added emphasis to the last two words. “Then, David and I eloped…against their wishes. They temporarily disowned me.”

 
; “Temporarily?”

  “Mmmm,” she agreed, savoring a bite of sautéed lobster meat. “I guess it’s true that blood runs thicker than water. In time they came around. They had almost begun to accept the marriage when it fell apart.”

  Having ravished his lobster first, Daniel raised his knife to cut his steak, then paused. “How did they react to that?”

  Nia’s shoulders lifted in a sigh of appreciation, of genuine respect. “What can I say? They were wonderful. I had expected a never-ending stream of I-told-you-so’s. There wasn’t one. I was pretty shaken and they seemed to understand that. My mother even flew out to stay here for a week. We got to know each other…as adults. It was very nice.”

  “Do you go back there often?”

  “Once or twice a year. I flew back last November for Thanksgiving. If I can wrangle this Western Edge assignment, I may get there again next month.”

  “Next month?” he asked, eyeing her more alertly. “You do get around.”

  For a few minutes they ate in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Nia’s were surprisingly relaxed, centered on the pleasantness of Daniel’s company. It was only when curiosity got the better of her again that she spoke.

  “If this was an ‘off’ day, what have you been doing? What does a coach do when there is no game?” It was one of the very questions she’d asked herself the night before, after the game she hadn’t had the courage to watch. With Daniel here and in a seemingly receptive mood, she had nothing to lose by asking…particularly when she had just gone on about herself at his bidding.

  At first he remained silent, eyes downcast, fork poised above his plate. Was he hesitant about speaking, even after that embrace and the opening she thought she’d sensed? Had she imagined that…or simply wished it?

  The mellowing of his features spoke of a decision reached in her favor. His smile curled its way right down to her toes. “I love the way people assume that a ‘free’ day is totally ‘free.’ For the players it means a two-or three-hour practice, perhaps a team meeting, a movie. For me it means work on top of that—management meetings, films—”

  “Films? A movie? Where does Hollywood fit into the sport?”

  Daniel laughed. “I’m not talking about the standard Saturday night fare, though there’s many a Saturday night I do watch them. No, these movies are of the homemade variety, films of the team we’ll be playing next, even films of our last game with that team. It helps to understand the strengths and strategies of the opposition in planning our offense.”