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The men shook hands and traded friendly insults laced with some incomprehensible sports talk before Bobby Tom remembered she was there.
“This is Gracie. She’s my bodyguard.”
All three men regarded her curiously. The one Bobby Tom had addressed as Shag, who seemed to have been a former teammate, pointed at her with his beer bottle.
“What do you need a bodyguard for, B.T.? Did you knock some
body else up?”
“Nothing like that. She’s with the CIA.”
“No kidding.”
“I’m not with the CIA,” Gracie protested. “And I’m not really his bodyguard. He just says that to—”
“Bobby Tom, is that you? B.T.’s here, girls!”
“Hey there, Ellie.”
A blond sexpot in gold metallic jeans snaked her arms around his waist. Three more women materialized from the other side of the bar. The man called A.J. pulled another table over, and, without quite knowing how it happened, Gracie found herself occupying a chair between Bobby Tom and Ellie. She could see that Ellie resented the fact that she wasn’t the one seated next to Bobby Tom, but when Gracie tried to change positions, she felt a strong hand clamping down on her thigh.
As the conversation swirled around her, Gracie tried to figure out what Bobby Tom was up to. Although every piece of evidence indicated the opposite, she had the sense that he wasn’t enjoying himself nearly as much as he pretended to. Why had he driven so far out of his way to come here if he didn’t want to be with these people? He must be even more reluctant than she’d imagined to return to his hometown, and he was deliberately prolonging the trip.
Someone thrust a beer bottle at her, and she was so distracted by a depressing picture of herself sitting gray-haired and stoop-shouldered on the front porch at Shady Acres that she took a sip before she remembered she didn’t drink. Setting the bottle aside, she glanced at a clock advertising Jim Beam. In half an hour, she would tell Bobby Tom they had to leave.
The waitress appeared, and Bobby Tom insisted on ordering for her, telling her she hadn’t lived until she’d tried Whoppers’ bacon triple cheese jalapeno hamburger with a double order of jumbo deep-fried onion rings and a mountain of sour cream cole slaw. As he forced the cholesterol-laden food on her, she noticed that he ate and drank very little himself.
An hour passed. He signed autographs, paid for everything anyone ordered, and, unless she had misunderstood, loaned someone money for a jet ski. She ducked beneath the brim of his Stetson and whispered, “We have to go.”
He turned to her and spoke softly, pleasantly. “One more word out of you, sweetheart, and I’m personally calling the taxi that’s gonna deliver you to the airport.” With that, he headed over to the pool table in the corner.
Another hour passed. If she hadn’t been so worried about the time, she would have been thrilled by the novelty of being in a seedy bar with so many colorful people. Since she was too plain to be of romantic interest to Bobby Tom, the other women didn’t regard her as a threat. She enjoyed a lengthy conversation with several of them including Ellie, a flight attendant, who turned out to be a fount of information on the male sex. And sex in general.
She noticed Bobby Tom giving her several covert glances, and she grew increasingly convinced that he planned to slip out when she wasn’t looking. Although she very much needed to use the rest room, she was afraid to let him out of her sight, so she crossed her legs instead. By midnight, however, she knew she couldn’t postpone the trip a moment longer. Waiting until he and Trish were deeply engrossed in a conversation at the bar, she made her way to the rest room.
The first flutters of panic settled in her stomach as she emerged a few minutes later and couldn’t find him. Skimming her eyes over the crowd, she searched frantically for his gray Stetson, but didn’t see it anywhere. She began making her way through the crowd to the bar, her stomach churning with anxiety. Just as she was about to acknowledge the fact that he’d gotten away, she spotted him standing with Trish in a shallow alcove next to the cigarette machine.
She had learned her lesson and had no intention of letting him get too far away from her again. Easing around the partition that divided the alcove from the front entryway, she wedged herself into a small space next to the wall phone. As she examined the telephone numbers and studied the graffiti written on the wall, she realized there was a slight echo effect. Although she hadn’t intended to eavesdrop, she had no difficulty hearing that familiar Texas drawl.
“You’re about the most understanding woman I ever met in my life, Trish.”
“I’m glad you trust me enough to confide in me like this, B.T. I know how hard it is for a man like you to talk about your past.”
“Some women I don’t mind leading on, but you’re a real sweet lady, Trish, and I couldn’t do that to you, especially not when you’re still vulnerable from your last divorce.”
“I guess all of us have wondered why you never got married.”
“Now you know, honey.”
This was clearly a private conversation and Gracie knew she should find a more distant vantage point. Firmly repressing her curiosity, she began to step away only to pause as Trish spoke again.
“Nobody should have to grow up with a mother who’s a— Well, a mother like that.”
“You can say it, Trish. My mother was a hooker.”
Gracie’s eyes widened.
Trish’s sultry voice was filled with sympathy. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”
