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Bobby Tom pulled off his Stetson, ran his fingers through his hair, and then put it back on as he regarded Willow with cool, level eyes. “Let me make sure I understand this. You fired Gracie because I didn’t make it here by Monday morning.”
They were standing next to the production trailer. It was just past six o’clock, and they had finished shooting for the day. Bobby Tom had spent most of the time either standing around sweating in the heat or having somebody fuss with his hair. Neither activity appealed to him, and he was hoping the work would get more interesting tomorrow. So far the only acting he’d done had involved coming out of the back door of the house, dunking his head in a bucket of water, and walking over to the corral. They’d photographed him from every possible angle, and David Givens, the Blood Moon director, seemed happy.
“We’re operating on a very tight budget,” Willow replied. “She didn’t do her job, so she had to go.”
Bobby Tom dipped his head and rubbed his eyebrow with his thumb. “Willow, I’m afraid you don’t understand something that was evident to Gracie the first time we met.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m completely irresponsible.”
“Of course you’re not.”
“I sure am. I happen to be immature, undisciplined, and self-centered, pretty much a little boy stuck in a man’s body, although I’d appreciate it if you didn’t quote me on that.”
“That’s not true, Bobby Tom.”
“The fact is, I never think about anybody but myself. I probably should have told you that from the beginning, but my agent wouldn’t let me. I’m going to be honest with you. If somebody’s not around to keep me in line, there’s a good chance you’re not ever going to get this picture made.”
She fiddled with her earring, the way some women did when they were nervous. “I suppose I could have Ben take care of you.” She gestured toward one of the grips.
“That goofy-lookin’ character in the Rams’ hat?” Bobby Tom gazed at him in disbelief. “Do you seriously think I’d pay attention to a Rams’ fan? Sweetheart, I earned my Super Bowl rings playin’ for a real team.”
Willow clearly didn’t know what to make of this. “You seem to have been taken with Maggie in props. I’ll assign her to you.”
“She’s a real pretty lady, that Maggie. Unfortunately, the two of us struck passion-sparks the minute we looked at each other, and it seems once I start romancin’ a woman, I can talk her into just about anything. I’m not saying this to brag, you understand, but just as a point of information. I doubt Maggie’d be able to stay in charge of me for too long.”
Willow regarded him shrewdly. “If you’re angling to have Gracie back, you can forget it. She’s already proved she can’t control you.”
Bobby Tom gaped at her as if she’d lost her mind. “You’re kidding, aren’t you? That woman could give lessons to a prison guard. Shoot, if it’d been up to me, I prob’ly wouldn’t have been here till October. Fact is, I had an uncle I wanted to visit in Houston, and I think it’s un-American to go anywhere near Dallas without a visit to the rodeo in Mesquite. I also need a haircut, and the only barber I trust lives in Tallahassee. But Miss Gracie kept putting her foot down, and I couldn’t get her to lift it back up. You’ve seen her. You tell me she doesn’t put you in mind of one of those old maid English teachers you had in senior high.”
“Now that you mention it . . .” Willow seemed to realize he had almost cornered her, and she immediately retrenched. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but I’m afraid it’s not going to work. I’ve made up my mind. Gracie has to go.”
He sighed. “I apologize, Willow. I know what a busy woman you are, and here I am wasting your time by not making myself clear.” His smile grew more gentle, his voice softer, but his blue eyes were as hard and cold as ice chips. “I’m going to need a personal assistant, and I want it to be Gracie.”
“I see.” She dropped her eyes, well aware that she’d been given an ultimatum. “I suppose I should confess that there’s been a lot of belt-tightening going on around here, and we’ve had to streamline several jobs. If I hire her back, I’ll have to fire someone else, and we’re already short of staff as it is.”
“There’s no need to fire anybody. I’ll take care of her salary, although we’d better keep that piece of information quiet. Gracie is real funny about money. How much do you pay her?”
Willow told him.
He shook his head. “She could do better delivering pizzas.”
“It’s an entry level position.”
“I’m not even going to speculate on what kind of position she had to assume for that particular form of entry.” He turned to walk toward the Thunderbird and then paused.
“One more thing, Willow. When you talk to her, I want you to make one thing absolutely clear. Tell Gracie I’m in charge. One hundred percent. Her whole purpose in life is to keep me happy. I’m the boss and whatever I say goes. You understand?”
She stared at him in bewilderment. “But that defeats the purpose of everything you’ve said.”
He gave her a wide, bone-melting grin. “Now don’t you worry about it. Gracie and I’ll work it out just fine.”
By nine o’clock that night, Willow still hadn’t found Gracie, and even Bobby Tom’s brutal workout in the exercise room he’d built next to the apartment over the garage hadn’t relieved his frustration at her incompetence. Fresh from his shower, he settled down on the ruffled chaise in the bedroom of the white frame house that sat in a small pecan grove just outside Telarosa. He’d bought it three years ago so his mother could have some peace when he came home. Proving his point, the phone began to ring. He ignored it and let the answering machine pick it up. When he’d last checked, the machine had registered nineteen messages.
In the past few hours, he’d done an interview with the Telarosa Timer, Luther had popped up at the door to ask about Heavenfest two of his old girlfriends, along with one woman he didn’t know, had shown up to invite him to dinner, and the high school football coach had asked him to make an appearance at practice that week. What he really wanted was to buy a mountaintop somewhere and sit there all by himself until he felt like being with people again. He’d do it, too, if he. didn’t hate being alone so much right now. Being alone made him remember that he was thirty-three years old, and he didn’t know how to be anything but a football player. Being alone made him remember that he no longer knew who he was.
He still couldn’t quite explain why he hadn’t gotten rid of Gracie back in Memphis, except that she’d kept surprising him. She was one crazy lady, he thought, remembering the way she’d sabotaged his car and thrown herself in front of the wheels. But she was nice, too. The best thing about having Gracie along was that no matter how mad she made him, she didn’t wear him out like a lot of other people.
