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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,” Dallie replied with deliberate insolence.
Gerry looked him straight in the eye and there was such menace on the man's face that Dallie 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.
Dallie 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.
Francesca had agreed to meet Dallie at nine o'clock at a neighborhood restaurant they both liked that served southwestern food. She slipped into a black cashmere T-shirt and zebra-patterned slacks. Impulsively, she fastened a pair of wildly asymmetrical silver earrings to her earlobes, taking devilish pleasure in wearing something outrageous to tease him. It had been a week since she had seen him, and she was in the mood to celebrate. Her agent had concluded nearly three months of difficult negotiations and the network had finally given in. Beginning in June, “Francesca Today” would be a monthly special instead of a weekly series.
When she arrived at the restaurant, she saw Dallie sitting in a high-backed booth at the rear away from the crowd. Spotting her, he stood and for a fraction of a moment, a puppy dog grin flashed over his face, an expression more appropriate to a teenage boy than a grown man. Her heart gave a queer thump in response.
“Hey, honey.”
“Hey, Dallie.”
She had attracted a great deal of attention as she walked through the restaurant, so he gave her only the briefest of kisses when she reached him. As soon as she sat, however, he leaned across the table and did the job right. “Damn, Francie, it's good to see you.”
“You, too.” She kissed him again, closing her eyes and enjoying the heady sensation of being near him.
“Where'd you get those earrings? Ace Hardware?”
“They're not earrings,” she retorted loftily, settling back into the booth. “According to the artist who made them, they're free-form abstractions of conceptualized angst.”
“No kidding. Well, I sure hope you had them exorcised before you put them on.”
She smiled, and his eyes seemed to drink in her face, her hair, the shape of her breasts underneath her cashmere T-shirt. Her skin began to feel warm. Embarrassed, she pushed her hair back from her face. Her earrings jangled. He gave her a crooked grin, as if he could see every one of the erotic images that flashed through her head. Then he settled back in his chair, his navy sport coat falling open over his shirt. Despite his smile, she thought he looked tired and troubled.” She decided to postpone telling him the good news about her contract until she found out what was bothering him.
“Did Teddy watch the tournament yesterday?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“What'd he say?”
“Not too much. He wore the cowboy boots you gave him, though, and this unbelievably hideous sweat shirt that I can't believe you bought.”
Dallie laughed. “I'll bet he loves that sweat shirt.”
“When I tucked him in that night, he was wearing it with his pajarna bottoms.”
He smiled again. The waiter approached, and they turned their attention to the blackboard that listed the day's specials. Dallie opted for chili-spiced chicken with a side helping of barbecued beans. Francesca hadn't been hungry when she arrived, but the delicious smells of the restaurant had piqued her appetite and she decided on grilled shrimp and a small salad.
