Paydirt

25

Bobby had been walking out the door of his Coconut Grove cottage, headed for a dreaded meeting with his ex-father-in-law, when the phone rang. Scott had answered-"Hey, it's Mom!" — and quickly fabricated a story that he was home because there was no school in Miami today in celebration of Jose Marti's birthday. Playing hooky was a no-no with Christine. After speaking with her son for several minutes, she asked for Bobby, and he knew at once from her tone that something was wrong.

"I wanted you to know first," she said, sounding both apologetic and guilty. "Craig asked me to marry him."

"Craig Stringer? The quarterback with capped teeth the size of garage doors, the drunk I got off when he rode his Harley up the escalator of Nieman Marcus, the guy who's banged every groupie in the NFC East. That Craig Stringer?"

"He was going through a phase."

"I'll say. His bourbon and Vicodin phase. He's a pill popper, Christine. When he got busted for DUI with his pockets full of vikes, I had a friendly doctor write an ex-post-facto prescription in return for two box seats."

"Craig was playing with a shoulder separation and turf toe that turned his foot the color of an eggplant. He was in constant pain."

" I'm in pain! Lots of people are in pain, but they don't become junkies."

"He had a problem and sought help," she said, sounding more like a defense lawyer than Bobby ever did. "It was a courageous thing to do."

"What's so courageous about checking into a thousand-dollar a day spa?"

"You're behaving irrationally, Bobby. You're striking out at Craig because of your feelings for me. If you'd just get on with your life…"

I would, if I had one. You and Scott are my life.

"Craig Stringer, I just can't believe it," he said, sorrowfully. He felt as if his chest were a barrel tethered by steel straps that tightened with every breath.

"Craig's changed, matured. I like to think I've been a good influence on him. I've helped him overcome a lot."

"Why not help me? I'm the one who needs it."

"Oh Bobby," she said, with what he hoped was longing but feared was pity. "You only know Craig from your work. Off the field, at home, he's quiet and thoughtful and sensitive. Do you remember when his horse stables burned down and all those thoroughbreds were killed? He was heartbroken."

"He cheered up quick when the insurance paid off for those nags."

"See Bobby, there you go. You're making light of someone else's loss. You have a great capacity for angst but little compassion for others."

"That's not fair, Chrissy. Craig Stringer was losing his shirt in the horse business. The fire was a windfall that got him out of debt. I feel bad for the barbecued ponies but not for your All-American boyfriend. He's a guy who gets all the luck and my wife, too."

"You've changed, Bobby. You've become harder."

"Your father will do that to a man."

"Let's not start with that."

She was right. There was nothing in that for him. "You said Stringer asked you to marry him, but you didn't tell me your answer."

"At first I said to wait until after the Super Bowl. I didn't want him to have any distractions, and the press would be all over him, but he insisted on an answer, really became so agitated I was worried about his ability to focus during the next week. He gave me a ring, which I won't wear until after the game, but I did tell him yes, I'll marry him."

"Am I hearing you right? You told this gridiron Lothario you'd marry him because you were afraid he'd overthrow a receiver if you turned him down?"

"Our relationship has been progressing. We've grown very close. We have similar interests. Craig would make an excellent executive in the franchise."

"Love!" he shouted into the phone.

"What about it?"

"Are you talking about a corporate merger? Where's the word, 'love?' I haven't heard you say you love him so much your heart aches for him."

The words were no accident. That was the inscription on her first anniversary card to him. "Bobby, I love you so much my heart aches for you. My body trembles at your touch."

"There are many different kinds of love," she said, echoing her father's words. "Besides, you know I want another child."

"Volunteers can form a line behind me."

"Bobby, please."

He felt as if a knife were being twisted in his gut. Why had she called him?

Am I supposed to rescue her from this catastrophe, show up at the church like Dustin Hoffman in "The Graduate" and whisk her away?

"Don't do it, Chrissy. You don't love him."

"I'm going to marry him," she said, then slammed down the phone. In his mind's eye, Bobby pictured her sobbing, but he quickly realized that the only tears he could be sure about were his own.