Tom.”
“I see. Well, the fact is—”
An outburst of shrill, female squeals erupting from the hot tub distracted her. She lifted her eyes to see Bobby Tom gazing indulgently at the women frolicking at his feet, while in the distance the lights of Lake Michigan glimmered through the glass behind him. For a moment she had the illusion that he was floating in space, a cosmic cowboy .in his Stetson, boots, and bathrobe, a man not governed by the same rules of gravity that kept ordinary mortals earthbound He seemed to wear invisible spurs on those boots, spurs that spun at supersonic speed, shooting off giant pin-wheels of glittering sparks that illuminated everything he did and made it larger than life.
A woman rose from the bubbles in the hot tub. “Bobby Tom, you said I could take the quiz again.”
She had spoken loudly, and several rowdy cheers went up from the guests. As if one body, everyone in the group turned toward the platform, awaiting his response.
Bobby Tom, with cigar and beer bottle in one hand, stuck his other hand in the pocket of his robe and regarded her with concern. “Are you sure you're ready, Julie, honey? You know you only get two chances, and you missed Eric Dickerson's career rushing record by a hundred yards last time.”
“I'm sure. I've been studying real hard.”
Julie looked as if she belonged on the cover of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue. As she hoisted herself out of the water, wet blond hair streamed in pale ribbons over her shoulders. She sat on the edge of the hot tub, revealing a swimsuit made up of three tiny turquoise triangles banded in bright yellow. Gracie knew that many of her acquaintances would disapprove of such a revealing swimsuit, but as a devout believer that every woman should capitalize on her assets, Gracie thought she looked wonderful.
Someone in the crowd turned down the music. Bobby Tom sat on one of the boulders and crossed a snakeskin cowboy boot over his bare knee. “Come here and give me a kiss for good luck, then. And don't you disappoint me this time. I've just about got my heart set on makin' you Mrs. Bobby Tom.”
While Julie complied with his request, Gracie gazed inquisitively at Bruno. “He gives them quizzes about football?”
“ 'Course he does. Football's Bobby Tom's life. He doesn't believe in divorce, and he knows he couldn't ever be happy with a woman who didn't understand the game.”
While Gracie tried to absorb this piece of information, Bobby Tom kissed Julie, then patted her wet bottom and sent her back to her perch on the edge of the hot tub. The guests had congregated near the platform to observe the action. Gracie took advantage of the fact that Bruno was also watching the interchange to back up onto one of the steps behind her so she didn't miss a thing.
Bobby Tom put out his cigar in a chunky onyx ashtray. “All right, honey. Let's start with quarterbacks. Choosin' between Terry Bradshaw, Len Dawson, and Bob Griese, which one had the highest percentage of completions? Notice I'm trying to keep this easy. I'm not asking you for the actual percentage, just who ranks highest.”
Julie flipped her sleek wet hair over her shoulder and gave him a confident smile. “Len Dawson.”
“Real good.” The hot tub lights reflected up, so that his face was visible, even under the brim of his Stetson. Although Gracie stood a little too far away to be certain, she thought she detected amusement glinting in those deep blue eyes. As a devout student of human nature, she grew even more interested in observing what he was up to.
“Now let's see if you've got your problems from the last quiz straightened out. Slip your mind back to 1985 and name the NFC's leading rusher.”
“Easy. Marcus Allen.”
“The AFC?”
“Curt— No! Gerald Riggs.”
Bobby Tom pressed his hand to his chest. “Whew, you about stopped my heart with that one. Okay, now, longest field goal in a Super Bowl game?”
“1970. Jan Stenerud. Super Bowl