Got A Hold On You (Ringside Romance)

by Pat White

“We weren’t trying to trick you. It just happened.”

  “Like you just happened to nail me with the wrench and keep me out of the ring for a few weeks? That was planned, wasn’t it? The whole thing? It’s been about the angle from the start, a soap opera angle. Sully thought I was losing my heat to the younger, more acrobatic wrestlers so he dreamed up a better way to make money off of me.”

  “No, wait, listen for a minute.”

  “To what? No one’s into truth around here. You people lie as easily as you breathe.”

  He started for the door. She raced in front of him and blocked his way, her hands pressed firmly against his chest. Her breath caught in her throat at the contact, her fingers burning from the feel of slick, wet skin. Damn, she had to shelve the lust long enough to explain herself.

  “Out of my way, woman.”

  “I know enough about you to know you’re a fair man.”

  “It didn’t take you long to zero in on my biggest weakness.”

  “Jack—”

  “Move.”

  “Not until you listen.”

  Gripping her by the waist, he lifted her, and placed her aside, then reached for the door. She couldn’t let him go. Couldn’t let him think she was a lying, manipulative jerk.

  With a desperate cry she charged from behind. Hit low and come up swinging. She remembered Max bragging about the move that won her the WHAK Women’s championship in ’74.

  So Frankie did just that. She rammed her shoulder into his lower back and knocked him into the door, slamming it shut.

  “What the hell?” He twisted at the waist to grab her, but she ducked to elude his probing hands. The door swung open, hitting Jack in the face, knocking them both off balance. They tumbled to the floor and she miraculously landed face down on top of him.

  “What’s going on in here?” Uncle Joe said from the doorway.

  “Get out of here!” she cried.

  “Okay, okay, sure honey.” He closed the door.

  “Lady, you’d better be off me in three seconds, or I’ll—”

  She slapped her hand against his mouth. “I love him, okay? That’s my crime. I love my uncle. He’s in trouble and he called me for help. He was always there for us so how could I say no? I wasn’t supposed to dress up and go into the ring. The actress he hired quit the night of the show. He needed me to fill in. Don’t you understand?” She removed her hand. “Don’t you have family you love so much that you’d do anything for them?”

  “I have no family,” he said.

  “Well, that’s your loss, isn’t it?”

  “Think so? It doesn’t look like loving your uncle has done a whole lot for you.”

  “Oh, forget it.” She pushed off him, leaned against the wall, and brought her knees to her chest. “You’d never understand.”

  She buried her face in her arms, folded across her knees. What a mess. The whole damned thing. A man like Jack Hudson would never understand loyalty or supporting the people you loved even if you didn’t approve of their behavior. There were plenty of times she cringed at Uncle Joe’s crazy schemes, but he was always there for her. That counted for a lot in her book.

  Jack Hudson, on the other hand, wasn’t there for anyone but himself. A familiar story.

  “You manipulated me,” he said.

  She glanced up. He towered over her, opening and closing his hands by his sides as if he struggled to keep his temper in check.

  “He was there for me when my father was gallivanting across the country doing who knows what,” she said. “Uncle Joe gave me things and took me places. He loved me. How could I say no when he needed help?”

  Rocking back on his heels, Jack unclenched his fists and planted his hands on his hips. “That doesn’t change the fact that you lied to me.”

  “It got out of hand. I’ll admit it. But you hated me for being Uncle Joe’s niece, and you started to be nice to me when I was Tatianna. You were sweet to me on the catwalk and I found myself liking you, but I couldn’t tell you who I was on the catwalk because you might have let me go and—”

  “Let you go?”

  “It was a hundred-foot drop. I know how you feel about my uncle. I couldn’t chance it.”

  His face went stone cold. “You think I would have dropped you? On purpose? You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.”

  She glanced away and hugged her knees tighter to her chest.

  “You really have no clue what I’m about,” he said, his voice a mere hush. “Nor do you care. Your goal is to control me, lock me into a contract, threaten to take away my incentive bonus and mess with my insides for a little fun.”

  “I didn’t mess with anything.”

  “No? What do you call last night at my place?”

  “Don’t remind me,” she groaned. “I got the message.”

  “What message was that, cupcake?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m done, out of your life. I keep screwing everything up. I’ll hire a replacement and get back to the books where I belong. Now that you know the truth I’m sure that’s what you want anyway.”

  She stood and paced to Uncle Joe’s desk. “But I can’t let you out of your contract, not yet. We have to chase the Tatianna angle for a while. It’s our only hope of saving WHAK, not to mention my uncle’s life.” She flipped through Uncle Joe’s contacts on his computer, searching for the talent agency’s phone number. “I probably won’t be able to find a replacement for a few days. You’ll have to go solo until then.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  She glanced at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “The car leaves at noon for Sterling Falls. Be ready.”

  “Me? No, I can’t go with you. I have a date.”

  “Break it.”

  “But it’s my fiancé. He’s flying in from Boston.”

  “This is more important.”

  “Now hang on,” she protested. “My life is pretty important.”

  “I thought your life was about saving Sully’s ass.”

  “It is, but you don’t need me for an autograph session.”

  “The fans expect you. You’re my wife. I need you with me . . . everywhere.”

  That deep, sultry tone melted her insides. She swallowed hard. Not real. None of this was real.

  “I’ll be back at noon.” He paced to the door and hesitated, but didn’t turn around. “By the way, not a bad move before.”

  “It’s Maxine’s. She calls it the Ground Hog Grunt.”

  “I’ll have to remember that.” He disappeared into the hallway.

  Collapsing into Uncle Joe’s chair, she blew out a breath. Now what? She couldn’t go with him, yet he was so incensed she didn’t want to rile him further.

  From a business standpoint he was right. The fans could make or break an organization like WHAK, and the fans expected Jack to show up with his new bride.

  She wished she could call Mama for advice, but she’d have to tell her where she was and what she was doing. Frankie needed help, not a well-deserved lecture.

  Running her fingers over the black plastic telephone, she considered what to tell Bradley. He was so excited about coming to Chicago and working with his new client. She’d panicked at first, thinking he’d find out what she was really doing. Then she remembered Bradley’s work ethic. When absorbed in an audit, he crunched numbers from dawn until dusk, even on weekends. He said the only time he could carve out a few hours was tonight. He’d be so disappointed.

  Yeah, but he’d flip if he found out she was moonlighting as a half-naked feline. There was no way he’d understand her devotion to her crazy uncle.

  Bradley was a man of common sense and practicality. Emotions and obligation rarely entered into his thought process. She wondered what he’d think about her strutting out on Jack’s arm, prancing around in the ring wearing nearly nothing.

  “I can kiss my engagement goodbye, she muttered.

  And she had the ring all picked out, too. They’d put the half-
carat, pear-shaped diamond on layaway during a recent close out sale at Smith and Wesson Jewelers.

  But this wasn’t about rings. This was about Bradley, her perfect mate, practical, smart, and honorable. You wouldn’t find Bradley going from city to city pretending to beat up other men for fun, while jumping in and out of bed with one bimbo after another. Nor would you find him tumbling across the countryside trying to find himself, abandoning his family, his children.

  No, Bradley was dependable and stable, the cornerstone of her life.

  She’d lose him for sure if he caught her in this lie.

  “Time to come clean.” She dialed his number.

  “Bradley Dunsmore’s office,” his secretary Ruth answered.

  “Hi Ruth, it’s Francine. May I speak to Bradley?”

  “Oh, again?”

  “I forgot to tell him something.”

  “Sure, hold on,” she said with surprise in her voice, because it wasn’t like Frankie to call twice in one day.

  While holding for Bradley she debated how to explain what she’d been doing this past week.

  “Frankie? Everything okay?” Bradley answered.

  “Sure, I need to talk to you about something. Have you got a minute?”

  “What’s happened, Sweetums? Did the annuity report come in from Harper?”

  “No, it’s—”

  “Your feet aren’t cracked, are they? You know how important it is to continue the cod liver oil massages before bed.”

  “My feet are fine.”

  “Reservations are all set for tonight at Leo’s Fish House. The Thursday special is all-you-can-eat calamari with a side of hash browns.”

  “Nipper, I’m sorry. I won’t be able to make it.”

  Disappointed silence filled the line.

  “You still there?” she said.

  “I’m here.”

  “I’ve been lying to you, Bradley. I’m sorry, but I didn’t think you’d understand so I made up the story about a sick relative.”

  More silence.

  She took a deep breath and continued. “I’m actually helping my uncle with his business. I’ve taken an extended leave from work because it’s going to be a while, maybe two months, before I feel confident the company is back on its feet.”

  “Your uncle? You never mentioned an uncle.”

  “He’s kind of…different. His business isn’t exactly in the mainstream.”

  “Is he a criminal?” Bradley hushed.

  “No, nothing like that.” Not yet anyway.

  “Pornography?”

  “Bradley, stop. Look, I can’t tell you over the phone.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this, or the fact you lied to me.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “And dinner? You’re breaking our date because…?”

  “I have to help my uncle with a promotion.”

  “What kind of promotion?”

  “We can talk about it when I see you. How about Friday night or Saturday?”

  “Can’t. Working all weekend.”

  “Sunday night? You’ll still be in town, won’t you?”

  “Let me check my flight. Hang on.”

  He put her on hold. She wondered whether he was making her wait on purpose. She knew he was staying through Monday and rarely made plans on Sunday evenings, his designated reading night. Then again it might be tough to choose between reading Money Magic for the fifth time and dining with his lying future fiancée.

  “I can schedule you for Sunday although the company booked me on a flight first thing Monday morning. It’ll have to be an early night.”

  “Six o’clock early enough?”

  “That should be fine.”

  His tone was warming up.

  “Leo’s Fish House?” she suggested.

  “They won’t be running the calamari special.”

  “We’ll splurge. I’ll buy, okay? I really am sorry about all this.”

  “Well, you’re a sharp girl. I’m sure you have your reasons.”

  If he only knew.

  “And Francine?”

  “Yes?”

  “Check your e-mail when you get a chance. I sent you a surprise.”

  “Thanks, Nipper.”

  “Bye.”

  She ended the call and smiled to herself. Everything would be okay. Bradley would forgive her for not being up front with him once he found out what she was doing. Well, maybe not everything she was doing. Would she ever be able to confess parading half naked in front of thousands of people? Maybe she wouldn’t have to. No one besides Uncle Joe and Jack knew who she really was under the black mask and feathers. And no one ever would.

  She logged onto her uncle’s computer and checked her e-mail. Bradley’s message topped the list. It was entitled, “For my girl.”

  “How romantic.” She clicked it open. A scanned newspaper article popped onto the screen listing growing stock funds. Circled in bold ink were stock figures for Daisy’s Diapers. Good old Bradley, always keeping track of things for her. What would she do without him?

  ***

  Four hours later Frankie scanned the crowd of fans lined up at the Sterling Falls Shopping Mall. “I can’t believe all these people are here for me.”

  “Us, sweetheart, not you.” Jack nodded to a security guard, who escorted them down a narrow hallway.

  Jack hadn’t said much during the three-hour drive to the capital of the cornfields. She hated silence, especially when it was directed at her. Mama used to give her the same treatment when she’d bring home a B instead of an A, or if she forgot to stop by Nana’s on the way home from Girl Scouts.

  She tagged behind Jack, barely able to keep up with his determined stride. He was determined to get away from her, no doubt. Her temper flared. It was his idea to bring her along. He could have made this appearance alone, without his woman.

  You’re my wife. I need you with me...everywhere.

  Her heart skipped at the memory of the primal command in his voice. It made her simultaneously cringe and thrill. How could that be?

  “Come on, move it,” he said, approaching the entrance to the stage.

  “Hold your horses, cowboy. The fans aren’t going anywhere.”

  Obviously it was going to take him a while to get over the big, ugly lie and forgive her. Tough. Her loyalty was to Uncle Joe not Black Jack Hudson.

  A voice boomed across the PA system. “Black Jack Hudson and his tiger wife, Tatianna.”

  He took her hand and pulled her to his side. “Smile and wave.”

  She searched his eyes. Hoping for what? Understanding? Forgiveness? Dream on, Frankie.

  The white curtain parted and they stepped onto the stage. Security men lined the platform with arms crossed over their chests, their faces somber and intense. You’d think they were protecting the president of the United States instead of a silly comic book hero. Had the whole world gone mad?

  A sea of fans hooted and hollered from both the first and second levels of the mall. With a nervous smile she waved to the crowd and they cheered even louder. This wasn’t so bad.

  Suddenly Jack grabbed her wrist, flattened her palm against his chest and stared deep into her eyes. Her fingertips burned where they slipped off his tank top and touched bare skin.

  “Gotta give them what they want,” he said, his voice low and husky.

  “What they want?” she said, barely able to think. His piercing green eyes darkened to the color of a pine forest.

  He kissed her. It was a soft, gentle kiss, smoldering with need she thought would fry her circuits. She dug her gloved hands into his shoulders, pulling him closer, wanting his lips to open.

  He broke the kiss abruptly. Dizzy with desire she glanced into his eyes waiting for his next command. God, she needed to get away from this man, and fast.

  “Chill, kid. It’s just a show,” he said with a condescending smile.

  She balled her hand into a fist. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

 
; “Aren’t you?”

  There was that smile again, that I’m-gonna-eat-you-alive smile. It made her want to snap her whip across his hind quarters. Instead, she ran the thin piece of leather along her open palm and tried to regain her composure. Jack sat down but she remained standing, whip at the ready. First he punished her with silence and then he tortured her with desire.

  That’s all it was, animal attraction, nothing more. It wasn’t like she respected this man, thought highly of him like she did her future fiancé.

  A middle-aged security guard led the first group of enthusiastic fans onto the stage.

  Jack handed Frankie a black pen. “I’ll sign, then pass it to you to make your mark.”

  “My mark?”

  “A scratch, paw print, whatever.”

  “Jerk.”

  “What?” He pinned her with his eyes.

  “Your first adoring fan is here, Black Jack.” She shot him a forced grin and gritted her teeth. It was going to be a long day, a very long day.

  A little boy with round cheeks and a huge grin approached the table with his mom. The kid sported a crew cut and waved a foam hammer that read “Black Jack Attack.” He couldn’t have been more than six.

  “Hey, kiddo, what’s your name?” Jack said in a gentle voice.

  “Jeffrey.”

  “Nice to meet you, Jeffrey.” He pressed his pen to an eight-by-ten glossy of him twisting the Basher’s legs into the shape of a pretzel.

  “She’s funny,” Jeffrey said, pointing to Frankie. “You gonna have kittens?”

  Jack’s pen slipped, slicing an arc across the Basher’s bald scalp.

  “No kittens.” He slid the photo to Frankie.

  “Meow,” she purred, arcing a decorative “T” across the bottom of the photo. How could he do it? How could he lie to a child by pretending to be a superhero when in fact he was an average man with an overgrown ego?

  “You’re gonna have real people babies?” Jeffrey asked.

  His mother flushed. “I’m sorry,” she said to Jack, then looked at her son. “Jeffrey, honey, that’s kind of a personal question.”

  “Oh.” Jeffrey studied his feet.

  “It’s okay, kiddo.” Jack patted the boy’s tiny fingers and the child’s face lit up.

  What a joke, Frankie thought, drawing a claw next to her initial. Hundreds of fans crammed the mall expecting to meet a real hero, a superstar, a great man. Yet they were paying homage to a master pretender, a man who dominated the world around him with his body, with brute force.