She never would have guessed, in a million moons, that the he-man next door had a weakness for show tunes.
Leaving the piano behind, she approached what she suspected was the family room. The closer she got, the louder the television became. She could make out people cheering over some atrocious pop music and wondered what on earth he was watching.
Jax sat with his back to her on a leather chair, his feet up on a coffee table, his big hand wrapped around a coffee mug. He hadn’t changed from his shorts and T-shirt, so he resembled Adonis at rest. At the moment, Adonis’s attention was focused on an oversized television screen.
She got ready to lambaste him, but what she saw on the screen struck her speechless. Three shapely woman in skimpy costumes danced around a muscular masked man who wasn’t wearing much at all except a sleeveless, leg-baring piece of crimson spandex. The audience was going wild.
She couldn’t hear much of the accompanying sound track over the screams, but she was positive she caught the word “Studmuffin.”
The camera backed up for a panoramic shot. Thousands of people surrounded what looked like a postage-stamp sized ring. Marietta blanched, recognizing what she was seeing. Professional wrestling. The man who wanted to claim the child inside of her was watching professional wrestling.
One of the nearly naked bimbos on screen jumped into the big wrestler’s arms and kissed him. She thought she heard Jax mutter, “Oh, brother,” but couldn’t be sure because the chorus of the song was coming through clearly now.
He’s a studmuffin, he’s a studmuffin, he’s a studmuffin.
Not able to take any more of the sexist propaganda, Marietta propelled herself into the room, directly into Jax’s line of vision. She put up a hand, palm forward.
Jax gaped at the woman in front of his television screen and dropped his mug. Marietta! Coffee splashed onto the front of his t-shirt, but he barely noticed as he made a wild grab for the remote control on his coffee table and clicked it.
His VCR switched off. The Secret Stud disappeared from the screen, replaced by Arnold Schwarzenegger repelling a bullet with his bare hand. Since Marietta looked like she wanted to kill him, he hoped she didn’t have a gun. Unlike Arnold, he wasn’t schooled in the art of bullet repellency.
He pressed another button on the remote control, and the picture went black. But it was too late. He was sure Marietta had seen the Secret Stud swaggering up to the wrestling ring. The question was, had she recognized him?
“What was that?” Her voice was sharp with suspicion.
He cleared his throat. “Arnold the Invincible?”
“No, before that.” She narrowed her variegated eyes, and he wondered again how much she had seen. “Were you watching professional wrestling? On videotape?”
Jax squirmed, only now aware that the front of his shirt was soaked with coffee. The truth was that he’d been watching a taped broadcast of one of his matches so he could learn from it and improve his performance, but he couldn’t very well tell her that.
“I like professional wrestling,” he said.
“It figures,” she muttered.
He reached for his sweatshirt, which was draped over the back of a nearby sofa and mopped up some of the coffee on his lap and the leather chair. “What do you mean, it figures?”
Marietta shook her head in that maddening way of hers. “It figures you would be attracted to television programming that panders to one of man’s basest urges.”
He rolled his eyes. “Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re going to make pro wrestling about sex, too?”
“I was going to say violence, which, by the way, begets more violence. There’s a growing body of research that indicates watching violent entertainment is linked to subsequent aggression.”
“If that’s true, maybe I should get you to watch a sexy movie with me. Would that beget sex?”
She put her hands on her hips. “You’re not taking me seriously.”
“How can I take you seriously when you say things like that? Pro wrestling isn’t popular because it’s violent. It’s popular because it fulfills society’s needs for archetypes. You have your villains, and you have your heroes. And you have a stage where good triumphs over evil in the end.”
“That wrestler you were just watching. That studmuffin.” She said the word with heavy disdain. “I suppose you’re going to tell me he’s a hero.”
“Of course he’s a hero.” Jax looked down at the floor. “He’s somebody men and women can look up to.”
She let out a laugh. “You’re kidding me, right? How could anybody look up to somebody who bills himself as a stud? You know where the name comes from, don’t you?”
Reluctantly, he shook his head.
“A stud is a horse kept for breeding purposes,” she said.
She was getting in so many digs that he couldn’t resist one of his own.
“Kind of like what you advertised for in human form when you decided to get pregnant?” he asked.
She ignored him, which he’d noticed was her standard response when she didn’t have a good comeback.
“This wrestler who’s billed as a studmuffin is an anti-hero is an extreme example of a sexist he-man, somebody who sets women’s lib back fifty years,” she said. “No wonder the man wears a mask. He’s probably ashamed to show his face in public.”
Jax stomach pitched, because it was exactly the view he feared she’d take. Exactly the view, in fact, that he took. But along with apprehension came aggravation. She was commenting on something about which she knew absolutely nothing. If she’d watch a pro wrestling match clear through, she’d understand it took tremendous athletic skill and strength to pull off the show.
“That man is a fine wrestler, not to mention an outstanding athlete,” he said.
“Yeah, right. It takes a lot of talent to display your body for the pleasure of female viewers before pretending to slam somebody else into the mat.”
“You don’t ever watch pro wrestling, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Because if you did, you’d appreciate the skill it takes to slam somebody into a mat.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Don’t tell me you’re going to try to convince me pro wrestling is real?”
“Of course it’s real, in the sense that any form of entertainment is real. The wrestlers are supposed to put on a show, but it’s an extremely physical, demanding show. If they’re not in excellent physical condition, they’re going to leave the ring in a stretcher.”
“Then the studmuffin you just had on screen better keep a robe handy or he’s going to be awfully embarrassed when he gets to the emergency room. Either that, or awfully popular.”
Jax took a breath, strangely hurt by her flippancy. “Did you barge in here to argue with me about pro wrestling?”
“I didn’t barge in. You didn’t answer the door, and it was unlocked. I came in here to talk about what you did to Robert.”
Jax leaned back in his chair, blew out a breath, mentally preparing himself for Round Two of their argument. “Ah, Robert. What exactly did I do to Robert?”
“You scared him to death by implying that you were my. . . my. . . lover!”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’ve been your lover.”
She ignored that, of course. “Then you had the audacity to tell him I was pregnant.”
“You mean the same way you had the audacity to accept a date with another man when my child is growing inside you?”
She stammered, but nothing came out of her mouth.
“Don’t bother arguing with me, Marietta. What you did was plain wrong. I don’t know what kind of moral system you subscribe to, but in my world pregnant women keep company with the men who got them pregnant. In case you’ve forgotten, that happens to be me and not Ichabod Crane.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you say Ichabod Crane?”
He nodded, although he hadn’t expected her to latch on to that part of his answer. “Nobody really knows what Ichabod looks like,
of course, but that professor fits the description. Lanky, pasty-faced, a schoolteacher.” He suddenly realized why she’d asked. “You think he looks like Old Ich, too, huh?”
“What I think is immaterial. And his name is not Ichabod. It’s Robert Cormicle.”
“Whatever. The point is that you had no business making a date with him.” He got out of his sticky chair, picked up the empty mug off the floor and moved toward the kitchen. He put the cup in the sink, wet a wash rag and wiped off his shirt, which only made it wetter.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?” She’d followed him, as he’d known she would.
“Of course I’m serious. I don’t know what you were trying to prove tonight, but it wasn’t fair to either me or Ichabod.”
“Robert,” she corrected.
“Any fool who took a look at the guy clutching those roses could tell he’s got a thing for you, the same way any fool could tell you’re not romantically interested in him.”
She pursed her lips, and he suspected she was trying to come up with a way to contradict him. But he already knew her well enough to realize she wouldn’t consciously lie. Claiming she had the hots for Ichabod would be a whopper.
“That’s because I’m not romantically interested in anybody,” she said.
He blew a breath out through his nostrils and took off his now-sopping shirt. “Oh, excuse me. Let me rephrase in words your biological mind will understand. Any fool could tell you’re not sexually interested in Ichabod.”
“You mean in the way I’m sexually interested in you?”
He leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossed his arms over his chest and noticed the way she was openly gaping at his bare skin. She was not wearing the look of a woman who wanted to play tiddlywinks with him. “You said it.”
“You’re not helping matters any by parading around half naked!”
“I’m only half naked because you made me spill my coffee. Besides, if you weren’t sexually interested in me, it wouldn’t matter if I was buck naked.”
She actually harrumphed. “What woman wouldn’t be sexually interested in you? I mean, look at you. Symmetrical features. Broad shoulders. Long legs. Well-developed chest. My goodness, you even have a jumbo-sized penis. You’re the epitome of the biological imperative.”
“I’m not even going to ask you what that is, because I don’t want to know.” He cut his eyes at her, then looked down at the bulge in his shorts. From the inadvertent glances he’d gotten of the equipment of other men in various locker rooms, he knew he was big. But jumbo-sized? “I appreciate the compliment, though.”
His cell phone rang, saving him from having to listen to Marietta explain the biological imperative. Jax clicked through to the call after the first peal and almost groaned when Star Bright’s nasal voice came over the line.
“Jax? Thank the stars in heaven I reached you. Did you know your phone was out of service?”
“I forgot to charge it.”
“Yeah, well, there’s not time to talk about the mundane details of everyday life right now. We have important business to discuss. Vital business. I met with the UWA brass today about the anniversary show. The big brass. The really big brass.”
“Yeah. So?” He took a look at Marietta, who was watching him carefully. Suspiciously, he thought.
“So they want the unmasking to be the climax of the show, Jax. They think Secret Stud Unmasked will send the ratings through the roof.”
“No,” he shouted, then instantly regretted the violence of his reaction. Marietta was already paying far too much attention to the conversation. He cradled the cell phone, turned away from her and lowered his voice. “I’ve already told you I’m not going to do that.”
“But you have to think green, Jax. This is business. Think like a businessman. A green businessman.”
“No,” he repeated.
“That’s your final word?”
“That’s my final word.”
“Well, then, I have a problem.”
Jax closed his eyes as apprehension swamped him. He knew from experience that, if Star had a problem, he did, too. “What kind of problem?”
“I already told them the mask was as good as gone.”
Jax held back the explosion of angry words behind his teeth and mentally counted to ten before he answered. “Listen, Star. I can’t talk about this. Not now. I’ll have to get back to you, and you’ll have to get back to them saying it’s a no-go.”
“But—”
Jax disconnected the phone before his manager could say another word. When he turned, Marietta was regarding him closely. “Who was that?”
“Nobody.” He mentally slapped his forehead, trying to unscramble his panicked brain. He improvised. “I meant nobody important. It was just Star Bright.” At her raised eyebrows, he added, “My business partner.”
“You’re in business with somebody named Star Bright?”
“It’s a nickname.” Think, Jax, think. “He doesn’t use it professionally, just socially.”
“What kind of business?” She tapped a finger against the side of her mouth. “I don’t think you’ve ever told me what kind of business you’re in.”
“Stocks, bonds, that kind of thing.”
“Really? I didn’t know a job like that involved so much travel.”
“Mine does.” What was she playing? Twenty Questions? Make Jax Squirm? “I’m like a traveling salesman.”
“A traveling salesman of stocks and bonds? With a partner named Star Bright?” She sounded downright dubious now. She looked at his marble kitchen counters, which was as expensive as the rest of the furnishings in his home. “You must be quite successful.”
“I’m successful enough.”
“Then maybe you could do some investing for me.”
“Investing’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. Desperately, he cast about for a way to change the subject. If this conversation went much further, she’d ask him the difference between a international stock fund and a municipal bond fund. He didn’t think she’d accept “a whole lot of letters” as a knowledgeable answer. “Weren’t we in the middle of a conversation when the phone rang? It seems to me we were talking about my jumbo-sized penis.”
Just as he hoped, her face colored. For a biologist, she sure blushed a lot when the topic came around to sex. He walked toward her, deliberately puffing out his bare chest. He was pleased to see that her face got redder the closer he came.
She moved away, scurrying backward like a crab all the way down the hall and to the front door. She reached for the doorknob as though it were a lifeline.
“Any time you like, you can give it another try,” he called when she wrenched open the door. “All you have to do is let me know. I’d be happy to oblige.”
She whirled and fled. He closed the door behind her, wishing instead that he could call her back. He wanted Marietta in his life. It was the prospect of the Secret Stud Unmasked that he wanted to shut out of it.
Chapter 17
Boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom-boom.
A half-hour after hearing her baby’s rapid heartbeat on the fetal monitor at her monthly checkup, Marietta walked through the hallway at Kennedy College, the joyous booms resounding in her own heart.
Euphoria wiped out her nagging backache. A balloon of words waiting to explode rested on her tongue, tapping at her teeth. The fact that there was an entirely new human being inside of her, announcing its existence with a beating heart, was miraculous. Even for a biology professor.
She wanted to tell everyone she saw, maybe even ride the elevator upstairs and shout it from the rooftop.
My baby lives!
She giggled aloud, something she almost never did. Maybe Jax would like to accompany her to the next appointment so he, too, could experience the thrill. She should ask him tonight. No, better yet, she should call him right now and describe what she’d heard.
She quickened her pace, intent on reaching her office as quickl
y as possible. She should have brought a tape recorder to the appointment. Then she could play it for him. The Baby’s Booms, she’d call it. She giggled again.
“Dr. Dalrymple. Can I have a moment?”
The unmistakable voice stopped her feet, because it belonged to the one man who had the power to make her life miserable. Dean Gerard Pringle, who would hold her life in his thin, vein-encrusted hands when she came up for tenure next year.
She composed her features, turned and felt the world tilt on its axis. Robert, his black clothing a prediction of doom, was walking alongside the dean. Under any other circumstances, Dean Pringle would have overshadowed him as completely as a bald eagle does a wren. The dean’s clothing was more expensive, his carriage more erect, his dusky skin and closely shaved scalp more vivid, his presence more commanding.
But the dean didn’t know that the professor drawing national attention to his biology department for her radical views on male-free motherhood was pregnant by the man living next door. Robert did.
Marietta forced herself to remain calm. Because Robert knew her secret didn’t necessarily mean he’d blabbed it. “Hello, Dean Pringle, Robert.”
Robert nodded but didn’t meet her eyes. Dean Pringle cleared his throat, as was his habit. The joke around campus was that a frog too afraid to come out lived inside.
“While you were out, you had a call from National Public Radio that was put through to me,” Dean Pringle said. “It seems members of your fan club have been peppering them with calls advocating that you be a guest on their show.”
“My fan club?” Marietta screwed up her nose. “But I don’t have a fan club.”
“That’s what I thought, but the lady from NPR was quite adamant that you did. She said all the calls were from females who said they were foxy. Either that or foxes, she couldn’t be sure.”
Marietta let out a short laugh as understanding dawned. She’d made the same mistake the first time she’d met Vicky Valenzuela. “She heard wrong. They’re FOCs. It’s an acronym for Feminists on Campus.”
“Whatever.” The dean waved off her explanation. “What’s important is that their call-in campaign worked. One of the NPR reporters was interested enough to view your ‘Meet the Scientists’ tape. She was so impressed they’d like you to do a segment later this week on All Things Considered.”
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