The audience members moaned in unison. He heard copious weeping, letting Jax know he’d performed the trick to perfection. They really thought he’d suffered a grievous injury when, on the inside, he was congratulating himself on a job well done.
Because a hero was supposed to be tough in the face of adversity, Jax made it seem as though he were struggling to a sitting position. He rose and pointed a shaking finger at the dancing, prancing headhunter.
“You’ve won the battle, but not the war,” Jax shouted with all the gusto of a seasoned performer. “I will avenge the deaths of my ancestors yet.”
He turned with a flourish to exit the ring. At the last moment, a sixth sense alerted him that something was wrong.
The Studettes had climbed into the ring, exactly where they were supposed to be, as they comforted him with hugs and kisses. The half-dozen women Star Bright had hired to pummel Smashing Headhunter when he exited the arena were positioned at the other end of the ring, exactly where they were supposed to be.
A large shadow, followed by hot breathing, told him Smashing Headhunter was behind him, which was not where he was supposed to be.
Before Jax had a chance to turn, his archenemy’s beefy hand reached around him, grabbed the bottom of his mask and tugged the material upward.
In the space of a heartbeat, Jax’s face was naked.
All of the cameras, which seemed so skillfully concealed during the event, popped out at Jax. There was one overhead. One alongside the ropes. One at the foot of the ring. Every one was pointed at him.
“Aaaaaaaaiiiiieeeeeeeee.”
Smashing Headhunter’s scream rent the heavy air inside the arena, but it was Jax who wanted to yelp in panic. The identity of the Secret Stud was no longer secret. With a formidable effort, Jax stopped himself from rushing out of the arena. He called on his professionalism and acted the part he’d been playing for the past few years.
“I’ll get you for this, you fiend,” he yelled at Smashing Headhunter, pointing in fury. “I’ll have my revenge.”
A few minutes later, while the crowd still buzzing with dazed excitement, Jax took his leave. The Studettes flanked him as he swaggered through the crowd as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
The moment the fans could no longer see him, Jax rushed into the locker room, frantic to reach his cell phone. His heart beat faster than a hummingbird’s, and he had to press the speed dial for Marietta’s number three times before he got it right.
All the while, he prayed she’d understand why the man she’d promised to marry masqueraded as the Secret Stud.
MARIETTA PADDED INTO her kitchen on stocking feet and pulled open the refrigerator door. The top shelf was two deep with cartons of calcium-fortified orange juice, which Jax had been buying her daily since she’d confessed her abhorrence of milk.
She smiled. She missed him already even though he’d only been gone since that morning.
She closed her eyes briefly as the mind-boggling truth hit her. She, Marietta Dalrymple, naysayer of all things romantic, was engaged. Her refrigerator wasn’t only stocked with healthy, calcium-rich food. Her dining room table was loaded with long-stemmed red roses and her ring finger festooned with precious gems.
She held her hand out in front of her face, delighting in the way the dozen tiny pearls circled the diamond centerpiece. A blush stole over her cheeks as she remembered the way Jax had presented the ring, on bent knee with his hand over his heart.
Her own heart had fluttered like the wings of a thousand butterflies, and her eyes had moistened with happy tears. Then she’d actually laughed aloud at one of his unfunny jokes. This one was about an optician who told the bride-to-be she’d have to wait to get fitted for glasses because he didn’t believe in specs before marriage.
She didn’t care to examine why she’d laughed or why she’d been acting so out of character, didn’t want to believe it was anything more than an extreme biological reaction to Jax’s outstanding good looks and lovemaking techniques.
A bubbling sound escaped Marietta’s lips, which she suspected might be her happiness overflowing. She took one of the orange-juice cartons out of the refrigerator, poured herself a glass and walked into the family room.
Her life had ceased to become routine, but there were some things a woman couldn’t give up. Topping Marietta’s list was the eleven o’clock news. She settled into her armchair, just then remembering she’d taken the phone off the hook after work because of pesky solicitors.
She started to get up, thinking Jax might try to call, especially because she was pretty sure she needed to recharge her cell phone. She changed her mind. Jax had left his cell phone number before flying off on one of the endless business trips she’d been too preoccupied to ask him about. She could call him after the news. If the sound of his voice didn’t scramble her wits, she’d even ask him to explain again exactly what it was he did for a living.
Twenty minutes later, saturated with news of governmental scandals and far-away battles, Marietta let her eyes glaze over when the sportscast switched on. She might have dozed if something hadn’t bumped into her stomach. She came instantly alert, reaching down to brush whatever it was away, but her hand encountered only air. She frowned.
The sensation hit her again, but this time it felt like bubbles bursting inside her. She reached under the cool cotton of the maternity nightgown Jax had insisted on buying for her that weekend and laid her warm hand over her stomach. Her hand jumped, helped along by what she’d realized was a tiny hand or foot.
Her other hand flew to her open mouth as wonder filled her. The baby was kicking! Jax, she thought. If only Jax were here, the moment would be perfect.
A familiar blend of cheering and truly awful pop music wailed from the television, drawing her attention away from her miracle. The television newscast had switched to a clip of a packed arena. The camera panned in, focusing on two wrestlers locked in combat. The one wearing tattered trousers and combat boots was frighteningly large, but the slightly smaller masked wrestler in red snagged her attention. After a moment, she recognized him as the wrestler Jax had been watching on videotape a few weeks ago.
She squinted, trying to get a better look at him as the other wrestler lifted him into the air and dropped him. She winced as the back of the wrestler in red hit the mat. Something about the masked, spandex-wearing wrestler was familiar, more so than it should have been considering she’d only gotten a glimpse of him once before.
What had he billed himself as? The camera showed a shot of a trio of scantily clad, generously endowed women alongside the ring and she remembered. A studmuffin.
The women climbed into the ring and draped themselves over the masked wrestler, plastering kisses wherever their lips could reach in a disgusting display of sexism. The wrestler probably never saw his opponent grab what looked to be three shrunken heads dangling from a stick.
The larger wrestler dangled the miniatures heads above the masked wrestler’s head, let out a tremendous roar and ruthlessly yanked off his mask.
The camera switched to a tight shot of a stunning dark-haired, chocolate-eyed man with perfectly symmetrical features. Marietta’s eyes widened. Her mouth fell open. Her breath caught in her lungs.
Jax. The masked wrestler was Jax.
Before Marietta could fully process the information, the camera switched back to the newscaster, whose blue eyes twinkled merrily. “There you have it. Tonight the Secret Stud’s identity is secret no more after he was unmasked by his archenemy, Smashing Headhunter, at the Ultimate Wrestling Association’s extravaganza. Back to you, Joy.”
Joy, the lead anchor, was also smiling. She shook her pretty head. “With a face like that, it makes you wonder why he was wearing a mask in the first place.”
Marietta reached for the remote control, switched off the television and thought she heard booming in her chest. Jax didn’t sell stocks and bonds, as he claimed. He wasn’t a businessman. He was a professional wrestler.
He had
lied to her, just like her father had lied to her mother, just like she swore she’d never be lied to. Was this searing hurt the same as the pain that had sliced into her mother? Was this the price a woman paid for letting a man get too close?
Marietta had trouble taking in oxygen and realized it was because she was holding her breath. She made herself inhale, but the air felt ragged going down her throat, like she was swallowing a double-edged sword. One side was as smooth as Jax’s lies, the other as jagged as his painful betrayal.
Much later, she realized her hand still covered her stomach, but the baby was no longer kicking.
Chapter 23
At nearly one in the morning, the taxi Jax hired after arriving at Washington D.C.’s Reagan National airport pulled up in front of twin townhouses. Jax’s place was as dark as he’d left it before heading off for the UWA’s extravaganza in Boston. Marietta’s glowed with lights.
Tracy had moved back in with Ryan so it was Marietta who was still awake. He’d be able to tell her what he did for a living before somebody else did.
Jax had been trying to do exactly that since Smashing Headhunter had unmasked him earlier that evening, but he hadn’t been able to get Marietta on the phone. Finally, in desperation, he’d driven to the airport and booked a flight home.
Marietta wouldn’t have subscribed to the pay-per-view event featuring his unmasking, but the news could get to her in other ways. He’d inadvertently discovered that Ryan was a wrestling fan, so Tracy could get wind of it and pass it on. Hell, the morning newspaper might even carry an item about it. The Secret Stud, after all, was an UWA icon.
Now that he was here, Jax found himself reluctant to move. He wished he could attribute it to the rain that beat on the roof of the taxi cab like a bongo drummer. That, unfortunately, wasn’t the reason. He’d come to a crossroads in his life, and turning toward one of the things he loved would take him away from the other.
“Hey, buddy. You gonna get out of my cab any time tonight?”
Jax’s gaze transferred from Marietta’s townhouse glowing through the gray, steady rain to the taxi driver.
“Understand, the meter’s running so it’s fine with me if you hang for a while.” The cabby’s jaw worked on a wad of gum. His expression was sour, as though he’d taken a bite of the world and didn’t like the taste.
Jax thought the guy looked as though he could use a good joke as much as Jax needed to tell one. “Did you hear about the taxi driver whose cab was caught in a tornado and ended up dangling halfway over a cliff?”
The cabby grunted, giving Jax all the encouragement he needed to continue. “When he called 911 from his cell to report he was caught in a storm, the dispatcher said, ‘Don’t worry. It’ll blow over.’ ‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ the man moaned.”
The taxi driver fixed Jax with a stare so intent it felt like he was drilling twin holes through Jax’s forehead. “Wonder why I didn’t read about that in the Washington Post,” he deadpanned.
Dismayed that the cabby was missing a sense of humor, Jax read the amount off the meter, mentally calculated a tip and paid him. Rain slapped Jax in the face with wet drops when he got out of the cab, but he didn’t hurry to Marietta’s door. He was embarking on the death march of his career. Appropriately, that would take a little time.
Thunder sounded in the distance, but it was disappointment that rumbled through Jax. He fully understood a professor as dignified as Marietta wouldn’t deign to be married to a pro wrestler. Still, he wished he could have stuck with the UWA for another year in order to pay off his brothers’ college costs. He’d get the money some way, even if he had to take out a loan, but the loss of income wasn’t why his chest ached at the thought of giving up his career.
He’d come to love the pageantry, the gallantry and the artistry of pro wrestling. He loved the cheers of the crowd, the challenge of staying in top shape and the adrenaline rush of pulling off a particularly demanding stunt.
Despite that, choosing between the woman and the wrestling amounted to no choice at all. He loved Marietta far more than he’d ever loved anything, including wrestling.
In moments, his clothing felt heavy against his skin. He looked down at himself, recognizing the reason. He wasn’t dressed in the fine suits and designer shirts he favored, but the gray sweatpants and shirt he’d pulled on after Smashing Headhunter had unmasked him. The sweats sopped up water like a kitchen sponge.
He raised his eyes to the dripping sky. The wet breeze, which smelled of the nearby Potomac River, washed over him. That he had gotten on a plane looking like this meant he was further gone over Marietta than he’d thought.
He rang the doorbell and waited, wincing as lightning rent the sky. Marietta pulled open the door, and he smiled despite the turmoil inside and all around him. The green of her soft, flowing nightgown reflected in her eyes, causing them to look jewel-like and ethereal. Her hair was down around her shoulders, softening the angles of her face. Looking at her had always packed a sexual punch, but he hadn’t realized, until that minute, how truly beautiful she was.
“Hi.” He stepped forward, intending to come through the inner door and take her into his arms. He froze. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest and her lips were unsmiling.
“Well, well, well.” She drew out the words, speaking loudly enough to be heard above the battering rain. “If it isn’t Jax Jackson, traveling salesman of stocks and bonds.”
Jax narrowed his eyes, trying to read her expression through the rainwater that dampened his face. Did Marietta already know what he’d come to tell her? Her eyes were shuttered, concealing the answer. Jax hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. “I came back early, because there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“One o’clock in the morning is a little late to talk.”
“You’re still awake.”
“Only because you’re standing here on my doorstep preventing me from getting to sleep.”
Thunder boomed along with his heart. Less than twenty-four hours earlier when she’d dropped him off at the airport, she’d clung to him. Now her voice was colder than he’d ever heard it, filling him with a chilling certainty. He wasn’t sure how she’d found out, but she knew he was the Secret Stud.
This wasn’t the way he’s wanted the evening to progress, but he didn’t believe the problem was insurmountable. He’d explain how he’d come to be the Secret Stud, then he’d tell her he was giving it all up. For her.
“Can I come in?” he asked. She didn’t budge from her spot in the doorway. He cocked his head and tried a smile. “Please? I’m getting drenched here.”
For a moment, she stood as frozen as an ice statue at a winter carnival. Then abruptly she moved away from the door, giving him a clear path to her sanctuary. He stamped off the water the best he could and entered the townhouse.
She disappeared into the bowels of the house and returned holding a towel, which she tossed at him. He caught it, wiped the excess water off his face and clothes and followed her into the living room. She didn’t sit down, but stood in the center of the room, between the brocade sofa and barren fireplace, with her arms still crossed over her chest.
“You came here to talk,” she said, her stare unfriendly, “so talk.”
He gazed down at the carpet, back up at her. “I have a feeling you already know what I’m going to say.”
“What? That you dress in red spandex and strut into a wrestling ring to the cries of ‘Studmuffin’?”
He winced, disliking her rendition of his act even as he admired her for not pretending to misunderstand his question.
“How did you find out?”
“You made the evening news.” Her voice was tight. “It seems the wrestling community has been speculating for a long while on what you looked like under that mask.”
He took a step toward her, but stopped when the air around her seemed cold enough to form a wall of ice. “If it makes it any easier, I want you to know I never set out to be a pro wrestler.
My mother had such a hard time of it that I wanted to make enough money to help her out. I thought I could do it through football, but I wasn’t good enough to make the pros.”
She continued to stare at him, offering no encouragement. He couldn’t let that dissuade him from telling her what he should have told her months ago.
“I took a job as a phys. ed. teacher at an elementary school, but it paid next to nothing. Then one day, an old teammate of mine who’d been playing the Secret Stud got hurt and I had a chance to take over his act. It was an opportunity too good to pass up. I intended to get another act as time went by, but the Stud became so popular that I couldn’t get out of it.”
“So you’re saying you didn’t want to masquerade as a woman’s sexual fantasy come to life?” She looked and sounded skeptical.
“Exactly,” he answered.
“How about a pro wrestler who tells the woman he says he loves that he sells stocks and bonds? Who lies about where he got his bruises, dislocated shoulder and plump lip?” Her voice rose. “Are you going to tell me you did that against your will, too?”
“No, I did that deliberately,” he said softly, feeling ashamed. “I didn’t keep it just from you, Marietta. My mother and brothers don’t know I’m a pro wrestler, either.”
“Why not?” She bit off the words.
“I was afraid of what they’d think. Then, even more, I was afraid of losing you.” He’d gotten to the crux of what he’d come here tonight to tell her. He took a deep breath. “That’s why I’m going to give it up. For you.”
Marietta shook her head in apparent disgust, the way she’d done the first time they met, which wasn’t the reaction he’d been aiming for.
“That’s why you think I’m so angry?” She cut the air with her hand. “Because you’re a pro wrestler?”
The Misconception Page 26