by Kara Lennox
"I wish I could give Wyatt to Daisy."
"Oh, you do not. If Daisy showed the slightest interest in Wyatt, you'd scratch her eyes out."
Phoebe grinned. "You're right, I would."
"Hey, do you think I could meet Jane Jasmine? I'd like to thank her in person for helping me find James."
"Go talk to Wyatt. He'll introduce you. I'm going to hide out back here a few minutes longer."
"Scaredy-cat."
"Yup."
* * *
Wyatt breathed a huge sigh of relief when the closing credits rolled. The show had gotten back on track, thanks to Jane's smooth segue into the next guest's problems finding a man.
Someone tapped his arm, and for a fleeting half-second he hoped it was Phoebe. But it was Elise Foster, of all people.
"Hi, Wyatt," she whispered, since the cameras were still rolling. "Phoebe said you might introduce me to Jane Jasmine."
He nodded. "Sure." As Phyllis pumped the audience for that last little bit of applause, Wyatt led Elise toward the stage. "Don't trip on those cords. I'll introduce you to Jane if you tell me where Phoebe's hiding."
"And … CUT!" Phyllis bellowed. "Great job, everybody."
The applause died down and the studio suddenly buzzed with conversation and activity.
Elise smiled. "Kelly's dressing room. But don't tell her I gave her away."
Jane already had a crowd around her. Wyatt grabbed Phyllis as she passed. "This is Elise. Will you make sure she gets a private introduction to Jane Jasmine?"
Phyllis smiled. "No problem. Hi, Elise."
The two women struck up a conversation, and Wyatt made his escape. If he didn't hurry, Phoebe would slip out a side door—and he would have to track her down at home. He'd do that if he had to, but he preferred not to delay their confrontation. If he didn't say what was on his mind now, he might never get up the nerve again.
He found her without too much trouble, probably because she figured no one would look there. She sat cross-legged on the sofa hugging a pillow, and when Wyatt walked in without knocking, she shot him a look that might have vaporized a less determined man.
"That was rotten of Kelly to try to drag me on stage without asking first, and I stand firmly behind my decision to run like a scalded cat."
Wyatt chuckled. "And I firmly support your right to do so. I will speak with Kelly again about deviating from the script."
Phoebe seemed to relax a little, now that she knew that matter was settled.
Wyatt sat on the opposite end of the sofa, not too close. "Want to talk about what else is bothering you?"
"Wyatt, I can't work here anymore."
"What?" That wasn't what he'd expected to hear. He'd thought she might rant and rave a little. Yell at him. Put him in his place. He certainly hadn't anticipated her resignation.
"I can probably get my job back at the spa. I thought I could handle this, but it's too close to the life I left behind in L.A. And I left it behind for a reason."
"What reason?"
"I didn't like myself very much when I was an actress. I slept my way into that role as Vanessa Vance. Oh, I guess I cared something for the guy. I even thought I loved him. But he told me, when we broke up, that the only reason he gave me the part of Vanessa was because I was good in bed."
Wyatt winced. He didn't like hearing this. Of course he'd known Phoebe had experience, but he didn't want to hear a blow-by-blow.
"There were other times, too, when I was intimate with someone I shouldn't have been. Sometimes it was just easier not to fight the tidal wave."
"You don't have to tell me this."
"I want to. There are lots of things I should have told you before now. But I think it's too late."
He wanted to argue with her. He wanted to hold her in his arms, comfort her. She was so achingly beautiful, even with her hair in braids. But he didn't do anything except sit there because he was too afraid of mangling things even worse than they already were.
"So, you misspent your youth. A lot of people do that. Does that really mean you can't work on the show? I need you."
"I can't work so close to you. It hurts."
"It only hurts because we're not together."
"We can't be together."
"Why not?" He barely whispered the words.
"Because … because you'll never see me as anything but—"
"Bull. I see what you show me. Try again, because that's a cop-out."
"Because I'm not ready to let anybody love me. It's like Jane says—I have to work on myself first."
They'd never talked about love, but the moment she said the word, Wyatt knew it was there, glittering between them, tempting but somehow forbidden.
"When will you be ready? When you've got your college degree? When you start your business? When you make a million dollars? When?"
"I don't know."
"Well, while you're figuring that out, you can also chew on this. I love you, Phoebe. I don't care what your IQ is, or whether you have a college degree, or how many men you've slept with, or what size bra you wear, or even whether you're called Phoebe or Adelaide. I love the essence of you.
"So you think about it, and you just let me know when you're ready for a real man to love you. And if the answer is never, then congratulations. You're destined for a long and very lonely life."
He left before he said anything else. He hadn't meant to be so hard on her. But if he hadn't forcefully stated his case, she would have slipped right through his fingers.
She might, anyway.
* * *
"I didn't know you would be so sensitive about it," Olga said, sitting in the passenger seat of Phoebe's car on their way home from the show. "I'm proud of you and I just wanted to show you off."
"You're proud of who I used to be."
"No, that's not it. I'm proud of everything you've done and all you've turned out to be. I'm very excited about your cosmetics company. I just didn't understand, before, what a big deal this science stuff is for you."
Phoebe smiled. "Thank you, Mama."
"I think I understand a little better now why it's so important to have a career or a bobby or a cause. I used to think those were things a woman did when she couldn't find a man."
"Or as an excuse for keeping men at arm's length," Phoebe murmured.
"What?"
"Nothing. Go on."
"I never realized that taking care of your own spiritual and intellectual needs would actually make you more attractive."
"You sound like a true convert."
"Listening to those other women—the happy ones with boyfriends and husbands—convinced me. Jane convinced me."
"That Jane is a pretty smart lady." Phoebe pulled her car up in front of Mesa Blue. "I should be home from class around four. We can go out for dinner or something before I have to take you to the airport."
"Okay." Olga hugged her. "You go study hard. I want to see straight As on that report card, young lady."
Phoebe tried not to laugh. Olga had never cared a whit what grades Phoebe made in school.
Richie was waiting for her with a sub sandwich, when Phoebe arrived at the university.
"I thought you were mad at me," she said, as they settled onto the library steps to eat lunch.
"I got over it. It'd be pretty stupid to stay mad at you when you're the only reason I'm passing this class." He tugged on one of her braids and smiled.
Yeah, it was stupid to stay mad, she decided. Wyatt had left the door open. He'd said he loved her, something she'd tucked away in her heart for further study—later, when she had a moment of quiet time. All she had to do now was walk through that door.
But she couldn't do it halfway. Wyatt wanted all of her, body and soul, warts and all. If she wasn't prepared to put it all on the line for him, she might as well not bother.
* * *
When Phoebe got home later that day, the first thing she noticed was that Olga's wreath was back on the door. But there was something differen
t about it. Olga had added a few things—a tiny test tube, a miniature textbook with Biochemistry painted on the cover, an Arizona State University lapel pin and the smallest cosmetics tube Phoebe had ever seen, labeled, Phoebe's Green Mask.
Phoebe laughed out loud even as the thoughtful gesture brought tears to her eyes. How had her mother ever come up with those things on such short notice?
When she entered her apartment, she got another surprise. She heard two women laughing in the kitchen, and when she followed the laughter she found Olga and Frannie kneading dough together.
"Frannie?" Phoebe said in surprise.
"Oh, Phoebe, your mother is so funny. Do you know what she just said? She just said—"
"I thought she was 'that Jersey Blonde'!"
"That was before I saw her on 'Heads Up' this morning. Oh, my gosh, she is so much like me it's uncanny. All those things she was saying—it could have been me. And I knew exactly where she was coming from—"
"And I wasn't going to go home without apologizing to your friend," Olga cut in. "I didn't mean to break up her romance with Bill."
"Olga's showing me how to make authentic Danish. As if my waistline needs it!"
Olga waved a finger at Frannie. "Uh-uh-uh, no cutting yourself down. Remember what Jane says. We have to stop worrying about being perfect and love ourselves just the way we are."
"Oh, you're so right."
"Did you patch things up with Bill?" Phoebe asked Frannie.
"No, and he can just forget it. He's obviously much too fickle. He doesn't deserve a catch like me, and, anyway, I'm no longer interested," Frannie said, nose in the air. "I have many important things to do to fulfill myself."
Jane Jasmine has created a couple of monsters! Phoebe was about to make her escape from the Twilight Zone kitchen, but Olga stopped her.
"Phoebe, you look tired. Why don't you take a little nap? We don't have to go out to dinner."
"No, I want to take you someplace nice on your last evening," Phoebe insisted. "But I wouldn't mind taking a quick swim." That would rejuvenate her better than a nap would.
She passed up the blue lamé and put on one of her nice, safe tank suits, grabbed a towel and headed for the pool.
Nothing cleared her head like swimming laps. As her muscles went through the automatic motions, pulling her gently through the water, her mind worked things over of their own accord.
Wyatt loved her. And she loved him. Oh, how she loved him. He was a good man, intelligent, kind, funny. She'd been afraid to let herself even be attracted to him, much less fall in love. She'd tossed out every obstacle to a serious relationship she could think of, because she'd sensed that there would be no turning back once it happened.
And she'd been right.
Could they make it work? Did she dare even hope…?
Well, damn it, why not? She was a perfectly good match for Wyatt, even if she was younger than him. Jane Jasmine said age didn't really matter as long as … good gravy, now she was quoting Jane Jasmine. Maybe all the women living in Mesa Blue should start a Jasmine cult.
That made her laugh, which caused her to inhale a mouthful of water. Her head shot up and she grasped the nearest edge, coughing and sputtering.
"You okay?" Wyatt asked, sounding worried. His abrupt appearance only startled her, causing her to cough some more, but she nodded.
"Yes, I think I'll live."
He handed her a towel. "I knew I was quite a catch, but I'm not worth drowning yourself over."
* * *
What was Wyatt doing hanging out at the pool? Phoebe wondered as she completed her coughing performance. She vaulted out of the pool, sat on the edge and dried her face and shoulders.
She finally steeled herself to look up at him. He wore a pair of very brief swim trunks—and nothing else. She realized she'd never seen his body in full sunlight before. It took her breath away. He might be pushing forty, but he was in better shape than most young men half his age.
"I didn't know you like to swim," she said, because she couldn't think of anything else.
"There are lots of things you don't know about me, because I've been a workaholic ever since I moved to Phoenix." Wyatt sat on the edge of the pool next to Phoebe. "I'm going to change that. Jane Jasmine says you have to strike a balance between career and personal life."
"Another Jane Jasmine devotee?"
"She's got something. Besides, if I'm expecting you to slow down enough to have a relationship, I'll have to do the same."
"You're not going to let me off the hook, here, are you?"
"No. And I don't want to hear that you're still working on yourself. Since you left L.A., you've had several years of working on yourself. You ought to be damn near perfect by now."
"Oh, Wyatt, we both know that's not true."
"Okay, you're not perfect. Neither am I. We'll work on it. We'll make mistakes and learn from them. We'll fight and we'll make up, and maybe by the time we're my grandparents' age we'll have it all figured out."
Phoebe opened her eyes wide. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying I was an idiot for ever thinking a no-strings affair would be good enough for you, for us. We deserve something a little more … settled."
Phoebe had one card left. She had one more obstacle she could throw between them. She knew Wyatt was marriage-shy. He'd freaked out when he thought he was quarry for her husband hunt. But she knew now that the only way she was going to have Wyatt in her life was if she got the whole enchilada. No more half measures. Both of them needed the security of commitment. Besides, she deserved that kind of relationship.
She closed her eyes and said the words she knew might drive him away. "If you're planning on monopolizing my time until we're in our eighties, I expect a marriage license."
"Well, what the hell else do you think I meant? Open your eyes, Phoebe."
She did, and right in front of her nose was the loveliest square diamond solitaire, along with a band holding a row of tiny diamonds.
"I want you to be my wife."
She clasped both hands over her mouth, so overcome she couldn't speak. Her eyes filled with tears, and she started trembling.
"A simple yes or no would be very helpful."
She nodded yes.
He pried her left hand away from her face and slipped the ring onto her third finger. "It belonged to my mother. I was too young when she died to remember much about her, but my grandmother says she was the most loving, generous and happy person they'd ever met."
Phoebe finally found her voice. "I don't de—"
"Don't you dare say you don't deserve it. If you'd rather not wear a ring that belonged to someone else, we can get another one."
"No, no, I'd be honored to wear your mother's ring."
"And you forgive me for laughing at you?"
"If you'll forgive me for being too sensitive and expecting you to read my mind."
"I think I can manage that."
They stopped talking long enough to kiss, and Phoebe swore it was the sweetest kiss she'd ever tasted. She might have enjoyed kissing him like that the rest of the afternoon—with the sun warming her pool-chilled skin and the smell of chlorine and Wyatt's aftershave tickling her nose—but a strange sound nibbled at the edges of her consciousness.
Wyatt must have heard it, too, because he pulled back and looked around.
They were being given a round of applause. Dozens of their neighbors were on their patios and balconies, clapping as if they'd just witnessed a bravura opera performance. She saw Elise and James, Daisy, her mother and Frannie, Jeff, Bill, the college girls—everybody she knew, just about.
She felt her face flaming, but she was laughing, too. "What a story for our grandchildren."
Wyatt seemed completely unfazed. "I love you, Phoebe."
"I love you, too. So much it hurts."
"Then let's take this show somewhere more private and … celebrate."
Phoebe was all for that.
* * *
Epil
ogue
« ^
The following weekend, Phoebe was dragged out of a lovely, deep sleep by the sound of strange voices. She opened her eyes, and it took her a moment to remember where she was.
Wyatt's bed.
Oh, how lovely, she thought. It was barely dawn, and neither she nor Wyatt had a thing to do today. Lots more hours to laze in bed. But then the voices came through again.
"Shh! We don't want to wake Wyatt," a woman said. Phoebe quickly realized it was Helen Madison!
"You don't think he'll be pleased when he finds out we took an earlier flight home?" Rolland asked. "We saved him a trip to the airport."
"At six-thirty on a Saturday morning, I doubt he'll be pleased about much of anything."
Her heart pounding, Phoebe punched Wyatt. "Wyatt! Wake up," she whispered urgently.
"Huh?"
"Your grandparents are home!"
"No, no," he said groggily. "I'm not supposed to pick them up until two this afternoon."
"Well, they're here! They must have taken a taxi."
Wyatt woke up all the way. He sat up, glanced at the clock, then out the window, and finally at Phoebe. "They're home?" He had that look in his eye, sort of like a deer in headlights.
"Do you want coffee, Rolland?" Helen asked. "Maybe the smell will wake Wyatt up."
"He doesn't like coffee, dear, remember?"
"Oh, right."
Panic welled up in Phoebe's chest. "What do we do? There's no way I can sneak out."
He put his arms around her and nuzzled her ear. "You don't have to sneak out. My grandparents will understand. We're engaged, after all."
"They told me to be nice to you. They didn't mean this nice."
"Oh, you'd be surprised what they might have meant. They've wanted us to get together for years."
"But not naked! Not in their guest room!"
Wyatt sighed and swung his feet over the side of the bed. "Okay, okay. I'll take them out on the balcony and show them how well I've been taking care of their plants. You sneak out the front door."
Phoebe jumped out of bed and frantically threw on clothes. Wyatt dressed in a more leisurely fashion, a faint smile on his face.
"You're enjoying this!" Phoebe accused.