Tame An Older Man

Chapter 12

Wyatt watched as Phoebe found her shirt and stretched it over her head and arms. Sensing that he wasn't going to dissuade her from dressing-or leaving-he sat up and reached for his own shirt.

"I guess I didn't think about it much," he admitted. "I figured you were taking something related to your career."

"You mean like Cosmetics 101?" She settled a piercing gaze on him that made him very uncomfortable.

"Or some kind of advanced drama classes. You were interested in acting once," he reasoned, "and I assume you enjoyed it. Even if you aren't planning to act professionally, I could see you taking classes to keep your skills sharp."

Apparently that wasn't the right answer.

He tried again. "If the truth be known, I assumed you were taking continuing education classes because you wanted something to occupy your time, and because you had a social structure at the college, a group of friends that study together or trade notes or… or…"

"Or hang out at the malt shop together?"

He was just digging himself deeper, wasn't he. "Apparently I assumed wrong?"

She said nothing as she pulled on her slacks.

"Well, if I'm so badly misinformed, it's because you've never volunteered any information. I figured if it was anything important, you'd have said something."

"I'm studying biochemistry," she said abruptly.

"What?" He burst out in nervous laughter. It sounded as if she'd said biochemistry.

"I'm a biochemistry major," she said, enunciating every word, "with a business minor. I have less than two years to go for my degree if I continue to carry my current class load. This semester I'm taking Organic Chemistry, Statistics, Calculus and PE. I have to carry twelve hours or I lose my scholarship."

"You have a scholarship? In bio-bio-" He couldn't believe this. Phoebe Lane, glamorous TV actress and makeup artist, wanted to be a biochemist? "Why?"

"Because I like it. Because I'm good at it. And because when I graduate, I'm going to start my own all-natural cosmetics firm, Bio-Techniques. I've already trademarked the name."

Wyatt's head was spinning. This put a whole new light on the Phoebe Lane he knew. Or the one he thought he knew.

She flipped on the light. "You look a little shell-shocked."

"That's because you just turned on the light. But I am… surprised. I mean, I think it's wonderful you have all these goals and plans, but…"

"But you can't imagine why a pretty girl like me would want to worry her pretty little head over big, bad subjects like math and science?"

"I did not say that."

"But you were thinking it."

He couldn't deny it. Yes, he was shocked. "How are you doing?"

"Well, all those big numbers are sooooo confusing," she said in a little-girl lisp, "and I have just a terrible time with some of the big words-"

"Phoebe…"

"I have a four-point-oh this semester. Every semester, in fact, except the last one. Physics kicked my butt."

"Four-point-oh…" he said, feeling slightly faint. He'd never in his life pulled a 4.0. And he'd majored in liberal arts, which was considerably less demanding than science and business.

Fully dressed, she sat down on the end of the bed. "Any more questions?"

"What did you make on the SAT?" he asked suspiciously.

"When I took it in high school, eight hundred or so. I don't really remember."

He felt a bit relieved. Only average. He'd made a 1240 out of 1600, which he remembered because his grandparents had been so proud at the time. He'd thought they might suggest he have the number tattooed on his forehead.

"But when I took it again a few years ago, I did considerably better. I guess I didn't try very hard in high school."

"So that means you made a…"

"Fifteen-sixty. Do you want to know about my IQ, or have you been shocked enough for one evening?"

He'd better hear it all now. "Lay it on me."

"One thirty-seven."

"Oh, my God, I just made love to a genius."

"Not quite. One-forty is considered genius level. Still, pretty good for a dumb blonde, huh?"

"I have never called you a dumb blonde," he said hotly.

"You thought it. Every time you used a big word, you stopped and defined it for me. You patiently explained about the political history of Russia, even though I certainly didn't ask you to. Just this evening, you lectured me on classical music. You even wondered if I understood percentages when you were explaining about the effects of light filters."

Damn. He was guilty of all those things. "I over-explain everything to everybody," he said in his own defense. "Just ask Phyllis, or Kelly, or Kurt. I would never be attracted to a woman I didn't think was… bright."

"Bright," she said, her voice brittle. "A word normally reserved for children and dogs. Good night, Wyatt."

"But-" She wasn't going to listen to him, he decided. He couldn't stop her from walking out that door.

She did, without a backward glance.

Damn, he'd blown it this time. Okay, so his sweet little blond bundle of passion was a genius. He could see it. He could get used to it. Most of the women he'd dated over the years had been above-average intelligence. In fact, he was sure he would never be seriously attracted to a woman who couldn't conduct an intelligent conversation, or who never read anything more challenging than a tabloid newspaper.

He'd never, ever, thought Phoebe less than intelligent. He'd just assumed she wasn't well educated. And certainly he'd never guessed she was smarter than him.

Well, damn it, he thought, she didn't go out of her way to flaunt her braininess. She didn't use a lot of big words. She never joined in at the station when he and Phyllis got into philosophical arguments, which was frequently. And when he explained things to her, she didn't gently but firmly inform him that she already understood.

She played it just a little bit dumb, he concluded. Therefore, if he'd made a wrong assumption, he couldn't be blamed entirely for it.

He couldn't mount this ever-so-logical argument, however. Phoebe was gone, and likely not speaking to him in the near future.

Dejected, he went through the condo, picking up the trail of clothes he'd left. Maybe this was for the best. A few minutes ago he'd been ready to commit to a relationship with her. A real, monogamous, regular boyfriend-girlfriend kind of thing. Since it seemed they couldn't keep away from each other, he'd decided they might as well accept the bond growing between them instead of fighting it, which took more time and energy than giving in would have.

Phoebe would have no trouble keeping her hands off him now.

Phoebe crept into her apartment. All was dark and quiet. She released a sigh, relieved her mother hadn't awakened. Maybe she'd taken a sleeping pill.

Knowing she wouldn't be able to sleep herself, Phoebe made herself some hot tea and took it onto the balcony. The night air was crisp, but she didn't care. It felt good against her overheated skin. She sat down on a deck chair, set her tea on the little wrought-iron table and proceeded to sob quietly.

Phoebe had never thought of herself as an emotional person. But when she did give in to her feelings, she did it with gusto. She figured the best way to get through this crisis with Wyatt was to wallow in it, cry it out, let it get real messy, then move on.

So she sobbed. She cried, she snuffled, she hiccuped, and she cried some more. She used up an entire box of tissue. And just when she thought she was all cried out, the balcony door opened and Olga stepped outside. She wore a satin caftan, and her hair was wrapped in a sleep turban.

"Addy? I thought I heard something out here. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Mama," she answered, trying to sound normal. "I just couldn't sleep."

"Baloney. That boyfriend of yours has done something to make you cry. I always know when my baby is upset." Olga came and sat on the edge of Phoebe's lounger, moving Phoebe's legs aside to accommodate her. "Tell Mama what happened."

"Wyatt isn't my boyfriend."

"Of course he is. You're not telling me you stay out until all hours of the night with some casual date, are you?"

"How do you know what time I got in?"

"Mothers have super-trained ears. You'll learn all about it when you have your own babies."

Right now, babies seemed about as far from Phoebe's reality as a trip to Pluto. She wanted babies, she realized. Daisy's plight had gotten her thinking about children in the abstract, but now she realized she really did want one or two, or a dozen. She could even see their faces. They had dark, wavy hair and gray eyes.

"Did mean ol' Wyatt Madison hurt my baby?"

Phoebe nodded miserably. Olga would worm the truth out of her one way or another.

Abruptly Olga stood and grabbed both Phoebe's hands. "Stand up."

"What? Why?" But she did as her mother requested. Olga immediately sat down in the lounger herself, then pulled Phoebe into her lap. "Mama! I'm three inches taller than you and ten pounds heavier!"

"Fifteen. I've been on a diet. Sit in my lap like a good girl. We haven't been close in so long, not since you went away to L.A."

Since Olga bad her arms around Phoebe like vice clamps, she had no choice but to relax and give in to her mother's sudden spurt of maternal instinct. She laid her head on Olga's breast, just as she'd done when she was a child.

"What did he do?" Olga asked gently.

"He thinks I'm stupid."

"Nonsense. Who would think that?"

"Only everyone I meet. I got so used to projecting this ditzy blonde image when I was in Hollywood, and now, no matter what I do, people just assume I'm dumb. I thought Wyatt was different, but…"

"But what?"

"You should have seen his face when I told him I was studying biochemistry. I might as well have told him I'd joined a voodoo cult and wanted to sacrifice a chicken in his living room."

"Well, honey, I could have told you that. Men are intimidated by brainy women."

"I couldn't let him keep thinking I was hanging out at the university to pick up men."

"You could have told him you were studying home economics."

Phoebe sighed, and Olga stroked her hair. Olga just didn't get it.

"Of course, that's not what Jane Jasmine would recommend."

Phoebe sat up. "You've read the book?"

"A few chapters. I thought, if I'm going to meet the author on national television, I ought to read her book. Besides, it was just sitting on your bookshelf."

"What do you think so far?"

"Some of it makes sense, I guess. I know she's right about one thing."

"What's that?"

"No man's going to love you if you don't love yourself."

"I do love myself," Phoebe groused.

"Me, too," Olga said, without a lot of conviction. Phoebe suspected they shared the same problem, though. They might love themselves, but they were both very, very afraid the rest of the world wouldn't. So they hid. Olga played dumb and helpless; she played the vamp; she played the carefree widow. And Phoebe played to the blonde stereotype. She also played like she didn't want or need a man.

Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

Phoebe wasn't sure how she made it through work Monday. To be sure, Wyatt stayed out of her way. If he had anything to say to her, he sent Phyllis or one of the crew. But she was very, very aware of his whereabouts all day long. And every time she saw him, it felt like an ice pick in her heart.

By the time the show was over and she was packing up to leave, she felt sick to her stomach. And she never got sick.

She drove to the university but skipped her last two classes, almost unheard of for her. She would have to get a copy of the lecture notes from someone later. She didn't think she would be able to focus on anything tonight, anyway.

When she got home, she found Olga in the living room surrounded by several shopping bags from Phoenix's smarter department stores. She wore what had to be a new, fashionable shorts outfit and gold, high-heeled sandals.

"Addy! You're home early."

"Not feeling too good," she said, collapsing onto the couch.

"Well, of course not. You've just had a major tiff with your honey. But I've got the cure for that."

Oh, no. Phoebe just raised her eyebrows expectantly.

"First, I bought us both sexy new bathing suits." She whipped two scraps of shiny lamé out of one of the bags.

Phoebe laughed. She couldn't help it, in the face of Olga's relentless good cheer. "Mama, you must be kidding. I'm not wearing pink lamé."

"Then you can have the blue one." She tossed the incredibly brief suit onto Phoebe's lap. "We'll take a pitcher of margaritas down to the pool and catch a few rays. But first-"

She opened another bag and pulled out several bottles and tubes. "Beauty treatments all the way around. I had this dream once that I'd come to Phoenix, and you'd get me into that ritzy spa you worked at for free."

"Are you kidding? My former boss didn't give anyone a free ride." But Phoebe was drawn to the beauty products despite herself. Just researching her future competition, she told herself. She opened up a popular brand of "miraculous moisturizer" and sniffed it. "Nothing but lanolin, lecithin, and maybe a bit of corn oil."

Olga wrinkled her nose. "You're kidding. I paid seventeen dollars for that jar."

"I could whip it up in my kitchen for about ninety-eight cents."

Olga seemed fascinated. "What about this one?" She handed Phoebe a bottle of toner. Phoebe observed the color, then sniffed. "Mostly alcohol, probably some witch hazel, stearyl ether and glycerin. And food coloring."

Olga grinned. "You're really learning something at that school of yours. Do these products even work?"

"Yeah, sure. But this one will dry out your skin," she said, holding up the toner.

"Ewww. So what do you recommend?"

Phoebe grinned, suddenly feeling a bit better. If she'd known it would be this easy to impress her mother, she'd have done it a long time ago. "Let me show you."

Twenty minutes later they both had their faces covered with Phoebe's avocado, yogurt and honey mask, and Olga was doing Phoebe's nails in a hot pink. "So what are you going to do about your producer sweetie?" Olga asked.

Phoebe sighed. "Nothing."

"Nothing! Are you sure you're my daughter? This is war, Addy. You've got to go on the offensive. Your first mission is to hang out by the pool in that swimsuit and completely ignore him."

Phoebe knew her mother's advice flew in the face of everything Jane Jasmine recommended-honesty, maturity, and no game-playing. But she had to admit, a vengeful part of her wanted to make Wyatt suffer. Proving him wrong about his assumptions would be the best revenge. But since she couldn't run out and win a Nobel Prize, she had to resort to some other method of avenging her wounded pride.

Anyway, what had Jane Jasmine done for her lately? Hiding her light under a bushel had worked just fine. But the moment she was honest with Wyatt about her abilities, her intellect and her ambitions, all hell had broken loose.

"And what's my second mission?"

Olga smiled, cracking her drying mask. "Make him jealous."

"With whom?"

"Anybody who's younger, handsomer and richer than him."

Phoebe didn't know anyone handsomer or richer. Younger, she could manage.

Well, why shouldn't she? she reasoned. Her heart was broken. She was entitled to behave like an idiot for at least one afternoon.

Phoebe blew on her nails to dry them. "Okay, Mama, you've sold me. You make up the margaritas, while my nails dry. Then we'll hit the pool and have a party."

Olga grinned, causing a big hunk of dried green glop to fall into her lap. "You are my daughter."

Twenty minutes later, Phoebe and Olga were parked in loungers by the pool, an ice chest between them containing a blender full of frozen margaritas. Normally Phoebe didn't sun herself. There was nothing that would age skin more rapidly than too much sun. But she couldn't exactly swim laps in the ridiculous blue lamé suit. One false move and she could be arrested for indecent exposure.

A few others had joined them-Elise and James, Daisy, Frannie, and a young married couple from the second floor who'd just moved in.

"Phoebe, that's a… an interesting new suit you have there," Daisy said quietly.

"My mother's idea. Don't mind me, I've gone completely around the bend."

"Does this have something to do with Wyatt?" Daisy asked perceptively.

Phoebe felt herself blushing. "I'm through with Wyatt. He thinks I'm a bimbo."

"And you're trying to prove him right?" Daisy arched an eyebrow at her.

"I'm just having a little fun. Anyway, he'll never even see this," Phoebe said, indicating the brief suit. "He'll work until midnight, like always."

"Wrong. I saw his car in the lot when I came home a while ago."

Phoebe's stomach flipped. Well, she decided, he wouldn't have any reason to come down here or even look down here. His balcony was shrouded by the big palm trees, anyway.

"Addy." Olga thumped Phoebe on the arm. "I mean, Phoebe." Olga struggled to use Phoebe's newer name when they were around others, mostly to avoid confusion. She lowered her voice to a whisper. "There aren't any single guys here. How are you going to make Wyatt jealous?"

"Easy." She nodded toward the far end of the pool, where Jeff was cleaning out one of the pool skimmers. He wore short cutoff jeans and a tank shirt, emphasizing his tan and his biceps.

"Oh, he's a cute one," Olga said almost reverently. "But not exactly rich, I'm guessing."

"Young and cute is the best I can do on short notice."

"So what are you waiting for? Go get him."

She would, after she finished her margarita, Phoebe vowed silently. She must be crazy, contemplating an open flirtation with Jeff. She might just scare him to pieces. But she had no doubt the gossip would fly. Though Wyatt wouldn't witness her flirtation himself, someone would mention it to him. The Mesa Blue grapevine was healthy.

"Wait a minute," Olga said. "Who is that?" She surreptitiously nodded toward the edge of the courtyard. That's when Phoebe spotted Bill, patching a crack on a concrete walkway.

"That's Bill White, our super."

"Ooh, la-la, he's a handsome devil."

"Mama, no. Don't even think about it. He's spoken for."

"Oh, nuts. Married, huh?"

"Well, no…"

Olga's eyes lit up. "Engaged?"

"Not exactly."

"Then he's fair game."

Phoebe put a hand to her forehead. There was no stopping Olga when she was like this. She only hoped the fragile state of Bill and Frannie's new romance could withstand the onslaught.

Olga straightened her bathing suit and patted her pouf of short, white-blond hair, which was almost the same shade as Phoebe's.

Phoebe drained her drink, set down her plastic tumbler and decided to make her own move. She got up from her lounger and slunk over to where Jeff was working diligently.

"Hi, Jeff. Watcha doing?"

"Cleaning the-" He looked up, and his eyes bugged out. "Oh, hi, Phoebe. New suit?" His voice cracked slightly.

Phoebe sat down on the edge of the pool and dangled her feet in the water. "Yeah. Like it?"

"Oh, yeah."

"Want to join the party?"

"You want me to?" He looked at her, earnest and a little doubtful, and Phoebe realized she couldn't trifle with his affections. Jeff was a nice kid, and his flirtations seemed meaningless, but it wouldn't be fair to encourage him under false pretenses.

"Look, Jeff, it's like this. I'm trying to make a certain guy jealous."

"You mean Wyatt?"

How was it that everyone knew there was something between her and Wyatt? She thought they'd been rather discreet.

She saw no point in denying it. "Yes."

"You mean he did something stupid like blow you off?"

It hadn't happened quite that way, Phoebe recalled with a twinge of conscience. In fact, she was the one who'd walked out. "He treated me like I was dumb," she said. "You don't think I'm dumb, do you, Jeff?"

"Hell, no, Phoebe. You're a damn rocket scientist."

Phoebe recognized a calculated line when she heard one. He probably did think she was dumb. Everybody did. When one had more than a passing resemblance to Malibu Barbie, it just came with the territory.

"So is it okay if I flirt with you? With the firm understanding I don't mean anything by it?"

Jeff's eyes lit up. "Are you kidding? It'll be great for my reputation. There are a couple of girls around here I wouldn't mind making jealous." He nodded toward the shallow end of the pool, where two college-age women were lounging, trying to be aloof. Phoebe had invited them to join the party, but they'd declined.

"Then put that skimmer back together and come get a margarita."

He frowned. "You all didn't bring glass out here, did you?"

Phoebe laughed. The pool was Jeff's true mistress. "Nope. Just plastic." She took his hand and led him back to the crowd. "Mama, pour this hardworking man a-" She realized her mother's lounger was empty.

"Over there." Daisy indicated with a nod.

Phoebe looked. Olga was chatting with Bill, and she was in full-coquette mode. "Oh, shoot," Phoebe muttered. She glanced around for Frannie but didn't see her.

"Mama!" Phoebe called, trying to distract her. But Olga didn't budge. "Olga!" she called louder. Maybe her mother was trying to pretend she didn't have a daughter Phoebe's age. Olga glanced over.

"Come meet Jeff." She linked her arm playfully in Jeff's. He grinned and slid his arm around her, enjoying his role.

Olga waved and nodded, but she wasn't budging from Bill's side. Bill, for his part, was talking and gesturing and laughing, and when Olga touched him lightly on the arm, he leaned toward her.

Bad body language, Phoebe thought. Her only consolation was that Frannie wasn't around to witness Bill's behavior. She wondered where Frannie had gone.

She got Jeff a drink herself, handed it to him, then leaned up to whisper in his ear. "Laugh like I just said something hilarious."

He laughed, then whispered back, "Now you laugh."

She did-but before she could do more, Elise and Daisy appeared on either side of her, each grabbing an elbow. They practically dragged her away.

"What do you think you're doing?" Elise said.

"Are you crazy?" Daisy asked at the same time, then added, "This is so unlike you."

"You mean that I'm acting like a complete airhead?"

"No, that you're throwing yourself at Jeff," Elise said.

"Just living up to everyone's preconceived notions," Phoebe mumbled.

"What did that brute Wyatt say to you?" Daisy asked fiercely. "Just say the word, and I'll beat him up. "

The picture of petite, feminine Daisy going toe-to-toe with six-foot-one Wyatt made Phoebe smile. "Nothing much. He just laughed at my dreams and couldn't believe I was smart enough to be a scientist."

"The ogre," Elise muttered.

"Okay, so he's a miserable cockroach," Daisy said. "What are you trying to accomplish here?"

Phoebe sighed. "Maybe I'm just tired of fighting who and what I am. I'm sick of downplaying my looks and trying to get people to respect me for my brain."

Elise and Daisy looked at each other, obviously perplexed, then back at Phoebe. "Phoebe, dear," Elise said. "I don't know how to break this to you, but you've never tried to impress anyone with your brain. We know you're smart. But you do tend to downplay that side of yourself."

"Hah. You should have heard me at Wyatt's last night. I told him my GPA, my SAT scores, even my IQ. I didn't hide any smarts under any bushel. I did just what Jane Jasmine advises-and Wyatt laughed at me."

Elise and Phoebe looked at each other again.

"What kind of numbers are we talking about, here?" Daisy asked cautiously.

Phoebe realized she'd never told her best friends the whole truth. They knew she was going to school, they knew she was studying biochemistry. But that was the most she'd told them. So she spilled it. Everything. And when she was done, they just stared.

"You're a genius?" her friends said together.

"See?" Phoebe cried, thoroughly frustrated.

"See what? You probably scared the poor man to death," Elise said. "Yes, men like smart women. But Jane Jasmine aside, I can see how a man, any man, might be a little frightened by a woman with enough IQ for two people."

"You scared us," Daisy added. "And before you get all defensive, it's not just because you're blond and pretty. I'd be surprised if Jeff or Frannie or anyone I thought I knew suddenly revealed a hidden side of him-or herself."

"Wyatt was probably just surprised," Elise said. "He'll get used to it."

No, he won't, Phoebe thought, because she wasn't going to give him the chance. She'd been insane to allow anything to develop between them. He would never be able to think of her as anything but a former-actress-turned-makeup-artist.

"Maybe so," Phoebe said noncommittally. "But meanwhile, I'm having fun. Jeff and I are just kidding around. He thought having a TV star on his arm might impress those snotty coeds. So just let us have our fun, okay?"

Elise and Daisy sighed together. "Okay," Elise said, "but be careful. Don't shoot yourself in the foot."