Tame An Older Man

'Don't be flip. We have a terrible problem.'

He closed the door and turned on the light. 'What is it, Phoebe?' he asked, all seriousness.

'How could you possibly have promised my mother you'd find her a husband? That was completely irresponsible of you.'

'Huh?'

But she seemed not to hear him. Apparently she'd been seething with this dressing-down for some time, and she was going to have her say.

'You don't know my mother. She's practically planning the wedding already. Do you know how many times she's had her hopes dashed? Do you know how many men have used her, played her for a fool?'

He had no idea what Phoebe was talking about.

'It's only been in the past couple of years I've been able to convince her to stop throwing herself at every man she meets. She's finally gotten to the point where she's enjoying life, pursuing outside interests. She's actually very artistic. She's making these personalized wreaths. Anyway…'

Phoebe went on, but Wyatt had stopped at the word wreaths. Now, that rang a bell.

'Just one minute.' He walked into the living room, sat on the sofa and opened his briefcase on his lap. After shuffling a few papers while Phoebe looked on curiously, he found the one he wanted. 'Are you talking about Olga Phelps? With the German-Jersey accent?'

'Who else? And it's a Danish-Jersey accent. She's from Denmark.'

'I thought we were talking about your mother.'

'We are!' Phoebe said impatiently. 'You're not going to tell me you didn't know Olga was my mother, are you?'

'That's exactly what I'm telling you. She can't be, unless she gave birth to you when she was thirteen. And she couldn't have taught you how to talk.'

Phoebe sighed. 'She lied about her age. She's fifty. And I've had diction lessons, years of them.'

'Really? You had a Jersey accent?'

'Wanna make sometin' of it, Chicago boy?'

Wyatt struggled not to laugh. She sounded like Sylvester Stallone. But he had to get back to the subject at hand. He studied Olga Phelps's picture. She was an undeniably attractive woman, with blond hair the exact color of Phoebe's, though it was short and feathered around her face, then teased into a beehive almost as high as Frannie's. And she wore a lot of makeup. He knew Phoebe wore makeup, too, but she applied it so skillfully he never noticed it.

'Convinced?' Phoebe asked, perching on the arm of the sofa, far too close for his peace of mind.

'If you say she's your mother, I'm sure she is, but I had no way of knowing.'

'I can't believe she didn't mention it.'

'Not a whisper.'

'Well, I still don't approve of what you're doing. My mother doesn't need any pointers on husband-hunting. She's made a career out of it.'

'An unsuccessful career, apparently. That's why Jane picked her to be on the show.'

'Jane picked her?'

'I let Jane review all the people who sent in pictures and letters. She picked Olga first. She said if anyone needed her advice, it was your mother.' Wyatt pulled a notebook from his briefcase and flipped to the page of notes he'd taken during his last phone call with Jane Jasmine. 'She said Olga demonstrates classic self-esteem problems coupled with unreasonable expectations about romance and marriage.'

Phoebe was silent. Wyatt suspected she saw the truth in Jane's assessment.

He returned his attention to the photo and statement Olga Phelps had sent in. Even he could see she tried too hard to be glamorous and sexy when she didn't have to. She was a natural beauty, like her daughter.

He glanced at the handwritten statement. 'Hey, wait a minute. She says her only daughter's name is Adelaide.'

'Uh, that would be me. Adelaide Phelps. I changed my name when I moved to L.A. when I was eighteen.'

Wyatt let that bit of information sink in for a moment. Gorgeous, sophisticated Phoebe was really Adelaide?

Well, hell, what did that matter? The important thing was, she didn't sound so mad at him anymore. 'Whatever. I had no intention of hurting or ridiculing your mother in any way. That's not what 'Heads Up' is about. Jane thinks she can help Olga overcome the self-destructive patterns she's been stuck in and, um-' he read from his notes '-'put her on a different, healthier path that will lead to her ultimate self-satisfaction.' Once she's happy with herself, she has a far greater chance of finding a compatible life partner.'

Phoebe sighed. 'I'd like to believe that.'

'Wait 'til you meet some of the women who followed Jane's advice and found husbands. They're like religious converts. The woman walks on water as far as they're concerned. Wouldn't you like for your mother to find similar success?'

'Of course I would. I just don't want to see her disappointed again. I happen to know of one woman who has followed all the advice in 2001 Ways to Wed, and still has no husband to show for it.'

'Would she like to be on the show?' Wyatt asked eagerly. He liked dissenting viewpoints.

'No, I asked her already. The point is, Jane doesn't work miracles on everybody.'

'Phoebe, let it go. Your mother chose to be on the show. She's really excited. Maybe it'll change her life for the better.'

Phoebe was silent for a moment. 'I guess you're right. I shouldn't be interfering in my mother's plans. I'm sure she wouldn't approve, any more than I do when she meddles in my life.'

'Then you'll stop chewing on me?' Wyatt realized what he'd just said and suddenly wished Phoebe really would chew on him. Or nibble, rather. He had a whole closetful of reasons he and Phoebe shouldn't sleep together anymore, but right now he couldn't recall a single one, not when she was this close.

Decisively, he put everything back in his briefcase and closed it. If she didn't take that as a signal and move away from him, he wasn't going to be responsible for his actions.

He set the briefcase on the floor. Phoebe didn't budge.

'Was there anything else?' he asked almost crossly.

'I think I owe you an apology. I guess I overreacted.'

'You were concerned about your mother. Nothing wrong with that.'

'But I should have known you wouldn't do anything exploitive on the show. You're not like every other TV guy I've known. You have scruples, and you treat everyone with dignity. I've seen enough now to know how you operate.'

'You think I'm a smooth operator?' He looked up at her, seeing a warmth and openness that surprised him. All week they'd been friendly, but she'd maintained a certain reserve that had kept him at arm's length. That reserve didn't seem to be anywhere in evidence.

She smiled. 'I think you're flirting with me.'

'It's pretty damn hard not to.' His thinking about Phoebe had changed a lot over the past couple of weeks. How could he ever have suspected Phoebe saw him as a stepping-stone to stardom? He supposed he'd had so many negative experiences with grasping, teasing, insincere women, it had taken him a long time to recognize a real diamond when it fell in his lap.

And speaking of things falling into his lap… He put his arm around Phoebe's slender hips and gave the slightest of tugs, sending her sprawling right across his thighs.

'Wyatt!' she cried through her giggles.

He settled her against him more comfortably, and she didn't struggle. 'Don't tell me you didn't know what you were doing, sitting on the arm of the sofa like that.'

'Oh, sure, blame the victim.'

'I'm the victim here. Tempted beyond the bounds of human decency by a witch, a siren.'

She ruffled his hair, then stroked his face. 'Are you calling me a witch?'

'A Lorelei.' He wondered if she would get the reference. If she went to L.A. to be an actress when she was