Her response seemed to surprise him. It certainly surprised her. He went into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a bottle and a glass. Apparently he found something he didn’t like in the glass because he grabbed a dish towel from the stack of clothes he’d dumped on the floor and used it to rub the inside. When he’d finished, he raised the glass to the light for inspection.
“Don’t worry about it. I prefer to drink my beer from the bottle.”
He nodded, then sat down across from her, leaning back and resting his ankle on his knee. He seemed completely relaxed, as well he should. He wasn’t the one who’d have to plead temporary insanity.
“It’s about what happened earlier,” she began, gripping the beer bottle with both hands. “I talked to Carrie and discovered you hadn’t exactly, uh, fallen in with her scheme. I’m afraid I assumed you had.”
“Don’t worry about it. It was a simple misunderstanding.”
“I know. Nevertheless…”
“I’ll place an ad in the paper for the apartment tomorrow. Would it be okay if I started showing it right away?”
So, he was going to make this difficult after all. “That’s another reason I’m here.”
“You’ve changed your mind about moving?” he asked conversationally, his gaze slipping from her to the television screen and back. Charlotte, however, wasn’t fooled. Like any other man, he would enjoy watching her squirm.
His eyes wandered back to the silent TV. He made a fist, then jerked his elbow back in a gesture of satisfaction. Obviously things were going well for whichever team he was rooting for—much better than they were for her.
“I’d prefer not to move…Carrie and I like living where we do. The area suits us and, well…to be honest, I spoke in anger.” This was all she was willing to give. If he was vindictive enough to demand she vacate the apartment, then so be it. She wasn’t going to beg.
“Fine, then.” He shrugged. “You’re a good tenant and I’d hate to lose you.” His gaze didn’t waver from the television.
“Who’s playing?”
He seemed surprised by her question, as though she should know something so elementary. “The Lakers and the Denver Nuggets.”
“Go ahead and turn up the sound if you want.”
He frowned. “You don’t mind?”
“Of course not. I interrupted your game. If I’d known you were watching it, I would’ve waited until it was over.” She took a swig of beer so he’d realize she intended to be on her way shortly.
He reached for the remote control with an eagerness he didn’t bother to disguise. He pushed the volume button, dropped his leg and scooted forward, immediately absorbed in the game.
Charlotte didn’t know that much about sports. Generally they bored her, but perhaps that was because she didn’t understand the rules. No one had ever taken the time to explain them to her. Football seemed absolutely senseless, and basketball hardly less so.
As far as she could tell, basketball involved a herd of impossibly tall men racing up and down a polished wooden floor, passing a ball back and forth until one of them forged ahead to the basket to try to score. It seemed that whenever the contest became interesting, the referees would blow their whistles and everything would come to a grinding halt. She couldn’t understand why the referees chose to wear zebra-striped shirts, either, since it wasn’t likely anyone would confuse the short, balding men with the players.
“Who’s winning?” That was innocuous enough, she decided. Such a simple question wouldn’t reveal the extent of her ignorance.
“For now, the Lakers. They’re up by four, but the lead’s been changing the entire game.”
“Oh.” She watched for several minutes, then asked what she considered to be another harmless question. “Why do some throws count for three points and others only two?”
The thoroughness of his response astonished her, prompting several more questions. By the time he’d answered them all, he must’ve been aware that she barely knew one end of the court from the other. But if he was shocked by her lack of knowledge, he didn’t let it show.
Soon Charlotte found herself actually enjoying the game. Now that it made a bit more sense, she began to understand why Jason liked it so much. The score was tied a minute before halftime and when the Lakers scored at the buzzer to take the lead, Charlotte leapt to her feet and cheered.
Jason raised his eyebrows at her display of enthusiasm, which made Charlotte all the more self-conscious. Slowly she lowered herself back into the chair. “Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Don’t be. I just didn’t expect you’d be the type to appreciate sports.”
“Generally I’m not. This is the first time I’ve had any idea what was going on.”
A patronizing smile flashed in and out of his eyes. But that one instant was enough. Charlotte recognized the look; she’d seen other men wear the same expression. Men seemed to assume that because they could change their own oil and hook up a TV by themselves, they were naturally superior to women. Charlotte had run into that attitude most of her life.
Since it was her duty to defend womankind, and because she’d been fortified with a beer, Charlotte jumped to her feet. “Don’t get haughty with me, Jason Manning!” she said.
Trying to recover her dignity, she sat back down, tucking one leg beneath her. “You think just because you happen to know a few sports rules, men are superior to women.”
“We are,” he returned wholeheartedly, without the least bit of reservation.
Charlotte laughed. “At least you’re honest. I’m sick of men who pay lip service to women, then go into the men’s room and snicker behind our backs.”
“I’m honest to a fault,” Jason agreed. “I’m willing to snicker right in front of you.”
“Somehow I don’t find that much of a compliment.”
“Hey, admit it. Men are superior, and if you haven’t owned up to it by now, you should. Don’t forget, God created us first.”
“Give me a break,” Charlotte said, rolling her eyes.
“All right. If you can, name one thing a woman does better than a man, other than having babies, which is a given.”
“I’ll improve on that. I’ll name…several.”
“Several? You won’t be able to come up with one.”
“Okay, then,” Charlotte said, accepting his challenge. “Women are more sensitive than men. Really,” she added when he snorted in response.
“Sure, you cry in movies. That negates your whole argument.”
“I’m not talking about crying.” She frowned at him. “I’m referring to feelings! Women aren’t afraid to face their feelings. Men are so terrified of emotion they hold it inside until they’re totally bent out of shape.”
Jason laughed, although grudgingly. “I suppose you think women are smarter than men, too.”
“No,” she said sincerely. “I’d say we’re about even in that department.”
“Go on,” he urged, as though he suspected she’d depleted her list.
“Another thing. Women are better at multitasking than men. We’re used to juggling all kinds of responsibilities.”
Jason snickered.
“I’m serious,” she returned. “If you think about it, you’ll realize it’s true. Women are expected to help support the family financially. Not only that, we’re also expected to assume the role of emotional caretaker. Responsibility for the family falls on the woman’s shoulders, not the man’s. Have you ever noticed how rarely men put the needs of others before their own?”
“‘Needs,’” Jason echoed. “Good grief, what’s that? Some pop-psych buzzword.”
Charlotte ignored him. “Frankly, I feel sorry for you guys. You’ve been allowed to remain children most of your lives. You’ve never been given the chance to grow up.”
Jason looked as though he wanted to argue with her, but couldn’t come up with an adequate rebuttal.
“Women handle pain better than men, too.” Charlotte was on a roll. “I’ve never seen a bigger baby in my life than a man who’s got a minor case of the flu. Most of them act as though we should call in the World Health Organization.”
“I suppose you’re going to drag the horrors of giving birth into this now—which, I’ll remind you, is completely unfair.”
“I don’t need to. Men have a hard time just dealing with a simple cold. If God had left procreation up to the male of the species, humanity would’ve died out with Adam.”
“That’s three,” Jason muttered ungraciously. “Three is not several. Three is a few.”
Charlotte shook her head. “It’s enough. You don’t have a leg to stand on, but you’re too proud to admit it, which is something else a woman’s more capable of doing.”
“What? Standing on one leg?”
“No, admitting she’s wrong. Don’t get me started on that one. It happens to be a personal peeve of mine.”
“You mean the others weren’t?”
“Not particularly. I was just listing a few of the more obvious facts, waiting for you to come up with even one logical defense—which you failed to do.”
He didn’t seem willing to agree, but it was apparent from the smile he ineffectively struggled to hide that he was aware of his dilemma. He had no option, no argument.
“You realize you’ve backed me into a corner, don’t you? I don’t have any choice but to agree with you, otherwise you’ll brand me as being smug and insensitive, unaware of my feelings and too childish to accept the truth.”
“I suppose you’re right.” If anyone was wearing a smug look, it was Charlotte. She felt triumphant, better than she had all day. All week. Come to think of it, she couldn’t remember when she’d enjoyed herself more.
Conceding defeat, Jason moved into the kitchen and returned with a second cold beer for each of them. Charlotte hesitated. She’d never intended to stay this long, and Carrie might be concerned. After all the lectures she’d delivered about being gone longer than expected, Charlotte felt she should go home now. But, to her amazement, she discovered she didn’t want to leave. Watching the rest of the Lakers game with Jason appealed to her a lot more.
“Thanks, anyway, but I should get back to Carrie,” she said.
Although she smiled brightly, some of her reluctance must have shown because Jason said, “So soon?”
“I stayed much longer than I’d planned to.”
“But the game’s only half over.”
“I know, but…”
“Why don’t you call her?” Jason suggested, pointing toward the counter where he kept his phone.
It seemed like a reasonable idea. Charlotte smiled and headed for the kitchen. She punched out her number and waited. Carrie answered on the third ring.
“Oh, hi, Mom,” she said in an unconcerned voice.