The Rules

But Jenny's a great kid. She doesn't deserve anything but help and encouragement from me. Any plans I might have dreamed up need to come a very distant second.

I cast my mind through the list of Jenny's fellow grad students, not a very exciting lot, in my opinion. There were plenty of good researchers, but none promising as boyfriend material... let alone as a husband prospect. At least, that was my opinion but I knew I didn't get to make the call on this one.

"Is he one of the engineering grad students?" I asked. "If so, don't worry about it. We engineers are so involved in our work we're sometimes a little slow when it comes to women. We just don't notice what's right under our noses."

Jenny refused to look up. It almost sounded as if she whispered "No shit!" But that's impossible; Jenny never swears.

I tried again. "If you tell me who it is, I'll give him a hint."

Jenny shook her head and looked as if she might be about to break into tears.

"Will, just shut up," Maggie hissed at me.

I wanted to apologize to Jenny. She's the sweetest thing in the world and I would never deliberately hurt her. I had just wedged my size 12's into my mouth and I didn't know how to fix it. But this wasn't the time to try. Maggie looked positively dangerous.

Rich tried to shift the conversation safer grounds.

"You trying to replace Ann Landers or Dear Abby, Will?" he said. "It's not as if your love life is hyper-active these days, big guy!"

"How 'bout those Red Sox?" would probably have been safer as a conversational move. I could tell that this conversation needed some lightening up and I knew exactly how I could do it.

"Well, actually, I have a date on Friday night," I said. That got exactly the shocked and surprised expressions on their faces that I was looking for. Then, with what I considered perfect timing, I added, "Of course, it's with a lesbian. Does that count?"

Rich did a classic double take and Maggie, with mock sweetness inquired, "And with which lesbian do you have a date next Friday?"

"With Marsha Kroeger," I replied.

Maggie and Rich, looked at each other for a long moment and then, with Dancing with the Stars -- one of the good pairs -- level precision, turned back to me. They've been practising that kind of manoeuvre for almost forty years and execute it flawlessly.

"It's no big deal," I assured them. "She said she wants to thank me for my contributions to the Sexual Harassment Policy Committee. Besides, she is being head-hunted by a theological school on the East Bay and she wants my opinion on the pros and cons of moving to California.

"She invited you?" asked Maggie.

"Yep"

"See???" she said, almost fiercely, to Jenny.

I got the point of that. Maggie feels that Jenny needs to be more aggressive with her young man.

"But what makes you think she's a lesbian?" inquired Rich.

"Well, she is," I replied.

Another of those old married couple looks between the two of them...

"Will, sweetie, your 'what do women think and feel' radar is well past its scheduled service date. I wouldn't depend on it right now." That was Maggie, of course.

"But she is..."

A raised eyebrow from Maggie and a cough from Rich.

"She hangs around after the committee with what's her name, the head of the Locksmith LGBT society." None of us could remember her name but we all were able to picture her from her frequent appearances on the local news. There's no doubt about her preferences.

"That doesn't mean Marsha's gay too." Maggie wasn't giving up.

"But Marsha herself teaches a course called "Queer Theology and Other Theologies of Protest" in the Divinity School. I checked in the Academic Catalogue," I added.

Now Rich chimed in, "You know Irv Epstein over in the History Department? He teaches a course on Germany in the Thirties and Hitler's Rise to Power. I'm pretty sure he isn't a Nazi."

"The yarmulke is a giveaway on that one. Very few Nazis wear yarmulkes," added Maggie.

"I don't know about that. I hear a yarmulke was standard issue headgear for the SS," chipped in Jenny. She must still be irritated that I asked about her young man.

"Honestly, you need to trust me on this," I told them. "She's not interested in me that way. My radar may be rusty but it's not that badly broken."

I bent over to tie a shoelace that had come undone.

"Wanna bet?" came in a whisper from the other side of the room. I don't know which of Rich or Maggie said it. It couldn't have come from Jenny, even if she was still ticked at me about the young man thing.

"I wasn't going to say this but Marsha pretty clearly let us know what she things about straight sex at one meeting."

"What did she say?"

"She declared that all heterosexual relationships are inherently unequal in power and are marred by that reality."

Maggie drew her breath through her teeth with the sound that is usually represented as "Tchah!" in British novels.

"I have to admit I lost my temper a bit at that point and told her I knew from experience that was nonsense."

"Good for you," exclaimed Maggie and Rich nodded heartfelt approval.

"That's why I wanted you on the committee, for a good dose of common sense every now and then," said Rich, congratulating himself on his acumen.

"What did she say then?" asked Jenny.

"She seemed to remember that I had been married, apologized and told me that she didn't mean to say anything unkind about my relationship." I paused for a moment and then continued.

"I can't imagine a woman who is not a lesbian saying something like that."

"Or maybe a woman who never..." Maggie said. Then she shrugged her shoulders and her voice trailed away.

There didn't seem much else to say on the subject and conversation on everything else died away quickly. I guess it was that time of the evening. Maggie and Rich decided to clear away the glasses and cups. Jenny rose to her feet to help. "I can get the rest," she assured me. "You just relax for a minute." And she headed off with a two hands load of dirty dishes.

I could hear Maggie and Rich whispering to one another in the kitchen, though I couldn't make out the subject of conversation. I guessed it was my upcoming date. That was pretty much confirmed when I overheard a few words. "Don't worry about it, they have almost nothing in common." whispered Maggie. Rich obviously agreed because he responded to her with a firm "Yeah." It bothers me a bit that the two of them were having a conversation about me behind my back.

The following Saturday was a home game for Locksmith. Rich and I have shared two pair of season tickets for years. It works out beautifully, except when Nassau comes to town. But today we were playing those arrogant bastards from Cambridge. We both hate them equally so everything would be fine between us. Maggie had persuaded me not to give up my share of the tickets when Robin died and I normally take one of my grad students to the games. Last season I had mostly invited Jenny and, though she knows almost nothing about football, she always seems happy to accept.

I wondered if I had offended her so badly over that question about her young man that she would feel uncomfortable in accepting this time. Or maybe she would want to go to the game with her young man. Now that thought made me queasy for some reason. But I knew I had to try to make things right.

When she dropped by my office on Wednesday after work, I steeled myself to ask as casually as I could, "Jenny, are we on for the game on Saturday?"

"You bet! I'd love to go" she responded with an enormous smile. She almost seemed relieved that I had asked. Whatever she might be feeling, I knew I was the one who was relieved big time that she didn't hold my outbreak of foot in mouth disease against me.

I phoned Maggie that night to tell her that Jenny would be accompanying me and told her how anxious I had been about whether she would accept.

"Don't worry about it. You're forgiven," she replied. "You'll always be forgiven." That was a strange remark, I thought.

Maggie invariably holds a party after The Game if the weather is good. That Saturday had been one of those glorious, cool but crystal clear New England fall days -- classic football weather. Sometimes Maggie's post-game party is a big affair with a cast of thousands but today it was only the four of us. After toasting the Blues' come from behind win, Rich turned to me and asked "So, how was the date last night?"

I groaned, "I don't want to even talk about."

"That bad?" asked Maggie. But she was smirking, no other word for it. Women are supposed to be empathetic ... obviously not this time!

"Rich," I said, "I was going to tell you this on Monday. But I don't have any secrets from you all."

I paused. "You may be getting a sexual harassment complaint against me."

"What?!?!" exclaimed all three in unison.

"For God's sake, what did you do, Will?" asked Maggie.

"I don't really know for sure. We had what I thought was a pleasant dinner at the Puritan's Rest, talking mostly about California. I had driven the two of us to the restaurant, at Marsha's suggestion, so afterwards I drove her back to her condo. She invited me in for coffee and I thought I should accept."

Rich shifted his feet uncomfortably. "Should we be talking about this in front of Jenny?"

"You can't stop now," Jenny replied with surprising firmness. "And besides, whatever happened or happens, I know Will is a man of honor and I would trust him with my... anything." Maggie put one arm around her waist and gave her a supportive squeeze.

"Thanks, Jenny. You don't know how much that means to me." I stared into her eyes and drew from her steady gaze the first comfort I had felt since Friday night. I hadn't realized how much her good opinion of me matters.

She has lovely eyes.

"Ahem," said Maggie.

"Oh, where was I. Oh yeah, she invited me into her condo. There was a couch, an easy chair and a hard ladderback chair. She obviously hadn't been planning to invite me back because there were books on the hard chair. I would have taken the easy chair but Marsha had thrown our coats over it. So honestly, there was no place to sit except the couch.

"Right, no planning there!" commented Maggie. I was glad she saw it the same way I did.

"I sat right at the end of the couch, I swear, to leave Marsha lots of room. Marsha prepared the coffee, brought it out on one of those oriental inlaid trays, set it on the coffee table and sat down in the middle of the couch right next to me. Honestly! She chose the seat. I didn't have anything to do with it."

"I believe you." Jenny assured me, as she rose from her seat next to Maggie, moved next to me and took my hand.

"Then it happened..."

"What happened?" said Rich.

"She accused me of sexual harassment."

Yet another of those old married couple looks at one another. "I can't believe it," said Rich, "Not after that setup."

I had no idea what he meant by setup and I would have asked him to explain but Maggie wanted more.

"Will, what did she actually say to you?"

"Marsha turned to me and said, 'I suppose you're going to do your great, big heterosexual man thing and harass me into having sex with you.' I'm pretty sure those were the words or something very like them."

Maggie snorted. "So, what did you say?"

"I stood up and apologized, of course."

"You apologized???"

"Yes, I told her I regretted deeply causing her any anxiety and that it was never my intention to cause her any discomfort. I apologized for inadvertently making her fear that I was about to harass her."

"What did she say then?"

"Nothing. She looked so shocked that she didn't say a word. So I knew that I needed to explain a bit more."

"Dear God, no!" exclaimed Rich.

"Yes, I told her I wanted her to know I respected her orientation and would never insult her by coming on to her."

Rich and Maggie burst out laughing, if you can believe it. Jenny just stroked my hand and whispered, "It's all right. It's all right."

"I picked up my coat and let myself out. Marsha didn't say a thing but I'm afraid you may get a complaint on Monday morning."

"Will," said the Dean solemnly, "I am pretty damn sure I won't be getting a complaint."

That was a relief.

"If I liked Marsha Kroeger better, I'd almost feel sorry for her," declared Maggie. She paused and then added, "Will, you know that radar we were talking about last week? It's time for some repairs.""

Well, I guess that may be true and it certainly relieved me that they were so sure there wouldn't be a sexual harassment complaint.

Jenny just continued to squeeze my hand and repeat, "It's all right. It's all right." It felt good.

Then Jenny released my hand and Maggie whispered in her ear. But I caught what she said: "A two by four, you'll need a two by four, I tell you."

Sometimes I think I don't get everything that's going on with women.

____________________

The following week was Halloween. I stood at the door watching the last of the costumed kids trick or treat their way back down the gravel drive. I was outfitted in a blue sweatshirt with "Locksmith Lacrosse: Speak Softly and Carry a Big Stick," emblazoned across the front. A much battered goalie's face mask, lent because it was so decrepit as to be beyond use even in practices, was perched on my head and I was still holding a wide-mouthed lacrosse goalie's stick, the pocket lined with a handkerchief to keep the chocolate bars that filled it from slipping through the netting.

A beat up Toyota Corolla that I knew well pulled up to the house and out stepped... I swear to you, Marilyn Monroe, platinum blonde, ermine wrap, dangling earrings, ruby lipstick, beauty mark on the left cheek, white gloves, high pumps, spangled gown, everything. Or maybe it was Lady Gaga. This generation doesn't remember Marilyn.

Marilyn or Lady Gaga, or whoever it was, smiled and held out her hands to me. I grasped her hands in mine and she smiled back at me even more broadly. It was a lovely smile, enchanting even, but I had to chuckle. Staring at me from under the wig were a pair of dark and very oriental eyes. They were lovely.

Marilyn giggled. Laughter is as catching as the common cold and I matched her giggle with a great burst of belly laughter.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"Of course, Miss Monroe," I replied, making my selection of blonde possibilities. Lifting her left hand, I tucked it into the crook of my right elbow and formally conducted the goddess into the living room. I lifted the wrap from her shoulders and laid it on, well, the easy chair. She was dressed in a tight form-fitting gown, with a V neckline. Her breasts, while not the rocket nose cones of the early sixties, were sharply outlined beneath the spangled cloth.

She turned to me, pushed me with two hands gently in the chest and said, "Sit down!"

I fell back onto the couch.

In a breathy voice, only very slightly similar to the old black and white clip still familiar from the Internet, she began to sing.

"Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday, dear Professor.

Happy Birthday to you."

Definitely Marilyn! It wasn't anywhere near my birthday, but that didn't matter. I loved this

Then, she threw her arms around my neck, wiggled that luscious tush in the tight gown and planted it firmly in my lap. I reached around her waist and held her very lightly, lest I spoil the mood.

She began to sing again, from very close indeed.

"Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday to you,

Happy Birthday, man I love.

Happy Birthday to you."

I gaped.

Then the beauty in my lap wiggled the tush again and shook it sideways in a motion like that of a previous blonde goddess, "Is that a lacrosse stick in your lap or are you just glad to see me?"

I started to laugh again and then the guffaw caught in my throat as I realized what she had said and why. Shocked, I realized that I truly was glad to see her. It seemed that I was indeed carrying a big stick.

"Wha... What is this?" I gasped

Jenny stared into my eyes and with deadpan seriousness replied, "My guess is that it's your male organ, erect."

I blushed and tried to shift in my seat to distance the hard rod from all temptation. Jenny clung to my neck and refused to budge.

"No, I mean, what you're doing."

"This, sweetie," she said, "is a two by four."

Two by four was quickly becoming an accurate description of the problem in my lap, in hardness, if not, alas, in size. I am pretty much average in that department.

"Sit there," she said, "and don't you dare move!"

Miss Monroe stood in front of me and shimmied, as if to unheard music.

"I ought to have brought a boom box," she said.

Then, still shimmying, she pulled off her left glove, then her right, all very slowly.

My mouth grew dry. This couldn't be happening.

It was.

Jenny reached behind her neck and undid what was obviously a hook at the top of a zipper. Turning half towards me, slowly, slowly, teasingly slowly she lowered the zipper to the base of her spine. A thin maroon bra strap crossed her back and the top of matching panties peeked into view.

Holding the bodice of the gown over her breasts, she turned back to me. Then suddenly she raised both arms over her head and the gown tumbled to the still snug waist. Her soft breasts were supported by the half cups of the maroon bra, the cleavage accented by delicate pink lace.

A bump and a grind, hands to the waist and the gown slipped lower, slowly, ever so teasingly slowly, over the hips, was held for an enticing moment by the flare of the hips, the edge of the mound of delight only hinted at as yet. Then suddenly the fingers released their grip, first on the right, then on the left and the gown pooled at her feet. She stepped from between its folds, kicked off a pump, then the other, and stepped towards me, feet bare.

Marilyn ran her hands enticingly from her waist to the partially covered, partially revealed breasts, grasped then in her hands and caressed them. Are women born with a gene that teaches them how to entice a man? How did she learn this?

She lifted the left tit and extended her tongue between her ruby lips, as if to lick the still hidden nipple. The bra cup kept the tit from rising far enough for that to happen. She raised her eyebrow at me, winked, as if to say, "This isn't working. Too much clothing!"

It was a front opening bra and she played with the clasp. Then, with a quick movement of the fingers, it was loose. She held the half cups to her breasts. Then, suddenly, the bra was gone.

She stood before me, clad only in panties and platinum wig, the breasts tipped by light brown nipples. She touched the waistband of the skimpy lace panties and paused.

She looked me in the eyes, "Before I... finish, this isn't Marilyn Monroe, this isn't Mae West. This is no longer a costume and I'm not acting. This is Jenny and I'm with the wonderful, frustrating, absolutely clueless man I love."

Instead of lowering the panties, she reached up to the wig, felt swiftly under the platinum tresses, removed three pins and cast aside the wig. Her raven hair was piled atop her lovely head, revealing the delicate structure of her neck. Strands of fine hair had escaped the pins and fell in two loose tufts on either side of the nape of that sweet neck. God, I wanted to kiss it!

She, Jenny, released two more pins, shook her head and her lustrous raven tresses fell to conceal the neck I longed to nibble. The tease was finished; the dance was done. She hooked her thumbs into the waist band of her panties, and pulled them down past her thighs. They simply tumbled to the floor and she stepped out of them.

"Will, this is me, as I am. I am hiding nothing, including the fact that I love you... and have for a long time."