ancestors did not live in male-female pair bonds but in separate male-female groups. But this has nothing to do with my—"
"So there was a lot of sneaking back and forth between these groups?" he said, interrupting her yet again. "Those caves must have been pretty cozy!"
Laughter from the studio audience. Ophelia kept herself in check. She had already come out onto the stage in a mild stew, having watched the host's opening monologue from a monitor in the famous Blue Room. "Tonight's guest, Dr. Ophelia Kaplan," he had said, "who has single-handedly turned Americans into Neanderthals."
The audience, getting the inside joke, had loved it and Ophelia had wanted to march out and drive straight home. But Ophelia never backed
down from a fight. Now she wished she had as she tried to clarify her theory to this cocky talk show host. "Prior to twenty thousand years ago, John, humans did not know that the male had anything to do with procreation. Birth was strictly the purview of females. Sexual intercourse was simply another bodily impulse and it was gratified randomly."
He turned to the audience. "Sounds like things haven't changed much in twenty thousand years."
More laughter, at the expense of Dr. Ophelia Kaplan who took her theories and scholarship very seriously. Why he was doing this to her she had no idea, since they were supposed to be discussing her book, not her controversial theories on human pair-bonding. But when the next guest came out, she realized what was going on, realized with burning cheeks that she had been duped, and worse, realized that she should have seen it coming.
But her mind was on other things.
The other guest was the thirty-something salsa singer who had just dumped husband number four and was already running around Hollywood with a new boyfriend (the fraternity brat famous for romantic comedy leads). The singer was known for her notorious entourage—she never traveled anywhere with less than eighty hangers-on. Ophelia had observed the phenomenon first hand in the Blue Room, where one make-up specialist had taken care of just the singer's eyebrows while another had applied the famous fox fur eyelashes.
After the applause for the singer-actress died down, the host leaned toward her and said, "Magdalena, I assume you've been following the show so far. What do you think of Dr. Kaplan's theory that it's in our genes to have sex with as many partners as we can."
"Well, John, I don't know about Dr. Kaplan, but I prefer to have sex outside my jeans."
After the laughter died down, the host said, "Speaking of jeans. Dr. Kaplan, I read somewhere that you don't believe in shoes. Is that right?"
"I was referring to high heels. They are unnatural. We evolved with a flat-footed gait. We force our bodies into contortions that were not meant to be."
"How about bras," he said, eyes going to the salsa singer's cleavage. "Are we meant to wear bras?"
" You might consider it," she said, making reference to the host's obesity.
"Where are you going?" David asked one hour later as Ophelia angrily threw clothes and toiletries into a suitcase. "Look, the show wasn't that bad. Everyone knows how John Simon twists everything around. I mean, this isn't like you, Ophelia."
She turned to him and he was shocked to see how white-faced she was. "That isn't it. It wasn't the show."
"Then what?"
It was the fact that I didn't see it coming. The attack on my theories. Twisting everything around. Ophelia was usually sharper than that. "Nothing. Never mind." She clicked the suitcase shut.
David put his hand on her arm. "Ophelia," he said gently. "I know you. Something's bothering you. It has been for a couple of weeks. I didn't want to pry. I've just been waiting for you to come to me about it."
She looked into David's dark eyes and recalled the day she had seduced him.
"So there was a lot of sneaking back and forth between these groups?" he said, interrupting her yet again. "Those caves must have been pretty cozy!"
Laughter from the studio audience. Ophelia kept herself in check. She had already come out onto the stage in a mild stew, having watched the host's opening monologue from a monitor in the famous Blue Room. "Tonight's guest, Dr. Ophelia Kaplan," he had said, "who has single-handedly turned Americans into Neanderthals."
The audience, getting the inside joke, had loved it and Ophelia had wanted to march out and drive straight home. But Ophelia never backed
down from a fight. Now she wished she had as she tried to clarify her theory to this cocky talk show host. "Prior to twenty thousand years ago, John, humans did not know that the male had anything to do with procreation. Birth was strictly the purview of females. Sexual intercourse was simply another bodily impulse and it was gratified randomly."
He turned to the audience. "Sounds like things haven't changed much in twenty thousand years."
More laughter, at the expense of Dr. Ophelia Kaplan who took her theories and scholarship very seriously. Why he was doing this to her she had no idea, since they were supposed to be discussing her book, not her controversial theories on human pair-bonding. But when the next guest came out, she realized what was going on, realized with burning cheeks that she had been duped, and worse, realized that she should have seen it coming.
But her mind was on other things.
The other guest was the thirty-something salsa singer who had just dumped husband number four and was already running around Hollywood with a new boyfriend (the fraternity brat famous for romantic comedy leads). The singer was known for her notorious entourage—she never traveled anywhere with less than eighty hangers-on. Ophelia had observed the phenomenon first hand in the Blue Room, where one make-up specialist had taken care of just the singer's eyebrows while another had applied the famous fox fur eyelashes.
After the applause for the singer-actress died down, the host leaned toward her and said, "Magdalena, I assume you've been following the show so far. What do you think of Dr. Kaplan's theory that it's in our genes to have sex with as many partners as we can."
"Well, John, I don't know about Dr. Kaplan, but I prefer to have sex outside my jeans."
After the laughter died down, the host said, "Speaking of jeans. Dr. Kaplan, I read somewhere that you don't believe in shoes. Is that right?"
"I was referring to high heels. They are unnatural. We evolved with a flat-footed gait. We force our bodies into contortions that were not meant to be."
"How about bras," he said, eyes going to the salsa singer's cleavage. "Are we meant to wear bras?"
" You might consider it," she said, making reference to the host's obesity.
"Where are you going?" David asked one hour later as Ophelia angrily threw clothes and toiletries into a suitcase. "Look, the show wasn't that bad. Everyone knows how John Simon twists everything around. I mean, this isn't like you, Ophelia."
She turned to him and he was shocked to see how white-faced she was. "That isn't it. It wasn't the show."
"Then what?"
It was the fact that I didn't see it coming. The attack on my theories. Twisting everything around. Ophelia was usually sharper than that. "Nothing. Never mind." She clicked the suitcase shut.
David put his hand on her arm. "Ophelia," he said gently. "I know you. Something's bothering you. It has been for a couple of weeks. I didn't want to pry. I've just been waiting for you to come to me about it."
She looked into David's dark eyes and recalled the day she had seduced him.
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