Sex on Flamingo Beach

by Marcia King-Gamble

  “Gimme a break. More like living the life, enjoying the sun, fun, women and beer.”

  “Not me. I’m too busy working.”

  The men began a friendly ribbing and then Rowan decided it was time to get down to business.

  “I need a favor from you,” he said.

  “Name it. It’s yours.”

  Rowan explained what he needed.

  “You say this is a beachfront community on its way up. If we’re talking fine young ‘thangs’ in thong bikinis then baby, I’m there.”

  “I’m talking about more exposure for your newest CD. I know just the right person to make sure you get air time. My friend D’dawg is an up-and-coming radio personality. He’s going to host this venture we just discussed. I can guarantee the hotel will treat you like the VIP you are.”

  “Sounds tempting. I’ll check my schedule and get back to you.”

  “How about you get back to Emilie Woodward, the director of leisure sales. She’s the one putting the event together.” Rowan gave Dwayne Emilie’s number before hanging up.

  He overheard Derek in the outer room talking to Blanca in stilted Spanish. Rowan wondered what they were yakking about. The only words he understood of the language he’d learned on the street, and they weren’t fit to be said in decent company.

  “Hey,” he said to Derek when he emerged from his office. “Have you been waiting long?”

  “Nah. I just got here. I was considering going to the Haul Out to shoot pool and wondered if you wanted to come along.”

  “I might. I keep meaning to grab a beer and check out the place. It draws a local crowd, right?”

  “Yes, a hardworking crowd. People who like to keep things real. It’s one of the few hangouts that rarely sees tourists.”

  “I’m in then. I could use a cold brew.”

  Blanca, who’d overheard them, added, “Mr. James, you sure you want to go to the Haul Out? You’re going to stick out like a sore thumb.”

  “Why, because I’m white?”

  “No, because you’re so not a local.”

  Rowan clutched his heart. “How can you say that? I’m not wearing a straw hat or shirts with hibiscuses all over them.” He stuck out a boot-clad foot and sniffed loudly. “I’m not wearing socks with sandals, either, and the last I looked I don’t have sunblock on my nose.”

  Blanca took one look at his expression and doubled over laughing. She was actually holding her sides.

  “You are too much.”

  “Come with us to the Haul Out,” Derek invited.

  “Thanks, but I gotta get home. I have a kid to pick up and my old man would kill me if I put so much as my big toe in that joint.”

  “Why?” Rowan asked, more curious than anything.

  “Because it’s what’s known as a meat locker.”

  They locked up and Blanca went on her way. The men headed in the opposite direction.

  “What’s there to know about Emilie Woodward?” Rowan asked as they were driving along.

  “Joya could give you the 411 better than I could. They’re quite good friends.”

  “So I’m supposed to call up your wife and ask? Like she would tell me a thing. Where’s Emilie from originally?”

  “New Jersey. She was living with some attorney for a while but the relationship ended badly.”

  “And that turned her off of men?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say that. She gets her share of male attention. She’s just particular.”

  “Particular in terms of preferring men of her own race.”

  “It just makes it easier all around I guess. Less problematic.”

  “And I thought you were my friend. Are both of her parents black?” Rowan asked. Derek’s glance shifted from the road momentarily. “I mean, she is very light skinned.”

  “We come in all shades and colors. Anyway that’s a question for Emilie. She’s the first to tell you what she is. And in case you didn’t know it, kids of white and black parents are usually considered black.”

  They’d reached the Haul Out. After circling the block a couple of times Derek gave up on finding a parking spot close by and drove down the street.

  Three blocks away they finally found a space.

  “This town’s going to need paid parking soon,” Rowan commented, looking at the bumper-to-bumper cars on either side of the road.

  “Don’t even go there. We’re already over committed. Between the mall and this new casino we can’t take on another project.”

  “If we don’t jump on it someone else will,” Rowan said sagely. “I’d be willing to broker a deal with Shore Construction to get it done.”

  Derek tilted his head, thinking. “Hmm. Preston’s got his hands full with all the opportunists buying the run-down old homes and wanting them restored. But he just might go for it.”

  Preston was Derek’s old employer. Derek, a trained engineer, had come back to Flamingo Beach wanting to learn the construction business from the bottom up. His goal had been to eventually own his own construction company. Preston Shore had hired him, but then Rowan had come along with an offer too good to refuse, even offering him a piece of his business.

  In front of the Haul Out, people spilled onto the sidewalk, smoking as if it was going out of style. Rowan, recognizing several of his construction team, nodded.

  “Hey, boss. Out for the evening?”

  “Good evening, sir.”

  “Nice weather, huh?”

  No one seemed especially surprised to see him there. He’d always had a reputation for getting down with the best of them.

  They pushed their way into the bar, sidestepping the crowd. Most of the folks Rowan had seen around town. Raised beer bottles acknowledged his presence, but other than that no one paid him much attention. He scanned the minuscule dance floor where several women were shaking their booties and some. The men, on the other hand, were eyeing them hungrily while hugging the wall.

  Rowan followed Derek up to the bar where they tried valiantly to catch the bartender’s eye. It took some doing but finally they got their beers on tap and by an unspoken agreement decided to hang out there.

  A hand tapped Rowan’s shoulder. He turned to see Sheena Grace, one of Chere’s friends, checking him out. Sheena was wearing one of those short skirts that you couldn’t sneeze in, and a cropped top that left several inches of tattooed skin bare. She also had on heels that could put a man’s eyes out.

  “It must be the big boy’s day to go slumming,” she said, her eyes traveling the length of Rowan, as if she had X-ray vision and knew what was under his clothing.

  He chugged his beer and slowly returned the stare. Sheena didn’t even squirm. She was one pushy woman and had a reputation for getting around.

  “I’m just winding down after the workday, like you are, Sheena.”

  Not getting the desired reaction, she turned to Derek. “I’m surprised your wife’s letting you out these days.”

  “Is there something you wanted?” Derek asked, slanting his eyes her way. “If not, you’re interrupting. There are plenty of other targets here.”

  She snorted. “Jeeze, can’t a person stop by to say hello without having some ulterior motive? First, Keith Lightfoot shows up here with his buddy and now you two. The Haul Out’s never seen this much big-boy action. Must be something going on.”

  “Keith’s here?” Rowan asked. He hadn’t seen anyone who even vaguely looked like the Native American.

  “He sure is. He’s over there trying to get people to sign up for jobs. He’s dropping bucks and buying drinks, recruiting people to help build the casino. He and that friend of his are making all kinds of promises. Heck, he even offered me a job but I turned him down flat. I’m not dirtying my hands. You know what acrylic nails cost these days?” Sheena stared at her pink nails that had glittery stuff on them.

  Derek and Rowan exchanged glances. “Maybe we should go over and find out what’s going on.”

  “I’ll take you over to where he is,” She
ena volunteered.

  She pushed her way through the crowd, stopping upon occasion to kiss someone she knew, which was almost everyone.

  Keith Lightfoot and Stephen Priddy were in the back room where the pool tables were. They were surrounded by a circle of people. Sheena, Rowan and Derek stood on the fringe of the crowd watching the action. Priddy was up front and center, happy to have the attention.

  “We’ll pay you twenty-five percent more than you’re making to come on with us. Where else would you get such an offer?” he said to the mostly male gathering.

  “What about benefits? My company offers me a 401(k), dental, medical, vision. That’s worth twenty-five percent to me.”

  Stephen glanced at Keith, who nodded his head slightly.

  “We’ll have to get back to you on that. We’ll discuss it with Landsdale International and come up with something.”

  “So what else are you offering?” a burly man in the front row yelled. “I hear you’re getting a bonus to bring the project in on time. What about us? Would we get a piece of that action or what?”

  When Stephen wasn’t able to think quickly enough, Keith bailed him out.

  The Native American councilman had a commanding presence and a way of speaking that caused people to sit up and listen. While his expression was often hard to read he came across as sincere. Rowan wished he could say the same of Stephen Priddy.

  “What we can guarantee is that you will have as much work as you want,” Keith said. “And for as long as you want it. We pay an attractive overtime rate and this casino is just one of many projects we plan for Flamingo Beach.”

  This was news to Rowan. He wondered what else Keith and Landsdale had up their sleeve. Now was not the time to ask those questions. That kind of conversation needed to happen in private. He’d agreed to take on this project because he’d wanted Lansdale and the Seminoles on his client list. But the way things were shaping up he was beginning to have regrets. Stephen Priddy he didn’t trust, and after what Solomon Rabinowitz had pulled with that press conference, he was wondering if the rumors about him were true. All in all he was not feeling good about these people.

  Rowan was used to controversy and neighbors kicking up a stink when they felt a residential area was turning commercial. But people speculating about their mayor taking kickbacks wasn’t something he dealt with often. As a developer he’d gained a reputation for being hard-nosed, but he’d also been respected and ethical. He had no intention of ruining the reputation he’d worked so hard to build nor did he plan on getting involved in a shady deal.

  “How do we get in touch with you if we’re interested in a job?” someone from the growing audience shouted. “Who do we see?”

  “We’ll have a trailer parked on site in the next day or two. There’ll be a big sign that says Help Wanted. All you have to do is go in and apply. Tell everyone you know we’re hiring. We’re an equal-opportunity employer so everyone gets a fair shot. Now, I’m here to play pool. Anyone care to join me?”

  Charismatic as he was, Keith soon had more than his share of takers. The tables soon filled up, and Priddy, sycophant that he was, walked around slapping backs and issuing empty promises. Spotting Rowan, he nodded but made no attempt to initiate conversation.

  “Might as well forget about pool now,” Rowan muttered. “No available tables.”

  He’d almost forgotten about Sheena when she pulled on the tail of his shirt.

  “Aren’t you at least going to say thank you and buy me a drink?” she asked, her fingers curling around his forearm.

  “What are you having?”

  “Something pretty with an umbrella in it,” she said, lowering her eyelashes and tightening her hold on his arm.

  Word must be out that he was into African-American women, not that he thought Sheena Grace was that discriminating. When she spotted opportunity she moved in.

  Rowan bought her a drink while an expressionless Derek stuck close to him. He was working on his second beer.

  “I hear you and Emilie Woodward have a thing going,” Sheena whispered in Rowan’s ear. “What would Emilie say if she knew I was here with you?”

  “We aren’t exactly together, Sheena.”

  “We could be.” Sheena made her point by running the tip of her killer shoe across his instep.

  He needed to stop this right now and let her down easily.

  “Baby, you need a man who can give you the attention you deserve. I work 24/7 and that doesn’t leave a lot of time for hanging out.”

  “But you’re making time for Emilie.”

  “I don’t have the time or inclination to be juggling women. You’d be shortchanged.”

  Sheena now wore the ugly expression of a woman dissed.

  “You know what I think?” she said, stabbing a fingernail with a rhinestone half moon in his face.

  “Actually I don’t care what…”

  Derek, noticing he was about to lose it, clamped a hand on his arm and swung him around.

  “We’re going to be late for dinner. Joya’s going to be one unhappy woman.”

  It took Rowan a few seconds to catch on.

  “Yes, I guess we’d better leave. Catch you some other time, Sheena.”

  Derek was already nudging him toward the exit.

  Chapter 8

  For the next couple of days Emilie mentally calculated the pros and cons of accepting Rowan’s invitation to Harbour Island. On the one hand she didn’t want to encourage him, and on the other, it might be nice to have a minivacation away from it all. She would just have to set the boundaries and make sure he knew there would be no meeting between the sheets this time around. Sex only confused the issue.

  If getting to know her was really what Rowan wanted then he should understand. At the end of it all she expected him to deliver Twenty Cents and Ice Cube, and that’s what her acceptance would hinge on.

  Zoe stuck her head into the open office door. “Ian Pendergrass’s assistant called while you were out.”

  “Please tell me it’s good news,’” Emilie said, brightening instantly and crossing her fingers behind her back. She was still hopeful that the Chronicle would commit to putting up their prospective employees at the resort. It would certainly help her with the occupancy level.

  “I’m sorry, I wish I had better news,” Zoe said, shaking her head. “She said the paper decided to go in an entirely different direction. They’re going to reimburse the candidates for whatever accommodations they choose. The paper has budget cuts and it’s too expensive to guarantee rooms.”

  Emilie whooshed out a mouthful of air and tossed her hair back. “That stinks. You think those budget cuts had anything to do with my not being receptive to Ian’s advances?”

  Zoe chuckled and glanced at the clock. “He’s an old goat for sure. You’d better get going. Some of your business development team’s waiting to see you. They’re in Salon A.”

  “Shoot, I forgot I called that meeting.”

  “Go, go, go.”

  Emilie grabbed the pad Zoe handed her and raced from the room. She was scheduled tight all day. In another hour she was meeting with the manager of community relations at the chamber of commerce.

  Emilie entered the room to a buzz of conversation. The noise immediately ceased when the sales force caught on she’d arrived. She guessed she’d been the topic of whatever was going on.

  “Good morning,” she said, smiling warmly. “Thanks for making it on such short notice.” She took a seat at the front of the room. “This is as good a time as any to update you on the initiatives the hotel is considering. You should be kept informed in case you get questions.”

  “We’ve heard the ads on the radio about the romance packages. Can you tell us about them?” one bright-eyed rep asked.

  “I sent you an e-mail recapping the details. What’s being offered are all-inclusive romantic weekend packages. Prices range from the affordable to anything goes. Couples can customize their package to include flowers, breakfast in bed, m
assages and water sports. They can even learn to ballroom dance if they want.”

  “That’s a great idea. Much better than those passion parties,” another rep interjected, a major smirk on her face.

  “The first of those passion parties is scheduled for this Friday evening. I’m told they’re major revenue generators. Is anyone interested in attending?”

  Several hands shot up. Emilie planned on being on the premises to observe the event, as well. Joya had mentioned this type of party attracted an entirely different crowd, mostly females and all big spenders.

  The same rep who’d spoken before rolled her eyes. “Let’s hope it’s a better crowd than that singles event. I was embarrassed to let anyone know I work for this outfit.”

  “We can’t afford another scandal,” someone else added.

  “Speaking of which, whatever happened to those people who were arrested? According to the television newscasters hundreds of people were carted off to jail.” This came from one of the men.

  “Hundreds? That’s a slight exaggeration.” Emilie tried to set the record straight. “A few guests were held overnight and then released after posting bail. The dealers were the ones in real trouble. But the good thing is that it’s no longer front-page news. Shall we get back on topic? How’s everyone doing with their sales goals?”

  A collective sigh resounded.

  “That doesn’t sound good. Let me tell you about an idea I came up with.”

  For the next fifteen minutes Emilie explained how she hoped to cash in on the growing popularity of the Saturday jam session. She wanted to turn it into a more organized and polished showcasing of talent similar to American Idol.

  “Moving the location is going to take forever to implement,” the same eye-rolling rep, whose name was Marnie, said. “We need something more immediate to jump-start business.”

  “What do you suggest?” Emilie threw right back at her.

  The rep’s response was another eye roll. Emilie made a mental note to have a private chat with the woman. She did not need an attitude problem, what she needed was an involved and supportive sales team with ideas.