by Carol Caiton
The board had listened. They'd looked into it and agreed to every request, but with conditions. Because of the expense of building and operating such a facility, it stood to reason that membership rates would reflect that cost. Or a competitive rate could be charged at the time of service. The women had agreed. The spa was now scheduled to open its doors within a couple of months, and nearly all the women who had signed the petition had already paid to add the Moon Orchid Spa services to their membership packages.
Simon and the others had learned from that experience. RUSH had been designed as a men's club. It's male clients joined for the prospect of frequent and varied sex but there were other venues for them to explore, other reasons to linger and spend money. They might have a drink at The Den, work out at the gym, or have a meal at the food court and ogle the passing women from behind reflective sunglasses. They could take a class, check out the nightclubs, or size up their chances at Threshold.
There were few activities, however, aimed at attracting the interest of RUSH's female clients. The number of classes offered were limited, and the fitness center, though luxuriously appointed, had been overcrowded on weekends.
The shareholders saw their mistake. They needed RUSH's women to linger. To be visible. They needed more classes aimed toward feminine interests, and activities that would keep them on property.
Simon and the others met with three separate consultants and hired the third on retainer. After a lengthy meeting to assess their needs and offer recommendations, the woman slid a copy of Cosmopolitan magazine onto the conference table and said they'd find detailed answers to many of their questions within its pages and might come up with further ideas to explore.
They did. Women liked to shop. They liked clothing, jewelry, cosmetics, beauty tips, lingerie, information about health, fitness, and the male of the species. And . . . they wanted to look and feel sexy.
RUSH could work with that. Their consultant-on-retainer researched a variety of avenues that integrated those interests with the image RUSH wanted to project. Then Elliott worked inhuman hours laying out and modifying a set of blueprints for a shopping mall that would incorporate several specialty shops and salons unlike any to be found at another mall anywhere.
Meanwhile, the board scrambled to implement as many changes as possible within the current constraints, searching the globe for experts and adding a variety of classes to the training center roster. They equipped a lab at Medical Services and brought in the necessary personnel to provide biochemical testing for individually tailored nutrition plans. They restructured Magnolias to focus on filling pre-scribed menus. They invested enormous sums of money on a gamble, fighting to bring RUSH to life. They brain-stormed, they debated, they argued, and finally, reluctantly, they shifted the concept of RUSH from a club for men to one that focused strongly on the interests of women.
The difference proved astonishing. Statistics showed women in the lead, paying for lab tests that measured vitamins, minerals, and amino acids at the cellular level. They began coming to RUSH for breakfast before work, leaving with a to-go lunch that subscribed to their individual diet plans, and often returned for dinner.
And never say men aren't observant. By transforming RUSH into a retreat that women could enjoy, it appeared to all as though its female membership underwent a substantial increase. Suddenly they conversed in small groups outside Medical Services or compared notes at the training center, and a constant flow of female traffic moved through the food court.
This, of course, drew the attention of RUSH's male clients. The food court did a booming business, evening class attendance quadrupled, and men and women alike could be seen strolling the grounds. It was good for morale. It was good for business. And the board of directors celebrated with back slaps and champagne in a private room at The Den.
Now that Hannah Breckenridge had more than doubled their number of female new-hires with her proposal to offer part-time employment instead of eight-hour daytime positions, Simon wasn't the only one anticipating next Thursday's board meeting. All of them were eager to scan the contents of the suggestion boxes now in place throughout the property.
He thought about that as he walked the outer perimeter of the Moon Orchid Spa. He picked his way through the shrubbery, noted the arrangement of new rendezvous alcoves, and was once again impressed by Elliott's talent. They'd all reviewed the changes beforehand, but it was rewarding to see and walk through the reality of his artist renderings.
Brushing off his pants, he made his way over to the mall and once again saw the ideas they'd discussed come to life. RUSH was still in its infancy, but it was expanding its horizons and he sometimes marveled that seven men from varying backgrounds were able to connect on so many levels, envision future projects with the same goals in mind, and agree on most decisions.
Approaching the Carnelian Jade, he wasn't surprised to see several couples turning onto that path. It might be early, but it was Saturday. What better way to start the weekend than with sex?
Reaching the training center, he turned off the main walkway. As was the case with each of RUSH's venues, the offshooting path was somewhat narrower, more intimate, the jungle and its exotic foliage thicker and close. The fragrance of damp earth and tropical flowers grew more noticeable. Even the bird calls seemed more personal. RUSH had been built with a mind to engage all the senses wherever possible, enveloping both the physical being and the psyche in a web of seduction.
The wrought-iron gates stood wide at the entrance to the training center and the inner doors slid apart as Simon approached. The on-duty hostess looked his way as he entered the lobby, a ready smile on her face that turned to surprise when she recognized him.
"Simon. Good morning."
The tag over her left breast told him her name. "Good morning Annie."
"How can I help you?"
"Which classes are in session right now?"
"Male or female?"
"Male."
"Four started twenty minutes ago. Orientation in Room 203, Pleasure Points in—"
"Who's giving the orientation lecture?"
"Clay."
"Thanks."
He took the stairs instead of the elevator and found the second story corridor deserted. A few steps brought him to Room 203 and he opened the door, catching the lecture at midsentence.
". . . because she may have a link with you, but she has several other options." The instructor glanced at Simon, then continued. "There are men in line behind you and she's aware of that."
A couple of grunts sounded from the front of the room.
"But the flip side of that plays in your favor," Clay went on. "She knows the computer has paired her with someone whose personality and preferences are more compatible with hers than those of the next man. It may be only a half point difference, but she doesn't know that."
Simon took a seat at the back of the room and listened.
"Part of her membership package will include random reminders telling her she's free to upgrade to a higher E-level at any time. She can request an extension if she wants. Or she can apply for a different link when your three-month interlude ends. So make the effort. Go the extra mile and appreciate her. —Key word there." He wrote it on the whiteboard at the front of the room. "Appreciate her."
It was the second of three lectures delivered to every man who joined RUSH, employees and civilian clients alike, encompassing every entertainment level. The class was held first thing in the morning and at two in the afternoon, and was on the schedule every Saturday.
Simon counted nine in attendance. Statistically he knew the afternoon class would exceed that number by another seven-to-twelve. All men. By contrast, the women's orientation class often consisted of a single student—a grim example of the number of male applicants as opposed to female.
Hannah Breckenridge and the new-hires came to mind again. To be eligible for a job, each applicant had to pass all the markers for membership. One of those markers required him or her to posses
s, or be in the process or acquiring, a higher education. College, trade school, or a professional apprenticeship met that requirement. But that very condition made the task of filling service positions a challenge and some, such as Housekeeping, had to be contracted out. Professionals sought full-time employment in their respective fields. They had living expenses and student loans to pay off. Not only was it impossible to support oneself on part-time wages, but a paralegal hadn't gone to college in order to wait tables afterward. And a radiologist didn't want to be a hostess or act as a venue attendant. Hannah's suggestion to fill those positions with college students would make the hiring process easier. But in the beginning those hurdles had been further complicated by the need to maintain a low profile. Public outcry had prompted a stream of protest marches before the gates had even opened for business. It had taken several weeks to fill the positions necessary for operation and the board had been forced to offer employment incentives. Unprecedented starting wages, excellent benefits, and free membership at E-level 1 were stinging concessions for any company in its infancy.
That wasn't the case today, though the concessions remained in place. It would be some time yet before Simon recovered his investment, but RUSH was showing a profit. Almost overnight it had acquired a reputation, celebrated by some, notorious according to others, and admittedly, public outcry was an ongoing irritation. But the gates were open and they weren't going to close.
At the front of the classroom Clay leaned against the edge of his desk. "The female population at RUSH is required to attend classes, as well," he told the men. "Believe me, our women are worth every minute you spend in the classroom and I guarantee you'll want to look over the roster and sign up for other classes. The more knowledge you have, the more likely you are to keep your link intrigued."
"But what if the girl—"
"Woman," Clay interrupted. "No matter how old she is or how young she looks, the female clients at RUSH should be referred to as women."
"Is there a legal reason for that?"
"No. It's semantics. We have no boys or girls at RUSH. We have men and women."
A movement off to the left caught Simon's attention. Glancing in that direction, it surprised him to see Mason entering the room. Dressed in jeans and a dark T-shirt, it was possible he'd come to RUSH for an encounter, but his expression said otherwise. And if Simon's guess was on target, Mason scheduled his encounters to take place during evening hours; he preferred to spend weekends with his five-year-old son. Thus, Simon braced for what was to come and pushed up out of his seat.
They took the stairs in silence, then passed through the lobby and outside. When they reached the main walkway Simon asked, "What happened?"
"Drugs."
"On property?"
Mason nodded. "One of the servers at Magnolias spotted a white substance in a plastic bag when her customer dug in his pocket for some change for a newspaper. She pretended she hadn't noticed, then went back to the kitchen and alerted Security."
"Smart thinking. Is she okay?"
"Shaken, but okay. The police took him off to 33rd Street a few minutes ago."
"Who phoned you?"
"Security. I told the guard on duty to call 911. Then I got my ass out of bed so the cops wouldn't harass the server."
"Did they try?"
"Surprisingly, no. But it's aggravating as hell when they come out here."
Simon agreed. Law enforcement had only been summoned to RUSH on two other occasions. But their first visit had set the tone for future relations when an officer had addressed one of RUSH's female employees with undertones of vulgarity.
"Who was the customer?" Simon asked. "Civilian or employee?"
"Civilian. Gary Rundle. He's been with us eight months."
"Not any longer."
"No. Not any longer."
Mason nodded a greeting to a young lady he apparently recognized. "So," he said, "have you met Nina Millering yet?"
"Yes." Simon looked off into the jungle. "She's not too impressed with me at the moment."
Mason chuckled. "Not happy with the idea of a monogamous link?"
Simon harrumphed. "I haven't told her about the link yet. But I will. She's at Medical Services right now having a chip implanted. How about you?" he asked, changing the subject. "Planning to take Joshua out on the lake today?"
"No, not today. We've been invited to meet my brother's future in-laws. They're planning a barbeque this afternoon, so I'll be taking him over there."
"Sounds interesting."
Mason laughed.
"All right. It sounds like an unfortunate way to spend your day off. Then again, maybe the fiancé has a sister."
"As a matter of fact, she has an identical twin."
"Really. An identical twin. What's she like?"
"I don't know. I've never met her."
"I meant the fiancé."
"Right." Mason smiled. "Her name is Jill. Jill Oslund. She's smart, fun to be around, and borderline beautiful."
"Well, hell, Mason."
"Don't even think it. I'm not going to make a play for her sister."
Simon laughed. "Sounds too good to be true anyway. Does Jill know about your connection to RUSH?"
"Luke hasn't told her yet. She only knows I'm an attorney."
They approached the privacy wall that enclosed the R-link complex. Inside were four two-story apartment buildings, two in-ground swimming pools, and a full-service spa/salon that was equipped and staffed for the exclusive use of the women who resided there. Simon stared at the narrow, wrought-iron gate that kept him and every other male out of that hallowed female territory. He wondered which women were already on scene and which of them Nina might encounter on a Saturday morning. He looked down at his watch. She'd be finishing up at Medical Services in a few minutes.
He turned to Mason. "I'm putting Amy Sturrow on mandatory vacation next week."
"The gynecologist?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Nina has an appointment I don't want her to keep."
Mason raised an inquisitive brow, then faced forward again without asking.
Simon appreciated the restraint. "I told her about the addendum," he said. "She'll sign it."
"Do you want me to take care of it before I head out?"
"No, Monday's good. There's nothing on her schedule for me to be worried about yet."
"All right. I'll look for her on Monday then."
As they drew even with the intersection that led to Checkpoint 2 and the parking garage, Mason stopped. "I'm looking forward to meeting her." His expression was warm with friendship.
Simon nodded. "Enjoy your afternoon."
Mason laughed, turned, and headed up the walkway.
CHAPTER 9
Nina caught sight of him before he saw her. His shoulders filled out the gray T-shirt he wore as though he played football in his spare time. Another dark-haired man walked beside him, about the same height and broad-shouldered as well. Maybe they were brothers. The other man laughed, then turned on the path that led to the checkpoint.
She contemplated hiding. It would be easy enough to duck into the shrubbery and wait for him to pass. But he'd purposely bullied her and she'd already run away once. She was mad at herself for that, so she continued on.
His eyes locked on her as soon as the other man left. There wasn't a bit of remorse in his confident stride as he started toward her. She, however, wasn't going to play his game this time. He drew near, but she stared straight ahead and kept walking.
"How's your wrist?" he asked, falling into step beside her.
"Fine, thank you." Actually, it ached beneath the bandage.
"No throbbing?"
"No."
"Maybe Dr. Benning increased the anesthetic."
"Mmm."
He stopped trying to make conversation and she made no effort to fill the silence. Maybe he'd take the hint and go away.
He didn't. "How long am I going to be on your blacklist?"
> Her blacklist? She couldn't help it. She stopped and looked up at him. "I don't have a blacklist," she said. "But if I did, I'd say you're probably just stuck there." Then she faced forward again and continued on her way.
Just ahead, swaths of deep red bougainvillea tumbled over the wall that surrounded the R-link complex. She hadn't been on the other side of it yet; she'd only seen pictures and a floor plan of the apartments. She did know, however, that Simon Yetzer couldn't follow her inside.
"You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?" he asked.
"No," she said, continuing on, "you did that all on your own." What a jerk.
The biometric scanner that would read her handprint was embedded in the wall beside the gate. Just to the right, enclosed in glass casing with a small brass knob for access, was a telephone. She left Simon in the middle of the path, dismissed the telephone, and pressed her hand in the middle of the scanner. When it accepted her palmprint and the gate opened, the knot in her stomach began to ease.
"Nina, we need to talk."
Ignoring him, she slipped inside the secluded courtyard. She was through talking with him. She might be inexperienced, but she wouldn't be bullied or humiliated. And if Mr. Simon Yetzer stuck so much as a finger through the field of sensor guarding the R-link gate, a barrage of alarms would go off. At least, that's what she'd been told.
The gate slid closed behind her.
No alarms sounded.
She kept walking, though she would have preferred slowing down to absorb the beauty and ambience of her new home. When she reached a curve in the path and knew the jungle hid her from view, she slowed down and drew a calming breath. She wasn't used to confrontations. It occurred to her, however, that she'd held her own with him this time. For all that he had probed and questioned and pushed her buttons, she'd exasperated him and pushed right back.
She brightened. With something of a smile she focused on an elephant ear philodendron up ahead. Its leaves were as large as the span of her arms. She looked around, filled her lungs with the moist, earthy fragrance of thick vegetation and fresh flowers. The faint trickle of water in an unseen fountain could be heard.
