With that comment the room erupted into a thunderous ovation accompanied by the hoots and hollers of a room full of women ready to explode. Though Joey’s words had resonance for her, Pia remained seated, taking in the scene, still unconvinced that staying had been the right decision. After years of playing hide-and-seek with her sexual self through celibacy, was she really ready to step into the open?
“Now, before we enjoy our sumptuous opening night supper,” Joey continued as the applause tapered off, “I’d like you to take the next few moments to get to know the other incredible women in your group. Please introduce yourselves and tell the others a little bit about you and why you’re here. After that, I’d like you to divide yourselves into teams of three. Each team will work together for the duration of the workshop.”
Attention turned from Joey in the front of the room to the individual dinner tables. The chatter of introductions buzzed throughout the room. Sitting with Pia was Julie Morgan, a single and, based on her outfit, hot-to-trot thirty-three-year-old native Californian who was now a parole officer in Seattle, Washington. Tracy Lun, a married, childless certified aerobics instructor from San Francisco in her late thirties, was followed by sixty-year-old Rhonda Gardner, a widowed elementary school principal in the San Jose school district with three grown children and four grandchildren. While Tracy was there to add to her marital bliss trick box, both Julie and Rhonda were looking for skills to help get them ahead in the dating game.
“To be honest,” Julie revealed, brushing her bangs from her heavily lined blue eyes, “I’m interested in marrying up. So I’m here trying to get a leg up on the competition—specifically my boss’s wife.” Julie’s wide, superwhite smile revealed her pleasure at stunning her tablemates. It was obvious the woman delighted in being provocative in more ways than one.
“Well, I guess it’s my turn then,” announced a loud Texas accent belonging to a large and curvy woman on Pia’s right. “Hi, y’all. I’m Florence Chase, but my friends all call me Flo. I’m a housewife and mother from Dallas, and I have three boys, two in college, both on football scholarships, and my oldest is in the military. Right now he’s at Fort Sam Houston trainin’ to be a medic. I love scrapbookin’, the Dallas Cowboys, and a good ol’-fashioned Texas barbecue. I guess that’s about it.”
“Why are you here?” Tracy asked.
“Well, honey, let’s see—I’m fifty-three years old and been married half that time. And now after twenty years of havin’ kids around, my house is empty and so is my ‘amorous arsenal,’ as Joey’s ad put it. Figured I’m too damn old to catch me a new man, so I better figure out how to hang on to the old fart I got. Kind of beefing up my own homeland security, as it were,” she said, cutting a teasing eye toward Julie. While Florence’s comment triggered laughter from the rest of the group, the slight break in her voice said what Flo didn’t—that this was more an exercise in relationship rescue than refreshment.
With that, all heads turned to the young girl sitting next to Pia.
“Hi, I’m Rebecca Vossel.”
An awfully white name even for such a light-skinned sister, Pia thought, inspecting Rebecca, who was one mess of a woman-child. Her crinkled, honey-toned mane was brushed back into the standard can’t-do-anything-with-this-damn-hair ponytail, leaving the girl’s nut-colored face wide open for inspection. Hers was a genetic collage of biracial features—full lips and broad nose, high cheekbones and blazing green eyes—and the ultimate sign of mixed parentage—hair too curly to be straight and too straight to be curly. She wore no makeup, a denim dress that screamed “help” instead of “hip,” and sensible “feet don’t fail me now” sandals. Pia had seen the type before. Looking like she did, this girl knew what it was like to play second fiddle in an orchestra filled with Barbies.
“I’m twenty-two and from Iowa…”
Well, that explains the name and the dress, Pia thought.
“I just moved to Chicago to work as a receptionist at an advertising firm. I maxed out my credit card and borrowed the rest from my best friend, Cris, ’cause I really wanted to take this workshop, even though my parents would die if they knew I was here.”
“I can’t imagine a cute thing like you having a problem getting a date,” Rhonda offered.
“The men in Chicago are way different from what I was used to in Cedar Falls. I haven’t had one date since I moved…not that I dated much at home either.”
“Anything else you’d like us to know?” Pia asked.
“Just that I hope Joey Clements is as good as they say, ’cause she doesn’t look like someone who knows how to flirt. I mean, she has a really cool voice, but she looks like somebody’s grandma.”
“Hey, we grannies are sexy too,” Rhonda said with bemused admonishment.
“But let’s be honest. Isn’t Rebecca sayin’ what we’ve all been thinkin’?” Flo asked with a conspiratorial smile. The truth of her statement caused the rest of them to burst into laughter and nod.
“I don’t know,” Pia said, “there’s something…kind of sexy about her.”
“And you are?” Tracy asked, directing everyone’s attention back to the final introduction.
“Hello, ladies. I’m Pia Jamison. I’m from New York; I’m an executive in the music video business.”
“Whoa! You must know a lot of celebrities. Why are you taking this class?” Rebecca asked, in awe.
“Actually, I was tricked into attending. I thought I was speaking at a conference on the impact of sex in music videos on culture. Apparently my secretary felt it was in her job description to schedule an intervention.”
“Why would she do that?” Flo asked.
Pia quickly threw to the back of her throat the real reason Darlene would hoodwink her like this. She had no intention of following Rebecca’s lead and bearing her soul to these strangers. “I guess she thought I needed a little help and knew I wouldn’t come to this…”—bullshit—“this kind of workshop on my own. All the long work hours and traveling haven’t left me much time to date these past few years, and to tell the truth I’m a little rusty with my girl skills,” she explained, settling on the half truth.
“At least all of yours are just rusty. I haven’t got any skills at all,” Rebecca interrupted.
“Well, we all need something. That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Rhonda added.
“Lovelies, it’s about suppertime. If you haven’t selected your groups, please do so,” Joey Clements interrupted.
“How should we do this?” Flo asked.
“Let’s make it easy,” Tracy suggested. “You three—one squad. Us three—another.” The six women murmured and shrugged their consent and immediately turned their attention from the whole to the newly formed parts.
Pia quickly sized up her partners. Florence Chase seemed perfectly nice, in a loud, colorful Texas kind of way. She was sure her story was deeper than what she was telling, but then again, whose wasn’t? And that Rebecca Vossel was a mess. Her personality cocktail of youth, enthusiasm, and desperation could prove to be an annoying combination for the team. Still, Pia fought the impulse to judge her.
“Woo-hoo!” Flo cheered, lifting her wineglass to everyone at the table. “To the future weapons of mass seduction.”
“Book me on the first flight back to New York tomorrow,” Pia barked into the phone while navigating the hotel lobby on her way back to her room. “And then pack up your desk. You’re fired. And I really mean it this time.”
“Chica, you just got to California. You’re supposed to be in class learning something,” Dee said, ignoring her boss.
“Yeah, well, we just finished dinner and here’s what I’ve learned: There’s no way I’m doing this. I’m not going to subject myself to some stupid workshop with a bunch of desperate housewives and man-hungry singles. You punked me. The confirmation letter said this was a workshop called Weapons of Mass Seduction: The Impact of Video Vixens on Society, not some bombshell excavation…Oh my God, you actually created that letter yourse
lf, didn’t you?”
“Well, you wouldn’t have gone otherwise. Come on. Make this your resolution. It’s a new year, only two weeks old. Time for a new, flirty you.”
“I don’t do the resolution thing.”
“You need professional help, chica. Stay and get it.”
“I’m not crazy, Dee,” Pia hissed into her cell phone. “I can’t believe you tricked me into coming to this thing. Do you know anything about this workshop?”
“Yes, I’m looking at the ad right now,” Darlene said, and began to read.
Need to restock your amorous arsenal?
Is there someone you’d like to meet or a relationship you’d like to renew? In four days you can become a deliciously dangerous
Weapon of Mass Seduction
The WMS workshop will teach you the skills necessary to create a loving, sensual relationship with yourself and others.
You’ll learn everything you wanted to know about
• sensuality vs. sexuality
• winning the flirting game
• making your life a more enjoyable, passionate and awe-inspiring experience
“Sounds like fun,” Dee concluded.
“Well, it’s not. There are lectures, homework, and tests. And Joey Clements, well, she’s a piece of work. She’s supposed to be some sort of international flirt expert, but she looks more like an escapee from a commune. I mean, she is kind of sexy, but what is some hippie broad going to teach me about flirting with New York men? And”—Pia shook the workshop folder—“I can do this myself.”
“I have just two words for you…Bill Dorante.”
“So our date only lasted an hour. We just didn’t hit it off.”
“Okay, two more words: Theo Johnson.”
“Woman, you need a bigger vocabulary,” Pia said, cringing in residual embarrassment. Even though it had been more than six weeks since their crash-and-burn lunch together, she still felt mortified by the mention of his name.
“Well, we had to do something. Grand Nelson is the only man left on the papi list, and that makes him the golden sperm. If you blow that, then what?”
“I have no damn clue,” Pia replied as she opened the door to her room.
“Exactly. And that’s why you are out in California trying to learn to be a civilized girl again. Now you go do your homework and I’m going home to write my Hector. God willing, we’ll both get laid soon.”
Chapter Four
Thursday—Individual Sensuality
It was 7:50 A.M. and Pia sat alone in the WMS makeshift classroom, taking her first exam since graduating from Brown University too many years ago to count. The title, “The Sensual You Self-Test”; the questions, such as “How do you feel about public displays of affection?”; and their multiple-choice answers all had the ring of a cheesy women’s magazine self-help quiz. Last night she’d refused to partake, but this morning, while waiting for her teammates, guilt had set in. She was already here, so what the hell. And, as Dee had drilled into her head, she might just learn a thing or two.
“Shopping, and not sure if it’s real or faux fur? B…feel it,” Pia declared, and marked her answer. “Free hour? A…get a massage. Sexy elevator music? Meeting? B…listen, lust, and then get back to work.”
She continued down the list of queries and possible answers without incident until she got to question number eight: “What qualities are you most looking for in a lover?”
“A high sperm count,” Pia joked aloud before her giggles quickly fell silent. Even when sex and relationships had been a steady part of her everyday life, she hadn’t thought much about what she really wanted in a man. She usually just took the package as presented—accepting and valuing the noble qualities and ignoring the flaws for as long as she could before moving on or being pushed aside. Never had she sat and definitively decided what special qualities she was looking for in the man she wanted to love.
“Passion and adventure? Looks and humor? Stability and wealth? Why is there no ‘all of the above’? Because that would be way too easy,” she asked and answered for herself. Pia thought for several minutes before her choice came to her. She had to say that the qualities that would in fact aid in the pursuit of all the others were passion and adventure.
Testing complete, Pia quickly checked the answer key and equivalency table and added up her score. Consulting the “sensuality index,” she was pleased to learn that based on her score of six B’s and four A’s, she was still a solidly sensual woman at least on paper.
Satisfied with her results, Pia sat back and watched as the steady flow of workshop participants began, and within ten minutes they’d all gravitated to their newly formed teams. Rebecca arrived and the two women waited several more minutes before a visibly upset Flo joined them.
“How’d you do?” Rebecca asked as she nodded toward Pia’s self-test.
“Okay.”
“Well, according to this, I’m Supersensual.” Her smile was a combination of pride and disbelief.
“Go ’head, Jessica Simpson,” Pia responded, keeping her surprise in check. Of all people, Rebecca was the last she’d have pegged as living a hedonistic lifestyle.
“Well, I didn’t do so well,” Flo volunteered in a flat voice. “It looks like I am about as sensual as a rock. My score makes me too sensible to be sensual. It’s no wonder…” Her voice trailed off into a void of self-pity. Pia and Rebecca traded looks, not knowing whether the polite and proper thing would be to probe further or leave it alone.
“Remember what Joey said,” Pia offered. “This test isn’t to make you feel bad about yourself but to give you an indication of where you stand and what you need to work on.”
“Yeah, well, too late. I feel horrible and apparently I need to work on everything,” Flo said. Silence, heavy with the embarrassment that comes when strangers confess the intimate details of their personal lives, settled around them.
“I don’t know how much to believe this test, ’cause my score definitely doesn’t match my love life,” Rebecca revealed, politely trying to take the focus away from Florence. “Guys just don’t get me—at least not the ones I like. When I go out, it’s like I’m invisible. They want hot girls who love to party. So what chance does someone like me have?” Rebecca asked, her eyes almost pleading with Pia.
“Well, you know what they say, ‘Beauty is only skin deep.’” Pia’s words sounded scripted and insincere even to her, but what else do you say to someone you’ve just met who insists on unpacking all their personal baggage at your feet?
“Wonder what that’s all about,” a woman seated behind them commented, gesturing to six easels draped with lavender silk.
“I think we’re about to find out.”
“Good morning, lovelies,” Joey Clements’s husky voice rang from the doorway. She floated to the front of the room, wearing another gossamer caftan, this time in purple. There was an alluring lightness that surrounded the woman. Despite what Rebecca might think, it was clear to Pia that Joey Clements possessed the much-coveted “it factor.”
“I hope you each had a wonderful evening and are ready to begin in earnest the transformation into your sensual selves. Today we are going to delve into the realm of individual sensuality.” There was an enticing lilt to her voice that was both seductive and commanding.
“Society erroneously teaches women that we should feel sensual only when we are acting sexual. But a true weapon of mass seduction revels in her feminine side and strives to feel good even when there is no one around. How? By surrounding herself with comforting textures, sounds, scents, tastes, and a visually pleasing persona and environment. This increases a woman’s sense of beauty, pleasure, gratitude, and, most important, self-worth.
“Let’s do a quick exercise. I’d like each team to put together a list of items to be included in a gift basket for a newborn. Please note the purpose for each item.”
Pia felt her heart expand and contract ever so slightly. The last thing she’d expected in a flirt worksho
p was baby talk. It was disconcerting to participate in an exercise focused on preparing for the arrival of an infant when she was so far away from home trying to expand her chances of creating one.
“Good thing we have a mother of three on our team,” Rebecca remarked.
“Yes, but it’s been a long time. My babies are old enough to make babies of their own. But I guess the basics never change. Let’s see: receivin’ blankets, gowns, onesies, socks, and a few bibs are really about all the clothes they need when they first get here.”
“And lotion, shampoo, powder. I love the way babies smell. Fresh and sweet,” Rebecca added, furiously writing the list.
“Pia?”
“Ah, I don’t know. You two seem to have it covered.”
“You New York career girls, too busy workin’ to think about havin’ babies,” Flo remarked. She noticed the subtle drop of Pia’s eyes and slight twist of her lips before moving on. “Well, every baby I’ve ever known has needed diapers and wipes.”
“What about those wipe warmers? Those things are cold on a little bottom. And a mobile over the crib. They’re supposed to stimulate the baby,” Rebecca offered.
“And a lambskin rug to lie on,” Pia softly voiced. “And music. Soft, soothing tunes. Smooth jazz, classical, new age.”
“That’s good. I say we add a few books and we’re done,” Flo said, just as Joey brought the group’s attention back to her.
“So why, do you ask, in a workshop about turning women into sensual weapons are we making lists more appropriate for a baby shower? To prove my point: that from birth to around age four or five, there is nothing surrounding our children that isn’t intended to stimulate every one of their senses with tastes, scents, and textures that are varied and appealing. We intentionally buy things that feel good to the skin, smell pleasant, and sound soothing. And then, somewhere around the time kids discover self-pleasuring, we begin to associate sensuality with sexuality and things change drastically. Suddenly, sensuality is discouraged and becomes something we adults pull out of our trick bags when we want to spice up our sex lives.
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