Weapons of Mass Seduction

by Lori Bryant-Woolridge

  “I’m sorry, where?”

  “Se-at-tle,” he replied slowly, as if she were an idiot. “You gotta mirror?”

  Becca rummaged through her purse, pulled out her lipstick case, and handed it over to her date. He flipped it opened and, stretching his mouth wide, peered into the narrow reflective glass. Becca’s facial expression reflected her chagrin as she watched Sam run his tongue over his polluted teeth while turning on the incredible sucking machine again.

  “Have you lived here long?” Becca asked, trying to ignore the nightmare happenings of three bad dates in the span of fifteen minutes. Boring old Neil was looking pretty damn good right about now.

  “Shit. The hottest girl in the place is up next. I’ll be right back,” he said. Not waiting for or caring about Becca’s reply, Sam went to the bar, returned with a toothpick, sat, and proceeded to engage in a little impromptu dental hygiene.

  Becca felt her head and shoulders jerk back in astonishment. Her date was cleaning his teeth at the table in preparation for his next date? Could he be any less interested in impressing her? Her eyes darted across the room as she prayed that the others were too consumed with their own unbelievable circumstances to notice the tears welling up in her eyes and the word LOSER now tattooed across her nondating forehead.

  Ding-ding.

  She had one date to go before the break, but Becca had had enough. Instead of sitting for the next disaster-in-waiting, she pleaded personal emergency to her date and headed for the ladies’ room. The sound of Julie’s throaty laugh made her pause. Becca turned to see Sam the spinach man flashing his now pearly whites at her. She took note and watched as he melted under Julie’s glaring, seductive heat. From the hair twisting to her Candies mule bobbing up and down like a fishing lure, Julie knew exactly how to use what she had to get what she wanted, and Becca was mesmerized.

  The past two days, she’d listened to Joey and her teammates lecture her on the subtleties of flirtation. Maybe that’s how old people flirted. But it certainly wasn’t working for her. Joey was not teaching her how to be sexy. Julie’s success was proof that, ultimately, men didn’t care about eye contact, coy smiles, or interesting conversation. They wanted the promise or at least possibility of sex.

  Joey Clements was not the only coach in the room, Becca decided as she departed to the ladies’ room. A quick adjustment was in order before intermission.

  “You are even better-looking up close than from across the room,” Mike, Pia’s third date of the evening, announced as he sat across the table.

  “Thank you. You have a great smile,” she said, returning his compliment with one of her own. The man was a handsome, rough-around-the-edges edition of Owen Wilson, and Pia found herself feeling genuinely flirty. She crossed her legs before picking up her drink. Holding his gaze with hers, she took a slow sip and watched as Mike pursed his lips and started nodding his head.

  “It’s easy to smile when your eyes are feasting. So, what’s a hottie like you doing taking some bullshit course on flirting? You seem to know what the hell you’re doing.”

  His question shocked her. Pia wasn’t aware, and neither were any of the other women, as best she knew, that their situation was common knowledge. As her interest waned, she swallowed her annoyance and gave Mike a quick closed-mouthed grin.

  “Research. I’m a writer,” Pia lied. “Why are you here?”

  “I’m doin’ the tourist thing around Frisco. My cousin runs the bar and he told me what was going down tonight, so I thought I’d check it out.”

  “Captured prey, as it were,” Pia commented drily.

  “Exactly. So what are you into?”

  “Music, traveling, books.”

  “Nah, I mean what are you into? Sexually.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Irritation had now devoured her previously flirty disposition.

  “Look, what do you say we just forget the rest of this bullshit and get out of here? I’ll treat you to a nice dinner, and then later I can really give you something to write about. If you know what I’m sayin’.”

  “Sorry, Mike—you’re really not my type.”

  “Don’t tell me you’re one of these Frisco dykes.”

  Pia’s annoyance had turned into anger. “No, but given the alternative sitting in front of me, I’m considering the option.”

  “Frigid bitch.”

  Ding-ding.

  “How the fuck dare he,” Pia hissed under her breath as she angrily stood from the table and headed straight toward the bar. She was pissed. Her night was ruined because yet another egotistical male couldn’t take no for an answer without calling her out of her name or making nasty and totally erroneous accusations.

  Thank God it was time for a break. Another drink was in order to wash away the bad taste Mike had left in her mouth. Pia walked back across the entry into the bar and over to Joey, who was sitting on the couch, chatting with several of her students.

  “Oh, my,” Joey said, noticing the surly expression on Pia’s face. “Something wrong?”

  “Just some asshole. Nothing I can’t handle,” Pia assured her.

  “Oh, my,” Joey repeated with more urgency.

  Pia followed Joey’s stare and spotted Becca sitting at the bar with Mike in her face. Gone were the college coed looks. In her place was Becca—full-blown sex kitten. She’d given Pia’s previous makeup application a big boost with more of everything and removed the white shirt, leaving on the clingy purple cardigan. The sweater hugged her tiny waist and emphasized her proud bust. She’d left it unbuttoned at the top to reveal cleavage uplifted by her new push-up bra and at the bottom to show off her flat stomach and, thanks to her now unbuttoned, folded-down-at-the-waistband jeans, a hint of her pelvic bones.

  Catching Becca’s eye, Pia waved her over. Becca excused herself and, fully aware that Mike’s eyes were following her every step, made her way over to her friend and flirting coach with a tentative strut.

  “You’ve got a new look,” Pia commented after Becca reached her side, “and an entirely different sales pitch.”

  “No offense, but I tried it your way, Joey, and nothing was happening,” Becca admitted, “so I thought I’d try another way.”

  “Julie’s way?” Joey probed with disapproval.

  Julie was like a zillion other women who wore their sexuality on their back. Judging from her clothes, her hair, and her attitude, the woman appeared to exude sexual confidence. But Joey had seen her type way too many times before. Julie tried everything she could to convince the outside world, and herself, that she was born to be wild, but Joey would bet her favorite rose crystal bracelet that when it came right down to it, she was anything but.

  “Remember what we talked about today, Rebecca: the difference between flirting and teasing,” Joey cautioned, as she excused herself and departed to find Cary.

  “Be careful,” Pia warned. “That guy is a real pig, not to mention way too old for you.”

  “Mike? He’s nice, and hot. I like him,” Becca said, mixing a little Paris Hilton and a couple of hiccups back into her act.

  “Have you been drinking?” Pia asked, alarm bells going off in her head.

  “Just a little bit. Mike bought me a rum and Coke. Said it would mellow me out. He was right. I feel verrry relaxed.”

  “But you said you don’t drink.”

  “I know, but everyone else is, and I don’t want to look like a kid. I’m legal, don’t worry.” Becca gave Pia a tipsy smile before meandering back to her seat.

  Pia looked on with concern. These young girls had it all wrong.

  It was clear that Becca desperately wanted to be sexy. In her head she had been going through the motions, overcompensating for her inexperience by assuming other people’s sexual identities. Apparent now also was why despite her conservative upbringing and lack of sexual experience she’d picked all the supersensual answers on Joey’s test; why she’d chosen the most provocative lingerie she could find; and why now she had added a walk, wink, and wardrobe
that gave men what she thought they wanted.

  Becca knew what sexy should look like but didn’t have a clue as to what it felt like. If she did, she’d have already absorbed Joey’s lesson that authenticity was truly the sexiest and most seductive state of all.

  Cary’s bell sounded, summoning them back into the restaurant. Pia watched as Mike extended his hand, helping Becca from her perch. She giggled as she stumbled slightly and leaned her body into his as they walked arm and arm out of the bar.

  “Oh, hell, no,” Pia uttered as she struggled through the crowd and into the other room. She zipped past her table, where her date sat waiting for her. Pia gave him a quick apologetic smile before turning her attention back to her search. Becca and Mike were nowhere to be seen. She checked the bathroom to no avail before rushing back into the entry. Pia’s instincts were on high alert. Becca wouldn’t leave with him, would she?

  She stood near the hostess desk, trying to decide what to do next, when she heard an odd noise come from just beyond the front entry. Pia burst through the doors to find Becca pinned against the wall with Mike’s hand up her sweater and mouth clamped on top of hers. It was obvious from Becca’s defensive body language that this wasn’t a show of mutual desire.

  “Get off her,” Pia said, rapping Mike on his back with her palm.

  “What the fuck?” Mike said, disengaging and turning around to face Pia.

  “Becca, get out of here,” Pia ordered, still staring Mike in the eye. Becca, eyes wide with panic, made her escape back into Suede.

  “What? Jealous? You decide you want some of this now?” Mike asked, slurring his words as he stepped toward her, grabbing his crotch with his left hand and her arm with the right.

  “Not now or ever,” Pia hissed as she tried unsuccessfully to free herself. Her defiance simply made Mike hold on all the tighter.

  “Mike, what the hell are you doing?” a firm male voice demanded. Both Pia and Mike looked up and saw his cousin, the bartender.

  “Nothing, man. Simple misunderstanding.” Immediately Mike dropped Pia’s arm. “I was just leaving anyway.”

  “Smart move. I’ll check you later.” The two watched as Mike’s drunken legs carried him across the street and down the block.

  “Thank you,” Pia said, turning to give him a grateful smile. “My friend?”

  “She was headed toward the ladies’ room.”

  “Thanks again.”

  Pia bypassed all the dating activity that had resumed in the main restaurant and headed straight for the ladies’ room. She found Becca in the toilet stall, throwing up.

  “Ready to head back?” she asked once she’d gotten the girl a glass of water and helped clean her up.

  “Yeah.”

  “Becca, I’m not your mom and I haven’t been your friend for very long, but—”

  “It’s okay. Really. Let’s just go.” Becca was in no mood for Pia’s sympathy or I-told-you-so lectures. Her head hurt, but as far as she was concerned, other than getting sick, the night had been a total success. Sure, Mike got kind of scary, but all guys weren’t like him. He was older and drunk. She knew now to stay closer to her age and avoid the liquor. The important thing was that he’d found her sexy and desirable, and wasn’t charming the cool off a man exactly what she’d come all the way across the country to learn how to do?

  Chapter Ten

  After getting Becca to bed, Pia headed back to her own room. Too wound up to sleep, she reached for the remote. She surfed channels for a few minutes before the talented cast of Waiting to Exhale captured her attention. As her eyes watched Robin try to shake off her no-good ex, Pia’s mind replayed her evening.

  So far, tonight had been a complete bust. First that idiot bore, Mike, followed by little girl lost, Rebecca. Surprisingly, Pia felt more disappointed than she’d have thought. Initially she’d been so apprehensive about going, and now she was upset that it had ended so abruptly. Now she would have to return to New York with all the cobwebs she’d arrived with still clogging up her dating game.

  “You know the baby is going to have more than one mama, girl.”

  The familiar line turned Pia’s attention back to the movie. The characters were all gathered around a bonfire, raising a toast to the New Year and the new life Robin was about to bring into the world. The scene was a harsh reminder that Pia was in the uncomfortable position of needing the exact thing she claimed she no longer wanted.

  “Screw this,” she declared, turning off the television and grabbing her purse and hotel key.

  Pia stepped into the elevator certain that the bubbles in her stomach alone could lift her to the penthouse bar. She was nervous. It had been an awfully long time since she’d been on the prowl, but Pia refused to leave California the same woman as when she’d arrived.

  She could hear the pianist’s cover of Sade’s “Lovers Rock” as she approached her destination. That’s right, she reminded herself, slip into your cool charisma. Pia walked into the bar and paused to scout out the place. Other than a group of what appeared to be beer-drinking salesmen, a few workshop-mates, and a couple engaged in private conversation in the corner, pickins were slim to none.

  Pia approached the piano, returning the player’s smile with a wide grin. Did he just wink at me? Pia wondered. As she passed, the song changed to “The Girl from Ipanema” and Pia glanced back to find the piano man looking directly at her as he sang the enticing story of the tall and tanned seductress.

  “Hey, darlin’, you’re back. How did things go?” a Texas drawl called out, pulling Pia out of her musical flirtation.

  Surprised to hear Flo’s distinctive voice, Pia turned to find her friend sharing laughter and a plate of calamari with an attractive older gentleman. Apparently on the way back to the hotel she’d found a nursing home for the fine over fifty.

  “Becca was in rare form,” she said while the two engaged in an ocular exchange of What’s up? and I’ll fill you in later.

  “Pia, this is Dr. Clay Bickford. Clay, Pia Jamison.”

  “Nice to meet you,” he said, standing and shaking her hand in a gentlemanly manner.

  “Clay is in town for a dental surgeons’ convention. Pia’s here at the WMS workshop with me.”

  You told him? Pia’s eyes shot back.

  “Perhaps you could help me. I’ve been trying to figure out what WMS stands for. My first guess was ‘Women Making Sushi.’”

  “Pathetic, right?” Florence jumped in. “I told him no self-respectin’ Texan would travel all this way to learn how to roll up raw fish in some rice and seaweed. That’s a meal for cats, not cowboys. I told him it was workshop on weavin’ magic spells—”

  “Which I’m inclined to believe, as this little lady has got me spellbound,” Clay said, raising his glass in a silent toast. Pia’s eyes immediately locked on to his hand. No ring. No telling tan line. Perhaps the doctor was on the up-and-up. It was clear that he was interested. Clay was openly flirting, and Florence, blush creeping up her cheeks, was enjoying every second of it.

  “Oh, darlin’, that’s just the Jack Daniels talkin’, ’specially if you’re callin’ me little,” Flo insisted, downplaying his compliment.

  Pia was surprised and thrilled by the flirtatious banter flying back and forth between them. Clay was giving Florence what neither she, Becca, nor Joey could—confidence in herself as a woman. She could now go home and face Dan, buoyed by the fact that a handsome stranger in a hotel bar in San Francisco had found her attractive.

  “So ladies, don’t keep me in suspense. What does WMS stand for?”

  “Women in Marketing and Sales. We’re here for a…uh…refresher course,” Pia offered with a sly twist to her lips.

  “I’d say that about sums it up,” Flo agreed.

  “Please join us,” Clay offered, though it was clear to Pia that he was just being polite.

  “Thanks, but no. I don’t want to interrupt. I just came up for a nightcap. Nice to meet you, Clay, and I’ll see you at the morning session,” sh
e told Florence with a playful smile.

  Pia took a seat near the window and waved over the waitress then gave the place another once-over while waiting for her drink. No other patrons had arrived, and even the piano man was gone. She glanced at her watch. It was already 11:25. Things weren’t looking good.

  Okay, cupid. Not looking for a keeper, just a playmate for tonight. Somebody to help me get back up on the bike and riding again. Please let him be sexy, polite, and, above all, patient.

  Pia stared out at the city. It was a clear night and the city lights stretched out before her. There was something very seductive about this town. Or maybe it was just her mood.

  “For you, pretty lady,” an unfamiliar voice said, pulling Pia’s attention from the view and her mythological request. As the piano player placed her champagne cocktail on the table, she noticed his smooth, well-manicured hands. She smiled as she stole a quick glance at his shoes, which were also well kempt. Experience had taught her that any man who took care of his hands and shoes generally applied that same attention to detail when it came to taking care of business.

  “Thank you,” she said, looking up to inspect his attractive chestnut brown face, lit by the bright shine of his dazzling smile. Good move, Cu! she congratulated, offering high fives in her head.

  “I’m Argent,” he said, smiling with eyes that said much more than hello.

  “Pia.”

  “Short. Sweet. Difficult to forget.”

  Okay. Boy Toy has game. And up close he certainly did look young. Were those puka shells around his neck? But there could be no denying—the boy was a hottie. And for the first time in a long while, Pia’s desires were such that toys and fantasies just weren’t going to cut it.

  “You’re staring at me,” Argent commented with a devastating grin. “What are you thinking?”

  “Truthfully? I’m thinking you look way to young to…uh…to be working at a bar.”

  “I’m twenty-three and completely legal.”

  A quick calculation revealed their seventeen-year age difference. Pia was certainly old enough to be his big sister and in far too many neighborhoods his mother. Pia felt like the infamous Mrs. Robinson lusting after this young man, but tonight the pursuit of the forbidden was part of the thrill. And if she was to be honest with herself, with her rusty game seducing a young man was sure to be much less complicated—and ultimately more successful—than trying for an older, more experienced one. But still…twenty-three?