Weapons of Mass Seduction Read online

  “Darlin’, we all have disaster stories. I think one of the reasons I got married so young was because I hated that whole datin’ scene.”

  “It’s more than just that. I decided to become celibate five years ago. I’m happy I did. I learned a lot about myself, but now it’s as if a huge part of me is atrophied.”

  “Whoa. You don’t look like a woman who doesn’t have sex,” Becca remarked, her eyes and mouth both opened wide with astonishment.

  “You know the old saying ‘Never judge a book…’” Pia said, not knowing how she could adequately explain her situation.

  She still made it a point to dress and act in ways that made her feel sexy and desirable, as the last thing she wanted to lose was her sex life and her self-esteem. Men still regularly approached her, initially compelled by her mystery and appearance, but later they were turned off by her restraint. Eventually, to avoid the awkward explanations of why she wasn’t having sex, she’d pretty much stopped dating, packed up her womanly wiles, and put them in storage with her libido and sexual confidence. So after twenty years of charming the pants off men, she was now in an exclusive relationship with her vibrator and a head full of sometimes nasty, sometimes romantic fantasies.

  “Oh, come on, honey. You’re beautiful, smart, successful, and have that cool charisma goin’ for you. How bad can you be?”

  “Well, I haven’t had a second date in more than two years. That’s pretty bad—so bad that after my last fiasco my secretary found it necessary to stage this emergency intervention.”

  “What happened?” Becca pressed. She was curious, and concerned that if a woman as fabulous as Pia Jamison could have trouble with men, she didn’t have a chance.

  “Let’s just say that it was just the last in a long line of bad dates,” Pia said, not wanting to get into all the embarrassing specifics. “My dating life has been a fiasco for years now.”

  “Haven’t you ever been in love, darlin’?”

  “Love and I don’t seem to mix,” Pia admitted. She could feel her barriers breaking down as she shared her sad dating history with these women. “There was this guy named Rodney,” she began.

  Pia winced with painful anger at the memory of Rodney Timble. Even after six years, his memory haunted her. God, she had adored that man. With Rodney, being in love had the same gooey, sentimental appeal that those lovesick romance novel readers gushed over.

  And where had that gotten her? She’d given herself to him mind, body, and soul before finding out that she was not his first love but work was. When Pia confronted him, Rodney unceremoniously dumped her, making it clear that although he loved her, there was no relationship more important to him than his professional dream. The drummer, who was now on a world tour with Alicia Keys, had simply walked out of their apartment and life together with a dismissive wave and a “man’s gotta do” all-attitude pass.

  “That must have hurt,” Florence interrupted.

  “Is he why you stopped having sex?” Becca asked.

  “Yes. At least at first,” Pia explained.

  Devastated and with no one waiting in the wings, Pia had not found celibacy to be difficult that first year. She was too busy grieving her lost relationship to care about sex. Year two had been a year of personal resolve. To push away the body cravings, Pia kept reminding herself that she didn’t need a man to make her happy or whole. This resulted in the accumulation of a treasure chest full of sex toys and erotica and the occasional rendezvous where she allowed herself the pleasure of light kissing and gentle petting. But after far too many dates gone bad, she once again retired from the singles scene. The third year of her sexual fast turned into an exercise in spiritual cleansing and becoming one with her higher self.

  Early that year she’d met Lamar, who became the first man who truly tested her resolve. He assured Pia that while he desperately wanted to make love to her, he respected her decision. Basking in the loving kindness of his understanding, she seriously contemplated giving up her celibate lifestyle until she discovered that his patience and sexual needs were being satisfied by a long list of women he met through an Internet sex site.

  “Ewww,” Becca commented.

  “What a pig. Pickin’ up prostitutes on his computer? That’s just a new level of sleazy and lazy. I have to agree with you, darlin’; your man quest system needs a tune-up.”

  “I just shut it off. I’m done with grandiose ideas centered on men and marriage.”

  “I’d be mad as hell, but you don’t seem bitter,” Flo observed.

  “No, just tired of the games and their emotional aftermath.”

  Unburdening herself from the need for men and taming her desires, Pia had put males on the shelf and gone to work on herself. Without a man’s rude insertion into her life these past few years, she’d managed to climb from senior producer to senior vice president. For her hard work and impressive success record, she was compensated handsomely, her salary well into six figures. With only one mouth to feed, Pia was able to support herself in lavish style, from her apartment in pricey Chelsea to a to-die-for collection of vintage clothes and handbags to exotic travel wherever in the world she fancied. She’d become an even more fascinating, self-reliant woman and was happy living the exciting life she’d created for herself. Yet now, in an ironic twist, the only thing missing was the one thing she couldn’t have without a man’s assistance.

  “So you want to date again ’cause you’re ready to fall in love?” Becca asked.

  “No, I’m not looking for love or a mate. Just a man to father my child. But because I’ve been off the market for so long, I don’t have a clue how to make a guy call me back for a second date, let alone impregnate me.

  “So you want to know why I’m here, well, there it is.”

  Florence and Becca sat in silent disbelief. Pia couldn’t tell if they were appalled by her lack of social finesse or her plan to have a baby without a husband. The idea of being judged by these two women, who through a forced kind of intimacy had quickly become her friends, felt wickedly uncomfortable.

  “Why don’t you just adopt? Plenty of great kids out there need a home,” Becca asked. “My parents did it. Tom and Nicole, Angelina and Brad, even did it,” she added, as if a celebrity endorsement might help. “Plus, it might not seem so bad that you don’t have a husband.”

  “I haven’t totally ruled out adoption, but if I can, I’d really like to experience pregnancy.”

  “So what’s your mama and daddy sayin’ about all this?” Flo asked.

  “My dad died years ago, and I figured I’d wait until I had something to announce before I said anything to my mom.” Pia was not at all looking forward to that discussion, so it was definitely a bridge she’d cross only when and if necessary.

  “Well, that explains the way you were lookin’ at that baby in the mall,” Florence said, her gaze directed at the charm around Pia’s neck, “and your icon.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I noticed the label on the tray yesterday didn’t say ‘love’ at all. You picked out a symbol that stands for ‘mother.’”

  Pia lifted her hands to her neck and gently covered the pendant. Her silence was comment enough.

  “Well, then, darlin’, I may not agree with the whole no-husband thingie, but who am I to judge? Havin’ three babies with Dan sure didn’t guarantee he’d stick around. So put on whatever you’re gonna put on and let’s get out there and get you datin’.”

  Chapter Nine

  Pia, Becca, and Florence, along with the other glammed-up WMS teams, stepped into Suede, a swank but currently empty restaurant and bar. Gleaming hardwood floors, exposed brick, subdued lighting, and inviting leather sofas trailing the serpentine walls provided a sensual mix of sophisticated textures and architectural lines. The velvety voice of the crooner Johnny Hartman and the great John Coltrane gave the environment a jazzy, romantic air.

  The group was shuttled into the restaurant, where the furniture had been arranged into cozy tab
les for two. A single votive candle flicked at each setting, creating a warm datelike atmosphere and raising Pia’s anxiety quotient a notch or two.

  “Where is everybody?” As had become her custom, Becca voiced what everyone else was thinking.

  “Patience, lovely. In the next fifteen minutes or so, the room will be full of men here to dash-date—which is exactly what it sounds like—dashing from one five-minute rendezvous to the next. By the time the evening is over, you will have had at least eight dates,” Joey informed them.

  “That’s more than I’ve had all year,” the woman standing next to Joey remarked. Several heads bobbed in agreement.

  “It’s bad enough tryin’ to impress one guy in a night, but ten?” Flo remarked.

  “Think of it like this,” Joey suggested. “Just as frequent job interviewing can make you a better interviewee, these quick ‘dates’ will help improve your skills so that when the real thing comes along the meeting appears effortless. In five minutes you’ll know if you two share that all-important chemistry.”

  “Some of the dates I’ve been on, five minutes felt like a lifetime,” Pia whispered to Florence.

  “A few last-minute tips,” Joey coached. “The biggest mistake most people make is to try to start a flirtation instead of a conversation. Your best, most successful opening line will generally be ‘Hi,’ followed by an authentic smile. Of course, a compliment, ‘You have a great smile,’ or question, ‘Is the special worth ordering?’ can be a nice icebreaker as well. Simple. Spontaneous. Natural.

  “Ah, I see the gentlemen are beginning to arrive. Now, my lovelies, why don’t you take the next few minutes to affirm yourselves as the extraordinary bombshells you are. And don’t forget your name tags.”

  “I’m kind of nervous. Do you think I look okay?” Becca’s mouth asked while her eyes scoped out sexy Julie in her leg-enhancing miniskirt and cleavage-revealing camisole.

  “Darlin’, don’t mind her. The way her breasts are always hangin’ outside her blouse, you’d think they were afraid of the dark,” Flo remarked. “You look adorable and you’re a star. You remember that,” Flo said, pointing to her necklace. “I have to tell you two, I’m not so sure about this dash-datin’ business—least not without some courage in a glass.”

  “I’m with you, sister,” Pia agreed. “Becca?”

  “No, thanks, I don’t drink.”

  The two women left their teammate and headed over to the bar, inciting a fair amount of head turning as they departed. “Darlin’, the way these fellas are checkin’ you out, I think if you can keep your long-term plans to yourself, you might just get your mojo back.”

  Pia turned toward Flo and her eye caught and momentarily held the gaze of an attractive, artistic-looking brother. Their look held, simultaneously pulling the corners of their mouths into a mutual example of Joey’s all-powerful eye smile.

  The rest of the weapons-in-waiting made nervous chitchat as the restaurant continued to fill up with the troupe of males recruited for the evening’s speed-dating exercise. Each sex stayed congregated together, waiting for the starting bell, each checking out both the cuties and their competition.

  Rebecca’s eyes roved the room, inspecting the eclectic group of males. For this fishing expedition, Joey and her dash-dating partner had obviously tried to stock the place with men of all ages, shapes, sizes, colors, and wardrobe selections. She was immediately drawn to a tall, dark, and even handsomer version of Enrique Iglesias, wearing great-fitting jeans, a crisp white button-down shirt, and loafers sans socks.

  “Whoa, he’s so hot,” she murmured to herself, doing her practiced head tilt and half smile. She focused her gaze on the man, hoping to catch his eye and as Joey had suggested lure him across the room. Finally he glanced in her direction and delivered a flash of white teeth and an acknowledging nod. Becca’s half smile spread full-tilt across her face as she lowered her gaze, obeying Joey’s three-second rule. She looked up again only to see Julie strutting her stiletto-wearing self across the room, breaking both the gender line and Becca’s fragile confidence.

  Rebecca watched in dismay as Julie, with her more-naked-than-clothed body and wild blond curls, unleashed a lusty smile and intoxicating glance on Becca’s object of desire. His interest was obvious, though his eyes focused more on the top of her protruding breasts than her face.

  So much for the power of eye contact, Becca thought.

  Several other women, not wanting Julie to acquire any additional advantage, followed her aggressive lead and infiltrated the dating pool. Becca couldn’t help but notice that they all had one weapon in common—blatant sexuality. Subtlety was not part of their arsenal, and by the looks of interest on their prey’s faces, it was not required.

  Suddenly, despite Pia’s style suggestions, the urbane city girl she’d become morphed back into the shoes of her boring country cousin.

  From their bar stools, Pia and Flo heard what sounded like the call for a hotel bellhop echo through the club. “You ready?” Pia asked, her nervousness slightly tamped by her champagne cocktail.

  “Now, Pia, you saw those men. There are only two guys in the next room that are over fifty, and both of them look like perverts. How am I gonna look tryin’ to flirt with one of those young boys? This isn’t my spot to practice. For that we need to head out to the local retirement home.”

  “Florence, are you sure? You can’t leave me alone in there,” Pia said between chuckles.

  “Darlin, one benefit of bein’ fifty is knowin’ your own mind. I’m gonna take some photos for my scrapbook and then I’ll grab a cab back to the hotel. You go in there and get dashin’,” Florence said.

  “Here goes nothing,” Pia responded as the ding-ding-ding of the organizer’s bell called them all to attention.

  “Good evening, everyone, I’m Cary Holley,” announced the hostess, “and welcome to dash-dating. Each of you will have eight one-on-one conversations lasting five minutes each. After four dates we’ll take a break and then finish up with four more.”

  “What if you want to meet someone who isn’t one of your official dates?” Julie asked, twirling her hair and raising Becca’s ire by winking at her coveted hottie.

  “You may meet anyone else who catches your eye during intermission or after your eighth date,” Cary informed them all. “Now, on your name tag you have your first table number. After each date ends,” she said, ringing the bell for emphasis, “men, you’ll move two tables higher. Ladies, you stay put and let the gentlemen come to you.

  “It’s as simple as that. So let’s begin. Ladies and gentlemen, to your tables.” At the sound of her now familiar bell, everyone scurried to the tables. Individual styles began to show immediately. Some men extended their hands in a gesture of gentlemanly gallantry, while others simply plopped down, ready to reveal their sparkling—or not—personalities.

  From the moment he sat, Becca knew where her first date was dashing—straight to hookup hell. It became clear after the first thirty seconds of meeting Neil that her flirting skills would go untested. Becca quickly assessed him to be a friendly enough guy, just not particularly stimulating, and their ensuing conversation definitely matched his personality. He was from San Jose. Attended the University of Someplace in California. Was a big fan of George Lucas and the Star Wars trilogy and never missed the animated television show The Family Guy. Three minutes and fifteen seconds to go.

  “Hello, Pia. I’m Amir,” an attractive Middle Eastern man with a distinct British accent announced after giving her a wide grin of approval.

  “Hi. Based on your lovely accent, I’m guessing you’re from England,” said Pia, returning his with a genuine smile of her own.

  “I grew up in London but I’m from Dubai. It’s in—”

  “The United Arab Emirates. I was there for work several years ago. It’s a lovely city. The Souk Madinat Jumeirah. It’s one of the most amazing bazaars I’ve ever seen.”

  With a world of common ground between them, Pia and Amir spent the
next four minutes discussing the global music scene with great passion and mutual respect. Joey was right, five minutes was definitely long enough to realize if chemistry was present. Amir was attractive, educated, traveled, and highly interesting. The tragedy was that she was simply not attracted to him “that way.”

  Ding-ding.

  Minutes into Becca’s next date, she realized that her second encounter was also going nowhere. Danny, a handlebar-mustached, leather-vested motorcyclist whose best friend was Brutus, his pit bull, immediately dismissed her for being a B cup.

  “Nothing personal,” he said. “I just don’t date women with small racks.”

  Nothing personal? He was rejecting her over the size of her breasts. How much more personal could he get? Seventy-three seconds of talk. Two hundred and twenty-seven seconds of silence. She felt like a prizefighter getting mercilessly pummeled and praying for the bell.

  Unfortunately, Pia’s next two dates weren’t as successful as her first. Boyd, a handsome bisexual, quickly announced that while she was a fierce diva, he was only there to meet Morgan, a proclaimed heterosexual who Boyd was convinced was chin-deep in denial. Her third date, Rick, was a muscle-bound he-man who spent their date sharing all the gory details, benefits, and drawbacks, of complete colon irrigation.

  Ding-ding.

  “Hey, how’s it goin’? Sam.”

  “Becca.” He’s sort of cute in a Tobey Maguire kind of way, she thought, hoping that her two-for-two losing streak was about to end. “Um, you have a little spinach in your teeth. Right over there, to the left.”

  “Damn,” Sam said, sucking with enough force to pull in a small animal.

  “So Sam, where are you from?”

  “Thattle,” he answered while rubbing his teeth with his tongue.