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 tables 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.

“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?