Weapons of Mass Seduction (2 page)

“Well, so much for your ‘you don't have to be involved' theory. What about adopting? Plenty of kids out there need a home.”

“Just because I don't want marriage or a man doesn't mean I don't want to experience pregnancy. So are you interested?” Pia abruptly asked the question, frustrated by her poor showing.

“Sorry, but no. I am already too busy looking after these grown-ass babies I represent. I'm not ready to take care of a real kid.”

“Look, I'm financially secure. I don't need anything from you other than a little help right at the beginning. I'm prepared to take it from there by myself. I'll even have a contract drawn up relieving you of any parental or financial responsibilities. You'd never have to see me or the baby again.”

“You know, for a millisecond I might have been flattered that I was your chosen one, but right there you just screwed it up. I'm not a stud service. And I'm not the kind of man who would father a child and walk away. Damn, what happened to you? You've become one of those ain't-nothing-a-man-can-do-for-me types of chicks. Well, that's not the kind of woman I want and certainly not the kind of mother I'd want my kid to have.”

“Theo, I know it sounds crazy, and I haven't done a very good job at presenting my case, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd give it some thought.” Pia felt the heat of humiliation creep through her body, but she was too desperate to give up.

“You seem to really want this, and I really hope this works out for you, but I'm not the one. A word of friendly advice: With the next dude you approach, you might want to soften him up a bit first before you spring a request like that on him. Maybe go out on a date or two. Use some of that charm I know you still have locked up wasting away inside of you. Good luck. Nice seeing you.” Theo unceremoniously stood up and dropped several twenty-dollar bills down on the table. And with a slight shake of his head and a befuddled smirk, he turned and left.

The scraping noise of metal chair on tile floor punctuated his departure. Pia watched him walk away and was disgusted with herself for botching this meeting so badly. Twice today she'd managed to turn a man off to the point that he'd left her sitting alone and feeling like a complete and utter failure.

Chapter Two

“
C
hica
, you screwed up,” Darlene “Dee” Perez said with all honesty and little fanfare as she propped her tiny size five-and-a-half feet on her boss's desk.

“I'm well aware of that. So this is why I pay you such a generous bonus every year? For you to tell me things I already know?” Pia asked, ignoring her secretary's physical and verbal informality. After six years of daily contact with this petite Latina, Pia often wondered just who was in charge.

“No, you pay me the generous bonus because not only am I one hell of a great assistant from nine to five but because I'm willing to sit here
after
hours talking about your pathetic love life.”

“Hey, insubordination is a fireable offense,” Pia threatened with mock bravado. But they both knew there was no bite behind her bark. Darlene was way more than Pia's employee. She was the heartbeat that kept things running smoothly while Pia was out on the road. Darlene managed to out-diva the divas and sweet-talk the suits, and all the while make her manager look good. Dee was also her closest confidante and the sister Pia wished she had. Twice she'd tried to promote the woman, but Darlene refused, choosing instead to enjoy the best of both her worlds—an exciting, glamorous, and manageable-stress-level job she enjoyed and a happy home life with a hunky husband she adored.

“Touchy, touchy. Now, like I said, you screwed up. The plan was to rekindle the interest, go on a few dates, get to know each other better, and then,
maybe, if
it felt right,
after
a few months, approach the baby subject. You weren't supposed to go in there with both ovaries loaded, shake his hand, and ask to borrow a cup of sperm. No wonder the man took off running.”

“I know, and believe me, I felt like a real ass just spitting it out like that.”

“Maybe it's time for Plan B,” Dee suggested.

“I didn't know there was a Plan B.”

“Plan B: Make sure you're fertile. Get drunk. Find a nice guy at a bar, take him home, do the deed, and make a baby. No fuss, no messy strings attached. You're a mommy and he's none the wiser.”

“There are so many holes in that strategy, I don't even know where to begin,” Pia replied.

“Just go with the top three. I'm still a newlywed. I need to get home early.”

“You've been married three years, and Hector is in Iraq.”

“Yes, and I should be home writing my brave husband who is fighting for freedom and your right to have a baby out of wedlock. Now, back to your reasons for not going with Plan B.”

“First, I'm not going to just screw any stranger. I'm trying to get pregnant, so that right there kind of discounts safe sex, now doesn't it? I mean, I am dying to have a baby but there ain't no way I'm
dying
to have a baby.”

“Pick a nice bar where nice guys go.”

“Haven't you seen and heard the PSAs? You can't tell just by looking. It's just not safe.”

“And reasons two and three?”

“Reason two: It's not fair to jerk a guy around like that. I think it's only right that the father is a willing participant. And it's the only fair thing for the baby, especially if he or she wants to know who the father is at some point.”

“Okay, both are valid. And three?”

“Because maybe this whole plan is just crazy,” Pia pronounced.

“It's not so crazy that an old chick like you would want to have a baby.”

“I'm not that old.”

“Look,
chica,
the facts are the facts. You're over forty and, according to Dr. Montrae, with all your fibroid issues the factory may be closed before it even opens. It doesn't seem crazy at all that you want to get into production before it's too late.”

“But…?”
Pia asked, already knowing the topic of the next barrage of comments and advice that was to be thrown her way.

“But what does seem
muy loco
is this love/hate thing you've got going with men. And I still don't understand how a pretty girl like you doesn't like sex…not with boys
or
girls. Those are the two biggies you're going to need to get over if this baby-making is ever going to happen.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that I don't hate men, I just hate the games they play? Men and I just don't seem to get along beyond the bedroom, and that's not enough for me.

“And I happen to love sex, but not at the price of my sanity. I don't plan to be celibate forever. Just until sex isn't a game but part of a real loving relationship.”

“Or until you find yourself a baby daddy.”

“Exactly.”

“But you messed up with Theo, which means only Grand Nelson is left on the
papi
list.”

“Which means?” Pia inquired, suspicion coloring her query.

“Means it's time to change up,” Dee declared, looking inquisitively at her boss. “You're not ready yet. I think it's time to bring in some professional help. You're rusty,
chica,
and I hate to think what kind of shape that
chocha
of yours is in. You must pee dust.”

“What are you brewing up in that sick little mind of yours, Darlene?”

“Nothing yet, but I'll think of something,” Dee promised before returning to her own desk.

Pia plopped down on the office couch in a swirl of disgust. She hated to admit it, and would never do so out loud, but she was actually hoping Darlene would come up with something, because her flirt gene was severely atrophied and she was teetering on the verge of becoming some sort of a sexual nerd. And as the tick-tick-tick of her biological clock kept reminding her, time was running out.

Chapter Three

Wednesday—Welcome

“Passion is what makes a woman sexy. The body may not be perfect, the face may be more interesting than beautiful, but if a woman has charm, then I want to know her.”

—Giuseppe, 56

“Ultimately what makes a woman sexy is how comfortable she is in her own skin, and how comfortable she makes you feel in yours.”

—Danny, 45

P
ia Jamison stood at the door of the Pacific Ballroom of the Surya Hotel and Spa and tried to quickly recuperate from her forty-yard dash down the corridor. Taking fast, shallow breaths, she peered into the dark room, illuminated only by the video presentation. Damn, she hated being late. Particularly when she had been booked as a panelist at a conference she had only cursory knowledge about. Because her flight from New York to San Francisco had been delayed, she now had to make the embarrassing walk up to the head table with all eyes following her every move and figure out what to say that wouldn't make her look like an uninformed idiot.

Her eyes, now accustomed to the dark, rested on an empty chair on the outskirts of the room. Clutching her welcome tote and unread registration packet, Pia quickly crossed the room and slid into the seat, trying not to disturb the others who sat watching and listening intently to the presentation in progress.

What the hell does this have to do with music videos?
Pia thought as she tuned in. Confusion clutched every part of her mind and body as she reached inside the black nylon tote and pulled out a lavender binder, opened it to the cover page, and lifted it into the meager light.
WEAPONS OF MASS SEDUCTION: UNLEASHING THE SENSUAL YOU
.
What the hell?
As confusion turned into tormented realization, Pia knew there was only one person responsible for putting her in this mortifying position.

When I get home I am going to kill you, Darlene Teresa Anna Maria Valencia Perez, for tricking me into attending this foolishness,
Pia telephathically promised her secretary.
I don't care if my love life does suck. I have neither the time nor the inclination to travel three thousand miles from home to attend some stupid romance clinic.

“Brains make a woman most appealing. If I say something about a current event or the news and it sails over her head, that conversation is over.”

—Donnel, 37

As the montage of handsome international faces continued to parade across the screen, Pia felt herself cringe in the dark. Was she that off the mark from what these men were describing that Dee thought it necessary to subject her to this torturous humiliation? Was she that socially inept?

Apparently, considering you haven't had a second date in two years
, her pesky inner voice chimed.

“What will win me over every time? Great tits and a slamming ass.”

—Jason, 26

“Okay, there's always one Neanderthal in the bunch,” a female voiceover added. “So, there we have them, the answers we seek to the question we've all been asking ourselves: ‘What about a woman magnetizes a man?'”

The age-old query lingered in the air as the video presentation ended and the lights came up. Pia took a quick look around. The room was filled with women whose body types and personal styles were as diverse as their wardrobes. Apparently those wishing to amp up their seduction skills to a nuclear level were a vast and varied lot. Their ages spanned from early twenties to late sixties, their figures falling everywhere between Mary-Kate Olsen and Mo'Nique. Surprisingly, with the exception of a few Pamela Anderson and Mariah Carey wannabes, most appeared normal. Not the desperate losers Pia would have imagined signing up for this kind of seminar.

But looks can be deceiving,
Pia reminded herself. Right now she certainly felt like a big loser and wondered if the rest of these women felt the same. This had to be the ultimate low. She'd always frowned on Learning Annex–type classes that taught tips on how to snag a man, with workshops with titles such as “How to Date Out of Your League,” “How to Make the Right Man Fall in Love with You,” “How to Find Your Soul Mate.” There had to be something wrong if you had to pay someone to teach you what Mother Nature had already supplied you with at birth—mating instincts, pheromones, and such. Damn it, Dee knew this about Pia, and yet here she was, sitting in a workshop with the corniest title of all, “Weapons of Mass Seduction.”

There was a hesitant silence in the room as the assembled women waited for the workshop leader, Joey Clements, to materialize. There was no effort made toward introductions. Pia exchanged a nervous, courtesy smile with the five other women at her table. Each sat silently engrossed in her own thoughts, sizing up the others while waiting for instruction.

Not an extroverted flirt in the crowd. Guess that's why they're all here
, Pia surmised with an inner grimace, turning her attention to the binder and the biography of the instructor. A quick scan informed Pia that Joey Clements was billed as a world-renowned sensuality and flirting expert revered in Hollywood for transforming small-town
blah
celebrities into Tinseltown
ahh
sex symbols.

Time to blow this estrogen fest and plan Dee's murder,
Pia decided, rising to leave. Just as her bottom left the seat, Goldie Hawn's not-as-well-preserved-but-still-with-head-turning-appeal look-alike waltzed into the room and gracefully positioned herself behind the orchid-bearing podium.

Her escape foiled, Pia turned a groan of despair inward as she sank back into her chair.

“Whoa. Is
that
Joey Clements?” whispered the young biracial-looking woman sitting to Pia's left.

Pia totally understood her confusion. She too expected to see a tall, buxom sex bomb. Instead, standing before them was a plump, frizzy-haired, fifty-something flower child. The woman was dressed in a canary yellow figure-concealing caftan with a long string of coral beads dangling between her bountiful breasts. It was clear to Pia that this wasn't the boho chic look now trendy with all the L.A. and New York fashionistas, but rather a lifestyle uniform.

“Hello, lovelies. I'm Joey. Welcome to the first
fabulous
day of your
sensual
life,” Joey Clements said, pronouncing each word with a sultry and hypnotic Kathleen Turner–like growl.

As soon as Joey opened her mouth and her smoky and suggestive voice—with its just-climbed-out-of-bed rasp—caressed Pia's ears, Pia was immediately intrigued. The hippie had disappeared, replaced by a compelling sensual goddess. With the dramatic voice and movement reminiscent of a legendary silver screen diva, Joey exuded a riveting sensuality and a certain
je ne sais quoi
.

“I'm very well aware that you lovelies are here to ‘unearth your inner bombshell,'” she continued, “but before we get started, I'd like to clear up some probable misconceptions about what this workshop is and what it isn't. In our four days together you will
not
receive three hundred and sixty-five tips on how to drive your partner wild in bed. You will
not
learn the ultimate techniques for giving fellatio or the secrets to talking dirty. And this is
not
four days of bad girl sex for good girl lovers, though that is an
intriguing
topic for the future!”

Four of the women at Pia's table joined the rest of the room in a giggle. A few disappointed “Awws” and “Oh no's” could be heard. Judging from her open mouth and wide-eyed frown, the young lady sitting next to Pia seemed particularly disappointed by Joey's seemingly bait-and-switch advertising. “Not to worry, lovelies,” Joey continued. “Though you won't receive actual instructions on these topics, you'll learn enough this weekend to make all those things happen quite naturally.” A wave of applause quickly spread around the room. Pia raised a curious eyebrow as she noticed the young girl's frown quickly turn into a delighted and relieved grin.