Sex on Flamingo Beach (10 page)

“You must know all the right people in this town then.”

“I know a few.”

Mack leaned over and rested his chilled glass of iced tea on her forearm. “Then you're a good person to introduce me around.”

“Emilie is much too busy, but I'll be happy to,” Rowan said, plopping down on the vacant chair on her other side.

She couldn't help letting rip another loud sigh. No point in getting into it with him. It would be wasting her time. She was certain this wasn't a chance encounter. He'd followed her out.

“Mack Allen, meet Rowan James. Rowan is Derek Morse's partner. You gentlemen should have quite a bit to talk about.” Emilie rose, taking her iced tea with her. “Sorry, but I have to get back inside and see what's going on.”

Before either man could say a word, she headed off.

On the way, she noticed several guests carrying the signature pink and blue bags that indicated they'd attended the passion party. They were commenting on how lovely the hotel was.

“Be sure to use the coupon in your bag and come back and stay with us, even if only for a spa day,” Emilie said encouragingly.

“We will,” two women answered before making their way outdoors.

She'd insisted that coupons offering a special promotional room rate and a complimentary cocktail be handed out to everyone attending the event. Maybe people would be more tempted to book rooms.

Tre Monroe and a crew from the radio station were leaving with their equipment.

“Nice turnout,” Tre called to her as she walked by.

“Did you get the interviews you needed?”

“Yup, and some. The guys are going to have to do way too much editing. Most of the women we interviewed didn't have a problem putting it out there.”

“Be sure to plug the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort every chance you get,” Emilie reminded him.

“I will. You still interested in being on that panel we discussed?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. I'm thinking the panel would work better on
The Tre and Jenna Show.
You'll get a wider audience. MiriamYoung's agreed to come on and so has Rowan.”

Two nights a week D'dawg and his wife, Jen, hosted
The Tre and Jenna Show.
Jen was an advice columnist with her own following, and the husband-and-wife team's popularity was rapidly growing. That they came from opposing viewpoints made the show even more interesting.

“I'll call Larry Moorehouse and talk to him about joining us,” Emilie offered.

“If you have trouble with Larry send him to me. I'll call you soon with more details.” Tre headed off, his team of technicians trailing him.

When Emilie entered the ballroom she noted the crowd had thinned considerably. Now you could even walk and browse the merchandise, unheard of before. A few tables sported Sale signs, which meant the consultants didn't want to pack the merchandise up and take it home. Those tables were doing a good business.

Pretending not to be browsing, Emilie cast a discreet eye at the displays and tried not to gape. She'd never seen such an assortment of strap ons and vibrators in her life. They came in all colors, shapes and sizes with names that made her blush.

“I'd say this was one party that was a roaring success,” Joya said, coming to stand beside her. “See, I even bought Derek a little present.” She carried one of the signature pink and blue bags.

“Let me guess. It's one of those erotic party games where the person who selects a card gets to ask for a favor.”

“No, better than that. Here, take a peek.”

Emilie stuck her head in the bag and immediately felt her cheeks heat up.

“Edible chocolate panties! I'd say Derek was in for a wild time tonight.”

“Buy yourself a pair.”

“What for? I can't think of a soul I'd want to share them with.”

Joya snorted loudly. “I know a certain developer who would be happy to partake.”

It was Emilie's turn to snort and quickly change the subject. “I just met a contracted worker Keith Lightfoot brought in. He's an engineer. The man is hot.”

“I'll find out what Derek knows about him. Actually you can ask my hubby yourself because here he comes.”

“Did I hear my name? Ask me what?” Derek nuzzled his wife's neck and she waved her little pink and blue bag at him.

“Save that mushy stuff for later. I bought us dessert,” Joya said, smiling and winking.

“You did, did you? What did you want to ask me, Emilie?”

Emilie told Derek about meeting Mack Allen and how he'd mentioned they'd be working together.

“Can't say I know the brotha but if you're interested in him this is going to cause problems.”

Joya looked at her husband curiously. “Problems? Why's that?”

“Rowan's not going to like having competition. Not one bit.”

“Rowan's not in the running. He can't control who I see,” Emilie muttered, bristling.

“And on that note, I need to get back to work. Will you help me break down tables, hon?” Joya took her husband's arm and with a parting wink steered him away.

Emilie remained dumbfounded. Who did Rowan James think he was? Because she'd agreed to go to Harbour Island with him didn't mean he owned her. They didn't even have an understanding.

She was free to date anyone she chose.

I
t took a little coaxing to get Larry Moorehouse on board. At first he'd not been keen about moving the location of the jam session. He claimed the residents were used to being on the beach and the event had a certain format that people were comfortable with. But once he'd learned of Tre's involvement and his promise to tape the show, he quickly changed his tune.

Emilie had been very persuasive, telling Larry that the changes she suggested were actually better for the community, and that he would get the credit for bringing additional attention to the Beach, not to mention some much-needed income. That had finally done it and he'd wanted in.

She'd also spoken to her boss, Tom Burke, senior vice president of sales and marketing. He'd felt the publicity would be a good thing for the resort, and he'd wanted everyone to know that the hotel would donate ten percent of any profits back. Larry seemed to like that idea a lot, which was another reason he'd agreed to be at WARP tonight, that and the fact that the broadcast would thrust him even more into the limelight.

The guests on
The Tre and Jenna Show
were seated in WARP's answer to a greenroom. To Emilie's right was Stephen Priddy, as usual looking smug and confident. Emilie hoped he'd keep the bloopers to a minimum. D'dawg's audience was a tough one, and they would be all over him like the clingy raspberry polyester suit the mayor was wearing.

Solomon Rabinowitz had somehow gotten wind of the broadcast and MiriamYoung's involvement. He'd invited himself on the show. Rowan occupied the spot on the other side of Emilie. She was anxious to see how things played out tonight, given that she was leaving for Harbour Island with him later that week. Hopefully they wouldn't be at each other's throat.

“I'm a little nervous,” Larry Moorehouse admitted, pouring himself a glass of cold water from a pitcher on the table. “Tre's a buddy of mine, but on the air he can be brutal, and his wife, Jenna, always asks some very direct questions.”

“You'll do just fine,” Emilie assured him, hoping that he could sell the idea of moving the jam to the residents and not cave under pressure.

Tre's listeners were often passionate and opinionated, and they weren't the type to pull any punches.

A student intern stuck his head in the greenroom. “Fifteen minutes to airtime,” he announced, “Let's get you moved into the studio.”

Larry Moorehouse was practically gulping air now. The mayor in his ridiculous suit smoothed the fringe around his pate. He was studiously avoiding making eye contact with Miriam Young, who was wearing an attractive pantsuit with her signature flip-flops underneath.

“You're pretty cool,” Rowan said into Emilie's ear as they walked down the hall toward the studio.

“I'm a good actress. Wait until I'm on the air. But I do believe the jam session needs structure, and with a little pizzazz we could give
Idol
a run for its money. Plus we'd give tourists and locals something to do on a Saturday night.”

“And you'll fill up your hotel, as well,” Rowan said, winking. “You're always thinking about your hotel.”

“And you aren't thinking about the casino and that huge shopping mall? The kinds of high-end stores you're hoping to attract can only survive if people spend money. We're both business people.”

“Touché.” Rowan pushed a lock of blond hair out of his eye and grinned at her.

Inside the studio they were given earpieces and microphones. Jen and Tre already had headsets on and acknowledged their arrival with a wave.

A production assistant began a slow countdown, holding up his fingers. “Five, four, three, two, one. You're on the air live.”

The lyrics of a popular song served as an introduction and then the husband-and-wife cohosts came on.

“Good evening, this is Jen St. George. My advice column is known as Dear Jenna. Seated next to me is my better half, Tre Monroe, D'dawg to most of you.”

Jen was the one who played the straight guy.

“D'dawg here. How ya'll doing, Flamingo Beach?” Tre said, taking over. On Wednesdays and Fridays of every week, my lovely lady and I keep it real on
The Tre and Jenna Show.
Hope you'll keep tuning in.”

More music followed before Tre introduced the night's topic. He invited the panelists to introduce themselves and speak briefly about why they were here. Mayor Rabinowitz, long winded as usual, hogged most of the time, leaving the others barely enough minutes to mumble their names and their pet topics.

“It's all about change, baby,” Tre said, whistling softly. “Look at how quickly this town went from a sleepy little village with two motels to a big-time resort. Flamingo Beach is on the brink of discovery and could easily be the next Las Vegas. Remember those little shacks on Shore Drive that no self-respecting person would live in? Well, now they're selling for big bucks and the people moving in are calling them historical homes.”

“Look at Mario's diner,” Jen said, taking over. “When I first moved here it served grits, dumplings and its trademark spaghetti. Now the place has outdoor dining, sorry, that's garden terrace seating to you and me.”

“Yup,” Tre said, laughing. “Old Mario's gone upscale. And now he has more waitstaff than he has children. Business is booming!”

“Let's talk about Flamingo Beach's five-star resort. You think there's going to be enough traffic in town to support that plus a casino?” his wife asked. “Which brings us to tonight's topics. How will all of these changes affect the little man?”

“Hit us up, baby,” Tre said in the urban drawl he'd perfected for radio. “Give it to us straight. Is this casino a good or bad thing? Lines are open, y'all.”

Emilie caught Rowan's eye. She winked at him. He'd just been put in the hot seat and he knew it. Mayor Rabinowitz and Priddy would let him sink.

The first caller was pro casino. When Tre pushed a little the man admitted it was only because he liked to gamble. Several calls following that were mixed. Most liked the idea of having more jobs available but were worried about their children, and the element that would be drawn to the town.

“What about the types pf people that come to a casino?” Tre threw out, stirring things up. “Some say gambling draws hookers, pimps and drug addicts like magnets.”

The next caller suggested that Tre have Rowan, the mayor and Miriam answer that question. Mayor Rabinowitz quickly deferred to Rowan.

“Your concerns may very well be valid,” Rowan said like a pro. “However, there are no statistics to support an immediate rise in crime whenever a casino is built.”

“You said immediate, but what about long-term?” Jen asked him.

“Over an extended period of time, towns with casinos do seem to have higher crime rates, but who is to say the casino is the problem? Whenever there is an influx of people, thefts and vandalism increase.”

“That sounds like a pat answer to me, bro,” another caller shouted. “The problem is the northerners moving to Flamingo Beach and bringing their bad city ways with them.”

“Northerners bring money,” Stephen Priddy, not to be ignored, quickly interjected. “I would think you'd be happy to see us here.”

The moment he said that, all the phone lines lit up.

“Let's hear from the mayor,” Tre said, putting Solomon on the spot.

A bright red Mayor Rabinowitz tried his best to smooth things over. “What Mr. Priddy means is that this town has never enjoyed such prosperity. Look at the improvements to properties, the jobs that have opened up.”

“All I know,” one of the homeboys who'd gotten through bellowed, “is my rent's through the roof and I'm gonna have to move. My own home's gotten too pricey for me.”

Jen cleverly steered the conversation back to the jam session.

“Let's talk about the Saturday jam and what the Flamingo Beach Spa and Resort is proposing. I'll let Emilie Woodward, the resort's sales director, speak to the idea of moving the jam session to her hotel, and then we'll open the lines for questions.”

Emilie shared the ideas she'd proposed to Larry Moorehouse. She was at her most persuasive explaining how the resort would be a much more comfortable location for the jam, and that by putting structure to it, the session would become even more popular. She talked about the positive cash flow to be gained and the benefits to the town.

“The only one who stands to gain money is the Flamingo Beach Resort,” another caller said, cutting to the chase. “Right now the jam's free. We pack a cooler and find a space on the beach. We listen to tunes and when we're ready we leave.”

“And you'd still be able to listen to tunes and get down,” Rowan interjected, supporting her. “What Emilie forgot to mention was that in nice weather the performers will be outdoors at poolside or on the boardwalk. When it rains the show still goes on inside. Right now if the weather is inclement it's canceled. Am I right?”

“We've always been on the beach and we like it that way,” another caller groused. “I can bring my kids and dress any old way. Where's Larry? He's the guy who got this started. Let him have his say.”

Put on the spot, Larry began to waffle. “You can still bring your kids and dress comfortably even if the jam gets moved to the hotel. The hotel is giving ten percent of the profits from its food and beverage sales back to the town. But if you're saying ten percent don't mean much, well…”

“That money will go right into the mayor's pocket,” another resident boldly added.

The mayor's face, already the color of his ridiculous raspberry suit, turned even darker. He began to sputter.

“This town can certainly use the money,” Stephen Priddy said, trying to bail the mayor out but making things worse. “If you get off the ocean a bit there are blocks that can still be classified as slums.”

“Who the hell are you to judge us, you obnoxious piece of—” The call got dropped and another call taken.

“Put on the Flip-flop Momma.”

Miriam said her piece. As always she was the voice of reason. She suggested a test run during the summer and fall season, with a possible return to the beach in the winter if things didn't work out.

Finally the questions wound down and the broadcast was over.

“That went rather well,” Mayor Rabinowitz said, puffing out his chest. “Stephen, my boy, you should consider running for office.”

Emilie and Rowan exchanged looks over both men's heads. Priddy and the mayor were two of a kind.

Outside again, Rowan said, “I don't know about you, but I sure as heck could use a drink. What about a nightcap before we head home?”

Emily hesitated because it really had been a long, stressful day. But overall the broadcast had gone much better than she'd expected and Rowan had been very supportive of her. It wasn't as if he was asking her to go home with him.

“Sure. If you want to follow me we can go to the Pink Flamingo. It's probably one of the few places open this late tonight.”

“Honey, I'd follow you to the ends of the earth.”

Twenty minutes later they were seated outside at the tikki bar of the Pink Flamingo. At that hour, and on a weekday night, there were only a handful of people seated outdoors. Sheena Grace was among them working the few men in the bar. Emilie ignored her and concentrated on the flamingos fluttering from the thatched ceiling while Rowan ordered their drinks.

“What's this?” Emilie asked as he handed her a drink the color of Pepto-Bismol.

“The daily special. It's called a flamingotini.”

“Hmm, I live here and I've never had one of these before.”

“Obviously you don't know the right people. Cheers!”

“Salud.”
Emilie clinked her glass against Rowan's then took a sip. “This is good. What's in it?”

“Same concept as a cosmo. Cranberry, lemon juice instead of lime, a touch of triple sec, vodka or gin, and fruit coloring makes it the flamingo shade. Are you all packed?”

She shook her head. “No, I'll do it tomorrow. I don't need much. Shorts, a bathing suit, maybe a sundress or two, sandals.”

“Jammies?”

“Who needs them?” The moment it popped out of her mouth she could have slapped herself. What had prompted her to say that?

“I'd think you were the type who helped Vicky's Secret pay its rent.”

“You'll never know.”

“How do you think tonight went?” Rowan asked, taking the conversation in a totally different direction.

“It could have been worse.”

“Your mayor's a trip.”

“That's putting it eloquently. His buddy Priddy's in about the same league.” She sipped her flamingotini. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“Want to hear what the doctor ordered for me?” Rowan leaned over to whisper in her ear.

She slapped his arm. “With another flamingotini in me, I just might say yes.”