Weapons of Mass Seduction (20 page)

Chapter Twenty-five

F
lorence noticed his stare almost as soon as she walked in the room. She could feel his eyes following her as she continued to stroll through the Lobby Living Room of the Hotel Adolphus and to the floral-covered couch where her best friend, Miriam, sat waiting.

“Does this hat make my ass look big or somethin'?” she asked before even saying hello.

Miriam took a minute to inspect the wide bell-shaped hat adorned with a huge white flower, which matched Flo's navy suit to perfection. “No, it's adorable. Very
Breakfast at Tiffany's.
” Miriam replied. “Why?”

“Because that man over there—for chrissake, don't look—keeps starin' at me.”

“Honey, he's not watching the hat. He's more interested in what's shaking underneath it.”

“Oh, please. Stop bein' so silly. Now let's just order and get to gossipin'.”

“May I bring you some tea?” a tall, elegant black waiter asked as another set down a three-tiered plate stand filled with open-faced finger cucumber sandwiches, English scones, and mini-croissants with grilled chicken salad.

After ordering the orange jasmine tea, the two women enjoyed the performance of the classic pianist. Florence took the opportunity to sneak a peek across the room. Her admirer was still there and had been joined by another stately-looking gentleman. For some reason, Clay, the dentist she'd met in San Francisco came to mind, causing Florence to smile.

“He is very handsome,” Miriam stated, mistaking the reason for Flo's grin. “So is his friend.”

“He looks nice enough,” Flo answered, reaching for a scone.

“Florence, you know the birthday gift I gave you?”

“You mean the Women in Marketin' and Sales workshop?” Flo asked, remembering how she and Pia had teased Clay.

“Funny. Yes, that birthday gift.”

“What about it?” she asked before nibbling on her scone.

“I'd like to see what you learned. I've been hearing about it for months now. I want to see you in action. I want you to go flirt with those gentlemen and get them to come over here.”

“Miriam, I'm married.”

“But I'm not. And I'm shy and divorced and happen to have a best friend who is a certified flirty mama.”

“So that's the real reason you gave me that workshop. Not to try to save my marriage, but so I could be your pimp?”

“You got it,” Miriam said with a laugh.

“Okay, fine. You know what this prissy tea needs?” Flo asked, suddenly feeling up to the challenge.

“What?”

“Champagne. I'll be right back.” Florence stood, smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, and did her best not to trip as she sashayed across the lobby.
A genuine smile is power,
Flo thought, remembering Joey Clements's words. She broadened her grin as she approached the two men and noted with satisfaction that her smile was met with two others just as friendly and just as wide. They both stood as she got closer, and Florence was impressed by their gentlemanly show of manners—a rarity these days.

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I'm Florence, and I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was wonderin' if one or both of you could help me out,” she said, extending her hand.

“Steve,” the gazer revealed, clasping her hand.

“Tom.”

“How can we help you?” Steve asked once the introductions and handshakes were finished.

“My friend, Miriam—that's her sitting there,” Flo said as both men turned to look, “insists that the song the pianist is playin' is Beethoven. I say it's Brahms. Any clue as to who's right? But be sure, because there's a whoppin' five bucks ridin' on your answer.”

“Well, with a wager that big, I'd hate to guess,” Steve said, chuckling. “Tom, any idea?”

“Brahms's Waltz in A-flat.”

“How brilliant are you, Tom,” Flo said, touching his upper arm and delivering a huge smile. “Now, could I ask one last favor? Would you two mind comin' over and tellin' Miriam the news. I think she's more apt to believe it if it comes from an impartial party.”

Miriam smiled as she watched a grinning Florence return with the two men in tow. Never in the eight years they'd been friends had Flo done anything so bold.

“Miriam, please meet Steve and Tom. I'm afraid Tom has some bad news for you,” Flo said as the three shook hands.

“Bad news?” Miriam asked, looking at her friend for some kind of clue as to what was going on.

“Yes, I'm afraid Florence was right. The song being played is Brahms's Waltz in A-flat.”

“I see. Florence, you got me again,” Miriam said with a conspiratorial smile.

“Yes, I did, and I am expectin' my five dollars.”

“Well, Tom and Steve, since you got dragged over here and placed in the middle of our silly bet, would you like to join us?” Miriam asked.

“Thank you,” Tom said, taking a seat next to her on the sofa. Steve and Florence sat in the two armchairs directly across from them.

“Would you ladies care for anything? Champagne, perhaps?” Steve asked.

Miriam's eyes immediately sought out Florence's in amused congratulations.

“Sure. My treat, though. Thanks to Mir, I just came into a truckload of money.”

Flo's comment set the foursome off into laughter and fixed the tone for the rest of the afternoon. They discussed everything, from politics to sports to favorite vacation spots, with Florence front and center, entertaining them with her comical stories and witty insights.

Miriam noted the changes in her friend, which were nothing short of remarkable. Sitting there laughing, flirting, and entertaining Steve and Tom, Florence had never looked happier, lighter, or younger. It seemed that Florence had gotten in touch with a place deep inside her—a place where the simple joy of being became a daily celebration. And in an I-want-some-of-what-she's-having moment, Miriam decided it was time to follow her friend's example and unearth her own inner bombshell.

Teatime turned into cocktails, and they moved their party into the hotel lounge, where the budding interest between Tom and Miriam continued to blossom. The hours flew by, and at nine-thirty Florence informed the group that she must put an end to their lovely visit and get home to her husband.

Good-byes expressed all around, Florence got into her car and started the drive home. It had been such a lovely afternoon. Tea with Miriam had never been this much fun before. In fact, Florence couldn't remember having this much fun since her evening spent with Dr. Clay Bickford.

I wonder how he's doin'?
she thought as she merged onto the highway. Florence relived their encounter in San Francisco all the way home—reminiscing over the interesting conversation, the shared laughter, the unacknowledged mutual attraction. She also remembered fondly Clay's boyish enthusiasm when he talked about how much he loved to fish, his love for the city of Barcelona, Spain, and the desire in his eyes when he looked at her.

Thirty-five minutes later, Florence pulled her Lincoln Navigator into the garage. Stepping out of the car, she felt a surge of energy throughout her body, leaving in its wake an ache she hadn't felt in years. Florence couldn't pinpoint the feeling. She wouldn't describe it as pain, exactly, but it was definitely uncomfortable.

Flo walked into the house and through the kitchen, reaching the foyer near the stairs when it hit her. She was aroused. And not just any aroused, but “Let's Get It On,” “Sexual Healing,” Marvin Gaye horny.

A tickled and energized Florence nearly ran up the stairs to her bedroom suite. She slowly opened the door, first hearing Dan's soft snore and then witnessing his sleeping body buried under the covers. She stood and watched him slumber, smiling affectionately at the sight.

Flo walked into her dressing room and went straight for the third drawer from the top of her bureau. After opening the “Passionata” drawer, she pulled out the copper-colored silk gown and the matching robe that Pia had picked out for her. Though totally against the WMS credo, she'd been saving it and all her other purchases for months, waiting for a special night. Well, tonight was the night.

She took another fifteen minutes to freshen up, dress, and apply an appealing spray of perfume. Before leaving the mirror, Florence took a long look. She fluffed the hair around her face, smiling as she wondered for the first time about how a different cut and color might bring out the hazel in her eyes.
You have great eyes,
she complimented herself.

Flo took a moment to hold her own gaze and flirt with herself in the mirror, silently complimenting herself through eye talk as Joey Clements had suggested. Funny, the first time she'd done this she'd felt stupid. But now, in her agitated state, it turned her on. Flo smoothed the silk gown taut, revealing the ripples and waves that had become her fifty-three-year-old body. Yes, she could stand to lose a pound or twenty, but she was still beautiful and sexy, big ass and all.

Pulling a rose from the vase and awash in sensual confidence, a hot and bothered Florence padded softly back into the bedroom to wake her lover. She sat on the side of the bed and pushed the covers back enough to reveal his sleeping face. Smiling tenderly, she took the flower and lightly ran its soft, velvety petals across his face. Dan twitched and snorted, making Florence chuckle. She bent over and softly retraced the rose's journey with her lips before resting them on top of his. Once their mouths made contact, the dam burst, releasing Flo's pent-up passion. Dan's eyes flew open, and after a few seconds of getting his bearings, he pulled away.

“Floey?”

She didn't have an answer to the questions in his eyes, so she simply reached under the sheets and began stroking him. Now fully awake, Dan repositioned his wife onto her back. Florence raised her body enough so he could lift her nightgown to reveal the treasures he sought. Not bothering to hoist the silk any farther than her collarbone, he hungrily devoured her breasts while reaching down to guide his penis into her body.

Flo lay back feeling like a human all-you-can-eat buffet as Dan ignored her and pleasured himself. He bucked back and forth in exact rhythm to his grunts. Ten minutes later, his series of grunts became one long, guttural rumble and he collapsed on top of her.

“That was great.” Having announced his satisfaction, Dan rolled off and flipped onto his stomach with his head turned to the wall. Florence lay there, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. She'd just been screwed by a husband who couldn't have cared less if she was a blow-up doll. Dan had neither noticed her appearance nor cared that other than her initial kiss their lips had not touched.

Is this what sex is supposed to be like?
When she looked back at the last fifteen years, their lovemaking—with subtle variations and occasional bursts of passion—had certainly had been pretty much like this. Florence didn't know what to think about the irony of her situation. Here she had been bitten by the sex bug, causing a breakout of passion and lust, and a ten-minute poke and stroke by a man who didn't even bother to kiss her was supposed to satisfy her?

Flo eased out of bed and back to the bathroom. She took off the nightgown, washed up, and pulled on this week's version of the cotton pajamas she'd been wearing for the last thirty years. Listening at the door for Dan's steady breath and snore, she went into her dressing room and opened the Passionata drawer. Her hand rummaged around until it landed on a small silk pouch. She unsnapped it and lifted from it a cocktail napkin folded in quarters. With slow reverence, she unfolded it and breathlessly recited what was written there:
Clay Bickford, 678-555-4859.

Flo stood alone in her dressing room, staring at the paper and running her fingers across the strong, forceful black strokes. After several minutes, she refolded the napkin and returned it to its hiding place. She then clicked off the light and headed back to bed, but stopped just outside the bathroom door. There in the darkness, unbeknownst to her husband, Flo stripped off her pajamas until she was butt naked in the moonlight. In a moment of sheer defiance, she did a little dance before returning to the dressing area and retrieving her nightgown.

“Wear it for yourself,” she whispered as she returned to the bed. Now properly dressed, she would perhaps in her dreams find the love and passion she craved.

Chapter Twenty-six

I
t took another two weeks for Valen to schedule a free evening to spend with Pia. Once she'd been given the go-ahead on a date, she began scouring her imagination for ways to make his time off both fun and memorable. Pia had now seen firsthand how busy Valen was and how the normal pleasures most people took for granted were forgotten treats for the man who would be senator.

She decided on a private book club meeting and sent him another handmade invitation, inviting him to join her at her apartment for a reading of
Rose Water
. It had been on the WMS book list and she'd been wanting to read it for months, as it was touted for intelligently exploring the intrinsic nature of love and sex and the many demons around the subject.

At eight o'clock on Sunday evening, Valen arrived with a bottle of Sancerre for him and a bottle of sparkling apple cider for her. He kissed Pia lightly upon arrival and walked into her home, tantalized by the yummy aroma swirling around the room.

“Something smells awfully good in here,” he commented.

“Glad you think so. Since the novel is set in Brazil I've ordered several popular dishes.”

“Ordered? Are you telling me you can't cook?” Valen teased.

“Oh, I can
cook,
Mr. Bellamy,” she said, letting the sexual innuendo linger. “Now, as I was saying, I have
ordered
chicken and shrimp empadinhas, sweet plantains, and black beans and rice. They are warming at the moment, so may I get you a cocktail? I can open the wine or I can mix you a mojito.”

“Well, when in Brazil…”

“Come in the kitchen and keep me company while I get things ready.”

The two sat in the kitchen like old friends, talking, laughing, and catching up on their lives. There was a real comfort between them that both Valen and Pia appreciated. This being pals thing was working out well for both of them.

“It was sad, to hear this girl talk about losing her father and the family not having the money for a proper funeral,” Valen told her. “I wanted to give her the money right then, but if I wrote a check for every story I hear like that I'd be broke.”

“I lost my dad when I was eighteen,” Pia said, surprising herself. “It was so sudden that I think it made everything even worse.”

“I'm sorry. How did he die?”

“Freak accident. I was coming home from college for a long holiday weekend and he insisted on cutting fresh roses for my room. He got stung by a bee. He'd never been stung before so we didn't know he was allergic. My mom was at the store, so by the time she found him it was too late.”

“I'm sorry,” Valen repeated.

“Me too. I was his stereotypical apple. Daddy died trying to do something to please me. But instead of being grateful, I was angry at him for a long time for leaving me and my mom.”

“That's not uncommon,” Valen said, placing a comforting hand over hers.

“Guess not. But it still doesn't seem right.

“How did we get on this gruesome subject? I think the food is ready,” Pia declared jumping up to get out the plates and silverware.

The two filled up their dishes and brought them out into the living room. They sat on the couch to eat while continuing to laugh and talk. The conversation between them flowed smoothly. They talked of Valen's devotion to the NBA, and he admitted that his favorite team was the Miami Heat and not the New York Knicks. He forced her to pinky swear not to tell, insisting that such an admission would surely derail his campaign.

“So any deep, dark secrets you'd like to divulge?” Valen asked with a grin.

“I have two tattoos,” Pia responded, made uncomfortable by his question and feeling pressed to admit to something. “I'd show them to you, but I believe it's time to get our meeting started,” she announced, jumping up to get the book and changing the subject.

“Something to look forward to,” Valen quipped under his breath as he cleared the dishes. He returned and stretched out on the couch, laying his head in Pia's lap. There was no discussion as their bodies seemed to naturally assume the intimate position.

They took turns reading to each other, both clearly moved by the subject matter and the personal method of consumption. After ninety minutes they stopped, their reading voices exhausted, their interest in the story piqued.

“We must do this again. I have to know how the story progresses,” Valen said. “But my schedule is so forbidding.”

“Why don't we make a phone date at least once a week. We'll take turns reading for thirty minutes,” Pia suggested.

“I'd love that. You'd really do that for me?”

“Well, yes, but I'm being selfish. I enjoyed this myself.”

He reached down and covered her lips with his in response. Valen's kiss was sweet and endearing, and Pia's was warm and receptive. The two sat on the sofa, making out like high school sophomores and stimulating the desire between them to combustible levels.

“I should go,” he said his voice gruff from sexual arousal.

“Okay,” she agreed, knowing if she didn't stop now, she wouldn't.

“But there is something I need to say first. I'll admit that I was initially apprehensive about calling you after receiving the photograph, but I'm so happy I didn't listen to those negative thoughts. These past couple of dates have been magic for me, and I can only hope you feel the same,” he told her, punctuating his statement with a soft fingertip caress of her lips.

Pia chose not to respond, only to listen. The fact was, she didn't know if she could speak as fighting back the tears was commanding much of her attention. Damn those hormones.

Valen, slightly taken aback by her silence, pressed on.

“Your invitation to the Empire State Building contained the quote ‘There must be something between us, even if it is an ocean.' I take that to mean that you also feel the incredible pull between us. It's chemical and spiritual. It's nothing but it's everything. It feels like a fantasy, but it exists in my heart with an astounding reality.

“So I am asking you to confirm what I
think
I already know. There is something happening between us that shouldn't be denied. I don't want to ignore it. I'm not sure I can. Can you?” he asked, searching for confirmation in her face.

“Please, Pia, you have to say something, because I am beginning to feel like I am giving a campaign speech here,” Valen quipped, hoping to cover the growing dread that was seeping into his heart.

Pia's face remained expressionless, but her passionate brown eyes revealed all. Slowly the tears slid down her cheeks, hanging momentarily before falling to her lap.

It was an agonizing rain that broke his heart. It was clear his interpretation of her actions and words had been way off. Had he read wrong the passion and desire in her kiss? Apparently the intuitive insight he prided himself on had been all wrong, and wrong at a time when the one thing he wanted most in the world was for it to be right.

Damn it,
Pia thought, cursing her overactive hormones. Valen had totally misread the reason she'd used that particular quote from the movie. She'd meant it to be quippy, thinking he'd read it as a shared interest in the Indian Ocean or even as the ocean of political differences between them. But in Pia's mind, it wasn't politics but the current realities about her life and her ideas on relationships that separated them.

At fifteen weeks, this baby she was carrying might have measured only four and a half inches from crown to rump, but it was as big as an ocean when it came to crossing the barriers that divided them. And more than that, Pia was in this simply for the romance. She enjoyed the reawakening of her sexy, sensual side that had taken place in San Francisco and she didn't want to give that up again, but she was not interested in falling in love. Friendship was all she was willing to give Valen. Frankly, it was all she knew how to give him. Pia couldn't afford to allow herself to get in any deeper than the flirting and kissing she was currently enjoying with him.

“I can't make any promises to you. Your life, my life…it just wouldn't be fair.” she said as he gently wiped the tears from her face.

“Understandable. My lifestyle and schedule are a lot to take on, even for the most patient of women,” Valen responded, feeling slightly more encouraged than he'd been just a few moments ago. At least Pia wasn't giving him a flat-out no.

“Let me suggest we just take this thing slow and see what happens. In fact, the reality is, we have no other choice. My schedule leading up to the election will be grueling. So we'll talk on the phone, send e-mails, and finish reading our book. Slowly we'll figure this thing out, okay?” Valen said, drawing her back into his arms.

Pia went willingly into his arms but didn't have the heart to tell him that since the day they'd met everything had already been sorted out between them.