It Girl

by Nic Tatano

  "So, you seeing my sister tomorrow?"

  "Getting my free massage. You know, she's a really sweet girl." He drained the remainder of his drink, gently took my arm and led me to the elevator. "You don't usually find girls who are that pretty who are nice. I mean, she's drop dead gorgeous. Selina's got better legs than most of our dancers. And God, those great eyes."

  I shook my head, rolled my eyes and stopped walking.

  He stopped and turned to look at me. "What?"

  "I just realized I'm pretty tired, Bradley. Between the dancing and the walk over here, I just hit the wall. I think I'm gonna call it a night."

  His face twisted. "Really?"

  No, I want you to be thinking of my sister while you're in bed with me. Maybe yell out her name at the appropriate moment. "Yeah."

  His lower lip went out in a slight pout. "Well, okay. I guess it has been a long day for you. Rain check?"

  "Yeah, sure. Rain check. See you tomorrow."

  "Hey, great job tonight," he said. "You're turning into a really good dancer."

  Yeah. And you're turning into a real disappointment.

  And for some reason, on my walk home, I wondered what Dexter was doing.

  ***

  "My sister is not going to out-sex me."

  Layla furrowed her brow as she sipped her drink at the bar. "Is that actually a word?"

  "I just made it up but I think it gets the point across. If she wants to play that game, then let's rock. I can dress just as cheap and talk like a porn star too."

  She looked around at the Friday happy hour crowd, noticed a few people looking at us, then slid closer. "You do realize this is no longer about your wanting Bradley, which you clearly do not. This is about beating your sister."

  "I still want Bradley."

  She rolled her eyes. "Like I said earlier, we're back in high school. And I know you better than anyone. He's not right for you."

  "Fine. I still want Bradley for purely physical reasons."

  "And … C'mon, out with it … "

  "Yes! I admit it! It would be nice to get the upper hand on Selina just once."

  "Doesn't matter that he acted like a jerk last night."

  "I've been out with much bigger jerks. And so have you."

  "Point taken."

  "Layla, I haven't had sex since Alexander. Can't I just act like a man for once?"

  "You're acting more like your sister."

  "Whatever."

  "Whatever can get you into trouble." She reached across the table and took my hands. "Veronica, this isn't like you."

  "This is a unique situation. You know I hate to lose."

  "Yeah, and that's part of your problem." She shook her head, obviously giving up on her attempt to talk me out of seducing Bradley. "So what's the plan? How are you going to keep your sister away?"

  "I'm thinking I get him to order room service, we're having dinner, and then … I satisfy the sexual camel in me and get rid of my sister all in one shot."

  "So you're thinking about spending the entire night in his room."

  "Yep. So there's no way she can interrupt us."

  "Better check under the bed first. Meanwhile, you know who you need to talk to."

  ***

  As far as the art of seduction goes, no woman knows more on the subject than Savannah. It's almost like she's a Jedi Master, able to wave her hand and say, "These aren't the girls you're looking for. You want me." She can put any man into the equivalent of a hypnotic trance, so much so that he almost needs an antidote once she breaks up with him. (She always does.) One guy she dumped walked around in a daze for about a year. Savannah says that men often need the equivalent of romantic rehab after she dates them, as she so completely ties them in emotional Gordian knots that they are unable to function without her.

  Think about it. She's probably the only woman on the planet besides me who can get a call from Dexter Bishop and let it go to voice mail. And then not call him back.

  And since she goes out with some men simply for "exercise" and Bradley would possibly fit into that category, I figured she'd be able to advise me on keeping him interested in me and not my sister. I wasn't totally agreeing with Layla, as I thought Bradley was salvageable. I still like his personality and we get along well. Look, he's only twenty-eight and we all know men mature later than we do. He wasn't the first guy to become obsessed with Selina, but he's obviously turned on by her tactics.

  Which I needed to adopt, and fast.

  So I asked Savannah to be a "consultant" for lack of a better term. She invited me over to her apartment, the bedroom of which might be considered a lair if she were a sexual superhero, since I wanted to put my problem with Selina to bed, literally and figuratively, once and for all. Savannah had met her a few times, so she knows the type. I'd explained the situation with Bradley and she insisted it was easily fixable as she led me down the hallway to her boudoir.

  Her bedroom was what you might expect from a Southern girl. A king size four-poster canopy bed, an antique armoire and matching dresser, a gorgeous ornate vanity, and a red leather chair with an ottoman in the corner.

  "I've seen your bedroom before," I said, holding a glass of wine. "Why can't we just talk in the living room?"

  She marched to one of her two large walk-in closets. "Because this isn't in the living room."

  Savannah opened the double doors, revealing enough seduction "equipment" to open an adult superstore. Costumes that could only originate in the mind of a man filled one side of the closet, while the other had shelves stocked with various "toys" to accommodate any male sexual fantasy.

  My jaw dropped as I took a quick inventory. "Whoa."

  She smiled and playfully batted her eyes. "One never knows what will turn on one's date."

  "I would think a woman who looks like you wouldn't need this stuff."

  "Darlin', you have so much to learn about the male of the species. Rule number one of what every man wants: lady in public, whore in the bedroom. Throw in a fantasy and y'all can tuck his family jewels away in your purse."

  I moved into the closet and started sliding the costumes along the rod. "French maid, dominatrix, Cinderella, Wonder Woman … you got a magic lariat?"

  She picked one off the shelf and held it up.

  "You've actually worn all this stuff?"

  She nodded. "Look, I can satisfy the basic needs of any man, but why not take it to another level by fulfilling a fantasy?"

  I turned to the other side of the closet, which featured a riding crop, various masks and a set of velvet handcuffs among other things. "I need all this to keep Bradley interested?"

  "Look, y'all start with one fantasy, then if you decide to keep him around you can spice things up. You can mix and match things." She took one costume from the rack. "Cinderella with a riding crop has always been a big hit. Like I said, lady in public—"

  "I get it, fantasy whore in bed. So where do I start?"

  "What do you think would turn him on?"

  "No idea."

  "Well, what do you think he finds attractive about your sister?"

  "You mean other than the fact that's she spends more time on her back than the Jets quarterback?"

  "No, what attracts him physically."

  "He did mention she had better legs than most of the professional dancers."

  She nodded, reached out and grabbed the dominatrix outfit, complete with thigh-high black vinyl boots. "I've got just the thing to show off yours. How about this?"

  "I dunno. He's a dancer and used to leading … not sure he'd want to be led."

  "Can you do a fake French accent?"

  "Oui, madame," I said, which didn't sound bad.

  "French maid it is." She grabbed the costume and handed it to me. "Try it on."

  I swapped out my outfits and moved in front of the mirror on the back of the door. I had to admit it did show off my assets very well.

  "He won't be able to resist you," she said. "So when you go to his hotel room, h
ave this on under a raincoat, then do the big reveal. Trust me, you'll be in control the rest of the night."

  "And my sister will be gone?"

  "She'll move on to someone else, but remember, there will always be party girls. It's like playing a game of whack-a-mole: get rid of one and another will pop up."

  “As long as she pops up back in Babylon, I’m good.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Well, Operation Margaux the French maid (yes, I gave my alter ego a name) was on hold since there was a much more important event that I absolutely could not postpone.

  Dinner and dancing with Dexter Bishop.

  No, hell hasn't frozen over. It's prom night.

  Remember those two kids in the pool? Well, tonight we're supposedly making them the most envied kids in high school.

  I had mixed emotions about the whole thing. On the one hand I'll be doing something very nice for a very special young man. On the other hand, I've gotta spend several hours with Dexter, and even though I'm starting to see him in a different light we're still playing this game of one-upsmanship. But the former outweighs the latter by a good deal.

  Dexter already sent over a detailed itinerary of the evening, in a parchment envelope sealed with wax. Like I said, he's old school.

  -Limo picks me up at six, then picks up the kids. (Which means I'll be alone in the limo with him for awhile.)

  -Dinner at one of the city's most exclusive restaurants at seven.

  -9pm, arrive at prom.

  -Midnight, leave prom for afterparty at one of the other student's homes. (Visions of scenes from the movie Risky Business dance through my head, followed by a headline in the tabloids linking me to a teenage prostitution ring.)

  -1:30am, leave afterparty, "breakfast" at an exclusive restaurant that Dexter has bribed to stay open just for us.

  -2:30am, drop off kids, head home. (Which means I'll be alone in the limo with him for awhile.)

  So I spent the last hour getting gussied up. I found an appropriate "prom dress" for the event; not too sexy, but nothing that screams "teenager" either. It's a knee-length turquoise off-the-shoulder number that reveals no cleavage. After all, I figured I'd be meeting the kid's parents and didn't want to look like a party girl. As opposed to Margaux, who will rival her evil nemesis, Selina.

  The doorman buzzed me, telling me the limo had arrived, so I made my way downstairs. I found Dexter in a tuxedo chatting with the doorman as I stepped off the elevator. He turned and smiled at me as I headed in his direction.

  "You look lovely," he said.

  "Thank you. So do you."

  He stuck out his elbow as the doorman held it open. "Shall we?"

  I curled my hand around it. We walked into the street and found a chauffeur in uniform standing next to a rather unusual looking limo. He held the door open for me, revealing some sort of silver metal contraption attached to the floor. "Watch your step, Miss."

  "What is this thing?" I asked.

  "I had a limo modified to accommodate a wheelchair," said Dexter.

  Damn, that was thoughtful. "That's, uh, very nice of you," I said, as I stepped over the device into the limo.

  "Just a small alteration," he said, as he climbed into the limo and sat opposite me. The chauffeur closed the door and headed for the driver's seat. Dexter pointed to a fully stocked bar. "Care for a cocktail?"

  On the one hand I didn't want to meet parents with liquor on my breath. On the other hand, I sorta needed it and I had a supply of breath mints. "Sure."

  "Champagne?"

  "Bring it on."

  Dexter pulled a bottle of champagne from a silver bucket, poured two glasses and handed one to me. "Cheers." He held out his glass.

  "To doing good deeds," I said, as I clinked his glass. I sipped the champagne, which was terrific. Not dry, not sweet. "Excellent choice."

  "Thank you."

  I leaned back and stretched out my legs. "So where do the kids live?"

  "About thirty minutes away in New Jersey. They actually attend the same school, so they're in the same neighborhood." He paused a moment, then pointed at a television monitor. "Care to watch the telly?"

  "Why would I want to watch television?"

  "I assumed you wouldn't be interested engaging in conversation with me."

  What the hell, cut the guy some slack. "Hey, you're doing a great thing tonight. I think I can put aside our differences for one evening. Maybe actually honor our truce."

  He smiled and exhaled audibly. "I'm glad to hear that. I wouldn't want any perceived animosity to ruin the evening for our dates."

  I finished the glass of champagne, which had a quick effect on me due to my empty stomach.

  Dexter noticed. "Would you like another?"

  "I'd better wait till dinner."

  ***

  Dinner was amazing, and probably cost Dexter a thousand bucks. Heather, his date, had tears in her eyes when she saw the limo had been specially equipped for her. Her mom actually cried when she saw what Dexter had done for her daughter.

  Jim's parents were equally impressed that a network anchor was escorting their son.

  It was the first ride for both kids in a limo. Had this happened before I got the network gig, it would have been mine as well.

  We arrived at the prom to a standing ovation and were escorted to a table in the center of the gymnasium, which had been turned into a colorful dance hall complete with red streamers and a disco ball. Thankfully there was a decent band instead of what I had feared: a disc jockey playing nothing but rap music. (That's actually an oxymoron.)

  Dexter had an easier time dancing with Heather than I did with Jim. He danced around her wheelchair while she expertly popped wheelies and rolled under his arm as he "twirled" her. Jim was propped up on his braces, so he couldn't use his hands. I kept my arms around his waist and we basically swayed back and forth to the music.

  Of course like most teenagers they didn't want to spend the entire night with adults, so Dexter and I ended up dancing with a bunch of teachers who were there as chaperones. And for some odd reason, there were an awful lot of female chaperones. But after two hours of drinking punch I was in serious need of some alcohol. Luckily the teachers had kept Dexter's dance card full so I hadn't had to spend much time talking with him.

  Jim and Heather were elected king and queen of the prom and managed to share a dance in the center of the floor, capping off their magical evening. He used the handles on her wheelchair to keep himself upright. There wasn't a dry eye in the house.

  And then, a curve ball.

  The class president stepped to the microphone as the band finished the song. "May I have your attention please." Everyone stopped dancing and quieted down. "While we've already elected our king and queen, we wanted to extend a very special thank you to two incredible people who made this evening unforgettable. So please give a round of applause to tonight's honorary king and queen, Mister Dexter Bishop and Miss Veronica Summer."

  My jaw dropped as I looked across the room at Dexter, who was genuinely as surprised as I was. We moved toward the center of the floor as the class president hopped off the stage to meet us. Jim and Heather came forward with crowns; Jim put mine on my head while Dexter kneeled down so Heather could crown him. The crowd applauded again and I thought we were done.

  Damn, those curve balls.

  "So," said the class president, "what would you like for your first dance as honorary king and queen?"

  "Oh, no, that's not necessary," I said.

  "You two have to dance," said Heather.

  "Really," said Jim.

  "We've never danced together," I said.

  Dexter ignored me and turned to the band. "Quickstep. Can you fellows play something fast?"

  The bandleader nodded as everyone backed up to give us room. My eyes grew wide as Dexter took my hands. "What are we supposed to do?"

  "You and Bradley did very well on the quickstep," he said. "And I was a dance instructor. I taught him the routine you
've been doing."

  "Okay."

  "Just let me lead."

  "Don't get used to it."

  The music started and suddenly Dexter was pulling me around the floor, using the same steps I'd been taught. The muscle memory took over, and I was surprisingly in tune with him, more so than Bradley. Dexter was looking at me, but in a way he'd never done before, locked on my eyes … I don't know, I couldn't put my finger on it. "Stop looking at me like that," I said, low enough so no one else could hear.

  "Like what?"

  "Like you're doing."

  "Do you want me to look at your feet? One is supposed to look at the partner's eyes."

  "You're staring."

  "I am not."

  A photographer came out of the crowd, moved closer to us and started shooting pictures. I forced a smile and turned to the camera.

  Dexter's hand gave me a gentle tug, making me snap my head back toward him. "What?"

  "Focus on your partner. Not the camera."

  Again with the look.

  The song finally ended, we stepped apart and clapped along with the crowd.

  ***

  I'd put off a trip to the ladies room as long as possible since I had no desire to share a mirror with a bunch of teenage girls. Fortunately there were none as I entered to freshen up. The quickstep had made me glow a little.

  A thirtysomething pert blonde teacher was touching up her lipstick. "Hi, Miss Summer."

  "Veronica, please."

  "Veronica, I'm Cassie Davies. I teach creative writing. I admire your work, you can really turn a phrase."

  "Thank you, I often wonder if viewers notice that stuff," I said, as I put my purse on the counter and pulled out a compact.

  "So, I gotta ask. Are you and Dexter dating?"

  I stopped and turned to face her. "Oh, no. I'm just a contestant on his show."

  "Oh. You guys make such a nice couple. I just figured—"

  "Well, thank you, but we don't really have much in common."

  "Well, you're both very nice people to do this tonight, so that's something you have in common."

  "Really, it was nothing."

  "It wasn't nothing to those two kids."