boutique Hotel Liaison was located off of Union Square, in the heart of downtown San Francisco. The nightclub had originally been a small Victorian playhouse. The stage now served as an upper dance floor. Above it, the word Divas was spelled out in bright red neon with an upside-down tube of lipstick as an exclamation point.
The main dance floor occupied what had once been the orchestra pit. The balconies were used for VIP suites. Paintings of legends like Cher and Tina Turner decorated the red velvet upholstered walls and the theatre seats had been grouped around glass tables shaped like lips. Twirling spotlights and strobes illuminated the sheer yards of fabric draped from the frescoed ceiling. Even on a Thursday night, the club was packed.
“This place is awesome, isn’t it?” P.J. had to lean close to her ear to be heard as she handed over a shot glass of green liquid.
Rei eyed the drink suspiciously. “What’s that?”
“A melon ball shooter.” She raised her glass. “To you, my friend, and living to fight another day.”
“To survival.” Rei tilted her head back and swallowed the sweet cocktail. P.J. smacked her glass onto the bar and signaled for another round. “Wait a minute, you’re driving.”
“We’ll burn these off long before we leave, don’t worry.” P.J. indicated the gyrating bodies on the nearby dance floor.
Just then two men sidled up next to them at the bar and tried to strike up a conversation. While P.J. seemed interested, their tired pickup lines and alpha male arrogance turned Rei off. Sure, she entertained a fantasy about sex with a stranger, but in reality she didn’t want to be viewed as an easy score.
The next five or six men were no better and she got the distinct impression that this new nightclub was something of a meat market. To P.J.’s credit, she subtly accepted a couple phone numbers but stayed by her side. Finally the second round of shot glasses arrived. Rei accepted the drink, but decided it was already her last.
“What are we toasting this time?”
“To new adventures.” Her friend’s eyes covetously followed a hot guy walking past.
She touched her glass to P.J.’s then drained it. Almost immediately, she felt the alcohol’s fire spread through her, easing the tension in muscles she hadn’t realized were tight with stress. She felt light-headed, but in a good way, as if all the censuring voices in her mind had been momentarily silenced.
Rei closed her eyes, focusing on the music and chatter, the press of bodies, the faint odor of sweat and perfume. Her heart had taken on the rhythm of the music and, though the setting was incongruous for yoga, she allowed herself to be truly in the moment. Nothing mattered except being right here, right now.
“Let’s go dance!”
Laughing at the stunned expression on P.J.’s face—usually she had to be coaxed out to the floor—she began weaving her way toward the stage. Once she reached the orchestra pit, she created a space and made room for her friend. P.J. easily got into the groove, her curvy body wriggling to the up-tempo music. Rei wasn’t nearly as athletic, but quickly found her own shuffle-step-shimmy routine.
She became aware of men approaching from the sidelines and started to turn so that P.J. could shield her, then mentally shrugged. She didn’t know anyone here, would probably never be in this place again. Through the mega-watt sound system, Christina Aguilera invited her to get “Dirrty.” Rei gave herself over to the idea. The music was hot and so was she. Why not take a risk?
Why not let go and “dance like she didn’t care if anyone was watching”?
“I’M GLAD YOU CAME with me, man. I can’t handle all those babes by myself.” Grant Bronson shoved a hand over his hair, making the already chaotic strands arch into spikes.
As they walked across the hotel lobby from the parking garage, Chris reached over to subtly knock Grant’s hand down. “First off, don’t think of them as ‘babes.’ They’re people, just like us. With the same anxieties and hang-ups and goals. Come on. It’s a night out at a club, not the Inquisition.”
“I’m terrible at this stuff, though. I get all tongue-tied and say something stupid or make an ass of myself.” He tugged at the hem of his shirt.
“Relax. There’s no agenda for tonight.”
Grant flinched then covered it with a grin. “I thought we came here so I can pick up babes?”
Chris held back a sigh. He’d known Grant vaguely in college, but tonight he was a client. He was a good-looking guy but it was obvious why he had trouble with relationships. He wasn’t getting it that his attitude could make or break him.
“We came here to have a few drinks and meet some new people. The idea isn’t to have sex, ask for a date or even get a phone number. All we want to do this first time out is assess your technique and make any necessary adjustments.”
He tried to remember the last time he’d gone out for something other than work. Whether it was with a friend or a client, he seemed to spend more time giving advice than making use of it. Rachel had labeled him as only good for sex, but he hadn’t been with a woman in months.
Grant’s head swung around to ogle a young woman walking out of the elevator. “Wow, did you see her?”
“Yes and unfortunately she saw you, too. Put your tongue back in your face.” Chris pulled up short of the nightclub’s side entrance, dragging Grant over to a potted plant by the hotel concierge desk. “Listen to me. You’re blowing it before you’ve even begun.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I know it’s hard to be yourself when you think ‘yourself’ isn’t good enough. But you only get one chance to make a first impression. It’s true in business and even more important in potential relationships. That is what you want, right? Because I’m not a pimp. If all you’re looking for is an easy lay, you’re on your own.”
Grant’s eyes had widened at the tersely delivered lecture, but now he looked at Chris with respect, as if he were somehow surprised. “Okay, you’re right. Okay. I’m just nervous, that’s all. I told you I always make an ass of myself by saying something stupid.”
“In that case, rule number one is don’t talk.”
“Huh?”
“Women appreciate being listened to. So introduce yourself, ask about her then shut up and listen. Okay? Let’s go.” Chris walked toward the side entrance to Divas.
Grant caught up to match his stride. “I think it’s cool that you’re doing this.”
“It’s part of the job. No big deal,” Chris offered.
“Do you give all your clients this kind of personal attention?”
“Of course. We make every effort to help people identify what makes them unique and—”
“No, I don’t mean the party line. I’m talking about tonight’s field trip and the clothes shopping last week. Does everybody get that or am I special somehow?”
From the minute he’d signed up for Lunch Meetings services, Grant had been full of questions, more so than most. It was starting to get on Chris’s nerves…and to make him suspicious. “I can’t discuss my other clients with you.”
“Okay, it’s cool. Let’s talk about you then. Where’s your other half tonight?”
Chris felt his jaw clench as he prepared to lie. “She had other plans.”
Grant looked him in the eye and smiled. “Too bad. I’d love to see what kind of woman dates a date doctor.”
So would a lot of other people. Chris was beginning to wonder if he should ask some good-looking friend to act as his girlfriend. Then he could stop hiding his single status and take advantage of the publicity that legitimate newspaper interviews would garner. Word of mouth would only