Flamingo Place. Marcia King-Gamble

would dare file sexual harassment charges if the romantic interest wasn’t reciprocated. Not if they knew what was good for them. They’d be laughed off the beach and most certainly would not be hired by any other local merchant, not even for a menial job.

      “This is Chet,” the florist gushed.

      Music played in the background but no one responded. Chet frowned. It was probably a solicitor, but maybe not—Harley would have hung up on her.

      Chet covered the mouthpiece with his hand. “Who’s looking for me?”

      Harley shrugged. “I don’t know. The person was well spoken. I thought it might be a reporter. We did send out that press release.”

      Harley continued to make suggestions to the Catalban man, who was beautiful enough to be a woman, before he finally shouted over his shoulder, “On second thought, it might be the radio station. I think I heard WARP mentioned and that DJ with the canine name.”

      “Oh!” Chet’s Kenneth Cole loafers now tapped out a beat. He’d had a secret crush on Tre Monroe. Too bad the DJ wasn’t into men. One perfectly manicured finger worried his long lashes. It felt wonderful to be fully out of the closet and able to openly admire someone of the same gender.

      “D’Dawg calling for Charles Rabinowitz,” a deep male voice said.

      “This is Chet, Tre. Long time no talk?” Was he being too familiar? They were really only nodding acquaintances, though privately Chet thought the African-American man was the buffest male he knew and the hottest. They worked out at the same health club. Tre’s dark-skinned good looks, sculptured features and soulful brown eyes belonged on a male model. Too bad he hadn’t chosen a profession where he could strut his stuff. He would have given Ty Beckford a run for his money.

      “If I were any better, I would be purring,” the sexy DJ said.

      Chet loved the sound of his voice. It came from deep in his belly and reminded him of a popular R&B singer.

      “Is there something that All About Flowers can do for you?” he asked.

      Chet already had visions of gaining WARP’s exclusive account, maybe even being put on a retainer. The free publicity would be just what the store needed and if Tre only mentioned the flower shop once on the show they’d have it made.

      “What are you doing tomorrow night, say around nine?” Tre asked.

      Chet laid an open palm on his chest where his heart was supposed to be. Using his other hand, he crooked a finger at his lover and inhaled loudly. But Harley was already on a roll, explaining to Rico that some women liked a more subtle approach. He was busy recommending flowers that were classy and understated, suggesting calla lilies, orchids or even sunflowers as alternatives. “Why be like any other chap on the make sending the usual boring dozen roses?” Chet heard Harley ask.

      “What did you have in mind?” Chet countered, focusing on his caller again.

      “Come be a guest on my show. You can plug your flower shop as much as you like.”

      “Why?”

      Oh, my Gawd! This was a dream come true. It was an opportunity no one in his right mind would pass up!

      “I’m interested in your reaction to Dear Jenna’s advice. I want to know what the community thinks of her using the word queer. And I want to know what your group would like to see happen.”

      “The word queer is—”

      “Yeah, I know. Offensive. You’re gay. You’ve worked hard to earn respect. You enjoy an alternative lifestyle. Use my show to straighten out the lady. She’s new in town. We can’t allow some upstart to get away with offending upstanding citizens.”

      “Good point!” Chet was swept along with the excitement. Being asked on the D’Dawg show was an honor. He would be a fool to miss out on the opportunity to increase business for the flower shop.

      He got the particulars and hung up after agreeing to be at the station half an hour before the start of the show.

      Now he needed to center himself. Chet hurried in the direction of the bathroom. When he returned, Harley had completed his sales pitch. Rico bought his suggestions and Harley wrapped the huge Vanda orchid in cellophane and added curled ribbons to the arrangement as a festive touch.

      “There, Bianca will love it,” Harley said. “If she doesn’t she’s not the woman for you.”

      Chet waited for Rico to leave the store before sinking onto the pink divan with the claw feet.

      “I think I’m going to faint.”

      “Please don’t. At least wait until we’re sure no customers are around. I’ll get you water and a cold cloth for your beet-red face.”

      “I’m hyperventilating,” Chet said, now prostrate on the seat.

      Harley was back with a chilled bottle of water. “Here, take deep breaths. What did Tre Monroe want with you?”

      Chet fanned his heated cheeks with his open palm. “He asked me on the show. Me, Harley. He wanted my opinion on missy, you know that Jenna woman, the advice columnist.”

      “You don’t say. Work it, boy. This is a good opportunity to promote All About Flowers.”

      “So you approve? You think I should go?”

      “Of course. You’ll be supported by every gay person in this town. Your appearing on the show will increase our visibility and will let these uptight folks know that we are a force to be reckoned with.” Harley’s fingers cupped Chet’s chin. “You don’t think you’re being set up, do you?”

      Chet frowned. He hadn’t thought of that possibility. “What would be the point? Tre is not a stupid man. He knows who my father is. While Dad may not agree with my choices he would never publicly say it. He would defend me to the core. We are after all part of his constitution. My mother would leave him if he turned against me, his own child.”

      “Okay, if you say so, but I smell a rat. You know what I think?” Harley didn’t wait for an answer. “I think he’s also invited Dear Jenna on the show.”

      “No, he didn’t.”

      “I bet you dinner he did.”