Arm Candy. Jo Leigh
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He deserves someone who pretends to masturbate onstage.”
“My sentiments exactly. Only…” She looked down at her lap, to the hunter-green skirt she loved so much. “…he made me laugh at dinner. And I was so…I don’t know.”
“Yeah.”
Marla smiled purposefully. Adamantly. “No big. I’ll just keep, you know, trying. Never give up. That’s my motto. Not till you’re old and toothless and have all the cats that can fill an apartment.”
“I’m sure it won’t come to that.”
“Probably not. But it’s good that I’m not allergic. To cats, I mean.”
Jessica shook her head, and wished she had something akin to a social life where she might be able to meet someone right for Marla. But since her entire entourage consisted of Glen, who was gay, her mother, who lived in Cincinnati, and her landlord, who made an art out of complaining while not actually doing anything, there didn’t seem to be much hope.
“If there’s not anything else,” Marla said, “I’m going to call the Zephyr agency and double-check on the models.”
“No, that’s good. Thanks.”
Marla stood up, and headed for the door. But before she went out, she turned back. “Do you think we have a chance of getting Shawn?”
Jessica leaned back in her chair. “Who knows. We’re certainly offering him enough money.”
“Can you imagine? Shawn Foote in the same room? I’d get all swoony, I just know it.”
“He may be hunky, but he’s just a guy.”
Marla leaned her head to the right and quirked her lips. “Just a guy? I think not. He’s…he’s…”
“The Uberhunk. I know.”
Marla nodded. “I’ll report back.”
Jessica looked down at the spreadsheet on her desk and forgot all about male models, dating fiascos and even her own personal problems. Seconds later, the world outside her office could have crumbled and she wouldn’t have noticed.
DAN CRAWFORD WAS at sixes and sevens. Which was an interesting expression he’d just looked up on his computer. Seems it came from an old French game called Hazard, and had something to do with difficulty in shooting dice. But knowing what the term meant didn’t help the situation. He had to make a decision, and neither of the two immediate options appealed all that much.
Okay, so he could take the job in Botswana. He liked Africa, and hadn’t been there for almost fifteen years. It would be a challenge, and the company, an international trading firm, had been after his consulting services for a long time. But it would mean a commitment of almost a year, which seemed excessive.
On the other hand, he could partner up with Zeke on the Baja 1000 race, but that would mean a whole hell of a lot of training, getting the car up to specs, moving down to L.A. until the race, and, of course, being with Zeke, who was a great guy unless he got too drunk, which he did whenever he raced.
Dan’s gaze moved next to the fireplace, to the glass cabinet where he kept his mementos. The large second-place trophy from the Baja three years ago taunted him. Then he looked at the bookcase, at the pile of papers and articles he’d collected, everything from the psychology of racing to the topography of Baja. Damn, he’d put in a lot of man-hours on winning. So why wasn’t he more interested? Zeke wasn’t that bad. And if Dan supplied the booze, he could maybe rig it so his buddy couldn’t get so much of it.
He got up from his desk and walked over to the window. From the fifteenth floor he could see the bookstore on the corner, Villard’s Books, big, independent and as quirky as his own tastes. The staff there indulged him and his projects, the more obscure the better. In fact, between the New York Public Library, Villard’s and the Internet, he could research anything to his heart’s content.
Maybe he’d go down now, browse through the travel section, have a cup of coffee. Come up with something new to discover, or as his mother would say, bury himself in a new obsession.
He headed for the bedroom, but before he made it there, he got buzzed from the lobby. Crossing to the door, he answered the intercom. “Yeah, Jimmy? ”
“Someone to see you, Mr. Crawford. Glen, uh, what’s that?”
Dan heard a mumble in the background. Then, “Glen Viders.”
“Great, send him up.” Dan let go of the buzzer, curious. He’d known Glen for about a year, mostly as someone who kicked his ass regularly at racquetball. He liked Glen, liked his sense of humor and his taste in art. He’d bought a Lichtenstein from his gallery and he’d paid a good price for it. But they’d never really socialized, except for the occasional showing invitation. What could bring him by?
Dan opened the door and invited Glen in.
“This isn’t a bad time, is it?”
“Not at all. I was just going to make some coffee. Would you like some?”
“Sure.”
Dan led the way into the kitchen, where he pulled the beans out of the fridge to begin the process. “So, what’s up?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
Dan stopped short. “Oh?”
Glen laughed. “Not that kind of proposition. This one should be more to your liking.”
Smiling, and a touch relieved, Dan continued with the coffee making. “Intriguing. Do go on.”
Glen leaned against the kitchen door, crossed his arms over his chest and smiled. “I have this friend. Her name is Jessica Howell and she’s got a problem.”
Dan worked on the coffee while Glen filled him in on the situation. His first instinct was to say no and be done with it, but the more he heard about Jessica, the more an idea began to germinate. “So she’s brilliant, huh?”
“Top two percent of her class at Harvard. She’s razor-sharp, and too damn articulate for that foolish job she’s got.”
“Workaholic?”
“Beyond belief. I don’t think she’s been on a date since she moved to New York six years ago.”
“And I’d be with her. In her room for the whole week?”
“Yeah. Well, wait. I’m not sure about the ‘in her room’ part. But you’d have to stick pretty damn close.”
“Hmm.”
“Who knows? Things could go that way, if you play your cards right.”
“And what did you say she looked like?”
Glen smiled. “I didn’t. But now that you ask, she’s a babe. A little thing, but a powerhouse, if you know what I mean. Auburn hair, blue eyes. Really striking. She could have the men lining up, but—”
Dan nodded, pleased, but not all that concerned. Her looks were incidental. Her mind was what interested him. She was willing to pay to have an escort. He didn’t need the money, but he did have something he wanted to bargain for. “Tell you what. Set up a meeting. Whenever it’s convenient for her. We’ll talk.”
“She’ll be thrilled.”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
Glen pushed himself off the wall. “What are you plotting?”
“Quid pro quo, Glen. With some very exciting potential.”
Women…
If you praise her, she thinks you’re lying
If you don’t, you’re good for nothing
If you talk, she wants you to listen