Call Me! Read online

  Simon Claire’s is elegant, but I can get in dressed like this. I look around and see only three tables serving guests. But it’s early yet. By eight this place will be packed.

  I exit the restaurant and stand in the open area between the bar and restaurant, which includes about forty feet of old-world couches and chairs, grouped to encourage pre- and after-dinner conversation. For the time being, I’m alone in this parlor area. Since it’s serviced by the bar, it’s a perfect place to sit and wait. I can sip a drink while appearing to be deeply involved with my texting. I select a chair that overlooks the elevators, the bar, and the entrance to Simon Claire’s. To my left there’s a small end table and matching chair.

  I cross my legs and pretend to send text messages on my cell phone while eyeing the elevator. After a few minutes a waiter appears to take my order.

  “Vodka cranberry,” I say, without looking up.

  He hesitates a moment.

  I look up and see Joe Fagin standing over me.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” I say. “I thought—”

  “You thought I was a waiter?”

  Shit.

  “Seriously?” he adds.

  I laugh. “Can I be honest?”

  “Yeah. You can even be dishonest, as long as you keep smiling.”

  I look down, try to force a blush.

  I say, “The truth is, I said that without even looking up.”

  “And now that you see me, I look like what?”

  “Honestly? You look like a high-powered businessman.”

  He bows. “Right answer!” Then he says, “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

  He’s gone three minutes. When he comes back he’s carrying two drinks.

  “Vodka cranberry for the lady,” he says, “and a bourbon for your lucky date.”

  He hands me the vodka and sets the bourbon on the table, next to the empty chair.

  “What makes you think I’ve got a date?”

  He smiles. “If you don’t, you should.”

  “Well, thanks…I think.”

  “Do you?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you have a date?”

  “Nope. I’m from Nashville. Just visiting.”

  “Your grandmother, I hope.”

  “Huh?” I say, pretending to be confused. Then giggle, and flash a shy smile, as if it took me this long to discern his meaning. It’s important for him to think he’s smarter than me. He might be, but in case he isn’t, I want to hedge my bet. It’s also important for me to reel him in, then show him how much fun I am. Reeling him in should be easy, since he’s standing over me. I roll my shoulders slightly forward to give him a glimpse of my bra. I’m a 34-C. Not close to Carter’s size, but hers are a product of scientific engineering.

  Call me paranoid, but I don’t trust strange men who bring me drinks. So I say, “I’ve never tasted bourbon, but I’d like to try it. Here,” I say, handing him the vodka. “Taste mine, and I’ll taste yours.”

  His eyes are dancing as he takes a sip, and I expect he’s considering making a nasty remark about tasting mine. He decides not to, then a strange expression appears on his face.

  “That was damn clever of you,” he says.

  I look at him with innocent eyes while he adds, “Forcing me to drink what I brought you, in case I slipped something in it.”

  I smile. “A girl’s got to be careful these days.”

  “Especially one who looks like you.”

  I smile, and we touch glasses.

  “Cheers,” I say.

  “Cheers.”

  We have a sip, and I automatically start tracking the drink count. The first rule of decoy work is you don’t allow the mark to get drunk. It’s the first excuse they always try. I was drunk! I didn’t know what I was doing! For this reason, I use the tape recorder app on my cell phone. I record everything that goes down, unless I’m using the phone for one of the games I play to keep the mark interested.

  “Mind if I sit down?” he says.

  “If you’re waiting for your wife, I do!”

  He holds up his bare ring finger.

  “That’s your proof?” I say, giggling.

  “I’d tell you to check my pockets to see if there’s a ring in there, but I don’t think you’re that kind of girl. You’re not, right?”

  I look down again and smile, unsure how to answer that. I’ve learned when it comes to picking up men who cheat, when in doubt, remain silent and smile. Men like shy, mysterious women. It worked for Jackie Kennedy, it’ll work for me.

  “I hope I didn’t offend you,” he says.

  “I’m single too,” I say, holding up my bare ring finger.

  “That’s your proof?” he says, laughing.

  I give him my bubbly laugh. Since he’s still standing over me, I roll my shoulders forward again, offering him another quick peek.

  He thinks I’m fun. That’s a good thing, because in my wildest dreams I can’t imagine Carter Teague being fun or playful. In my experience, guys seeking a fling want something different. If their wives are stuffy, they’ll settle for stuffy, but what they want is playful. If their wives are B cups, they’ll settle for B’s, but what really revs them up is an A or C cup. If their wives are heavy, they’ll settle for heavy, but they’ll work harder to bed someone thin. If their wives are domineering, they want demure. If sweet, they want bitchy. And if their significant other has fake boobs, they’ll be craving the real thing.

  I look up at him suddenly, and catch him looking down my blouse. We both look away, embarrassed. Then we look back at each other and pretend it never happened.

  “Were you planning to have dinner here at the hotel?” he says.

  I glance at the entrance to Simon Claire’s.

  “Too expensive,” I say.

  “And yet you were sitting here.”

  “I was actually searching for nearby restaurants on my cell phone.”

  “Find any?”

  “A few. But I was still trying to decide.”

  “Would you consider having dinner with me? It’ll be my treat.”

  “Where?”

  “Here.”

  “Are you alone?”

  “I had plans, but I’m willing to cancel them.”

  I pretend I’m thinking about it. “I don’t even know your name.”

  “Jim,” he lies. “Jim Davenport.” He extends his hand, and we shake.

  “I’m Marcie Lane.”

  “Marcie, I can honestly say you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in person.”

  I leave his compliment hanging in the air to show I’m not impressed by flattery. I purse my lips and say, “I’m probably dressed too casual for this place.”

  “Nonsense!” he says. “Your outfit’s perfect!”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Come,” he says. “It’s just dinner, and we’re both stranded in Louisville.”

  I pause a moment, catch his eye, and say, “Well, why not?”

  THE MAITRE D’ SEATS us, and Joe orders the same drinks he brought me a few minutes ago.

  “What brings you to Louisville?” Joe asks.

  “My job interview ran late, so the company offered to put me up at the hotel. I could’ve driven back, but it sounded like an adventure.”

  “Because?”

  I laugh. “I don’t normally get to stay in such a fancy place.”

  “They’re probably going to hire you.”

  “You think?”

  “Otherwise, they wouldn’t have offered the room. What type of job is it?”

  “I’m an illustrator for children’s books.”

  He pretends to be amazed, and says he has “zero artistic skills.” I expect him to ask me to draw him a picture while we’re waiting to order, and I’m artistic enough to do it. But he doesn’t. Instead, he asks to be excused.

  I know what he’s doing. Cancelling his dinner plans. I see him taking out his cell phone while walking out the front door. I take
this opportunity to make my signature move. I whip out my lipstick and write the words, Call Me! on a napkin, along with my phone number. I remove another napkin from my purse, one I’d prepared earlier, and place it under the table.

  Then I sneak into the kitchen, and tell one of the waiters I’m playing a trick on my boyfriend, and get him to escort me to the service elevator. He does, and I take it to the third floor. Then I backtrack down the hall till I’m looking down onto the parlor, where Joe’s finishing his call. He looks from side to side, then goes back in the restaurant. When he does, I go to the elevator and press the button. When it arrives, I climb on and wait.

  I’ve done this a dozen times, so I know exactly what’s happening. As Joe makes his way back to the table, he’ll see I’m not there. He’ll assume I’ve gone to the ladies’ room. He might look around to see where it’s located, might even decide to stand outside the ladies’ room to escort me back to the table. But Simon Claire’s doesn’t have restrooms inside the restaurant, so Joe will reclaim his seat at the table, at which point he’ll notice the lipstick note on the napkin. At first he’ll be pissed, thinking I’ve ditched him. He’ll assume the phone number’s a fake, and won’t want to call. But he’ll call. And when he does…

  My phone rings.

  It’s Joe.

  “Hi handsome!” I say, with great enthusiasm.

  “Is everything okay?” I can hear the relief in his voice. He’s unsure what’s happening, but likes the fact I gave him my real number. And he’s got to feel good that I called him handsome.

  “I’m hiding,” I say. “Come find me.”

  “You’re…what?”

  “Hiding.”

  “Where?”

  “If I tell you where, it won’t be fun.”

  I know what he’s doing. Looking around, trying to see if I’m sitting at another table with a menu covering my face.

  He says, “Give me a hint.”

  I say, “Look under the table.”

  “You’re not under the table,” he says.

  “Look anyway,” I say.

  At this point he’s looking around to see if I’m watching him. He’s slightly put out. On the other hand, I’m still on the phone and haven’t ditched him. He’s not thrilled I’m making him jump through hoops, and doesn’t like being made to feel stupid or out of control. But he has to admit, I’m certainly different than Carter Teague. By now he’s found the second napkin, the one where I wrote, “take the left lobby elevator to the third floor.”

  “Is your room on the third floor?” he says.

  “No.”

  “Oh.”

  I hang up. While I’m waiting, someone has pressed the button, and I ride to the tenth floor. A man gets on and rides with me to the lobby. He waits for me to exit, but I say, “Thanks anyway, but I’m going back up for a minute.”

  He looks at me strangely, but leaves.

  I press the button for the third floor. When I get there the doors open, then close. Then the elevator starts moving down…

  WHEN THE ELEVATOR doors open, Joe’s standing there with a surprised look on his face.

  “You found me!” I squeal, and plant a quick kiss on his mouth. He’s so stunned he doesn’t have time to react. He looks from side to side, making sure no one’s watching, then moves in for another kiss. But I put my finger between our lips and whisper, “Dessert comes after dinner!”

  I slide past him and start heading back to the restaurant. Then stop and turn and wait for him to join me. He’s practically glaring at me, but takes his cue and walks toward me slowly, trying to appear cool. As we walk through the parlor, he startles me by grabbing my ass. It takes me by surprise and seriously annoys me, since it wasn’t just a pat. He actually placed his hand on my butt and slid it down and cupped the bottom of my cheeks. I have to bite my lip to keep from making a scene. I know I’m walking a fine line here, enticing men to cheat while expecting them to be gentlemen. I also know there’s another word for decoy work.

  Prick teaser.

  Much as I hate to admit it, I’m purposely getting these men all hot and bothered, knowing in the end their lives might be destroyed. While I can make a case their lives should be destroyed if they’re cheating on their loved ones, there are times, especially when children are involved in a marriage, I worry if I’m doing the right thing. I mean, I know it’s not the right thing. What I ask myself, is it a necessary thing?

  As we get back to the table I’m really steamed. I tell myself, Let it go, Dani. Keep your eyes on the prize. But I nearly come unglued when he asks, “Did you like that back there, what I did?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Did that feel good?”

  I dig my fingernails into the sides of the chair and force a smile.

  There’s a reason I play the Call Me! game. Actually, several reasons. First, it shows I’m fun and playful, something men usually seek in a younger woman. It reminds them of when their wives were fun and playful. Second, it gives them a chance to hunt for me, which usually has a better effect than it did on Joe. Men like the thrill of the hunt, the chase, and capturing their prey. My little game allows them to do all three. At the end, they receive a kiss. Not saying a kiss from me is the highlight of their lives, but it’s fun, and lets them know I’m “into them.”

  The game I play usually involves letting them peek down my blouse a few times. If I’m wearing a dress they might get a flash of leg or panties. If there’s a limo involved, I always wear a short skirt. What I’m saying, I know I’m playing with fire. I’m well aware it’s hypocritical of me to get annoyed when a man touches me inappropriately. On the other hand, income tax auditors are paid to catch cheaters, and no one ever tries to grope them!

  There are typically three places I have to be prepared to fend off amorous advances. The first is in the elevator, when we’re going up to my room. If we’re alone in the elevator, most guys will use that as an opportunity to cop a feel or steal a kiss.

  My solution? Enter the elevator with others present. Barring that, I’ll say there’s a camera in the elevator, so he needs to be a good boy till we get to the room. The cheaters always keep their heads down and look the other way.

  The second time I’m vulnerable is when we’re walking down the hall toward my room. For some reason, guys think this is a good place to try to pat my behind, or stand me against a wall like they do in the movies, where the hero gives the girl a long, sensual, tongue kiss. On the big screen, this move always reduces the love interest to putty and leaves her panting for more. My solution for avoiding this? When the elevator doors open to my floor I push the mark backward, off balance, and yell, “Tag! You’re it!” Then I run full speed to my room, giggling all the way.

  The final place I’m most apt to be mauled is when we’re standing at the door to my hotel room, and I’m trying to make the key card work. This is the place they always want to reach their arms around me and cup my breasts. My only solution is to have the key in my hand when I exit the elevator. Unfortunately, hotel key cards are unreliable, and by the time I get to my room door, he’s caught me.

  In most cases the seduction has gone on for well over an hour before we get to the “Tag, you’re it!” phase. By the time we arrive at the door to my room most of these guys are worked up to the point they’re willing to face a rape charge. So the longer it takes to get inside the door, the more places on my body they’re able to grope.

  For this reason, I always practice getting the key card to work before meeting the mark.

  Simon Claire’s dinner service is painfully slow. I order a spinach salad and grilled chicken. Joe’s a steak and potatoes guy. He’d normally order the chopped salad, he says, but doesn’t want me to smell onions on his breath later on.

  What a guy!

  Speaking of guys, some are all confidence, others need constant reassurance. Joe’s a member of the second camp. He’s touching me every chance he gets, as if my allowing it gets us one step closer to sex.

  It’
s driving me batty! Especially the part where he looks around the room just before touching me, to make sure no one he knows has entered the room. He does it every single time! Could he possibly be a more obvious cheater? If I knew nothing about the guy I’d know he was cheating.

  If I reach for my drink he puts his hand on mine and looks to see if I’m smiling.

  I am.