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She laughsas she has so many times before, as she so often does with her colleague Gustavo, hearty and loud, coming from deep inside her belly. I could listen to that sound forever. “Me? Judge you? Never!”
“Why are you here?”The question leaps out of me before I have time to catch it.
“Oh…”She tucks an imaginary curl again, though her hair is perfect. “I heard you needed help?”
“Yes, I do. But…”The thought that I’ve hurt her feelings sends a pang through me, lightning fast and twice as hot. I should send her away. Be done with this foolishness. But she’s here, looking right at me, waiting for me to talk, and everything I need to say is blocked in my chest under a thick layer of ice-cold shame. “I don’t know that you can give this kind of help.”
“Not so fast!”She’s back to her eager self, eyes wide, smile wider. “What are the main attributes in your ideal candidate?”
Stop stalling.Just say what needs to be said. She’ll know, just as everyone else will know soon enough.“They tell me I need someone with ‘va-va-voom.’”
She laughs againfrom the belly but stops when her gaze lands on my face. “You’re serious?”
“Entirely so.Do you have this? This va-va-voom I’m looking for?”
“Interesting.Not where I thought this was going but in for a penny…” She smiles broadly and crosses one ankle over the other. “I don’t know that there’s much call for va-va-voom in the stables, but I guess I could shimmy shimmy ko ko bop if you like.”
I knowshe’s trying to be funny, but there’s an opening right there and I pounce. Despicable as it is, I use it against her. “So, you do not dance? The salsa? The merengue? The tango?”
The tiny linesbetween her eyes crease in a frown. “None of those, no. I can square dance and waltz, though. But I don’t understand what that has to do with—”
“I needsomeone who can dance. It is one part of the pololifestyle.”
“The lifestyle?”She shakes her head, then forces a smile. “Well, in terms of the polo lifestyle, I have a dog, and the dogs always enjoy the Canine Couture Event.”
Damn,she’s still talking about Scottsdale.
“Though,I’ll be honest, I thought the viking outfit was way cooler than the tutu.”
Although she’s takenus way off course, I welcome the reprieve. We’re on solid ground—not talking about why she’s here and what I want—and I have firm opinions about the Canine Couture Event. I’ve never participated in the ridiculous sideshow that’s part of the polo life. I know why they do it and I appreciate the money it brings to the club, but frankly, dressing a dog in human clothing and parading it down a catwalk is my idea of emasculating the animal—be it male or female. A dog should be allowed to be a dog, not some freakshow. “I haven’t had the pleasure.” It’s the best I can do without telling an outright lie. “I’m usually in the stable or the gym.”
She’s staringat me as if I’m some kind of riddle to be decoded. I’m not. I’m a polo player and a philanthropist. Though, in this instance, I’m a polo player in need of female assistance.
“You didn’t answer my question.”To be honest, I don’t remember her question. I was staring at her lips, wishing the conversation would go any way except the way it has to. “What is the most important attribute in a candidate?”
I can’t bear it.I have to lay it out plainly. All this dancing around the topic has my head spinning. Worse yet, I will never be able to offer Lolly what she deserves. If I am lucky (lucky?) enough to land a rich widow, I’ll have to keep her sweet for as long as she’ll have me. There’s no sane woman who’d agree to date me on the sly while I’m seen about town with my patroness. I have to cut the cord, set Lolly free, leave her with no doubt about what the next few years of my life look like. I stare at my feet and begin. “My date for the next few social events needs to be drop-dead gorgeous.”
“You need adate?”Her expression is a strange mix of confusion and horror.
“Yes.I need a bombshell. The kind of woman who makes heads turn. A woman who is always dressed impeccably.”
“So,you need someone who doesn’t dress like this.” She gestures to herself, her voice flat, cold.
“That’s right.”It pains me to say it, but it is what I must do. I must send her away. “The men have to want her, but more importantly, the women must want tobeher. That’s the crucial element. I need every woman in the room to see her on my arm and wish they were right there instead.” I pause. I can’t look at her, perhaps because I can feel her scorn from across the table. If I’m to play this part properly, I need her to despise me and walk away a free woman. For if I have read her correctly, she might have the faintest feelings for me, just as I have for her—feelings we must both extinguish immediately. “I want her to have legs all the way up to her ass.” I think that’s the phrase they use. Though it makes no sense. All legs go to the ass. It’s how they’re designed. English is a strange language.
I steala look in her direction. She stares at me, her mouth gaping like a fish. Then she blinks and comes back to herself. “Just let me get my notepad out so I can write this all down.”
My heart setsup a manic rhythm. She can’t write this down. I do not want it immortalized in any way.
“Go on…”She leans forward, close enough that I can smell her vanilla-pear fragrance. “I’m listening.”
I’m cornered,but I can’t see a way out. My mouth moves independent of my brain, but words form, and they all seem to be in English. “Anywhere from twenty-three to twenty-six…”
“Not too picky…”She turns her head, touching her neck in a way that stops me. Nice hands, tapered, slender, the kind of hands I can imagine reaching places that haven’t seen the touch of a woman for at least four months. When I’m in training I hold back; sex is strictly off limits. It’s not logical, not scientific, but it’s what my instructors hammered into me: “Save your essence. Once the season’s over, then you party.”
“Anything else you want?”She licks her pencil. Slowly. I haven’t seen anyone do that in a long time. There’s a small voice in the back of my head telling me she’s doing it deliberately, now that she knows what a horror I am.
“Just to recap,so far you want a sexy young bombshell, with legs up to her ass, who speaks Spanish but doesn’t look like me and, icing on the cake here, dances better than me?” Her eyes have gone sharp, the earlier warmth gone from them. That’s not what I meant. Not exactly. Though I said all of those words.
