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But I could hardly reveal that I’d taken up moonlighting as an exotic dancer, so I merely smiled weakly.
“Um nothing,” was my reply while biting into a portabella sandwich. “This is really good, mmm!”
Fortunately, Lizzie was more interested in scrutinizing my eating habits than asking about my dating life.
“You’re so lucky to have such a curvy shape,” she said, casting me an envious glance. “I eat and eat and eat, but look at me,” she frowned, staring at her hands. “My fingers are like twigs,” she bemoaned.
It was true, and the perfect distraction.
“No,” I protested. “You look great, Liz! Clothes always look amazing on you, while on me, everything’s too tight in every direction,” I said wryly. “That’s why I have to eat less, not more.”
But somehow, my healthy appetite and resultant curves had gotten the attention of this mysterious customer, and I was curious to finally see his face. So slowly moving forwards into the suite, my body flushed with heat.
“Hello?” I called off towards the sitting room where a light shone. “Should I take off my shoes or anything?”
Immediately, I cursed myself. That was dumb. Of course I didn’t have to take off my shoes. This wasn’t some hippie-dippie dude who listened to Indian music while meditating in front of a fire. Everything so far pointed to a successful businessman, from the driver, to the fancy elevator, to the lavish apartment.
“No, shoes on is okay,” rumbled that male voice again. “Come on in, Susie.”
And tentatively, I made my way towards the voice. Again, I wasn’t sure what I was going to see, and was a little afraid, frankly. Because I hoped against hope that it was my mysterious patron, but then again, I’ve been wrong before. Maybe it was some disgusting old dude who was eighty years old with a giant potbelly. Totally possible, given that New York seems to be ruled by guys like that.
But when I stepped into the living area, my mouth dropped open and my eyes grew wide. Because the man there was tall and handsome, with flashing blue eyes. But it wasn’t the perfectly cut suit, the broad shoulders, or the knowing grin that got me. It was everything about him … because in front of me sat the President of the United States himself, Thomas Burke.
“Mr. President?” I gasped. “What are you doing here?”
A white smile flashed, one that I’d seen so many times on various news programs.
“I’m your customer,” he rumbled with a knowing smile. “Welcome to my home.”
I merely stood there, astonished.
“But isn’t the White House your home?” came my weak reply. “You know, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue?”
He threw his head back and laughed, showing off a strong, tanned throat.
“That’s true,” he acknowledged. “That’s where my mail goes, when USPS hasn’t lost it. But my real home is all over,” he said with another smile. “I’m hardly ever in any one place very long. In fact, Air Force One is probably my true residence, come to think of it.”
I couldn’t handle it. My form dropped limply into the nearest chair, eyes still fixed on the handsome man.
“B-but what are you doing here?” I asked, my voice tremulous. “This is crazy!”
He merely shrugged.
“Well, I saw you dancing last week and thought “Gee, she’s cute. I’d like to meet her.” So here I am,” he bantered playfully.
I shook my head. Was this guy insane? Seriously. The man was the leader of the free world, and yet he patronized seedy strip clubs where they served beers for a dollar? Really, really?
But Thomas merely nodded, shrugging those shoulders.
“Hey, there are benefits to being me,” he said lightly. “And sometimes I don’t want to be noticed, thus the Pink Flamingo,” he added wryly. “So what can I say? Veni, vedi, veci. I wanted to meet you, and my staff set it up.”
And suddenly, I realized what had just happened. The pieces of the puzzle all fit together with startling clarity, from the limo, to the driver, to the elevator attendant. In fact, all three of those guys probably had black belts in karate and a secret service badge beneath their uniform because they were the President’s security detail, cleverly disguised to protect our most important citizen.
But still, it was hard to take in.
“You must be joking,” I said, staring at him. “This can’t be happening.”
Again, President Burke merely shrugged.
