Amanda half-turned on the stool and scanned the rest of the lounge. Most of the customers there were men, some sitting alone, some in pairs or small groups. There were a few couples, mostly older men with women who appeared to be their wives, and one with a dazzling young blonde who was either a trophy wife, a mistress, or a high-class call girl. She caught King Jackson’s eye as she looked around and favored him with a hint of a smile and the barest nod as their eyes met. She could see that he was interested, but as he was still hoping that Lynn would arrive he wasn’t likely to make a move any time soon. He would once he’d given up on Lynn. In the meantime, she’d have to fend off the advances of the other single men in the bar, no matter what age they were. Amanda attracted males as moths to a flame, and she had a way of thoroughly singeing their wings and sending them away without ever being rude about it, or discouraging the next randy guy in line from taking a shot. She didn’t concern herself about any of the men who already had feminine companionship, even though once she’d been approached by a well-to-do couple who invited her back to their room for a threesome. The woman had looked quite interested, even eager, but Krissy…she had been in her raven-haired Lucinda persona then…had turned them down, doing her best to look regretful as she did so.
As for the men here in groups, usually they didn’t cause any complications. She suspected that none of them wanted to get turned down by the smoldering redhead in front of their buddies. Male egos could be so fragile.
Most of the single men did indeed give it a try, and she sweetly, politely, and definitively turned them all down. In between their successive efforts, on occasion she managed to catch the eye of King Jackson, who, at some point seemed to have concluded that Lynn wasn’t coming after all. She had to be subtle about it, so as not to give him the idea that she was deliberately coming on to him but to give him the impression that she found him interesting and some hope of succeeding where so many lesser men had failed before him. After all, he’d come here with the expectation of a steamy night with Lynn. His pump was already primed.
She was almost done with her second margarita before he worked up the nerve to approach. She caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye and repressed the smile she felt.
“May I?” he asked as he gestured at the barstool next to her, the scene of so many defeats. She turned no more than her head and smiled at him. He took it as either approval or acquiescence and sat down next to her. What came next was as familiar to her as the cheerleading routines she’d learned in high school, and as intricate. He introduced himself, she introduced herself, and they spoke trivialities for a little while. Then he told her a little bit about himself, and asked about her. She deflected his questions in her most charming manner, leaving him with the impression that she had come here because a date had stood her up. That gave him the opening to suggest that no sane man would do such a thing, or words to that effect, which gave her the opening to thank him for the compliment.
It was a bit like a dance. She let King Jackson think that he had the lead the whole time as she guided him along, giving him a little encouragement from time to time to keep him hooked. Gradually, they moved closer together, close enough so that she could touch him lightly on his arm whenever she laughed at one of his funny stories. The bartender brought them more drinks, screwdrivers for him, ginger ale on the rocks for her. He’d probably seen this sort of thing many, many times before. If he suspected that she was anything other than what she pretended to be, he gave no sign of it. She’d been keeping an eye on him looking for any possible sign of trouble from that quarter, and breathed an inward sigh of relief. Now all she had to do was reel in the fish, land it, gut it, clean it, and be on her way. It wouldn’t be hard. He was already so very, very ready that he was trying to jump into her boat. When he finally suggested that they go up to his room and get to know each other a little better she just looked at him for a long moment, letting him worry that he’d overstepped. Then she gave him a warm, steamy smile and coyly accepted his invitation, if he’d just bring along a good bottle of wine for them to share. He quickly procured one from the bartender, paid both their tabs, and escorted her towards the elevators. As they went out of the lounge they passed by a big, rumpled man in a badly fitting suit sitting alone in a booth near the exit, hunched over a half-empty glass and looking morose. Neither Amanda nor King Jackson paid him a second glance. Spooner waited until they were well out of sight before he tossed off the last of his club soda and left the lounge himself. It looked like Palmieri had been right about everything so far. He hoped she’d be right about all the rest of it. He knew that that redhead wasn’t really a redhead, but he was pretty sure that everything under that slinky red dress was as real as real could get. He was looking forward to confirming it for himself.