 “. . . Then she took me to her hotel room and . . . I don’t need to draw you boys a picture, do I?” Duncan Hillston finished his story, with a smug grin.
He gulped down the last of his beer then slammed the bottle on the table just as his friends burst into loud, incredulous laughter. Not exactly the reaction that Duncan was looking for. Duncan pretended not to notice the laughter and scanned the crowded restaurant for any beautiful women. His friends would have to stop laughing once Duncan invited a beautiful woman to their booth. He caught the eye of an ebony-skinned honey standing in the bar area, but she immediately turned her back when she noticed Duncan staring. Duncan quickly shifted his gaze, but found similar receptions from two other women. Great.
After it became obvious that Hawk Morrissey and Patrick Morley were going to keep laughing and poking each other in the sides, Duncan turned his attention back to them. He should have been used to it. Hawk and Patrick had been doubting Duncan’s conquests since the ninth grade.
“You and Janette Baxter . . . The Janette Baxter?” Patrick said, recovering from his attack of laughter before Hawk. “The most beautiful actress in the world? The woman who makes Halle look like a citizen of the Planet Ugly?”
“What can I say?” Duncan said, with a casual shrug. “The Hillston magic extends to all women, regardless of age, religion or occupation.”
“You’re lying,” Hawk said flatly.
“You’re jealous,” Duncan shot back.
Hawk snorted in disbelief then said, “You expect us to believe that you, a mere electrician, picked up the most beautiful Black woman in the world in a bar last weekend and that she drug you back to her hotel room for a marathon sex session?”
“Have I ever been proven wrong before?” Duncan asked, because he knew the answer. Although Hawk never believed anything Duncan said and Patrick only believed half of what Duncan said, neither man could ever prove that Duncan lied. And Hawk had been trying to prove exactly that since ninth grade.
Hawk abruptly laughed bitterly then shook his head. “You’ve told some whoppers in the past, Duncan, but come on . . . Janette Baxter? For once in your life, just tell the truth. You didn’t meet her in a bar last weekend? Have you even met her?”
“Hawk,” Patrick warned in a quiet voice.
“I’m sick of his lies,” Hawk snapped, glaring at Patrick. “Since ninth grade, we’ve had to listen to this crap. I’m surprised he has time to ever hang out with us, since he apparently spends all his time fighting off women who supposedly throw themselves at him all day long. I need him to admit the truth for once, Patty. I need him to say that he’s just like everyone else, and that he has to work just as hard as everyone else.”
Duncan smiled coolly and said to Hawk, “This is about Kathryn Wilcott, isn’t it?”
“Duncan,” Patrick gasped, as if Duncan had questioned the existence of the universe itself.
Even after sixteen years, Duncan could not speak Kathryn Wilcott’s name in Hawk’s presence without Hawk looking like he was seconds away from strangling Duncan. So, maybe, Duncan had slept with Hawk’s Venus in high school, but Duncan had been sixteen years old, and Kathryn had seduced him. Sort of.
Hawk’s dark skin had taken on a strange tint of red, as he hissed through clenched teeth, “How dare you bring her up.”
“I heard that the desserts here are excellent,” Patrick chimed in, nervously. Duncan and Hawk both ignored him.
“If you need verification that I’m not a liar when it comes to my stories about women, you can ask Kathryn. Oh, wait, you did that sixteen years ago and she told you that—“
Hawk’s hands on the table clenched into fists as he snarled, “You smug son of a—“
“Stop it,” Patrick interrupted, glaring from Duncan to Hawk. “I feel like I’m having dinner with my two nephews.”
“If you would just follow my three simple rules, you could have the same success I have,” Duncan said, taking pity on Hawk because it had been almost six months since Hawk had gone on a date.
Hawk’s eyes narrowed in anger while Patrick asked, curiously, “What three rules?”
“Soothe. Entice. Seduce,” Duncan said, simply. Hawk audibly groaned, while Duncan explained to the intrigued Patrick, “First, you have to soothe a woman. Since childhood, their mothers have taught women that men are the enemy, that all we want from them is sex—“
“They’re right,” Patrick said, with a laugh.
“Of course, they’re right,” Duncan agreed. “But, your first step in conquering them is to pretend that sex is the farthest thing from your mind. You have to soothe them. Pacify them. Make them think that your only interest is getting to know them.”
“This is a load of crap,” Hawk snorted.
Duncan ignored him and continued, “This step is the most dangerous because one wrong move and you can fall into the landmine area known as ‘he’s just a friend’.” Patrick gasped in horror at the offending f-word, and Duncan nodded in sympathy. He didn’t have to explain the horrors of being known as a woman’s friend to Patrick because that was Patrick’s specialty.
Patrick’s last girlfriend had dumped him on the basis that she said she had more fun shopping with him than sleeping with him. Duncan and Hawk had cringed themselves when Patrick had relayed the conversation in same the dull tone as tornado survivors on the evening news.
Duncan added, “That’s why, even while in the soothing stage, you have to make certain that the woman always knows that you still find her desirable, that if she says one word, she can have a night of ecstasy.”
“How do you do that?” Patrick asked.
“A look. An accidental caress. A borderline inappropriate comment about the short length of her skirt or the amount of cleavage displayed in a blouse. It works every time.”
“This is such bullsh—“
Duncan interrupted the fuming Hawk and told Patrick, “Next, you entice. This is where flowers, candlelight dinners, walks on the beach and all that crap come into play. You want them to think that – maybe, just maybe – you’re not like the others. And then you come in for the kill – seduction.
“One night where you fulfill her every fantasy. It doesn’t have to be sex – although, that’s the ideal. It could be, whatever, she thinks is romantic – like taking her horseback riding, in a hot air balloon . . . Something she’s dreamed about doing, but can’t or won’t do for herself. If you follow these rules, my friends, you’ll have any woman you want. And, most importantly, she’ll do anything you want. I haven’t done my taxes in about ten years. I just find an accountant and soothe – entice – seduce until the government is paying me money.”
“Prove it,” Patrick challenged.
Duncan’s confident smile froze on his face as he met Patrick’s intense, dark gaze. Patrick was the teddy bear of the three, but once he became focused on a goal, he was like a bulldog with a bone.
“Prove what?” Duncan asked, blankly.
“Hawk is right. Since we were fourteen years old, you’ve always bragged about your player status,” Patrick said, a trace of bitterness in his voice. “I want you to prove it.”
“What do you want me to do, Patty? Videotape my next sexual encounter?” Duncan asked dryly. “I’m not getting arrested for you morons.”
Patrick’s vanilla cheeks instantly filled with color as he stared at the table embarrassed, but Hawk grinned and nodded excitedly.
 “No, Duncan, this is perfect,” Hawk said, laughing maniacally. “You claim that you can get any woman you set your, right? All you have to do is lie, beg and annoy?”
“It’s soothe, entice and seduce,” Duncan said, through clenched teeth.
“Whatever,” Hawk dismissed then said, “We pick the girl. I don’t care if you use your three idiotic rules or if you hypnotize her, but you have to prove that she’s in love with you, that she’ll do whatever you want her to do.”
“Even when Kellie said that she loved me, she didn’t do whatever I said,” Patrick said, weakly.
Hawk sighed loudly and muttered, “And here I thought we would actually go the whole night without any mention of the K-word.”
Duncan silently agreed, while Patrick looked wounded. “Kellie and I were together for two years.”
“Two years too long if you ask me,” Hawk retorted.
“It’s been six months since she dumped you, Patty,” Duncan said, gently. “It’s time to move on.”
“I still love her,” he insisted.
Hawk rolled his eyes and groaned in frustration. “Judging from the wedding invitation she sent you last month, she doesn’t love you.” Patrick cringed as if he had been physically hit. Hawk added, “Besides, you’ve never claimed to take away a woman’s ability to think after one date. You’ve never claimed that a woman will do anything for you at any time. For Duncan here, making a woman his obedient toy should be an easy feat since he does it all the time. Right, Duncan?”
Duncan knew that Hawk was throwing his own words back at him and he inwardly cringed. He had a big mouth and maybe every once in a while, on rare occasions that warranted it, he could admit that he overexaggerated his prowess with women. But, so did every other man in the free world.
O.K. . . . maybe he and Janette Baxter didn’t have a wild night of passion last weekend. But, he had bought her a drink and they had flirted for an hour before Duncan left to pick up one of his nieces from a Girl Scouts meeting. That had to count for something. Duncan had only told the revised version of his Janette Baxter experience because he had wanted to spice up the evening.
Patrick still pined over Kellie, who was obviously had moved on, judging by the wedding invitation, and Hawk was too bitter and wrapped up in being a “screenwriter,” when he wasn’t writing tickets in the city’s traffic enforcement department, to ever attract his own woman. That left Duncan to liven things up. Duncan dated a respectable amount and, maybe, he doubled the number now and then, but he did it for them. But, Duncan had a feeling that neither Patrick nor Hawk would appreciate that explanation.
Hawk eyed Duncan and continued, “If you can do this, I’ll take back every bad thing I’ve said about you and I’ll never doubt another one of your lame, over-the-top, unbelievable stories.”
Duncan cleared his throat and said, uneasily, “Wait a second—“
“How is he supposed to prove it?” Patrick asked curiously, ignoring Duncan’s attempt at a protest.
“The Westfield annual block party two weeks from now,” Hawk said. “He can bring her there.”
Duncan tried not to show his rapidly rising panic. Every year, Westfield, their tight-knit community, which was officially considered part of the city of Los Angeles held a block party. Although no local residents in the area separated from the borders of Los Angeles by about twenty miles considered themselves Los Angelenos, Los Angeles claimed the small area of about thirty thousand residents because it sat on the harbor and accounted for the starting point of the majority of commercial marine shipping to Los Angeles County. One way the neighborhood showed local pride was the famous annual block party.
It wasn’t just a block cordoned off, but basically the entire area became closed to all motor traffic and one could stroll from one street to the next, sample homemade pies, different bar-be-que recipes, live music and enough good will to cause the event to garner local media attention. Obviously, the media couldn’t believe that a blue-collar, multi-ethnic neighborhood in Los Angeles could hold such a peaceful event. But, since the creation of Los Angeles, Westfield had managed to retain that small town feel that baffled all those who had not been born and raised there.
“Two weeks is not enough time . . . not even for Duncan,” Patrick said, as if he was Duncan’s agent, negotiating a deal. Duncan watched the two men, momentarily fascinated, even as he wondered how he could stop this speeding train.
“Have confidence, Patty,” Hawk said, with a careless shrug. “Duncan has enough confidence in himself for all of us.”
Duncan ignored the dig and said, with a convincing amount of boredom, “So, you want me to date some woman for two weeks just to prove to you jokers that I’m the player extraordinaire? That’s not enough of an incentive for me.”
“What would qualify as enough of an incentive?” Patrick asked.
“I don’t know,” Duncan said, with an apathetic shrug.
“How about enough money to pay for that European trip you’ve been talking about for the last year?” Patrick said, with a hint of a knowing smile.
Duncan stared wide-eyed at Patrick. Last year, Duncan had seen an advertisement for a fourteen-day, six-city tour of Europe. He had told his friends that the booty a Black man could get in Europe would be astronomical. Not to mention, the mileage of saying, “when I was in Rome,” to a woman. And, of course, there was the whole experiencing European culture thing. But, neither Patrick nor Hawk had jumped at the idea, and Duncan hadn’t liked the idea of spending all that money to go by himself and maybe not have fun, so he had given up. Until now.
Duncan asked, doubtfully, “And where are you two going to come up with five thousand dollars? Hawk can barely afford to pay his light bill every month.”
“The Bachelor Party Fund,” Patrick stated, simply.
Duncan gaped in disbelief, even Hawk’s smile disappeared as he stared at Patrick. The three had started the Bachelor Party Fund after high school. The three contributed separately, at least, once a year to a joint bank account, in order to throw “the bachelor party to end all bachelor parties” for the first “victim” to walk down the aisle. Since none of them had any plans – or possibilities – to get married soon, Duncan had joked that they could re-label it the Retirement Party Fund.
“Wait,” Hawk said, uneasily. “Are we sure about this?”
“Yes,” Patrick said, firmly.
Duncan suddenly grinned, as he thought of the number of senioritas he could buy drinks with a wad of money in his pocket. And there were the nice souvenirs he could buy for his nieces and nephews, his mother, and his sisters-in-law. Suddenly, the bet didn’t seem nearly as stupid as it had seemed a few minutes ago. How hard could it be to get a woman to fall in serious like with him? He had two weeks to work his magic. He had had women eating out of the palm of his hand after one night . . . or, maybe, Duncan had just told Patrick and Hawk that. He couldn’t really remember anymore.
“That happens to be a very good incentive,” Duncan said, grinning. “If you boys are serious, I’m more than happy to open the classroom for a little schooling.”
Hawk’s smug grin scared Duncan a little. He suddenly realized why when Hawk said, “I already have the woman picked out. In fact, she’s a Westfield girl; although, she hasn’t lived in the neighborhood in years. She’s standing at the bar right now.”
Duncan told himself that he would not give Hawk the satisfaction of a reaction no matter what Creature from the Black Lagoon stood at the bar. But, then Duncan turned around. Although, he managed to clamp down his own gasp of shock and disgust, Patrick didn’t.
Patrick groaned. “At least, give him a fighting chance.”
Duncan swallowed the sudden lump in his throat as he stared across the restaurant at Claire Scott. She was now Dr. Claire Scott. Even if he had managed to miss the occasional mention of her in national magazines and newspapers, he couldn’t stop his parents from constantly talking about his former high school classmate who made the neighborhood proud with all of her accomplishments. While Duncan and his friends had been barely able to handle switching classes every period in their first year of high school, eleven-year old Claire Scott could have taught the classes. Even though three years younger than most of her classmates, she had been at the top of every academic list, the star of the math and science clubs and the one guaranteed to raise her hand and correctly answer the teacher’s question, while everyone else was slinking behind their desks to avoid being called on.
Her intelligence and age had been more than enough to make her a pariah, but she also had been able to reduce a high school boy to tears with just a few multi-syllable words. She would question his heritage, his manhood and the most awful part was that the guy wouldn’t know it until he got his hands on a dictionary. She was an elementary school brat with a Ph.D. vocabulary, and the boys couldn’t fight back. No one respected a man who out-witted an eleven-year old, but everyone laughed when the eleven-year old made him look like an idiot.
As a result of their collective wounded pride and their inability to fight back, the boys at Westfield High School had fought back the only way they knew how. Since she had usually tied her thick hair in three or four ponytails and had been in the middle of that pre-puberty physical weirdness, the boys had christened her “Medusa.”
Duncan shook his head as he laid his eyes on Medusa for the first time in sixteen years. It was Friday night in a popular downtown Los Angeles bar and Medusa looked like . . . like a normal woman. Gone was the eleven-year old babyface and pudginess. Her face was more oval, her cheekbones more refined and her honey brown skin unblemished from her attack of pimples during their junior and senior years. Her thick dark hair was gathered in an impeccable ponytail at the nape of her neck, but she was no Medusa. She looked sophisticated and – Duncan could admit it – a little intimidating. Almost as intimidating as she had been as an eleven-year old kid.
She had sprouted in various places that Duncan would have never imagined Claire Scott sprouting. She was taller than he remembered, which was not a big surprised since the last time he had seen her, she had barely reached his chest and had been fifteen years old. Now, she probably stood over 5’8. He couldn’t tell much about what was going on between her knees and long, graceful neck because most of that area was hidden beneath a dark suit. Her skirt did stop at her knees, and Duncan was not disappointed.
Of course, she wasn’t smiling. Medusa didn’t smile, except when she was laughing at the remains of her latest victim.
“Medusa,” Patrick gasped, with a sorrowful glance in Duncan’s direction. “I didn’t know it would be that hard, man.”
“Two weeks,” Hawk reminded Duncan, glee dancing in his eyes. “Are you up to the challenge, or are you ready to admit right now that you’re just as clueless as Patrick when it comes to women?”
“Hey,” Patrick protested.
Hawk laughed, and even Duncan cracked a smile.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Patrick said, suddenly awed. “Who is the woman standing next to Medusa?”
“A woman like that would not be friends with Medusa,” Hawk said, after he and Duncan both looked in the direction that Patrick indicated.
The woman was dark chocolate beauty with long black hair and the boom-boom shape that caused a grown man to re-consider his priorities in life. In the gold, sparkling mini dress with a neckline that stopped somewhere around her belly button and a hemline that stopped somewhere just below the treasure chest, she made Claire look more like a nun than the most feared woman of Westfield High.
“Co-workers?” Duncan suggested, focusing on the serious eye-candy standing next to Claire.
“My mom goes to church with Medusa’s father. He told Mom that Medusa does research work at some big pharmaceutical research firm,” Patrick said. “I’ve never seen a researcher look like that.”
“Whoever she is doesn’t matter. She’s not a part of the bet,” Hawk said, facing Duncan. The fact that Hawk would willingly turn his back on a woman like that told Duncan how serious Hawk was about this. “You have two weeks to train Medusa, Duncan. Get her to the block party, and have her convince Patrick and me that she’s head over heels for you, and you’ll get that European vacation. Do we have a deal?”
“What if he loses?” Patrick asked.
Hawk’s smile grew wider as he said, “If Duncan loses, at the block party, he has to admit that half of his stories are exaggerations and the other half are outright lies. In front of all the guys who have suffered through his tales over the past three decades. I don’t need anything, but that.”
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this,” Patrick said, hesitantly. “Isn’t it a little cruel?”
“Claire won’t get hurt,” Hawk said, with a dismissive shrug. “She’ll get a few nice dinners – if Duncan can convince her to go to dinner – and some stories to tell her other nerd friends when they’re standing around the lab sniffing chemicals. This will probably be the most exciting thing to happen to her since she won the high school science fair.”
Patrick glared at Hawk and muttered, “You’re a real bastard sometimes, Hawk.”
“It’s called being a man,” Hawk shot back. “You should get your balls back from Kellie and maybe you’ll remember what it feels like.”
Duncan stood before Patrick could retort. He had had enough. Claire Scott would be a tough sale, but she was still a woman and Duncan had no doubt that she could resist his patented standard operation procedure. Soothe. Entice. Seduce. If it worked on other women, it would work on Claire.
He straightened the lapels of his suit jacket and said confidently, “Watch and learn, boys.”
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