Weapons of Mass Seduction (5 page)

“And last, cool as a Coca-Cola, Halle Berry. Mystery is what makes a woman with
COOL CHARISMA
so appealing. Though she may be slightly aloof and you never quite know what she's thinking, her smile is as genuine as it is tempting, because it always implies that there is so much more to know and uncover. Charlize Theron is another cool customer.

“Each is different, yet each as seductive and sexy as the next, and most are a combination of several charismas. So, probably, are you. Let's take a moment to think about what kind of charisma you possess.”

“Pia, you're easy. You've got cool charisma,” Rebecca immediately declared. “You're beautiful and fashionable and there's a secret part of you that makes people curious.”

“I can live with that,” Pia agreed, visions of her own cool heroine, smooth and sexy jazz singer Sade, appearing in her head. “What about you, Florence?”

“Rocks don't have charisma. Not even sensible pet rocks,” Flo deadpanned.

“Well, I want charisma like Angelina Jolie. She's so hot. Guys love her. But I don't exactly know how to do that,” Rebecca admitted while waving her arm in the air.

“Joey,” Rebecca asked, “if you don't know what kind of charisma you have, or don't have the kind you want, how do you get it?”

“By pinpointing the parts of your personality that are appealing and then working them to the max. Most people waste their time working only on their weaknesses. I say, strengthen your strengths,” Joey advised.

“
TIP
: The things you are drawn to in other women are the hidden, undeveloped assets you possess but have yet to acknowledge. Study these women—and pull from their lives that which is you, but don't try to copy them. Imitation may be the sincerest form of flattery, but it's also the fastest way to look like an idiot.

“Now, enough lecturing for today—you have other exciting things to do. First, if you'd please turn to page seven to find your homework assignment for this evening,” she said.

Pia and the others flipped to the pages.

EXERCISE
: Identify three things: 1) your individual charisma; 2) the secret weapon you already possess but underutilize; and 3) what trademark icon you would choose to represent yourself. Write these down in your WMS journal with any thoughts or feelings that might accompany your answers.

“I don't get it. What exactly is a trademark icon?” someone from the back asked.

“An icon is merely a representation of something. In this case,
you
. Your trademark icon is something you can see and touch that connects you to your sensual, unique self and reminds you of the woman you are striving to be.

“Right now the bus is outside to take you on a very special shopping expedition. As you leave you will receive your shopping list. Sometimes it's the small and very personal things—shoes, jewelry, or fragrance—that make you feel sensually unique and become lingering clues to your inimitable personality. Now keep all these things in mind as you make your purchases.

“Your first stop will be a visit to my good friend Cosette. If anyone can make you feel like a true WMS, she will. I'll join you later at dinner. Have a sensual afternoon, lovelies, and by all means, take time to notice and smell the flowers along the way.”

Chapter Five

P
ia crossed the threshold and immediately felt a satisfying sense of homecoming. There was something about stepping into a lingerie shop that automatically brought a twist to her lips and put an adventurous gleam in her eye. Some women loved shoes. Others coveted jewelry. Pia adored expensive undies. For some, paying $125 for a brassiere and $65 for matching panties might seem excessive, but for her it was an investment in her positive state of mind. Fine lingerie made her feel attractive and desirable, feelings tough to hold on to when there was no one in your life reminding you.

“Holy Mary, Mother of Jesus. This is definitely not the bra section at JCPenney,” Rebecca proclaimed in nervous awe as she eyeballed every satin and embroidered inch of their assigned destination.

Of course it isn't
, Pia wanted to assure her. This was not a boutique for amateurs. The place positively reeked of feminity. And power. Erotic, sexual power. Even to the unindoctrinated eye, this was a sophisticated and elegant collection for those steeped in the art of seduction. Boudoir-style armoires lined the walls—each tastefully stocked with lace and silk-spun concoctions of sexy body armor, all designed to disarm and accelerate the fall of men.

Talk about your amorous arsenal
, she thought, giggling to herself before a tide of pessimism swept over her. Despite owning an impressive munitions chest, Pia no longer possessed the confidence to wage an effective war. Perhaps Dee was right to dupe her into attending this workshop.

“
Bienvenue à Passionata
. Welcome to Passionata, ladies,” interrupted an elegantly French-accented female voice. “I am Cosette. Your
professeur
, Joey, has sent you to me this afternoon to teach you more about the power of the pretty things that surround you.

“Lingerie is a beautiful way for a woman to develop and explore her sense of identity. Pretty things like this or this,” Cosette continued, holding up a black lace merry widow bustier and a delicate sheer white camisole as divergent examples, “are a special and secret manifestation of your personality, mood…or purpose,” she added with a wink. “So let your most intimate apparel be the sign of how you feel.”

Cosette's captive audience broke out in a chorus of flirty laughter. Power. Purpose. Pia almost felt sorry for the male population once these sex bombs in the making were released around the country.

“And never, never must you save these beauties for a special occasion. Every day is special,
non
? Put them on to clean your house, wear them to drive your
enfants
to school, to shop your groceries. If you choose to share with your lover, well, lucky him. But never do you buy just to seduce
him
. You must first seduce yourself. So every day when you pull on your panties, pull on a new attitude as well. What bubbles underneath radiates on top.
Non?

“Ladies, enjoy the champagne. You will look and touch and find yourself here in Passionata. Now
mademoiselles
Marie, Aimee, and Jacquelin will begin to measure you, as fit is most important.”

With a dramatic clap of her hands, Cosette's three assistants, clad in black smocks, pencil skirts, and stiletto heels, appeared and the fitting frenzy began. Pia walked over to Rebecca and the two were soon joined by Flo.

“Why do we need to come here?” Rebecca asked, thinking of her already sky-high credit balance as she curiously fingered a siren red garter belt. “Can't we go somewhere a little less expensive?”

“Because as Cosette said, proper fit is important,” Pia explained. “Here, you'll get that. Buy what you want. It will be my gift to you.”

“Really? Are you sure?”

“I'm sure, besides I'm not going to get anything. I have drawers of this stuff at home.”

“Thank you,” Rebecca said as she scooped up the garter's matching push-up bra and thong panties.

“I'm not tryin' to be your mother, Rebecca, but aren't those just a tad…well…risqué?” Flo asked. “How about a sweet little camisole that isn't so…red?”

“My mother would never let me wear anything red, not even a sweater let alone underwear like this. I've been sweet all my life. Now I want to be sexy like a Victoria's Secret Angel.”

“Honey, there's not one thing angelic about these skimpy panties and brassieres. Those creations are the devil's work. And I am not talkin' about nothin' moral or religious, darlin'. I'm talkin' comfort. No underpants are supposed to disappear into the crevices of your body, and no nightie is supposed to be so full of hardware that it would stop you from gettin' on an airplane let alone gettin' a good night's sleep.”

Pia couldn't stop laughing. Flo Chase was a natural comedienne. “Flo, in case you had any doubt, your individual charisma is definitely humorous, and I think that's your secret weapon as well. Now go on. The panty patrol is calling.”

“Well, can't hurt to get a good fit,” Flo said as Aimee beckoned her into a dressing room. “Maybe it'll keep my nipples from droppin' out my pant legs. Come on, Rebecca. You can try those on while I'm gettin' measured.”

“Mademoiselle?”
Aimee asked, gesturing to Pia.

“Non, merci,”
Pia begged off, dragging out her high school French. “I'm just browsing today.”

While her teammates headed for the dressing rooms, Pia decided to buy a gift for Dee and wandered over to the armoire of nightgowns and matching robes. “For Hector's homecoming,” she decided, admiring a chocolate brown and lavender silk chemise. She'd just found Darlene's size when Rebecca's loud denouncement sounded above the background music and quickly steered Pia back to the dressing area.

“Absolutely not! It's supposed to be sexy. Pia, look at her. Tell her she looks like my grandma in that.”

“Well…” Pia began softly as she viewed Flo standing in lingerie's equivalent of oatmeal—a sexless, shapeless, laceless cross-your-heart-looking number. “I've never seen Rebecca's grandma, but that's definitely not saying ‘new attitude.'”

“Well, I guess a granny is what he saw too. It's no wonder…” Florence said, her words barely audible.

“You said that earlier today. If you don't mind me asking, it's no wonder what?” Rebecca politely inquired, curiosity winning out over protocol.

“No wonder why my husband, Dan, decided to walk out after twenty-six years of marriage. No wonder he moved clear across five states just to get away from me,” Flo admitted before collapsing on the chair in the corner.

“I know yesterday I said I was here to refresh my marriage, but truthfully I think
save
is a better word,” she softly revealed. “My friend Miriam gave it to me for a birthday gift and insisted I come out here—otherwise I'd be back in Texas still tryin' to figure out what exactly I did wrong. That test we took says I'm sensibly sensual and here I am standin' in a shop full of lacy tidbits, wearin' your grandma's boring beige
sensible
brassiere. And according to Joey Clements, when it comes to bein' a sexy, sensual woman,
sensible
is the last thing men want.”

“Who knows what men want? I don't think they're even sure,” Pia said, angry at a man she didn't even know for hurting a woman she'd just met. “Men leave for a variety of reasons. You didn't have to do anything to drive him away.”

“I've been rackin' my brain over this, and I know I didn't do anythin' per se. I mean, I didn't have an affair or run up the credit cards or anythin'. Lookin' back, I'm sure he felt slighted for the past eighteen years or so, but the boys were a full-time job. In my mind, when the kids came our first priority was to be parents, and once they left to live their own lives we'd get back to being a couple. What I hadn't figured was that they'd all grow up and leave—Dan included.”

“So he just up and said he wanted a divorce?” Pia asked.

“No, nothin' that definitive. Our youngest had just returned back to campus followin' Thanksgivin' break. Dan left two days later on a fishin' trip to Florida. Well, sometime between the flight down there and catchin' some big marlin, he decided he was bored and he wasn't gettin' any younger. Told me he needed to experience life. I hate that phrase, ‘experience life.' What the hell has he been doin' the past fifty years? When he told me that I went down to the basement and took out all the scrapbooks I'd put together over the years. There were fifteen books just filled to the brim. How could he have that many memories and not have ‘experienced life'? It makes no sense to me.”

“I think that's one of those catchphrases people use when all of a sudden they look up and realize that there are more years behind them than in front of them,” Pia offered. “Women may have their biological clocks, but men have these Big Ben timepieces that go off in midlife. It's their warning that their penises aren't going to stay hard forever so they better accomplish whatever they need to now to keep that feeling of youthful vitality.”

“Well, whatever alarm clock went off, he called home and declared that he would not be returnin'. I managed to talk him into givin' it a little time before he files for divorce. So he's been livin' in Florida for the last five months and is due back next month. When he gets here we're supposed to figure out where we're goin'. The separation isn't official yet, but talkin' to him sure feels like it is.”

“So you're taking this workshop 'cause you're about to be divorced?” Rebecca asked.

“Oh, no. I'm takin' it to keep from gettin' divorced, or at least Miriam thinks it might help. She said I should come here to become a sex bomb so I can blow Dan's mind. She figures that if the woman he left isn't the same woman he comes home to, then maybe his interest will be piqued enough to stay. I hope she's right. I don't know what I'll do if this doesn't work.”

“It'll work, but if it doesn't, you'll know what to do to catch the next guy,” Rebecca suggested supportively.

“But I don't want another guy. Dan is my life and I want him back. Even if it means shovin' these big ol' feed bags into a scratchy, overpriced brassiere.”

“Feed bags? That's gross,” Rebecca protested.

“Darlin', these are just baby feeders,” she said, cupping her large breasts for emphasis. “I don't see what all the hype is about.”

“Well, I'm sure Dan does. Now come on, let's find you something hot to wear for when he gets home. Something like that,” Pia said, pointing to a poster of a femme fatale wearing an ivory and black push-up bra with lavish embroidery and a big satin ribbon.

“Honey, once you go from a thirty-eight C to a forty long, that kinda underwear just becomes silly. I'd look like a washed-up cathouse hooker wearin' somethin' like that.”

“They do take getting used to, 'cause just trying them on feels nothing like the tightie-whities I usually wear,” Rebecca said. “But you know what? I like it,” she admitted with a lip-biting blush. “They make me feel…I don't know…different.”

“Welcome to the world of lingerie. You have been bitten by the power of the panty,” Pia said with a laugh. “But Flo's got a point too. You have to feel comfortable. So Florence, how about you get the bra you like in black with matching panties. Seductive but safe. And wait, I have an idea,” Pia said as she ran back out into the store and to the nightgown display. She picked out a copper-colored silk gown edged in purple lace and a matching robe. It was elegant, age appropriate, and tastefully provocative.

“This should make you feel sexy
and
comfortable,” Pia suggested, handing her the set. “Oh, my God—it matches your hair perfectly.”

“Darlin', you're a genius. This feels amazin',” Flo said, touching the silk to her face. “Beats the pants off the PJs I got at home. Now, this could work. Aimee, honey, what else you got like this?”

Pia left her teammate in Aimee's capable hands to purchase Darlene's gift and some scented sachets. As she passed the freestanding floor mirror, her passing image made her pause. She smoothed her T-shirt over her breasts and pulled the fabric close, showcasing her bustline.

Will these ever be baby feeders
? she thought, staring at her own cleavage.

Not if you don't pull on a new attitude with some new panties
, Cosette's words reminded her.

“Aimee,
s'il vous plaît
. Can you bring me that Aubude Tulipes demi cup? Thirty-six C,” Pia requested, catching Cosette's assistant on her way back to the fitting room.

In her mind's eye Pia could see the delicate scalloped edge combined with sensual white tulle in an exquisite tulip design. It was pretty, romantic, and perfect for making a baby.

With someone you love, not a sperm donor,
an inner voice pointed out.

“Wait, Aimee—please, can you also bring me the Cabaret style as well,” Pia asked. “In black.” Sheer, sultry, tempting. Perfect for seducing a baby daddy.