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forgot. I took
pictures of you ladies during the photo shoot.”
    I grab the phone before Dorothy does and see a picture of me
with Carlos that’s even more arresting than what the photographer shot. Without
the bright flash of the photographer’s camera, the lighting is darker and more
seductive. It looks as if he’s carrying me to the bedroom in a dimly lit house.
    “Email it to me,” I say. “I’ve got to have it.”
    Dorothy peers at my face. “Are you sure you’re all right?
You look strange again.”
    When Zena leans even closer to study me, I want to hide
under the table.
    “She’s not sick, Dorothy. Janice is in love!”
    “I am not.” Yes, I am. I am I am I am. “I just got carried
away by the photo shoot.”
    “Maybe you can dance with him tonight after they perform,”
Zena adds. “I plan to dance with each of them at least once.”
    “Sorry, Rolf is all mine.” Dorothy sips her coffee. “You
know, I expected these men to be arrogant but they’re so nice.”
    That’s it. If I catch Carlos acting the least bit arrogant,
I won’t be interested in him anymore. That should be easy enough. Someone that
gorgeous is bound to act arrogant sometime.
    The announcer, a lady in a tiger-striped cave outfit with a
jagged hem, takes the microphone. She makes the usual announcements, hoping
everyone is having a good time and thanking the organizers for their hard work.
Then she gives out some gift baskets to audience members. My hands clap on
autopilot. Just bring out Carlos before I go into withdrawal.
    “As you know, tomorrow is the final day of our event,” the
woman continues. “We’re thrilled to give away a grand prize. Two of our men
will have a two-hour fantasy date with two lucky ladies!”
    The ballroom erupts with such loud shouting I almost fly out
of my chair with surprise.
    “Who’s it going to be?” someone yells.
    The announcer tilts her head toward backstage. “Guys? Come
on out.”
    My heart skips a beat when Rolf and Carlos walk onstage
wearing brown head-to-foot hooded robes. With their hair covered, it’s hard to
recognize them at a distance, but I’d know Carlos anywhere. His eyes, walk and
stance are already burned into my memory.
    The announcer minces around them with gesturing arms as if
she’s a game show hostess. “The winners will enjoy some one-on-one time with
these charming guys. They might take a walk or have drinks. All the rules still
apply, of course. No hanky-panky.”
    Someone in the audience groans with disappointment.
    Zena grabs one of my hands and one of Dorothy’s. “We’ve got
to win! We’ve just got to win!”
    My entire body goes numb in my chair. A two-hour fantasy
date with Carlos? Just thinking about it blows my mind to shreds. I pull my
hand away and sink my nails into it. There’s no point thinking about something
I probably won’t get. I never win a thing. Even worse, some other woman will
win the date with him. I definitely can’t handle thinking about that.
    When the first blast of jungle music pierces the room along
with a red strobe light, I focus on them to get my mind off the grand prize I
won’t win. The other two men—also wearing long brown robes—join Carlos and
Rolf. What are they supposed to be, monks?
    “Those robes sure aren’t very sexy,” Dorothy remarks.
    Zena giggles. “That’s because they’re coming off.”
    A gong sounds and the men circle around each other in a
swirling pattern that makes the robes billow around them. Then I realize the
robes aren’t fastened in front. Bare pectorals peek out, teasing the audience.
Women’s screams shatter the room, giving the loud music serious competition. If
I ever attend another one of these, I’m bringing heavy-duty earplugs.
    Then, one after the other, a man dances to the front of the stage,
pulls back his hood and flings off the entire robe, revealing a snug,
tiger-striped loincloth.
    Dorothy snorts. “Men. Why do they always throw their clothes
on the