Marisol opened her mouth to object, but Bisi looked down at her with such a sexily foreboding expression that Mari just pushed her lips to one side and cut her eyes at her date with unserious disapproval. Phew, she thought. She is hot hot hot hot hot. We’ll see about who gets that check, though. Mari knew the bar they were going to quite well, and it was a good choice. She was intimately familiar with the amenities of most of the nicer hotels in the DC area, having either worked at or coordinated events at many, many of them. Being an event coordinator sometimes came with the perk of working with eager-to-please hotel staff who appreciated repeat business, so once they got inside the hotel, Mari was pretty damned sure she could have her way. She knew better than to flex, however. Look like the flower, but be the serpent under it.   

As they reached the lobby, Mari said briskly, “I’m going to go grab my coat out of the storage closet, and run to the ladies’ room and I’ll meet you right back here in five minutes, ok?”

Bisi, looking amused, said, “Yes, ma'am. I got mine from the coat check before they left, so I won't move from this spot. Hurry back.”

¡Mierda!, Mari thought as she headed for the storage closet. Had she just coordinated her date? Well, she figured, she may as well let her freak flag fly early and often. Time spent with her was probably going to mean time spent being coordinated. It was in the bone at this point. She ducked into the closet and grabbed her coat and scarf and then headed into the ladies room. Mari looked into the mirror and sighed. Very… business. Very boring. She slipped off her blazer, rolled up her sleeves, undid the top two buttons on her shirt, lifting her collar in the back. She pulled the pins and band out of her hair, bent over to give it a thorough shake, and then straightened to let it fall in waves around her face. Close enough. Finally, she swiped away a bit of eyeliner that had gone on walkabout and grabbed her lipstick out of the pocket of her coat and carefully applied a fresh coat. That was good as things were going to get, but she’d gotten the date in Plain Jane mode, so, really, there was nowhere to go but up. She put her blazer back on, but did not button it, artfully wound her scarf around her neck, and shrugged her coat on, rearranging the collar until it had a little attitude and resettling her hair over it. Then, pre-emptively, she extracted her credit card from her wallet and tucked it into her coat pocket. She checked the mirror a final time, checked her watch— only three minutes had passed—and returned the lobby where Bisi was obediently waiting for her, standing by the glass doors and looking out at the street. Mari bit her lip, suddenly nervous.

“Ok! I’m ready!” Mari announced in a voice that was a notch too high thanks to overexcitement. She walked back towards Bisi, trying not to rush, wearing a ruby-lipped smile.

Bisi Egbe turned and stared, her eyes widening. As she watched Mari approach, she shook her head. “You should have warned me,” she said reproachfully.

“About what? I came back early,” protested Mari.

Bisi continued staring at her, and, as Mari watched, she thought Bisi’s irises began to lighten. She shivered in response. “You know what you did,” Bisi said, her voice low.

Mari’s pulse picked up and she flushed and felt the subtle tingle and pressure that meant she was most definitely releasing some scent, but she held Bisi’s eyes almost defiantly as she tried to calm herself. “And you know what you’re doing,” she countered.

They stared at each other for another long moment, before Bisi said, “Actually, I’m not at all sure what I’m doing. It is singularly uncomfortable, Temi. You are very, very lovely, however, so whatever I am doing, I’m glad to be doing it with you. May I buy you that drink now?” she said, and reached past Mari for the door handle. 

You can try, thought Mari. “Sure!” she said. 

An hour later, they were ensconced in a velvet-upholstered booth, they were on their second drinks, and Mari had thoroughly recovered from the chilly walk over. She was warm inside and out after an hour of chatting, sipping, and outrageous flirting—and counter flirting. The thought that she should get going had bubbled up to the surface a couple of times, but she had doused it in rye. Who knew when she’d get another night like this? She may as well savor it. It was after two o’clock in the morning and although the museum would be closed the next day, she would have to go back over to do a walkthrough with museum and BIPOCOmmuity staff at some point to be sure that everything had been restored to its original state and to tie up loose ends. She didn’t think that would be until after lunch, though. She could stay another fifteen minutes. 

“What are you thinking about?” Bisi inquired.

“Just that I have some work stuff to cake care of tomorrow.”

“On a Sunday?” Bisi said, her brows drawing together. 

“The life of an event coordinator is very glamorous. Checking on lost and found items, packing up silent auction items… it’s a merry-go-round of pure joy. You never have to work on Sundays? I would have thought that sometimes you'd get called in...”

Bisi held up a hand in front of her and gave it a little wave of protest, “Oh, no, sometimes I do. Not as often now as when I was a resident, of course. But I have never stopped feeling indignant about it on some level, so I think it’s perfectly reasonable to feel indignant on your behalf as well. Especially if it has you thinking about leaving, which is what it looked like just now.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning! Nineteen was… eleven years ago. I’m not two a.m. years old anymore,” said Mari with a wry smile and a shrug. “I don’t really want to go, I’m enjoying myself. I just hadn’t planned on staying out so late…”

“I suppose planning is fairly important to you, given your line of work.”

“You could say that. Is it not important in yours?”

“Oh no, it is, but, well, when it comes to operating on the heart, humans plan and God laughs. Sometimes it all goes to plan and sometimes you get a nasty surprise and you have to improvise,” said Bisi, swirling the ice in her drink. 

“I continue to be impressed by the overlap in our careers. I would not have thought that they had so much in common…” Mari laughed. 

“Have you always wanted to work on big events?” Bisi asked. 

 “I’ve always liked big productions. I did drama in high school, but I was always the stage manager. By choice. I liked helping my mother get ready for these huge block parties she has always loved to kick off, but truthfully, I’m kind of an introvert… so I like to work behind the scenes. I enjoy other people’s enjoyment. I’ve actually been considering making a change, though,” said Mari, re-centering her drink perfectly on its cocktail napkin. “I don’t know how many Halston Hollis kow-tows I have left in me.” 

Bisi focused on her intently. “I would say you graciously acquiesced with the perfect amount of subtle resistance, personally. It was a masterclass. But what change have you been considering? To what?”

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about all that. It’s boring.”

“Is it? That would be novel. You haven’t told me anything boring yet. Bore me to tears. Perhaps it will make it easier for me when you really do forsake me for the lost and found and silent auction items, and the latter, I can tell you, is a sore subject with me right now.”

“Is it? Why?” Which silent auction items had done something untoward to this magnificent specimen? Mari would fight them.

“No, no. First tell me your boring plans,” Bisi insisted, leaning forward and resting her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm.

“Oh. Ok. Well, I want to start my own business.”

“How terribly dull. Doing what?”

“Well… it’s kind of a new concept. But it’s a fun idea and I think it might become a thing. Like, I can see it being trendy. I can see making it trendy! And I think I’d be quite good at it. Detail-oriented, and all. It’s a job with major behind-the-scenes fairy-godmother vibes, which is... my jam.”

“Stultifying. Tell me more.”

“Ok, just remember that you asked.”

“It is noted for the record.”

“Have you ever heard the term ‘breedymoon’? It’s super twee, but what can I do, I didn’t make it up…”

“I have,” said Bisi coughing a little and then sitting up and taking a hasty swallow of her drink.

“Well…it would be like a preparation service for couples who were planning a breeding cycle. We would outfit a space with everything that the couple needs— specialized bedding, furniture covers, nutrition, hydration, first aid, and, uh, other things, like lube or toys or whatever they’re looking for. Meal delivery for the recovery period. Things like that. Arranging cleaning and repair services for after. And we could do other types of prep, too, to keep the calendar full. Preparing spaces for short-term renters— a lot of corporate or political people come to DC for a month or two for work reasons and stay in these generic pre-furnished places, and we could get the space set up for them, make it feel like home, load the fridge, take care of the small details that make it welcoming. You know, for diplomats coming from other countries, we could add in some elements from home to make them feel comfortable. There’s a lot to be said for familiar smells and tastes when you’re away from home… Anyway… stuff like that. I envision a calmer life with better hours, but also having a more profound impact on my clients’ lives… that sounded so cheesy. Told you it was—”

“Don’t you dare say boring,” said Bisi cutting her off. “It’s not boring. Not on any level. I mean, first, making sex nests for people cannot be called boring. Second, as a physician, I heartily approve of people planning ahead for breeding cycles so they don’t turn up ill or injured afterwards. Third, I think a lot of couples would gratefully pay to have someone who knows what they're doing set up for them. I think it’s a fantastic idea.”

“Well, I didn’t invent it, there are a few businesses out there doing something similar, but none around here and none providing all the services I envision. I already know so many vendors and cleaning and repair services… it wouldn’t take much effort for me to get it rolling. I'm glad you mentioned the physician thing-- that was part of my plan. To talk to a few doctors to find out what kind of health and safety items and nutrition I should be considering offering...”

“You should do it.”

“You think so?” asked Mari, finding that she actually cared what Bisi Egbe thought about her idea. 

“I do.”

“It’s the dream. Choosing my own clients… working for myself… it would be lovely. No more power-tripping brides. No more corporate nonsense. No more boring suits. Also, I think there’s a lot of awkwardness and stigma around openly dealing with breeding cycles. They’re a lot to take on and they take such a toll on people. Couples deserve to have assistance from knowledgeable, non-judgmental people, and that’s something I could do for them.” Mari’s hands were moving through the air, underscoring her points, as they tended to do when she got excited and began to talk with her whole body. She tried not to talk with her hands when she was working, but in the wee small hours of the morning, when she had a couple of drinks in her and she was under the influence of a gorgeous face and an attentive ear, all bets were off.

“You are passionate about this. You are lighting up as you talk about it,” Bisi observed. “I really think you should do it.”

“Maybe so,” said Mari, and was then surprised by a huge yawn that she couldn’t stifle. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry. It’s not you, I’m just not really a night owl.”

“Well, I don't want you falling asleep behind the wheel, so, before I am chivalrous and offer to walk you back to your car, let me be selfish and find out whether you’ll let me see you again. Would you have dinner with me one night this week? A proper date? I would like to see you again. And again,” said Bisi leaning in, her voice smooth and hypnotic and impossible to deny.

“Yes. I would,” Mari said, a little breathlessly. “I’d like that.”

“Then I am willing to let you go home for a much-deserved rest. I’ll get the check, and while we wait, you can tell me which night is best for you.” 

Mari ducked her head and smiled at the table in what probably could have passed for acquiescence, but which was, in fact, triumph. Looking anywhere but at Bisi as Bisi motioned at the server. When he arrived, he looked between them. “Can I get you anything else tonight? I’m sure I could get the kitchen to bend the rules for you, Ms. Ortiz, if you would like a snack.”

“Alas, Ms. Ortiz has decided to be reasonable and to go to home to bed even though it’s only two-thirty in the morning. So just the check, please,” said Bisi, and aimed a slight pout at Mari, who was looking over the server’s shoulder and pursing her lips in a soundless whistle. 

“Oh, no, ma’am, Ms. Ortiz already took care of everything. My manager said your second round was on the house, Ms. Ortiz. I’ll bring you your receipt in just a moment.”

Bisi turned on Marisol as the server hurried away, her mouth an O. “What did you do?”

“A magician never reveals her secrets.”