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instruments?”
    I sipped my little glass of wine to by me a second before speaking. This company was all about women playing musical instruments; in fact their slogan was something along the lines of “Empowering female musicians since 1983.” I didn’t play a thing, and the violin incident earlier didn’t count. But I didn’t want to think about that right now.
    “No, I don’t but I’ve been eyeing that pearloid, mint-green guitar, edged in chrome. It’s the motivation I need to learn how to play.”
    “You should come by the booth tomorrow,” Vera chimed in, “We have that guitar on display. I could take it down and give you your first lesson.”
    “That’d be great!” I didn’t really mean it. Somehow, I was sure that a guitar lesson wasn’t the only thing Vera wanted to teach me. “You can consider me another SheRawks! convert.”
    “If you like the Mint Retro, you have to check out my newest line,” Cassidy started. “It’s like the Retro, but more sleek and sultry. We’re calling it the Siren, after the silver screen ladies.”
    “It retails for a little more than the Retro, but quality always comes with a price tag,” Maggie said.
    “Well, from a sales standpoint it’s always a good idea to have a wider range of price-points to offer consumers.” I said.
    Maggie was clearly pleased that she’d found a kindred spirit, but Joni was looking decidedly less friendly. I needed to win her back a little.
    “Although, I suppose you would need to be very careful not to alienate your existing client base that have become used to your quality instruments at a very fair price.”
    Now it was Joni’s turn to look smugly at Maggie, her smile beginning to wilt. Now, time to bring the two together.
    “Now, if I was working with Ophelia here,” I motioned to her but kept my eyes directed towards the real power at the other end of the table. “I would come up with a campaign to cover all your bases. You are a progressive company, so show it in your zeal for constantly raising the bar on your own products.”
    I had everyone’s full attention, so I kept going, letting my sales pitch integrate into the topic at hand. Before I was done, I would land the account, I was sure.
    “I’d expand your marketing efforts.” I said, hoping not to offend the oh-so young Ophelia. “Up until now, most of your advertising falls into one of two categories: the young girl looking for her first guitar or the Indy musician hoping to take her performances up a notch with the dazzle of your guitars.”
    I waited until one of the others was about to speak before I continued. “Picture an ad in Vanity Fair or Town and Country—a refined setting, with a model in her early thirties draped on a settee like a figure in a classical painting. She is stunning, elegant as she holds your newest guitar tenderly, fingers poised to play. Soft light pours in from a window, effectively spotlighting her and the gleaming guitar. She’s smiling, just a little, a’ la Mona Lisa.”
    I sipped my wine, letting that thought marinate for a moment. I could damn near picture the advertisement myself, causing my flesh to rise with baby-fine goose bumps. Not from my advertising genius, but because I was picturing the model as the captivating Bette from my whole violin experience earlier. And she was naked.
    “I love it!” Joni said with a satisfied smile.
    Where the hell had that thought come from? I needed to know so I could send it back—pronto. Focus , I told myself. It was a time for business only, not to deconstruct my fracturing life or question my sexuality.
    “It could work.” Ophelia added, with enthusiasm.
    I was confident that I’d landed the account with my pitch and smiled at the prospect of flooring my boss with the news. The SheRawks! Company was one of the top five accounts that he’d coveted for years.
    “Claire, how about we grab a drink at the bar before you slip off to another meeting?”
    My stomach dropped. I felt