Scottsdale Swank

Jett & Kreme get frisky with the pretty people at the James Hotel's J Bar

"Well, you've got the looks for it," I kid back. "What do you like about the J Bar?"

"What do I like about the J Bar?" he repeats as two fine mamas saunter by. "You mean other than what just walked past us?"

"Dumb question, I know."

"I tend to come to the same establishments over and over," Blankenship confesses. "We had dinner at Fleming's, then figured we'd have a drink or two at the J Bar. It was better earlier. Now there seems to be an influx of dudes. There were more girls before, but I'm on a date so I don't really care."

I don't argue, though to me, there appear to be plenty of hot, high-class bitches around. Right now, it's about 50-50, XX to XY. A well-heeled, attractive scene, though a little more mature than I'd expected -- late 20s to late 30s. Still, it's all good. Blankenship and I chat a bit more before he rescues his gal from Jett's grip, and they continue on their night out. Like Dao and Blankenship, people seem to be club hopping, and the J Bar's just a way station to other venues. By 12:30 a.m., it's like someone flipped a switch, and about 60 percent of the crowd vamooses for parts unknown.

Outside on the patio, there are gaggles of chickees here and there. We espy a trio over by the fireplace, Melissa, Annie and Priscilla, who seem to be enjoying their bevvies. They're a frisky lot, tumbling all over each other, and Jett's lovin' them. Melissa owns up to being a schoolteacher in Chandler, though she's from New Joisey, originally.

"Oooh, a hot schoolteacher!" exclaims the Jettster. "You're not going to be one of those who seduces her students?"

"No, no," she says, shaking her head. "I love my job. I teach first grade."

"Yeah, first grade is a little young; you gotta start teaching high school for that," squawks my salacious sidekick to Melissa's denials. "Anyone ever tell you that you've got a nice ass?"

"I'm very lucky that way," she agrees, checking herself out. "I don't have to work for it."

I can tell the switch-hittin' Jennifer Esposito is about to pounce on her prey, so I pull her off, toward a cluster of studs for a change: Ryan, Shaawb and Jason -- a Web designer, a lawyer and a Realtor, respectively.

"You fellas getting any digits this evening?" I query.

"I don't fuck around with numbers," says cocky Ryan. "I go straight for the kill."

"What do you do, bang 'em in the bathroom?" asks Jett, ever the smart-ass.

"If they're not in the car by two in the morning, they're out," responds Ryan. "No callbacks. We're not really on a mission here. We're just out having fun."

"Why the J Bar?" I inquire.

"It's got a good atmosphere. It's relaxed, not a keg party. And no Mexicans . . .

"I'm just kiddin'," he chuckles.

"My girlfriend's Mexican," explains Shaawb. "He's pullin' my leg."

I turn around and see that Jett's flirting with this Korean chick with great gams named Mindi, so I decide to hit the head. Inside, I see a couple of dudes in one stall and hear some nasal action going on. I spot one fella we were chatting with before, whom I've left out of this column for obvious reasons.

"Hey, New Timesguy," he says to me. "Wanna bump?"

When in Rome, eh? Afterward, I step back outside, slightly buzzed, hoping there are no telltale signs. Jett's now on a couch, talking with this guy in a tux with curly black hair. (I don't see the Korean girl anywhere.) Says he's a Master of Architecture student at Taliesin West's Frank Lloyd Wright School of Architecture, and just came from an exclusive black-tie event there. I miss his name, but we'll call him Mr. Architecture.

"I'm working on this club as a design called Sexus," Mr. Architecture explains. "Think of it as smooth, sleek and sexy. It'll be a music venue, art gallery, restaurant and lounge, as well as assembly rooms for business meetings, which can be turned into private party rooms at night. It's going to be in downtown Scottsdale, or that's the idea, at least."

"You know that's the name of a Henry Miller novel, part of what he called the Rosy Crucifixion: Sexus, Plexus and Nexus," I comment.

"Yes, I've ordered that book. I'm very interested in reading it. I should state that Sexus is not going to be a strip club. I've never even been to a strip club. It's just going to be a very sexy place."

"What's a nexus?" pipes in the J-unit.

I pat her on the head. "My dear Jett, wait 'til we get back to the car. Then I'll drop trou, bend over, and show you the biggest nexus you've ever seen."

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