The AC dries off the sweat on the back of my neck as the lobby of The Flamenco comes into view. Latin music floats over the din and a few of the guests laugh and dance along. A flash of red flits by my peripherals and I turn to see the man of the hour. He’s seated himself at the bar, his red suit standing out in the sea of black and white. He caresses the a** of a woman in green sitting on his lap, two other women leaning on the bar and showing all they have to offer. His wild hair is held ...