1049 Club

by Kim Pritekel

  "I didn't want to marry him, Denny. I've never said that out loud before." Rachel brought up a hand, swiping at an errant tear. She'd always harbored a great deal of guilt over that.

  "So why did you?" Denny whispered, resting her chin atop the gold head.

  "Honestly? It seemed like the right thing to do. And this," the blonde sniffled, tears freely flowing down her cheeks. "I saw it as an experience. My whole life I've lived to gain experiences, something to write about, fodder." Her voice lowered to a whisper, shame filling her, finally able to admit it to herself. "I married Matt for story ideas."

  Denny tried not to react, cringing inside; no doubt Matt knew this, or knew something was up. It wasn't her place to judge, so she remained silent, lending her support and friendship.

  "I cared about him, I may have even loved him in some way, but I know now it wasn't how I should have been. God, no wonder he cheated." Rachel buried her face with her hands, the tears coming in earnest.

  "Hey, hey." Denny tightened her hold, placing a soft kiss on the top of the blonde's head. "If he was that unhappy, or that unsatisfied, he should have left, not strayed."

  "I know. But it's not that simple when you're life is legally bound to someone." Rachel's laugh was bitter and short. "I looked into it."

  "You were going to leave him?"

  "I thought about it. The public scrutiny and tabloid would have been awful. I had decided to give it more time, maybe another year, see if we could get happy." She sighed heavily, her tears slowing, fingers wiping at them. "Then I caught him." The author stared out over the edge of the rock ledge, which she knew dropped off into the sea. "You know what I think upset me most, at finding him with another woman?"

  "What?" Denny whispered.

  "Knowing that I had pushed him into it. I took for granted that Matt would stick around, no matter what, that I controlled the future of our marriage and my emotions. Never did it occur to me that he would get tired of me, and move on. I don't blame him, really."

  Denny understood both Matt and Rachel's positions, as Hannah had been in a similar situation with her husband, marrying when she was nineteen because it was the proper thing to do. Yet, she could see how angry and hurt Matt must have been. She knew if she were with Rachel, she'd want all of her, too. Not just what the blonde could, or was willing, to give.

  Rachel took the brunette's stretched out silence for judgment. "You must think I'm a real bitch, don't you?"

  "No, Rachel, I don't. I think you..." What did she think? Taking a deep breath, she decided to be honest. "It may not have been a great idea to marry when you weren't ready, but since you go through life, looking for experiences, you should know that you learn and grow from those experiences."

  Rachel listened, at first wanting to be angry by Denny's words, but she forced herself to listen with an open ear, trusting the brunette to speak only the truth. She found herself getting lost in the low, velvety quality of Denny's voice, her words soft and gentle.

  "I've had a lot of time to think about this since we've been here. I honestly don't think that was a conscious decision for me, to be so cold, so heartless as to marry him for a goddamn story." Tears started again.

  "Hey, I don't think you have it in you to be so cold on a conscious level, Rachel," the brunette said into her ear, brushing long bangs out of amazing green eyes.

  Rachel had nothing left to say, so instead cuddled closer into the warm body wrapped around hers. Yet again she was struck with the need for Denny's comfort, and the way the brunette could so effortlessly get her to drop her defenses. Only Daisy could ever do that fully. She was the only one who truly understood Rachel, or tried to. Until now.

  * * *

  Dean muttered the entire way through the foliage, stomping until finally he realized he had no idea where he was. He looked around, one tree, plant, vine, patch of dark soil, looking like the next.

  "Shit." Deciding not to panic, after all, how could he get lost on a three mile island, the attorney decided to stroll, venting his profound disappointment before returning to the others, if he returned to the others. He was tired of this, tired of the island, seeing the same thing every day, the same faces every day, the wind, the surf, the ruin of his skin! Dean ran hands through his stringy hair, which pissed him off all over again! He wanted his shower back home, with the three massive heads, spraying his body with precious hot water from three angles. He missed picking the days shampoo from the array they kept on hand. The feel of soft skin, lotion and a goddamn shave!!

  The shaver found in the washed up baggage had long ago gone dull, and was used for something else, but even that was gone from the wrath Mother Nature felt they needed again. Why was he being punished? Was being an attorney really that bad? His gaze rose to the heavens, trying to find answers in the clear, blue sky, which oddly, matched the color of Denny's eyes.

  Dean's thoughts turned to Will. It was funny, during the first part of their incarceration, he could only think of Will's body, his incredibly talented mouth and tongue, and how good the architect felt against him. But now, all he wanted was a hug from the man he loved more than life itself. He wanted to be able to look into Will's beautiful eyes and know he was home.

  Dean sniffled, swiping angrily at the new tears that sprang to his eyes. He had a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, like he'd never see his Will again, never step foot into his favorite boutiques or the bagel shop on the corner. Never again would he be able to use their season tickets to the theater.

  Finding a small clearing, Dean plopped down and buried his face in his hands.

  * * *

  "Buon Natale!"

  Gloria rolled her eyes as she was hugged by yet another wayward cousin, whom she hadn't seen in twenty years, and knew wouldn't be seeing this year if not for everyone feeling the need to coddle her, and surround her with joy and cheer.

  "Buon Natale," she said, excepting a kiss to either cheek, then had to hug all of cousin Bernard's six children. Stick your Merry Christmas up your ass.

  "Gloria! Come help Nonna needs your help."

  The dark-eyed woman was happy to leave the receiving line and help her grandmother set the table. The Vinzetti women had been cooking for six days, having to feed at least thirty-seven. She just wanted to know where, in her grandparent's very small cottage, where these people going to go?

  Christmas used to be Gloria's favorite holiday, but she had never dreaded a day or event so much in her life. She knew her family was trying to be there for her, trying to help "make her forget". Well, she had news for them: there was no way she was going to forget that she was celebrating a day of family and love without her only child. She played along, smiling and participating in mindless chatter and catching up, wishing she were back in New York, curled up with a whiskey and cable TV. The only good thing she saw in all of this was the chance to spend time with her grandfather, who was getting weaker, his cancer becoming more apparent.

  The day before, Gloria had gone with her grandparents to the doctors, getting the sobering news that this would likely be Paolo's last Christmas. The younger woman felt sick that Mia wasn't able to see her Pappo one last time, or vice versa.

  * * *

  Naomi studied her brother-in-law, seeing the bright red Santa hat perched slightly askew on his head, his tailored pants and white button up shirt, festive Christmas-tree drenched bow tie. He smiled, he joked, he even took seconds of the luscious dinner he'd had catered. All of it was for simple appearances. He was dying inside.

  "Hey, you," the architect said, raising his glass in holiday salute to his favorite female. Naomi smiled back, hip bumping him as she sipped from her egg nog.

  "Hey, yourself. Great party."

  "I thought so," Will said proudly, looking out over all of his guests, merry and jubilant. Just like he'd planned it. "The plumb pudding made quite the splash, I must say. I wasn't sure," he wrinkled his nose, sipping from his own goblet of thick, rich egg nog. Crossing one arm over his stomach, he rested his o
ther elbow on it, tapping his chin with a finger.

  "So are you going to introduce me to your new friends? After all, they did fly all the way in from Massachusetts to join us."

  Will met twinkling dark eyes, then grinned. "But of course. Follow me." He took Naomi by the hand. "You'll love Parker, their fifteen year old. She's darling!"

  * * *

  "Come on, Walter! The kids are ready to open their damn presents! Slowest damn man on the planet," Meredith Adams muttered, arranging the last of the cookies she and Jenny had baked the week before, frozen to keep them fresh. "Come on, kids! Jenny, pour everyone something to drink! Alan, get the fire banked! Conrad, help me carry this stuff in!" The older woman felt like she was doling out instructions to thin air as there was no movement in the house. "Damn it. Have to do every goddamn thing my goddamn self."

  Slamming the last cookie down on the tray, Meredith wiped her hands on a dish towel and stormed up the stairs, knocking on, then opening her granddaughter's bedroom door. The girl sat at the small writing desk, working feverishly on a paper that had been assigned in her tenth grade history class.

  "Did you hear me?"

  "Yeah, hang on, Grandma. I'm almost done," the girl said absently, scribbling the last of her notes.

  Meredith walked further into the room, looking over her granddaughter's shoulder. "Is the paper on that female King? What was it, The Donald?"

  Jenny chucked, glancing up at her grandmother. "Donal, Grandma. Yeah, she was a female ruler."

  "Well, whoever she was, get your little butt down there so we can start Christmas."

  "Come on, boys," Walter said, walking by the family room, where Alan and Conrad continued to play video games, despite their grandmother's call.

  "Come on, Con," Alan said, tossing his controller to the floor and pushing himself up from the couch. The stubborn thirteen year old remained in front of the TV, focused on killing the bad guy, again and again and again.

  About to make his way on into the living room, Walter stopped, noting the youngest boy still playing games. "Conrad," he barked, "get off your ass and do as your grandmother says.

  "Why? You don't," the boy muttered, not taking his eyes off the screen in front of him, lip curled in rage as he shot the zombie, watching in satisfaction as it blew apart, blood and gore spraying the screen.

  Walter felt anger wash through him, having no patience for the little shit and his attitude. He and his wife had taken in those kids, and he was getting damn tired of the bullshit. He wanted his old, peaceful life back. And his little girl.

  Conrad yelled out in surprise and anger as he felt large hands grip him under the arms, dragging him away from the TV, the boy kicking, trying to get away from his formidable grandfather.

  "Let me go! Let me go!"

  "Hearing the struggle from the other room, Meredith and Alan ran over to find Walter and Conrad at the genesis of a fist fight.

  "Con!" Alan grabbed the boy, pinning his arms to his side, lifting the boy off his feet as Conrad struggled against him. "Stop it, stop it!"

  Conrad stilled, the sound of his older brother's voice penetrating the fog of anger that constantly clouded his judgment and thoughts.

  "This is not gonna bring mom and dad back!" Alan felt his little brother go limp in his arms, and he turned the boy around, Conrad growing so much over the past year. The older Dupree couldn't even use the kid's head as an armrest anymore. Alan knew Conrad would later be ashamed at the tears that streamed down his face, their dad always teaching them to be men, and men don't cry. "Come on," he muttered, leading the boy outside.

  Meredith felt profound disappointment fill her, and suddenly her husband's arms were around her, his plaid shirt absorbing her tears of frustration. All she wanted was a good Christmas for the kids!

  * * *

  "Here. Thought you might want this."

  Matt looked up at the unexpected voice of his partner. "What are you doing here, Burt? All dressed up." He sat back in his chair, taking the steaming coffee the large man had set on his desk.

  "Look pretty sharp, don't I?" Langley grinned, adjusting his tie under the roll of his chin. "Going to Mass with the wife. Thought I'd stop by on our way to give ya this." A festive plastic tray, filled with Christmas goodies and wrapped in green plastic wrap, was set at the center of the detective's desk.

  "Tell Rita I said thanks. Dinner."

  Burt's smile was weak, sliding off his face. "That invite still stands, Matt. No body should be alone on Christmas."

  "I've got work."

  "Yeah, well, dinner's at six if'n you change your mind. Gotta go- the wine of communion is calling." With a wink, Burt headed out, leaving Matt alone with his thoughts. The cop grabbed a pencil from the holder at the corner of his desk, twisting between his cigarette-stained fingers. Rachel would kill him if she knew he'd picked up the habit again, but some days it was the only thing that calmed him. He was working ridiculous hours every day, sometimes seven days a week. His captain had already warned him, so to appease her, he'd taken the weekend off, but was back, sitting at his desk on Christmas day. "Deck the halls," he muttered, turning back to his computer.

  * * *

  "You have got to be kidding me?!" Reenie gawked, watching the two women dancing across her spacious living room, furniture pushed aside, rugs rolled up. The little blonde, hair whipping around, in Beth's arms looks wonderful, and their bodies dancing together was one of the most sensuous things the editor had ever seen.

  Beth and her cast mate, Christian, were doing their best to not giggle as they dirty danced, then Beth whirled the blonde away, watching as Christian launched herself into the air, landing silently on her knees, head whipping back.

  "Bravo!" Reenie cried, clapping loudly as the two ladies bowed deeply at the waist. "You two can be the Christmas entertainment any time!"

  The two women hugged in triumph as the dark-eyed woman fanned herself. Beth had met the amazing talented dancer in San Francisco, where they'd worked together briefly. They had become fast friends, keeping in contact over the years, even as Christian had moved from state to state and country to country, performing for audiences all over the world. Beth was thrilled to have her back in the US, and was in New York to support the blonde dancer in her newest role in Midnight Run.

  "Miss Scott," Reenie said, handing the dancer a rose from the editor's Christmas basket she'd received at work.

  "Oh, why thank you," Christian bowed deeply again with a grin as she accepted the gift of gratitude.

  "And Miss Sayers,"

  "Madam," Beth's bow was all flourish and pomp as she, too accepted her rose.

  Chuckling, Reenie headed toward the kitchen. "Come on, you, two- dinner's ready."

  Christian had no time to fly back to Sterling, Colorado to spend the holiday with her elderly aunt and uncle, so Beth invited her over to join Reenie and herself for a quiet, low-key dinner and fun with the girls. New to town, Christian had eagerly accepted.

  Beth knew this was tough on her long time friend, so had done her best to keep the evening light and filled with laughter. Christian was a wonderful person, and good company, and the blonde and the editor had hit it off, just as Beth figured they would. Instead of Reenie allowing herself to roll in sadness or loss, thinking about the holiday without seeing Rachel, or at least talking to her for half the day over the phone, she listened and laughed, hearing the two entertainers' stories of success and dismal failure on stage, of breaking legs, figuratively, and literally. In short, it was more fun than the editor had had in six months.

  * * *

  It had been a hard decision. It had been a very hard decision, but Tracy liked her new surroundings, enjoying the snow falling around the ranch in Billings, Montana. When her mother's insurance and retirement had been cashed, and given to the veterinarian's daughter, Tracy had taken the money, quit her job, and bought the small ranch out west. She was tired of the east coast, having lived there most of her life, save for the four wonderful years she'd gone
to college in Idaho. She'd fallen in love with the dry climate, the people, and unbelievable openness. Back in New York, everything and everyone was crammed into such tight spaces. She wanted her son, Luke to grow up in Montana, both of them to be able to ride freely, every day, and not just when they could get to the stabled horses on weekends.

  Colleen decided against the move west, her elderly parents in New Jersey, and she wanted to stay near. It had been a painful parting, but Tracy understood. The deaf woman and Tracy had talked about it at length, and decided Tracy would get a dog, trained specifically for the deaf, as well as, now seven, Luke could help his mom out. It was scary, but necessary. Tracy needed a new start, and new surroundings, not haunted by the specter of her mother, who she missed, and was filled with so many regrets.

  Tracy had been a junior at Lampley, a college for the deaf in Idaho, when she'd met Samson Tackle, a professor, and partially deaf. Tracy had become pregnant that spring, and Pam had been livid. She had worked almost day and night to pay for her daughter's education, and felt Tracy was throwing it away, and with an instructor, to boot. Mother and daughter had never gotten along well after, and Pam had a difficult time accepting her grandson fully. Even still, Tracy knew that over the past couple of years, her mother had tried her best, and they were closer than they'd ever been, but nowhere near how close they'd been before the deaf woman had left for college.

  Now, as Tracy watched her son tear into yet another gift, this one from his dad, whom the boy had seen for the first time the week before, she felt a sense of peace. She would always have regrets, and would always yearn for the mother who not only pulled away emotionally, but was no longer alive.

  Tracy's attention was caught by movement, an automatic smile returning to her face at her son's excitement as he showed her the huge fire engine. She clapped her hands for him, to let him know she was happy.