Love, Luck, and Little Green Men: A Contemporary Romance

by Diane Kelly

  I realized then that even though my personal relationship with Brendan was over, he was still my priest. I couldn’t do anything about Brendan’s transfer, but I had to unburden myself of the guilt I was feeling about my plans to dance in the wet T-shirt contest.

  “I have something I need to do,” I told Seamus. “Mind watching the shop for me for an hour or so?”

  He finished tapping a nail into a heel. “Gladly.”

  I pulled into the parking lot at Saint Anthony’s. Only a handful of cars were in the lot. Apparently it was a slow week for sinners. I waited in line behind a young mother with a toddler sleeping in an umbrella stroller, thinking back on when I’d first met Brendan right here all those years ago, with Riley in tow. I looked down at the little boy, his pink cheeks, his chubby face slack in sleep. “He’s a cutie.”

  The young mother beamed. “Thanks.”

  Her confession was short. She emerged from the booth only a minute or two after she’d entered. Understandable. With a new baby, she was likely too busy and too exhausted to sin.

  I entered the confessional, softly shut the door, and took a seat on the bench. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

  “Erin?” came Brendan’s voice through the mesh.

  “Yeah, Bren. It’s me.”

  Brendan pushed the screen aside.

  There he was, just as he’d been all those years ago. Father Brendan O’Donnell. Handsome in a rugged way, broad-shouldered and broad-grinned. That chipped front tooth that gave him a slightly roguish appearance. That dark hair cut short in the no-fuss style of a man with more important things to do than spend hours primping in front of a mirror.

  He was so manly, so masculine. Incredibly, undeniably masculine.

  Just as it had fourteen years ago, something came over me. Only this time, instead of almost dropping my baby, I almost dropped my purse. I set it on the floor and put my trembling hands on the window sill separating me from Brendan.

  “You must forgive me, Father. I robbed three banks this morning and hacked Stella Nagley to death with an axe.”

  Brendan gave me a weak smile. “The bank robberies will require quite a penance, but as far as Stella Nagley’s concerned, you’ve done the world a favor.”

  I fought a smile, even as tears brimmed in my eyes. “You better hope the diocese doesn’t bug these booths or you may end up somewhere even worse than North Dakota.”

  “Doesn’t matter where they send me. If you’re not there, it’ll be hell all the same.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. “I actually do have a sin to confess. Well, I haven’t committed the sin yet, but I plan to.”

  Brendan threw up his hands in mock outrage. “You’re throwing me for a loop again, Erin. You say you want forgiveness for a sin you’re planning to commit? In the future?”

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  Brendan’s brow furrowed. “That’s simple. You don’t need to be forgiven, Erin. You simply need to not do the sin.”

  “But I don’t have a choice.”

  “We always have choices, Erin.”

  “Do we, Brendan?” It sure didn’t feel that way. Sometimes it felt as if fate decided things for us, as if we had no control over our lives no matter how hard we tried. Like we were simply pawns in God’s chess game.

  He was quiet for a moment. “What is it you’re going to do?”

  “I’ve found a way to raise the money for Blarney’s surgery.”

  His face brightened. “You did? That’s great!”

  When I didn’t respond, his brows drew together. “Why isn’t that great?”

  “I don’t think God would exactly approve of what I’m going to do to get the money.”

  “Which is what, exactly?”

  “I don’t want to tell you.”

  Brendan tilted his head. “If you won’t tell me, how can I grant you absolution?”

  “How about absolution by proxy?”

  “There’s no such thing.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “Well, there should be.”

  Brendan’s eyes fixed on mine. “What are you going to do, Erin? Steal something?”

  “Of course not! How could you suggest I’d do such a thing?”

  He exhaled sharply, impatient now. “Well, what am I supposed to think? You tell me you’re going to do something sinful to raise money, but you won’t tell me what it is. I have to start somewhere. You’ll notice I didn’t suggest you intend to prostitute yourself.” He gave me a weak smile. “I know you’d never do that.”

  A hot shame rushed through me again. Brendan was right. I wouldn’t prostitute myself. But I’d do the next best thing, shake my nearly-bare breasts and ass for the sexual pleasure of men I didn’t know.

  I desperately needed forgiveness now, just as I’d needed it all those years ago when I’d become pregnant with Riley. Brendan had lifted the guilt from me then. I needed him to lift the guilt from me again now. “Does the end ever justify the means, Brendan?”

  “I’m not sure God buys into that argument.”

  Damn. “Maybe God needs to be a little more flexible.”

  “I couldn’t agree with you more. I’m so mad at God I can’t even pray. The first thing I packed this morning was the crucifix from over my door. I couldn’t bear to look at the thing.”

  “Brendan!” I was furious with God, too, but I was surprised to hear Brendan talking this way.

  “It’s true. It seemed like Jesus was mocking me, hanging up there on that cross with his nails and his crown of thorns. It was like he was saying ‘I died for my Father. And what have you done for him lately? Fell in love with a woman. Put your needs and desires about His. North Dakota’s too good for you, you stupid bloke.’”

  “I didn’t realize Jesus had such a mean streak.”

  Brendan shrugged. “I hardly feel like I know the guy anymore.”

  “I thought this confessional thing was one-way only. Seems like you’re the one confessing to me today.”

  “What shall I do as my penance, then?”

  Penance? Why should Brendan have to do penance? The only thing he’d done was love me. Why should he have to be sorry for that? Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. “Give the Big Guy three Our Fathers, a couple of Hail Mary’s, and, what the heck, throw in the Boy Scout motto and sing something by Van Morrison for good measure.”

  He reached to the window, took my hand in his, and launched into Tupelo Honey, getting out only the first line of the chorus before his voice broke. “God help me, Erin. The Catholic Church can send me to the ends of the earth and I will still love you.”

  “I’ll always love you, too, Brendan.”

  Our eyes involuntarily drew upward then, waiting for that lightning bolt to strike us down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  TUESDAY, MARCH 16TH

  BELIEVE

  The lightning bolt never came. Brendan didn’t come to Tuesday night’s dance practice at the rec center, either. After the bishop’s edict, I didn’t expect him to. I explained to the students that Brendan would be transferred out of state in a matter of days and would not be able to perform with us in our annual recital in May. By that time Brendan would be settled in North Dakota, settled in his new church, his new life.

  A life I was no part of.

  We had to re-stage our numbers, reworking some of the parts where Brendan had been featured, moving dancers around to fill the empty space Brendan used to fill.

  Once again, I’d dance alone.

  Riley hitched a ride home from class with Britney’s mother so I could stay behind. I’d told Riley I wanted to work on some choreography. It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the truth, either. But I couldn’t tell him I was practicing for my wet T-shirt debut tomorrow.

  After ensuring all the blinds were firmly closed and the door was locked, I cued up the Scorpions on the stereo. I ran through the routine seven times. I had the thing down pat, pelvic thrusts and all. At the end, I crawled toward the mirror, just
as I’d be crawling to the edge of the stage tomorrow. When I came face to face with my reflection, I looked myself in the eye.

  “Slut.”

  Apparently I had no comeback.

  I sat back and curled my legs up in front of me, my arms wrapped tightly around them. I rocked myself. And I cried.

  Didn’t God love me? Didn’t He love Brendan?

  Surely not. He certainly wouldn’t put us through this hell if He did. In short order, He’d given my dog a nasty brain tumor that threatened his life and my son’s happiness, taken my identity and family from me, and now He was taking Brendan.

  He was cruel. Sick and cruel. There was no other explanation.

  And if that’s the kind of God he was, I didn’t want to believe in Him anymore.

  I’d believe in fairies instead. Fairies protected you, granted wishes, brought you luck. And that’s exactly what I needed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  WEDNESDAY, MARCH 17TH

  SAINT PATRICK’S DAY

  I woke after a restless night feeling sick to my stomach. Was I really going to do this? Was I really going to dance in a wet T-shirt tonight? One glance in my son’s doorway, one glimpse of him curled up in his bed, his arms wrapped around his beloved dog as they both slept peacefully, told me I was, dammit.

  Seamus was already at work when I arrived at the shop. In honor of the Irish holiday, he’d worn his green hat and knickers.

  “How’d you get in?” I’d planned on getting him a key, but had yet to make it by the hardware store to have one made.

  He rolled his eyes. “How many times do I have to tell ye? I’m a magical faerie. A lock is no challenge for me.”

  “Right.” I inspected the lock for signs it had been picked. There were none. Huh.

  “Ye ready to dance tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Well, ye better get ready. You won’t win the contest if you’re wearing that glum face.”

  He had a point. I’d have to fake it. It wouldn’t be easy. It felt as if my entire world had given way under me.

  ***

  The day was incredibly busy. No less than a dozen customers came by to order custom shoes from Seamus. While he was busy taking their measurements, I took in shoes for repair and returned shoes to their owners. At the end of the day, the cash register till was overflowing with bills.

  After we locked up, I counted the day’s take, dumbfounded when I added up the total. “We brought in over seven hundred dollars today. I’ve never brought in that much in all these years.”

  Seamus shrugged. “It’s just money.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve got a pot of gold.”

  “So do you, you eejit.”

  “I’m going to ignore that comment.”

  He shrugged again. “Suit yourself.”

  I slid the money into a zippered bank bag to deposit the following day. It would be the largest deposit I’d ever made. Seamus was like a little good luck charm.

  ***

  That evening, sitting at the bar at the Thorn and Thistle, I suffered severe doubts.

  Tammy gave me a stiff drink and a pep talk. “You’re going to win this thing, Erin. No doubt about it. You’ll walk out of here tonight with five grand in your pocket.”

  “I’m too old.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “My breasts aren’t big enough.”

  “It’s not size that counts. It’s what you do with them.”

  “I’m not sexy enough.”

  “Sure ye are. I’d feck ye meself if I didn’t think Tammy’d kick my arse for it.” This came from Seamus, earning him a squirt of tonic water from the spigot in Tammy’s hand.

  He ducked too late. “Hey!”

  She tossed him a bar towel to dry his face.

  With green beer on special, the Saint Patrick’s Day crowd grew loud and rowdy, nearly drowning out the Celtic band Tammy had hired to play. During the band’s break, Seamus took the stage. He climbed onto a chair to reach the mic. “Me name’s Seamus,” he said. “I’m a Leprechaun from the Emerald Isle here to perform some of me faerie magic for ye.”

  Seamus proceeded to do just that, pulling his Leprechaun coins out of the ears of those seated near the stage, draining a glass of green beer with his finger, making a chair levitate.

  I glanced at Tammy. “Did he come by here earlier to practice? Set up?”

  “No.” Her mouth gaped. “I have no idea how he’s doing those tricks.”

  I squinted. There were no visible strings around the floating chair. “Magnets maybe?”

  The only thing I knew for sure was that it could not be magic. Magic didn’t exist, just like fairies didn’t exist, just like happily-ever-after didn’t exist.

  When Seamus finished his tricks, he removed his hat and held it out, walking around the room to collect tips. He returned to the bar with his full hat and dumped the proceeds into Tammy’s tip jar.

  Tammy eyed the large stash of bills and shot Seamus a wink. “Someone’s getting lucky tonight.”

  As usual, it wouldn’t be me.

  When it neared time for the wet T-shirt contest to begin, I slid off the barstool. “Wish me luck.”

  “Nah.” Seamus waved his hand dismissively. “Ye won’t need it.”

  “Don’t forget to put rouge on your nipples,” Tammy called after me.

  I snuck into the ladies’ room with my tote bag. I spent ten minutes in front of the mirror coating my face in layers of heavy makeup, hiding my tell-tale freckles. When my face was done, I slid into a stall and slipped on the platinum blonde wig I’d bought at the flea market for the occasion, tugging it down over my stubborn curls. I put on my fishnets, hot pants, and red sparkly stilettos. Mentally cringing, I dabbed a touch of cream rouge on my nipples and slid Tammy’s clip-on belly button ring into my navel.

  Taking a deep breath, I peeked out from the stall. I was the only one in the room. I stepped out and checked myself in the mirror. Who was that stranger looking back at me? Without the curly red hair and freckled face, nobody would recognize me. The only thing that might give me away was my slight build, but hopefully the red stilettos would make me look taller.

  I slid a long coat on over my get up and headed back into the bar.

  Seamus did a double take when I returned to my barstool. “Janey Mack! That you, Erin?”

  “Shh.” I put a finger to my lips. “I’m Desiree now.”

  As the Celtic band finished packing up their instruments, Franco stepped onto the stage and grabbed the mic. “In just a few minutes we’ll start our wet T-shirt contest. Any of you women out there interested in winning five grand, get yourselves up here and pick your music.”

  “Here.” Tammy handed me a tequila shot. “Liquid courage.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  LONG WALKS ON THE BEACH AND OTHER TOTAL BULLSHIT

  I downed the shot in one gulp, cringing as the alcohol burned its way to my gut. I slid out of my coat and left it on the stool. As I made my way to the stage, I saw the lecherous blonde in the crowd. He raised his hands over his head and clapped them together. “Show us some tits!” he hollered, clapping again. “Show us some tits!”

  Some of the other men joined in the chant. Bile rose in my throat, but I forced myself to continue on to the stage. I had to do this. I had no choice.

  As I stepped up to the stage, Franco grabbed my wrist and raised my hand into the air. “We’ve got our first contestant!”

  The men in the crowd whooped and hollered as I climbed onto the stage. Even though he’d seen me hundreds of times over the years, Franco didn’t seem to recognize me now.

  Thank God.

  Several other contestants joined me. As I’d expected, all the others were in their early or mid twenties, and all were at least C-cups. While I stood in my spot, my feet in ballet first position as I’d been taught, the other women alternately shrieked with drunken laughter, giggled, and raised their arms above their heads, shaking their breasts at the crow
d, giving them a hint of things to come. When ten girls were on the stage, Franco declared the slate of contestants full and sent us en masse into the storeroom to change into our T-shirts.

  The other women had no reservations, pulling off their tops and bras and tossing them aside, slipping their tight white T-shirts over their heads. I’d borrowed one of Riley’s tees, and it fit me loosely. I noticed I was the only one sporting a belly button ring, but one of the women had small silver hoops through her pierced nipples. Ouch. Two of the others had tattoos on their lower backs, while another had a butterfly tattoo on her cleavage. We were a classy bunch, all right.

  “You ever done one of these contests before?” one of the women asked me. She had long brown hair teased into a wild mane, cherry red lipstick, and enormous breasts too perky and too perfectly symmetrical to be natural.

  “No. You?”

  “Shit, yeah. Won over fifteen grand last year.”

  A pro. Damn. I didn’t stand a chance.

  She eyed my chest and emitted a beer-scented snort. “You got some big balls entering this contest with those tiny tatas.”

  My eyes narrowed instinctively. I’d had similar experiences at dance competitions. This tramp was trying to psych me out. I wasn’t going to let her. “Wait ‘til you see what I do with them.” With that, I flitted out of the room, my stilettos click-clacking on the concrete floor. Take that, you skank.

  On my way to the stage, I knotted the T-shirt under my breasts like Tammy had advised. The shirt billowed out, making my chest look larger than it was. I forced myself to hold my head high and smile as I strutted to my spot on stage. The others followed me. Most were in jeans or mini-skirts. I definitely had them beat fashion-wise. Now if I could only beat them at this contest.

  “You girls ready?” Franco asked.

  A chorus of “woo-hoos!” erupted from the lineup. The other women were rearing to go. Clearly, I was the only one who didn’t really want to be doing this.

  Franco hit a button and a spotlight shined onto the stage, virtually blinding us and instantly raising the temperature ten degrees. A mustache of sweat formed on my upper lip, partly from nerves, partly from the heat. Franco pointed out into the audience. “You boys ready?”