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

by Diane Kelly

  Catcalls erupted and the crowd broke into a new, shorter chant, a simple, “Tits! Tits! Tits!”

  Standing there on that stage, exposed in that stark light, listening to those men chant, chant, chant, I felt dirty, filthy, ashamed. Nice Catholic girls didn’t do things like this. This was wrong. This was sinful.

  Yet this was something I had to do, right?

  Though I’d prayed and prayed for another solution, God had not provided me with an alternative. God had forsaken me yet again. God was the ultimate deadbeat dad.

  “Our first contestant,” Franco announced through the mic, “is Desiree. Come on up here, Desiree.”

  I took a deep breath and stepped up beside him at the mic as the crowd continued to whoop and catcall. Franco read from the entry form I’d filled out. “Desiree is a professional dancer.” Okay, so I’d stretched the truth a bit. I wasn’t so much paid to dance as I was paid to teach kids to dance at the rec center. Close enough. As I stood there, a forced smile on my face, Franco continued to read from my form, listing the interests Tammy and Seamus had help me come up with. “Desiree likes long walks on the beach, frozen margaritas with salt on the rim, and men with a natural sense of rhythm.”

  “I’ll show you my rhythm, baby!” yelled the lech.

  Another man yelled something about licking salt from his rim. Ick.

  As I stood there in that garish light, listening to the disgusting shouts from the crowd, my stomach twisted into an ever-tightening knot. I couldn’t do this. I had to get off this stage! But no. No! I had to do this. For Blarney. For Riley. Damn. Damn! DAMN!

  I stepped back to my place, grateful for the short reprieve. Franco introduced the other girls in turn, reading from their entry forms. Three other contestants had mentioned long walks on the beach, too. Ironic, really, since the closest beach was three hundred miles away. The closest you’d get to a beach in Fort Worth was the bike path along the Trinity River, and unless you wanted to get mugged, it wasn’t the wisest place for a woman to take a walk alone.

  “Okay, girls,” Franco called, waving us forward. “Time to wet you down!”

  Before I knew what was happening, Franco had pulled out a bottle of seltzer water and aimed it at the contestants, whipping the ice-cold spray back and forth across us. He must’ve put the stupid bottle in the freezer.

  I felt my nipples harden, felt the wet T-shirt stick to my skin. Felt my soul die a little. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest.

  The lech catcalled from the audience. “Looks like Desiree’s being shy!”

  Do not cry, I admonished myself as I felt the hot sting of tears forming in my eyes. Do not cry!

  After he’d sprayed us down, Franco led us offstage to line up for our solo dances. “You’re up first, Desiree,” he told me.

  Even though I was angry at Him, old habits die hard. I closed my eyes and quickly prayed to God for forgiveness. God had a son. Surely he’d understand. Then again, God had let his son be nailed to a cross. Not exactly the type of parenting that would win Him a prize for father of the year.

  I stepped onto the stage and turned my back to the audience. Despite the fact that I was trembling all over, I managed to maneuver myself into my well-practiced starting pose, cocking my hip and stretching my right hand straight up into the air, my left hand on my waist. I tilted my head back, the faux blonde locks hanging down my back to my waist. Looking up at the ceiling, I noted a forgotten piece of tape with an inch of red paper streamer stuck to it, no doubt leftover from the Valentine’s celebration.

  As I held my pose, waiting for my music to cue up, the girl with the store-bought breasts snorted again. “What the fuck’s she doing? Flashdance?”

  I could only hope my prepared dance would go over better with the audience.

  I took a deep breath to calm my nerves. The music began, slow and sultry, and my body responded automatically, programmed from weeks of practice. I moved with the music, slowly swaying my butt back and forth, rubbing my hand down my side as I lowered my arm. Five-and-six-and-seven-and-eight. My intro ended with my thumb hooked in the waistband of my shorts, easing them down just an inch or two to expose my hip bone while I pushed my rear back at the audience, taunting and teasing. Cheers and catcalls erupted from the crowd behind me. Judging from the audience’s response, the men liked what I was doing.

  Take that, silicone sister.

  The music and the singer’s voice slowly worked up to a crescendo and I spun around to face the audience now, leading my body with a high fan kick, giving them a quick crotch shot. My head snapped around to face the audience.

  And there, right in front of the stage, stood Brendan.

  Holy.

  Shit.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CAUGHT RED-NIPPLED

  He wore old jeans, a faded T-shirt from a vacation he’d taken with my family to the Alamo two summers ago, and a look of absolute, utter shock. His gazed traveled from the top of my blond head to that always-rebellious red curl that had escaped from my platinum wig. The music was too loud for me to hear his voice, but his lips formed the word, “Erin?”

  I couldn’t move. I looked down at Seamus, standing next to Brendan. The little green man raised his palms and shrugged.

  When the men in the crowd realized I’d stopped dancing, they began to holler both protests and encouragement.

  “Come on, babe! Show us what you got!”

  “Shake it, girl!”

  “If you ain’t gonna dance, get off the stage!”

  I hadn’t thought my life could get any worse. But it just had. It was one thing to lose Brendan because he was being transferred to North Dakota. It was another thing entirely to lose him because I’d done something that would forever change the way he felt about me.

  I looked down at my feet, at the slutty shoes. Whatever Brendan had felt for me before would surely be gone now. I wasn’t the woman he thought I was. I was a trashy tramp, willing to shake my tits for horny men. A skank. A ho. I wasn’t worthy of him.

  In one swift movement, Brendan leapt onto the stage and whipped off his T-shirt. Bare-chested now, he rushed to me and covered me with his shirt.

  Off to the side, Franco chuckled into the mic. “Looks like we got ourselves a jealous boyfriend, folks!”

  The men in the audience booed, but I heard a female voice shout. “Let’s see what he’s got!”

  Several other women joined in, encouraging Brendan to strut his stuff. Hell, who could blame them? The guy was ripped, muscles earned from bearing so many heavy crosses.

  Without saying another word, Brendan scooped me up in his arms and carried me off the stage, though the crowd, and out the door into the dark night. Seamus trotted along behind us.

  In the parking lot, Brendan set me down next to his truck and unlocked the door. Seamus hopped in before me, taking the middle of the three spots on the bench seat, straddling the gear shift. I climbed in next to him, while Brendan stormed around the truck and climbed in the driver’s side. He slammed the door so hard the truck shook.

  I couldn’t bring myself to look at Brendan. I pulled the wig off my head and held it in my lap. I was horribly upset, but I couldn’t even bring myself to cry. I’d cried far too much lately, desperate, pointless, futile tears. Time for me to put on my big girl panties and accept that life sucked.

  My dreams would never come true. My son’s dog would die. I’d never have the man I loved.

  “Erin!” Brendan yelled, his voice echoing in the small cab. “What the hell were you doing?” It was the first time I’d ever heard Brendan curse.

  Seamus put his tiny hands over his pointy ears. “No need to shout. She’s two feet from ye.”

  Brendan ignored him, eyeing me over the little man’s red head.

  I wasn’t sure what to say. I stared at the cracked dashboard. “How did you know where I was?”

  Brendan gripped his steering wheel with one hand, his knuckles turning white. “After you came to confession the other day and said
you’d found a way to pay for Blarney’s surgery, I racked my brain to figure out what your solution might be. I came up with nothing. Then, a half hour ago, I remembered seeing the flyer here about the wet T-shirt contest. I put two and two together.”

  Damn. Math had led him to me. I’d always hated math and now I knew why.

  At first I’d been horrified that he’d caught me, but now, as I sat there in his truck, I was furious he’d thought I’d do such a thing. “So you remembered the flyer and you thought ‘Erin’s a slut. She’s probably dancing in that wet T-shirt contest.’”

  Between us, Seamus chuckled. “He was right, though, wasn’t he, Erin?”

  “Shut up, Seamus.” I glared at the little man, but I couldn’t really blame him. Brendan, either. After all, he’d been right. I was the type of woman who would dance in a wet T-shirt contest. But only because I’d been so desperate, had no other choice. I exhaled slowly and turned my eyes to Brendan. “It was the only way I knew to get the money.”

  “I’ve told her time and time again that she’s got a pot of gold,” Seamus told Brendan. “But she never believes me.”

  “Seamus, please,” I said. Brendan and I were in the middle of a serious conversation. This was no time for more of his crazy Leprechaun crap.

  “God . . . damn it!” Brendan slammed his fists against his steering wheel, his truck emitting an abrupt honk.

  “Well, now,” Seamus said. “That’s a fine thing for a man of God to say.”

  Brendan turned on Seamus, looming over him in the small space. “You know what, you freaky little faerie? I don’t give a rat’s ass about God right now! What has He done for me lately?”

  Nonplussed, Seamus chuckled.

  That was all Brendan could take. He threw his door open, grabbed Seamus by his green lapels, and yanked him from the car. I’d never seen Brendan so furious. It was as if all these weeks of frustration had reached critical mass.

  He set Seamus down roughly and pointed into the distance. “Get out of here! We don’t need you in the middle of this.”

  Seamus’ eyes twinkled mischievously. “Aye. But you do, Brendan. I wasn’t just sent here by Erin’s father. I was sent here by your heavenly father, too.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  INHERITANCE

  Brendan’s hands clenched into fists and for a moment I thought he might strike Seamus. Not that the annoying little man didn’t deserve a punch in the nose, but it would hardly be a fair fight. Brendan fought for self control, folding his arms across his chest as if restraining himself. “What do you mean?”

  Seamus rolled his eyes. “I’ve never seen two people who are so daft. You’ve said you wished God would send you a sign, a messenger, to let you know what you’re supposed to do. But you’ve ignored every sign he’s sent you. Ignored the messenger. Both of you have.”

  “What signs?” I asked. “What messenger? What are you talking about?”

  “Jakers! Do I have to spell it out for ye?” Unable to reach Brendan’s chest, Seamus settled for jabbing a finger in Brendan’s belly. “You’re no longer satisfied being a priest. The thing you enjoy most is working with the youth at the church and counseling kids at juvie. You can do both of those things without having to wear a dress, you know. God opened a full-time position at juvie for ye. But did you apply for the job? No, you didn’t. You want to get with Erin, here, be with her as a man, be a father to her son, maybe get married and have a child of your own. So God arranges for Stella Nagley to make false accusations to the bishop, for the bishop to propose you be transferred to the ends of the earth. God isn’t trying to send you to North Dakota. He’s trying to give you a wake-up call, direct you into the path He’s chosen for you, which happens to be the exact same path you’d like to take, Brendan. He sent me here to set you straight.”

  Whoa.

  Could what Seamus was saying be true? Could the little faerie actually be a messenger from the Big Man Upstairs? Brendan and I exchanged nervous, questioning glances through the windshield. If God had sent Seamus, He certainly had a sense of humor.

  “The answer is simple, Brendan,” Seamus continued. “God isn’t punishing you. He’s thanking you, rewarding you, you eejit. God was there for you when you needed Him, and you were there for Him when He needed you. You’ve done enough for God as a priest, now. You can still serve Him as a man. In fact, you can serve Him better because you’ll be focusing on what you’re best at and be happier doing it.” Seamus hiked a thumb at me. “Then you can have Erin here, too. It’s good for God. It’s good for you. It’s good for Erin. Win, win.”

  And win.

  Brendan put out a hand, reaching for the hood of his truck to steady himself. His eyes were huge. He looked at me through the windshield, his mouth gaping, his forehead creased as he tried to process what Seamus had just said.

  “As for you, Erin,” Seamus said, turning to look at me through the open door of the truck. “You need to have more faith. You think it’s a coincidence I showed up just when you needed me most? I cured your sick dog and brought you a pot of gold so you can rent that place next door, open that dance studio you’ve always dreamed of.”

  Just when he’d been making so much sense Seamus had gone off the deep end again.

  He saw my skeptical expression and rolled his eyes again. “I can tell by that dopey look on your face that ye’ve still got yer doubts.” Seamus hopped back into the truck and impatiently waved Brendan in. “Brendan, get in the feckin’ truck and drive to Erin’s shop. Now. I’m tired of these stupid games.”

  Like a child who’d been chastised, Brendan complied.

  We rode to my shop in silence. Brendan parked in front and we climbed out of the truck. Seamus walked right up the front door and opened it without a key.

  Brendan glanced at me. “Did you forget to lock up earlier?”

  Seamus threw his hands in the air and roared. “No! Some man of faith you are.

  Don’t you feckin’ get it? I’m a magical faerie! I carry magical coins. Locks open for me. Women throw their panties at my feet.”

  “I’ve never seen women throw panties at your feet,” Brendan said.

  “Okay, so maybe that part isn’t true. But what I said about the coins and locks, that’s real.” Seamus waved his hands at the light switches and the lights flickered on.

  Brendan looked at me, his brows raised so high his forehead was crinkled like an accordion. “He didn’t even touch the switches.”

  All I could do was shake my head in astonishment. I’d seen it myself, with my own two eyes. Seamus had turned on the lights with a wave of his hand. How the heck had he done that?

  We followed Seamus into the stockroom. He waved at the light bulb on the ceiling and it turned on instantly. He marched straight past my well-organized shelves and stopped in front of the box of shoe polish. He waved his hand to the side and the tape fell off the box. He pointed down at the box. “Right there. Inside the box. There’s your pot of gold. Open it. Now.”

  I was almost afraid to look. The past few minutes had been a whirlwind of emotion. I didn’t think I could take it if I opened the box and found it to contain no gold, only cans of shoe polish.

  I slowly knelt down. Brendan knelt down beside me. We exchanged one last hopeful glance before I pushed the cardboard flap back.

  Hundreds of shiny gold coins twinkled in the light.

  “Oh, my God!” I said breathlessly.

  I yanked back the other flap. Inside the large box sat a black iron pot overflowing with tiny gold coins, each of them embossed with a four-leaf clover.

  Seamus waved his hand, annoyed. “It’s Leprechaun gold, just like I told ye.”

  Brendan picked up one of the coins and looked it over, flipping it in his palm. “What did you say these coins are worth?”

  “About twenty dollars each,” I said.

  Brendan picked up a handful and left them run through his fingers, clinking as they fell back onto the pile. He stared at the pot, his face intense as he
mentally calculated the value of the gold before him. After a few seconds, Brendan looked over at me. “These coins will be worth thousands of dollars, Erin.”

  I nodded and bit my lip, on the verge of crying yet again. But for the first time in weeks, these would be tears of joy, not pain. Could it be true? Could all of my problems be solved?

  Brendan put his arms around the box and attempted to lift it. The box didn’t budge. He tried again, grunting with the effort, before he gave up and scratched his head. “How in the world did you carry this, Seamus?”

  Seamus threw his hands in the air. “How many times do I have to tell ye? I’m a magical faery! ‘Tis nothing for me to carry this little ole pot.”

  Turning his attention back to me, Seamus picked out one of the coins and set it in my palm, pointing to the clover leaves. “You know what each of the four leaves stands for, don’t ye?”

  I nodded, remembering back to what my mother had told me all those years ago. I pointed to each leaf in turn. “Hope. Faith.” I looked to Brendan. “Love.” Back to Seamus now. “And Luck.”

  Seamus smiled his mischievous smile and closed my hand over the coin.

  Hope. Faith. Love. Luck.

  Now, I had all four of these things in my life.

  And the greatest of these was love.

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CASHING IN

  Turns out a rainbow appears when a pot of Leprechaun gold is exposed outdoors. Seems there is some truth in folklore, after all. Once the gold is under cover inside a structure, the rainbow disappears. Good thing, too. Wouldn’t want to attract too much attention to the fact that we were carrying a pot of gold worth over a hundred-and-fifty grand.

  Brendan had forgiven my moment of indiscretion at the pub, realizing it was the desperate act of a woman who’d run out of options. He’d even helped me forgive myself. Now here he was, helping me again.