Getting Lucky

by Marilyn Pappano

  “Size always matters,” Melina said with a giggle.

  It was after ten o’clock, and they were driving out of the valley surrounding Bethlehem with the Mercedes’ top down. Melina’s seat was reclined a few inches, and her hair was blowing in the breeze. Lynda sat up straight behind the wheel, her hair pulled back and neatly contained. Warm air blasted out of the heating vents, taking the chill off the night, and music from the stereo lost its battle against the night wind, blowing away unheard into the darkness.

  They were going nowhere, doing nothing. Melina’s idea.

  “Hey, there’s Angels Lodge,” she said, flinging an arm out the open window. “Pull in. Let’s see if Ben’s home.”

  Scowling, Lynda continued up the hillside.

  “Come on, Lyn. What if he is? And what if he invited you in?”

  “And what if Hi-I’m-Kelli-let-me-jump-your-bones is there?”

  “He left alone.”

  “And she left five minutes later.” Not that she’d been keeping track. It had been impossible to miss the collective sigh of feminine disappointment when he left, and the echoing sigh of feminine relief when Kelli left—neither of them Lynda’s. She didn’t care what her employee did on his free time, as long as it didn’t affect his job performance. Ben could have a half-dozen Kellis all at once, and as long as he still had the energy to finish her roof, that was fine with her.

  “Why didn’t you dance with him?” Melina asked, futilely brushing corkscrew strands of hair from her face.

  “Well, gee, let’s see … he didn’t ask me?” Maybe she was hopelessly out of date, but she liked men making the first move, calling for dates, risking the rejection. Like any levelheaded person, she preferred to minimize the risk of rejection.

  “He didn’t ask Blondie, either,” Melina said, gazing up at the sky. “But she damn sure got to cuddle up close to him anyway, because she had the nerve to make the first move and you didn’t.… Man, there are a lot of stars in the sky. No wonder Buffalo doesn’t have any stars. You guys are hogging them all. Look at that one. Make a wish on it, quick.”

  Lynda took her gaze from the road long enough to follow Melina’s pointing finger. “That bright one? The one that’s moving? I seriously doubt Delta’s late-night flight to Buffalo will make our wishes come true.”

  “You never know,” Melina said with a contented sigh. “Some passenger on that plane could be on his way to Bethlehem. His final destination could be your heart.”

  After giving her a disbelieving look, Lynda slowed the car, swung onto the shoulder, and made a tight U-turn. “That’s it. You’ve definitely had too much to drink this evening. I’m taking you home, and we’re both getting some sleep.”

  Melina didn’t protest. In fact, she didn’t say anything at all until the electronic gate was closing behind them and they were on their way up the drive. She returned the seat to its upright position, combed her curls back, then twisted to face Lynda. “Don’t you get lonely, Lyn? Not just for sex, but for companionship. For someone to listen to how your day went, to miss you when you’re gone, to give you a solid, safe someone to reach out and touch in the middle of a long, dark night. Don’t you wish you had someone to share this place with?”

  Lynda parked beside the Beetle, put up the convertible’s top, then shut off the engine. For a moment, the silence seemed deafening. “I don’t need a man to make my life meaningful.”

  “I do.”

  Melina couldn’t have surprised her more if she’d tried. For a moment, Lynda stared at her, then she choked back a laugh. “You? Come on. You’re the most self-sufficient woman I know besides me. You own your own business. You carry a gun. Men fall at your feet. You use them, then lose them. Melina, you’re a walking advertisement for the we-don’t-need-no-stinking-men feminist movement.”

  “It’s not about feminism or self-sufficiency or even sex. Humans are meant to love. It’s basic to our very nature. Without it, we’re not fulfilling our potential. Part of me is empty because I don’t have that kind of love. Part of you is, too.”

  Lynda got out of the car, waited for Melina to get out, too, then they started across the flagstone path together. “Is this your biological clock ticking?” The idea provided her with some measure of relief. The need for a child … that she could understand. But the need for a man, a husband … even for someone who considered herself old-fashioned, the notion seemed terribly dated.

  “No, it’s not the bio clock. I’ve got plenty of time,” Melina said as they went into the kitchen where a dim light burned. “Truth is, it’s loneliness. Emptiness. I’m not looking for just great sex anymore—though I certainly wouldn’t turn it down. But I want more, Lyn. I want love, marriage, commitment. I want to have it all.”

  With a shrug and raised brows, she headed up the back stairs, wiggling her fingers in a wave just before disappearing from sight.

  Lynda locked up, then wandered into her office. The message light on the machine was blinking, so she pressed Play, then curled up in her desk chair.

  “Hi, honey, it’s Mom. I sent you the latest issue of Prospects this afternoon and realized later that a couple of the notes fell out. When you get it, remember to check out Darnell on page twenty-nine and Raphael on page eighty-three. I realize he’s a bit younger than you, and, well, there is the small problem of his lack of a job, but you’ve got plenty of money and he’s awfully cute and ten years isn’t really such a lot. Just keep an open mind, and think of the adorable grandbabies he can give me. That’s all I wanted, sweetie. Take care. Love you.”

  Shaking her head, Lynda swiveled around to look out the dark window.

  The subscription to Prospects was one of the more harmless of Janice’s efforts to get grandchildren. The magazine, subtitled Catalog Shopping for the Perfect Mate, was delivered to the Barone house in Binghamton—thank God. Janice went through it with avid interest and flagged all who showed potential, then sent it on to Lynda, complete with her comments.

  Maybe, instead of tossing them into a corner, she should pass them on to Melina. When and how had Melina gotten the idea that only a man could make her life complete? That was such a chauvinistic, traditional belief. She and Melina earned great salaries and respect. They had influence, power, could go anywhere and do anything. They already had it all.

  Didn’t they?

  It was late on a Friday evening, and there was no one to answer the question. Not that time mattered. It could be high noon on a busy weekday, and she would still have no one to answer. For someone who had it all, she was sadly short of friends.

  Maybe that fact provided part of the answer.

  With a shake of her head, she forced her attention to her mother’s message. Consider Darnell, and look closely at Raphael. Darnell wasn’t in the running, based on nothing more than his name. She liked simple, short names—Joe, John, Dave, Sam, Ben … Ben?

  Shaking her head, she refocused again. As for Raphael … Oh, yes, she could see herself with a twenty-four-year-old boy toy who was unemployed and no doubt pretty, in order to produce the absolutely adorable grandbabies. She wouldn’t even know what to say to someone like that, though in her head she could hear Melina’s seductive advice: Worry about that after the first anniversary.

  She wasn’t planning on any anniversary, at least of that sort. What would she do with a husband besides have hopefully great and regular sex? She would see him for an hour or two each evening, spend a short night beside him, and maybe get to kiss him good-bye in the morning. She might get a bit more time with him on weekends, unless she went out of town or he did. He would get angry at being ignored, and she would feel guilty, but at the same time she would resent him for loading on the guilt, and before they knew it, they would be divorced.

  No thanks. Melina could risk it if she wanted, but not Lynda. Self-protection was important to her. So was maintaining her dignity. Since marriage didn’t come with lifetime guarantees, and since she didn’t buy into the garbage that a woman wasn’t complete without a
man, she would remain single, thank you. And successful. Happy. Not lonely.

  She had it all, and she wouldn’t forget it.

  Ben awoke Saturday morning to find sunlight filtering into the room around the edge of the rubber-backed drapes. He sat up in bed and caught his reflection in the mirror that topped the dresser—his jaw dark with beard stubble, his hair standing every which way. He’d come home from the bar last night smelling of cigarette smoke, beer, and Kelli’s perfume, a combination that left him queasy, so he’d taken a shower before stretching out in bed to watch TV. If the way his hair had dried was any indication, his sleep had been restless or his dreams had been hot … and they hadn’t involved Kelli.

  He hadn’t made it to his feet yet when a knock sounded. “Ben? You up yet?”

  Easing out of bed, he went to open the door to Sophy. “Come on in,” he said by way of invitation, as he headed toward the kitchenette. “Want some coffee?”

  “No thanks. Should I wait out here until you get dressed?”

  He glanced down at himself. “I’m wearing boxers. Even Emmaline didn’t mind boxers.”

  “Maybe not, but I’m not your grandmother.”

  While a cup of water heated in the microwave, Ben put on a pair of jeans, then pulled a shirt over his head. “Okay, Soph, I’m decent.”

  She peeked, then came into the room. “Well, you’re dressed,” she corrected him with a smile.

  “Aren’t you going to close the door?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. It might appear improper.”

  “You’re practically young enough to be my daughter,” he said dryly. “Unless you’ve got something planned, I don’t think we have to worry about propriety.”

  Ignoring the door, she opened the drapes, then sat at the table, where sunlight made her curls gleam golden. “I wouldn’t think you could have a daughter much older than … oh, twelve or so. Unless you started very young.”

  For a moment Ben’s hand froze in midair, delicately balancing a heaping spoonful of coffee crystals. Once the tightness in his chest eased and he could breathe again, he dumped the coffee into the mug and stirred. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  He’d just turned fifteen the week before, and she’d been nineteen, the girlfriend of some distant cousin he hardly knew. They’d had a fight, and she’d seduced Ben to get back at him. Ben had known it at the time and hadn’t cared. When you were fifteen and a virgin, and a beautiful woman was stripping off your clothes, you didn’t care why. You just thanked your lucky stars.

  “No details, please,” Sophy said. “I want to know you better, but everyone should be allowed a few secrets. What are your plans for today?”

  He sat down at the foot of the bed and sipped his coffee. “Don’t have any.”

  “You like soccer?”

  He shrugged. When he was a kid, soccer wasn’t played in his neighborhood. Any kid who’d tried to introduce it likely would have gotten the crap beat out of him.

  “There’s a soccer game at one of the parks right now—the season opener for last year’s champs. They’re eleven- to fourteen-year-old girls, and they’re good. Want to go?”

  Off the top of his head, he could think of seventeen things he would rather do than watch a bunch of little girls kick a ball around … unless one of those girls was Alanna. “Sure. Why not? Beats watching television here in the room.” Even if watching Saturday-morning TV was one of his favorite ways to pass a lazy weekend. “Let me brush my teeth—”

  “And comb your hair. But don’t bother to shave. It’s cute.”

  It took him less than five minutes to get ready and out the door. Sophy gave him directions to a park in a middle-class neighborhood on the north side of town. There was a gravel parking lot in the center of the six-block park, with baseball and soccer fields, tennis and basketball courts, several small playgrounds, and plenty of wide open space all around.

  There were games going on at three soccer fields, but before he’d moved five feet from the car, he zeroed in on one game, and one player in particular. Alanna was the goalie and wore her team’s blue and yellow colors underneath the protective gear. Her blonde hair was in a ponytail, and her skin was a soft, healthy-looking gold. She looked so young … and so grown up.

  Collapsible bleachers were set up on one side of the field, one set at each end. As he followed Sophy to a seat, he gave the crowd a quick scan and identified Emilie Bishop, holding her little boy while Alanna’s brother, Brendan, played beside her. Miss Agatha was there, too, with another elderly woman—her sister, the other matchmaker, he presumed—and so were Bud Grayson and young Caleb.

  “Nice turnout,” Ben remarked.

  “Bethlehem’s like that. It’s a great community.” Sophy twisted to look all around. “Usually, someone from McKinney Industries is here—they sponsor the Seraphim. That’s the blue-and-gold team, last year’s champs.”

  “The Seraphim?”

  “It’s a fancier way of saying angel, though I suppose most Seraphim feel they deserve a fancier name. After all, they do stand in the presence of God. Me, I’m happy with plain, old angel. Oh, there’s the M.I. people. It’s Mr. Flynn and Mr. McKinney. I thought maybe Ms. Barone might be here.”

  Ben fixed a stern look on her. “Is that why you invited me?”

  “No.” But she sounded a bit too innocent. “I just thought you’d like to do something besides watch PBS.”

  He’d mentioned the television back in his room, but he hadn’t told her what he watched was the cooking and home-improvement shows on public television. How had she guessed?

  “Besides, it’s a beautiful day, and you shouldn’t spend it in a motel room. The sun’s shining, it’s not too warm, there are no clouds in the sky, and”—jumping to her feet, she yelled—“Woo-hoo! Good save, Alanna!”

  Everyone around them was applauding, whistling, and stomping their feet—for his daughter. Had Emmaline ever heard applause for her daughter, or for him? Probably the only applause his mother had ever received was on those occasions when she’d finished bringing … uh, pleasure and diversion to a group of lusty young men, and he’d never done anything applause-worthy in his life. The closest he’d ever come was fishing off the banks of the Chattahoochee River or driving like a rocket fueled by moonshine through the streets of Atlanta.

  Of course, he thought with a grin, down South, fishing and driving fast both qualified as sporting events any red-blooded Southerner would be proud to excel in. Ben hadn’t been the greatest fisherman, but he’d been pretty damn good at driving fast.

  “Watch Alanna,” Sophy said. “The blonde goalie for the Seraphim. She’s very good.”

  Ben couldn’t say about good, but Alanna was quick, agile, and focused. Her concentration was intense, her reflexes sharp, and she didn’t shy away from aggressively defending the goal. He was impressed.

  “You got a buck?” Sophy asked, extending her hand palm-up.

  He dug in his pocket and pulled out a crumpled bill.

  “Thanks. I’ll get us something to drink.”

  “You’ll need more—”

  She walked to the end of the row, jumped to the ground, and disappeared.

  The instant she was gone, Ben started feeling way out of place. He was the only person in this section of bleachers who was alone, and it was kind of a creepy feeling. Though no one in the surrounding rows appeared to notice, he couldn’t help but feel he stood out in the wholesome family crowd.

  The discomfort faded immediately when the bench shifted and Miss Agatha sat down beside him. “Well, hello, Mr. Foster.”

  “Miss Agatha. Please call me Ben.”

  She laid her hand briefly over his. “I understand you like our town so well that you’ve taken a job and plan to stay.”

  “Only until the work on the Hope place is done.”

  She laughed. “Take it from one who knows—work on an old house is never done. As soon as you get one thing fixed, another starts showing its age.”

  “True. But
I’m only taking care of the major repairs. Lynda will have to hire someone else for the routine maintenance.”

  “Lynda Barone. She’s an interesting girl. Full of contradictions. A real puzzle.” The old lady’s smile turned sly. “You look like a young man who enjoys puzzles.”

  The last thing Ben needed was to have Agatha and her sister turn their matchmaking attention to him. He leaned close and lowered his voice to soft, silky. “I’ve been warned about you, Miss Agatha,” he murmured. “Unless you’ll consider giving up Bud and giving me a chance at winning you for myself, you’d better look elsewhere.”

  Her cheeks turned pink as she laughed. “You flatter an old woman, Ben.”

  “And you flatter a young man.” He claimed her hand and pressed a kiss to the back of it.

  “Ah, if I had a granddaughter …”

  “And if I had a grandfather …” He changed the subject. “What brings you out to a soccer game, Miss Agatha? Love of the sport?”

  “Oh, heavens, no. I barely understand it. I come for Alanna. You met her the other night. She and her sister, brother, and cousin are as close to grandchildren as I’ll ever have. So I go to dance recitals, school plays, soccer and Little League games, karate classes, and concerts.”

  “Sounds demanding.”

  She patted his arm. “Spoken like a man who hasn’t yet held his firstborn in his arms.”

  And never would, Ben thought—at least, not the way she meant. He’d missed so much of Alanna’s life, so many experiences that could never be replaced.

  “Speaking of fathers, where is Alanna’s?”

  “Her sister, Josie, fell from the bleachers before the game started, and their uncle Nathan took her to the hospital for X rays.”

  “Her uncle.” Ben swallowed hard, but didn’t let it drop. “What about her father?”

  The set of Miss Agatha’s mouth became grim and disapproving. “He’s chosen to play no role in his daughter’s life. Someday, I hope, he’ll realize his mistake, but who’s to say if she can ever forgive him?”