by Cat Gardiner
“No, I don’t want you to quit. I know it’s not a job, but a vocation, a calling. I’m only suggesting that you quit the drink, stick to your normal part-time schedule at the firehouse and show your face every once and awhile at the office. I think we can make this a great holiday season for both of us. Give me this one month to help transform you from this brooding, depressed man and help you to start living again – at least feel the spirit of Christmas again. Go on a couple of dates, normal dates with normal women, not the tramps you take out for a roll in the sack. You’re socializing with the wrong kind of people, hence meeting the wrong kind of girls.”
Darcy turned with a scowl to face his cousin. “Wrong kind of people? And the people we grew up with are better? Is that what you are saying? When did you turn into such a snob, cousin?”
Rick ignored the remark.
Before Darcy knew it, Rick’s hand was firmly clasped upon his shoulder, and he was being escorted toward the stairs back to the penthouse. He smiled slightly at his cousin’s effective and convincing manner. Two of the qualities that made him such a successful attorney.
“Tramp? You did not just call the women I date ‘tramps’, did you?”
“What would you have me call them, Mother Teresa? You should hear what Georgie calls them.”
“I know what she calls them. I swear, I wish she never grew up. She was so much more manageable when she idolized me and thought I was perfect.”
“Yeah, well that was before she went to college. Someone else besides me has to tell you like it is. News flash – you’re far from perfect.”
The door to the penthouse opened up to happy Christmas music within and Georgiana standing in the sleek, gourmet kitchen talking to their Aunt Catherine on the telephone. Leaning against the granite-top island, she signaled to the men for their silence, and opening and closing her hand, indicated that their aunt was talking a mile a minute.
Darcy walked to her iPod docking station and turned off the cheerful music. She frowned, and he blew her a playful kiss.
“What’s that, Aunt Catherine? No, Will isn’t dating anyone.”
“Good, because I have the perfect woman for him! He must meet her. Would he be interested?”
“I guess so. I’ll have to ask him. Though dating someone serious might get in the way of his man-whoring.”
“Georgiana! Watch your language. She would be ideal to go with him to the Gala. He must meet her. She is a young woman of respectability and class. Anne is friendly with her, and her parents have the box beside mine at the MET. They are old-line, blue-blood money, perfect for a Darcy.”
“Is she blonde? He only screws … I mean, dates blondes.” Georgiana winked at Darcy. In turn, he proceeded to give her the finger with a smirk on his face. Rick began to laugh where he stood pouring a couple of glasses of sparkling water.
“Hair color? Why should that matter? Last time I saw Cassandra was during the performance of Rigoletto. She was strawberry blonde then. Although I must admit, it was not very complimentary to her complexion. It only served to draw attention to her lazy eye.”
Georgiana laughed, loving the direction of this conversation with her persistent matchmaking aunt. “How tall is she?”
“How am I to know that? She comes up to my shoulder.”
“No that’s too short. She has to be at least five-foot five. His last three women were my height and the two before them were models, and you know what amazons they are. Maybe this girl would be better for Ricky.”
“I tell you she’s perfect for your brother. He will just have to overlook the height difference and of course the poor girl’s eye condition. I don’t know why her parents, with all their money, did not resolve that issue in her infancy. A patch and eyeglasses could have worked wonders on her and now she’s saddled with an eye that’s looking in the other direction. I tell you, it’s off-putting when trying to hold a conversation.”
“I’m not sure about this one, Aunt Catherine. Will is super picky about his booty calls. I mean women.” Georgiana chuckled as Darcy sliced across his neck with his index finger then pointed to her.
“Georgiana, if your mother were alive she would be very disappointed in that mouth of yours! You’ve been watching too much television. Is this urban slang what they teach you at Columbia or have you been socializing with Fitzwilliam’s civil servant friends at that firehouse. I’ve told him time and again those men are not of his caliber.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes at her aunt’s disdain for “civil servants.” “No, Aunt Catherine, music performance arts doesn’t allow for much discussion.
“See what you can arrange with your brother and Cassandra and let me know. He must have a proper date for the Foundation’s Gala. Of course, Sarah Pendleton would be quite eager and a perfectly – preferable - date.”
“Sarah Pendleton, you say?”
Darcy vehemently shook his head, causing Georgiana to lightly chuckle.
“No, I can tell you flat out, there is no way Will is going to take her. No way. Listen, I gotta go. I’ll talk to him about this Cassandra person and get back to you in two and two. I don’t know about the Gala but maybe we can try for a love connection in time for Christmas.”
They said their good-byes, and the moment Georgiana turned to face her brother standing beside the terrace sliding door, she smugly smiled. “See, even Aunt Catherine thinks you need to settle down. She’s working hard at finding you a date for the Burn Foundation’s Holiday Gala.”
“Thanks but no thanks. I’ll find my own date. What’s the story with this Cassandra woman?”
“Oh, Aunt Catherine wants to fix you up with one of Anne’s friends, some cross-eyed, pygmy strawberry.”
Darcy shuddered in exaggeration.
“I don’t date red, copper or strawberry. If I wanted red, I’d go out with Charlie’s sister, Caroline.” He shuddered at that thought, too. Caroline’s addiction to plastic surgery had now passed into the laws of unnatural. “What was that about Sarah Pendleton?”
“Oh … it was lightly suggested that you could take her to the Gala. She is … how did aunt Catherine put it? … quite eager to go with you.”
“I bet she is. No thanks. I’m not in the market for a Stepford Wife or a Barbie Doll. I broke that off a long time ago and do not intend to revisit that nightmare. And what do you mean by telling Aunt Catherine about booty calls? That’s so not how it is, I don’t do one-night stands and you know it.”
She snorted a laugh. “Yeah, sure. Right Rick?”
Rick handed Darcy his rocks glass re-filled with artesian water. “I better stay out of this one. As of today, your brother has agreed to a total transformation over the next month, and I know just where to begin.”
“Dare I ask?” moaned Will, his handsome face contorting in anxiety.
“Tomorrow morning I’m taking you up to one of my gyms. That place is a haven for hot, high-class babes who aren’t afraid to spend a little money to look good. You’re bound to find plenty of Christmas presents to your liking there.”
Darcy raised an eyebrow. “On the Upper East Side? They’re more likely to be cougars, and I’m not about to go that route.”
“No, I’m taking you to Columbus Avenue. The Reebok Sports Club.”
Liz’s First Blog Post Here
Chapter Two – Saturday, November 30
25 Days Until Christmas
As expected on the Saturday following Thanksgiving, the gym was packed by nine in the morning. New York’s professionals rushed to the Reebok Sports Club on Columbus Avenue in an effort to eliminate the extra ounces put on from too much apple or pumpkin pie. Elizabeth didn’t care about the crowds. Today she would be in the ring, going head-to-head with her kickboxing trainer, and she was pumped.
After storing her sweats and coat in the locker room, she confidently strode through the open-air facility. Music reverberated throughout the three-story building drowning out the whine of spinning cycles, the droning belts of treadmills and power grunts f
rom the climbers assaulting the massive rock wall. Already, the mandatory holiday decorations had invaded the earth-toned lobby. A Menorah, with all eight candle bulbs erroneously lit, sat on the reception desk, and a small, reusable, pre-trimmed Christmas tree brightened the corner by the entry door. Even the mix of music featured several high-energy pop songs with that happy Christmassy feel, demanding subliminal listeners to embrace the spirit of the holiday season.
The closer Elizabeth neared her destination, the more excited she grew. She felt it in her blood already. This was going to be an awesome Christmas season.
As kickboxing shoes met environmentally safe carpet with purpose, she focused solely in one direction, the Boxing Studio. She purposely blocked out everything else going on around her. That was her standard practice during her three times a week workout.
Elizabeth was completely oblivious to the admiring stares of approval for her shapely body, her curvy backside and voluptuous bosom. Of course, the black workout Lycra set she wore hid nothing since it consisted of a skintight sports bra and biker shorts. Her bared abs were rock hard, and once contact lenses replaced eyeglasses, she revealed beautiful, expressive green eyes offset by black, long lashes. Her long and wavy raven hair was pulled high in a genie-style ponytail that swung with each pivot, punch and kick.
Besides her general beauty, all who came to watch her workout admired her. Known in the club as The Black Widow, Elizabeth had soundly defeated every opponent who dared to face her in the ring. At five-foot seven inches, her long, lean legs easily extended upward to every opponent’s head with each targeted kick. Her developed arms were fast and strong. She was pure visual femininity and powerful machine – a deadly, intimidating combination for any testosterone-filled male.
The ring was the one place where she felt absolutely no pressure. No grueling demands to deliver the best advertising campaigns, no stress to remain the top performer at BADCo, no expectations to be the dutiful, amiable daughter, and no anxiety at being a single, albeit lonely, professional woman. Here in the boxing ring she felt confident and comfortable. She was The Black Widow and she owned her domain.
Alex, her trainer, stood at the ropes waiting for her. “Today’s the day, Liz. I can see that gleam in your eye from here. Are you ready to kick my ass?”
“And I can see that piece of pumpkin pie stored in your gut from two days ago. Don’t worry, it’ll be gone by the time I get through with you.”
Elizabeth smiled brightly and, as was usually the case, it undid him. She was his favorite student, but there was no way in hell he would ask her for a date. Six figure salary, corporate executive, a body that would stop traffic and a right hook better than his would not a happy relationship make.
“Head gear today?” he asked.
“Nah, I thought I’d forgo it. Just gloves.”
“Good. This is for your green belt. Warm up at the torso bag. I want to see what I’m in for today, and no showing off for your fan club on the other side of the window,” Alex joked, knowing full well it wasn’t Elizabeth’s style to show off.
“Me? Show off? Yeah, right.” She laughed. “They’re here to see you and that hard body of yours.”
They loved to banter and attack. It made for incredible chemistry in the ring, but Elizabeth remained oblivious to Alex’s more romantic interest in her beyond their athletic camaraderie.
She took to the red bag and began warming-up with blocks, pivots and combination punches, alternating with knee strikes and kicks. A crowd gathered at the floor to ceiling windows to view the woman who reigned as champion. As usual, she stayed intently focused on strength, technique and success, largely oblivious of the admiring scrutiny beyond the glass.
Already, she was perspiring when Alex called out to her, “Okay, Liz, let’s get it on.”
Separating the red ropes, she climbed over the bottom one into the ring. Standing opposite her trainer, she raised a challenging eyebrow and before putting in her mouthpiece impudently responded, “Yes, Alex, let’s get it on,” then took her defensive position with her right foot back, readying herself.
Alex smiled and with a raised boxing glove pretended to ring the bell. “Ding!”
Outside the window, the crowd grew two-person deep, some even stood on tiptoe, straining to witness the match. Even with her mouthpiece, Elizabeth’s grunts could easily be heard in the hallway as two gorgeous, sweaty men walked toward the studio, discussing their workout on the squash courts.
“You suck at squash,” Rick said.
“No, you suck at squash. I let you win just so you could play against the redhead who was eyeing you up and down like she missed her breakfast sausage,” Darcy wryly replied.
“See, that’s why I love this club. Redheads for breakfast and blondes for lunch. You didn’t do too badly yourself. I saw you talking up that blonde with the hot pink nail polish.”
“I was just being friendly. She lives a block from the firehouse.”
Darcy became testy, already hating this agreement with Rick. “I was practicing my Christmas-spirit, which you have clearly stated I am without. Look, is this why you got me out of bed at the crack of dawn today, so you could fix me up? I don’t need any help with that, Rick. I do fine on my own.”
“I know you don’t need help, and Georgie knows you don’t need any help, but apparently Aunt Catherine thinks you do. What you do need is a change of venue from your usual haunts, and that’s why you and I are here. No more pool halls, no more sports bars, and no more sleazy pub-crawling ‘til the next morning. I have strict orders from Aunt Catherine that you’re not to show up at the Gala with one of your bimbos.”
“I’m not a teenager, so don’t treat me like one.”
Darcy looked over at the crowd by the window as they drew closer. Thankful for the distraction, with a lift of his chin, he asked his cousin, “What’s going on over there?”
“That’s the boxing studio. They get a lot of heavy hitters in there, could be a belt certification for kickboxing.” Rick turned to one of the guys observing. “What’s goin’ on?”
“The Black Widow – she’s destroying her trainer,” the guy replied.
They edged their way up and watched Elizabeth as she rear round kicked high above her trainer’s shoulders to his head then fluidly alternated with jabs and elbow strikes, her genie ponytail swinging left and right, her chest heaving with each exertion.
She was fantastic, forcing Alex to step up his game of offensive moves, which she ducked and blocked expertly.
A perfectly executed southpaw hook clearly surprised the heck out of her trainer, knocking him back two steps.
The on-lookers cheered her through the glass. She heard them but didn’t even crack a smile. This was a personal mission: besting her personal best and her black belt instructor at the same time.
Like all the men watching, Rick and Darcy stood transfixed. As Darcy’s eyes traveled the length of her gorgeous body, he drank in every glorious curve and their stunning contrast to her flat, muscular stomach. Entranced, he automatically reacted to each thrust of her fist and pivot of her upper body made in his direction as though she was actually pulverizing him. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a blonde, and it didn’t matter that she could probably beat the crap out of him with the power of her legs. He turned back to the guy. “What’s her name?”
“Who knows, around here we just call her The Black Widow. She’s fuckin’ deadly and looks damn good while decimating her opponent.”
Darcy looked over his left shoulder to see Rick’s mouth hanging open.
Rick finally managed to say, “I … I think I know her.”
“You know her? How do you know her?”
“I’m not positive, but I’m pretty sure I know her.”
“Do you know her because you’ve … you know … known her.”
“Stop thinking with your dick. I don’t know her like that. I think I know her professionally, maybe a mediator or another attorney. I’ll have to think about it to plac
e her face. Why do you want to know? Do you want to know her?”
Darcy shrugged. “No reason, just curious. You know I’m not partial to dark hair …”
Rick knowingly smirked. His cousin was transparent in his ambivalence. He wanted to meet her. “I think you’ve found something of interest at this club after all. We could wait around and introduce ourselves.”
The guy chimed in, “Don’t bother wasting your time. She won’t give you the time of day. She’s pretty stuck up.”
Enthralled by her athleticism and skill, Darcy continued to watch her move. He hadn’t seen boxing skill like that since his college years in the Boxing Club at the New York Athletic Club. The Black Widow took command, came at her opponent with self-assurance, and didn’t back down. That spoke volumes to him. Clearly, she was a woman not to be trifled with and someone who felt confident in her own skin. He was intrigued – not to mention aroused.
He followed the movement of a trickle of perspiration as it rolled down the side of the woman’s temple, and unaware, he licked his lips. His attention drew toward the glistening, heated moistness on her limbs as she kicked and pummeled her opponent. When she struck her trainer, Darcy reflexively smoothed the palm of his hand on his thigh.
Rick watched his cousin acutely, noting his conspicuous hard swallow.
Five minutes later, the fight ended and most of the crowd dissipated, but the cousins remained. Rick’s interest had waned, so he began chatting up the redhead from earlier who happened by, but Darcy’s eyes stayed riveted on The Black Widow when she reached out for the rope. Every movement of her body left him awestruck in rapt attention, from the slow gliding of her gloved hand over the thick, red padding, as she walked to the corner where some of her gear lay, to the removal of her gloves. By the time she pulled out the mouthpiece and turned to her trainer with a brilliant smile, he was almost undone.