Lucky 13

by Cat Gardiner

  Darcy stood spellbound. His mouth grew slack when she picked up the water bottle at her feet, bringing it to her full lips that surrounded the tip in a tight pucker. Tilting the bottle high, the liquid chugged within causing trickles of water to escape from the sides of her mouth, running down her chin and chest toward her cleavage. The sight rendered him incapacitated. He licked his lips again. Immobilized and heated, standing there staring at her, resisting any thought process. He just reveled in the alluring vision before him.

  Perspiring and still heaving, the gorgeous woman grabbed her gear and departed the glass-enclosed studio. The door opened up to him, standing right there beside her, so close that he had to resist the desire to brush the sweat-matted stray hair from her forehead.

  Now faced with her only inches from him, Darcy’s habitual discriminating thought process kicked into gear. He privately took pride in his well-honed ability to discover the inevitable flaw in every “respectable” woman he encountered - the unacceptable fault – the deal breaker – that allowed him to cross off another potential prospect. Such was his commitment phobia.

  He breathed in, expecting The Black Widow’s perspiration pheromones to turn him off. Instead, she only smelled like honeysuckle. Darcy re-examined the wet hair that had come loose, attempting to find some defect – maybe even dandruff. Unfortunately, he only wanted to wrap his index finger around the dark strands. He scrutinized the mole on her forehead and tried to convince himself it was diseased, not expecting to be reminded of the perfection of Marilyn Monroe’s beauty mark. He even tried to imagine that rosy flush to her décolletage was prickly heat or eczema, but found himself imagining a fire kindling within her. Damn if he couldn’t find a single thing to disparage and he had to tighten his fist at his side to keep from touching the smooth, plump curve of her bottom lip.

  She crossed the threshold and turned back toward the studio. Darcy’s breath caught when her brilliant smile, flushed cheeks, and sparkling eyes all complemented the humor in her voice. “I’ll see you, Alex. Thanks so much for letting me kick your arse.”

  “I loved every minute of it, Liz. Good work and congratulations!”

  She lightly laughed and the door closed behind her. Darcy remained in place, unabashedly staring, mouth gaping and entirely tongue-tied. This “Liz’s” vibrant, green eyes captivated him, and he could literally feel her heat and energy expending from her body. She was a four-alarm fire. He wanted to say something – anything. Something like, “You did great. How long have you been practicing? My name is Will. Would you like to go for breakfast, coffee, anything?” Instead, he froze. He could not believe it, but he actually had butterflies.

  As she brushed past him, she gave him a quick glance and seemingly dismissed him as though he wasn’t worth her time. Ignoring his presence, she walked straight toward the locker room.

  Rick laughed and slapped his cousin on the back. “Good work, lover boy. I can see now why you’re still single. Quite the eloquent one you are, or were you just hoping to bowl her over with your biceps and rude silence?”

  Even Darcy was surprised, his ego taking quite the blow because of her apparent rebuff. Yes, he had found the deal-breaker – the inevitable fault, the unacceptable flaw. If not for the pounding of his heart and his need of a cold shower, he would have called her a stuck up bitch.

  All he could reply was, “Let’s get the hell out of here. I’ve got to be on duty in a few hours.”

  Like every year at holiday time, Columbus Avenue was busy and decorated with its seasonal large, white snowflakes hanging from the streetlights. And on the Saturday morning following Liz’s workout, taxicabs had already begun dropping their fares near the popular, upscale stores as ever-growing hordes of shoppers, pushed and shoved hoping to score Thanksgiving weekend deals at Theory and Club Monaco.

  Amidst the mayhem, Elizabeth heard that familiar holiday bell rise above it all: the Salvation Army volunteer with his hanging red collection kettle.

  Rubbing her chilled hands together after the three-block walk, she exhaled a satisfied sigh and smiled. Yes, the holiday season had officially begun and what a great way to begin it - with The Salvation Army and her hard-won green belt in kickboxing. She wanted to shout at the top of her lungs, “Merry Christmas, New York!”

  She looked down the street and there camped out on a section of cold concrete was the much anticipated and much loved, almost official, Christmas tree vendor selling his bundled evergreens, firs, pines, and spruce, all at the mere asking price of twenty to thirty dollars a foot. It didn’t matter the cost, come Christmas Eve they would all be gone. Above the vendor’s head hung colorful Christmas lights, the big multi-colored bulbs from her mother’s era. Elizabeth made a mental note to add, Sunday – purchase and decorate Christmas tree, to her list of things to do.

  Muffins Café was small and very crowded by the time Elizabeth arrived to meet with Jane for breakfast before she would head home to West End Avenue. The small bell above the entrance door of the café tinkled when she entered, greeted by Michael Buble’s “Cold Christmas Night” and Jane’s frown. Her sister sat at a small round table beside the window, drinking chai tea and picking at a berry fruit bowl covered with yogurt as though something weighed heavily on her mind. Apart from the look upon Jane’s face, she was as beautiful and trendy as always. A cream-colored shearling jacket and tan rag scarf perfectly complimented her short, golden locks.

  Jane was a natural beauty, elegant, tall and sophisticated with classic features. Her large, blue eyes and perfect, sparkling white smile drew in every man. Of course, most of those men also recognized her from several swimsuit issues of Sports Illustrated and the cover of Cosmopolitan Magazine four times.

  However, Jane had a dirty little secret, and Elizabeth knew that it should never, ever, ever be discussed: Jane’s foray into the world of Playboy during one wild post college summer. That was one secret only Elizabeth knew and one tightly sealed in the vault of sisterhood until death. Not only was it kept secret from her parents and their other sisters, but it was also a secret kept from Charlie.

  She gave Jane an acknowledging wave, purchased a black coffee and squeezed through the crowd toward her. They greeted one another in the European fashion, exchanging kisses to both cheeks. It was a little something Jane had done ever since her Chanel photoshoot last spring. Who was Elizabeth to object? She didn’t care. It made her feel internationally exotic.

  Jane finally smiled slightly, noticing her sister’s genie-style ponytail. “I love your hair like this. It really shows off your eyes, Lizzy. Of course, the glasses get in the way but you still look fabulous. Let me see the back.” She turned her sister’s body around. “Ponytails are a hot trend right now. I love how you wrapped that piece of hair around the band.”

  “Really?” She snorted a laugh. “Who knew my KB workout look was sexy? I’ll have you know, I did have my contacts in but I lost one in the ring. I don’t know how on earth I finished my certification. I couldn’t see anything – not even Alex. I faked it well enough, but I was blind as a bat and every time I made contact with his gut, I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “You had your certification this morning? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t mention it to you, I just figured you had a lot going on with last minute wedding details. My stuff is hardly important.”

  “Did you get it?”

  Elizabeth grinned widely before popping one of Jane’s blueberries in her mouth, “Yup – Green Belt. The only kickboxer in the gym with one and achieved – I might add - in only thirteen months. I totally kicked Alex’s butt all over the ring in spite of my impaired vision. See, I’m determined to banish unlucky thirteen.”

  “Congratulations! Oh, Lizzy, you do everything right.”

  “Uh, oh … what happened?”

  “What do ya’ mean what happened? Nothing happened.”

  Elizabeth knew that was bull. Jane was looking out the window when she said it so very unconvincingly.


  “Spill, Jane. I know you well enough to know that tone in your voice. You can’t fool me; something is bothering you.”

  Jane hesitated then sighed in defeat. “I’m afraid Charlie will find out.”

  “So take away the fear and mystery and just tell him. This is Charlie we are talking about, he’s like Teflon. Nothing gets under his skin. We are talking about the man who washed the pots for mom on Thanksgiving even after she remarked that Mrs. Bingley lives in an ivory tower on Park Avenue where she most likely flies the Confederate flag.”

  “I know, I know, I want to believe that - about Charlie that is - but what if he reproaches my poor judgment and realizes I’m unworthy of his love or name? If it got out, it could ruin the Bingley reputation, let alone upset his parents’ southern sensibilities. The press would have a field day. You think they had fun with Congressman Weiner’s wiener? That birthmark I have would certainly be a hot topic.”

  Elizabeth grabbed hold of her sister’s perfectly manicured hand. “He loves you, Jane. You can be sure of that. He will not dump you because of what you did when you were young and dumb. He’s not shallow. Charlie is a special man who would never overlook your loving and sweet heart. You’re much more to him than an Elite supermodel, and definitely more to him than a …” she whispered, “centerfold. As for the press and your birthmark – well it’s … it’s effective advertising!”

  “Very funny. Only you, Miss Ad Exec would see it as that. Let’s change the subject. I can’t deal with the stress today, I have to meet with mom for my final fitting, and you know what a nightmare that will be. Won’t you please come with us? You always make me laugh and after a day with the queen of drama, I’ll be in need of some humor. I gained three pounds and she’s bound to freak out.”

  “You gained weight? Are you pregnant?”

  “Good God, No! Charlie’s been addicted to Neuhaus Chocolates, and I haven’t had any self-restraint.”

  “You know mom is gonna think you’re pregnant.”

  “I know. Pleeese come with me.”

  Elizabeth wanted to go for Jane’s sake, truly, she did, and as the Maid of Honor, it was expected that she should. She just couldn’t bring herself to volunteer while dealing with her mother’s sharp barbs alternated with passive-aggressive comments. Besides, she knew that any anger projected toward Jane would surely be deflected toward her. No, Thanksgiving dinner had been enough, and she desperately needed distance from that bad aura. Thirteen was unlucky for more reasons than just being the odd numbered person at the dinner table. Having been born on Friday the 13, her mother had imbedded into her psyche that it proved to be unlucky because she had dearly wanted a boy.

  No thank you, sorry, she had other things to do today. There were holiday cards to mail and a presentation to finish for an important meeting on Tuesday with the Chairman of the FD Burn Foundation. Spearheading their December fundraiser was a huge compliment. The project had been personally assigned to her by the President of BADCo, Stan Reynolds, who was on the Board of Trustees of the Foundation and a major contributor to the important charity.

  Flattered by the responsibility, Elizabeth knew it absolutely had to be an overwhelming success. She had only briefly met the Chairman twice, first at a crowded press event, and then for only a moment, at last year’s sold out FD Burn Foundation Holiday Gala. She understood him to be a real mover and shaker in both his profession and at getting people to part with their money. Same thing actually – he was a divorce lawyer.

  “I’m sorry, Janie, I can’t come with you. I have to prepare for a meeting with a client on Tuesday. How about, I’ll be with you in spirit. Just think of mom and me in the boxing ring together. That should make you laugh.”

  Charlotte’s Blog Post Here

  Chapter Three – Monday, December 2

  23 Days Until Christmas

  Darcy felt the acute pain as he stood at attention in his FDNY blue dress uniform beside the fifty-man Fire and EMS Ceremonial Unit at Henry Tilney’s Line of Duty funeral. Thousands of people stood reverently along the major thoroughfare leading toward the Tilney family's local Catholic Church where the funeral Mass would take place. Many were longtime friends and acquaintances from this tight-knit neighborhood in the Bronx.

  Ladder 13 slowly led the procession down the avenue, followed by the Honor Guard flag bearers, and the Emerald Society’s Bagpipe and Drum Corps, marching in unison as they continuously played Amazing Grace with painful solemnity.

  He tried not to allow his emotions to surface, using all the restraint he had to hold back the flood of memories that always attempted to undo him whenever he attended a wake or funeral. This one was almost too much to bear as he watched Tilney’s wife, children and parents stand at the foot of the church steps. They awaited the procession in visibly varying degrees of sorrow, fear, pride, and fortunately, for the children, confused curiosity.

  Engine Company 42’s fire truck, the vehicle regularly used to transport personnel, had been transformed. On this sad day, it was pressed into somber duty as a hearse. Draped in black and purple swags, with emergency lights flashing but sirens silenced, it slowly followed just behind the Battalion Chief. Stoically walking forward, Tilney’s black and red helmet, rested upon white gloved hands as the chief conveyed it with honor before him.

  In unison, the rigid gloved palms of every member of the New York Fire Department saluted the hero firefighter from the moment six pallbearers, one of whom was Tilney’s brother-in-law, removed the casket and carried it into the church.

  Darcy heard Thorpe choke back a quiet sob beside him. For all their toughness and bravery, these men around him were honest in everything. Every day, he learned a lesson from them. The pain these men suffer from the memories of September 11, the death of their brothers – which was still going on in the form of World Trade Center Illness – was real, yet they continued in honor.

  He watched Tilney's young son as the chief bent toward him, handing the precious helmet to the boy. Thousands watched the child grip the sides of his father's tangible legacy with a respect and sadness too pure for words to express. Darcy succumbed to the crushing vision of the boy’s upcoming Christmas, a Christmas without his father.

  Those thoughts turned to ones of his own father, a good and gentle man, also taken from this world too soon just before Christmas. He bit his lip to keep it still and fought to repudiate his deep emotions. It was then he heard his cousin's voice in the back of his mind, offering his good counsel, Yes, mourn Tilney but live for his memory and that of your parents.

  Rick was right, he acknowledged. He had been temporarily stalled with inertia for far too long. His fear of commitment, his obsession to save everyone from every fire, the disconnect from his father’s company Pem Tech, and his overall failure to live a happy, fulfilling life, all stemmed from that one pivotal moment eight years earlier. He had survived the blaze and his parents had not.

  Darcy bent his head in somber respect and entered the church alongside his buddies, fellow firefighters and the lifesaving paramedics. The pale December sunlight streamed through the stained glass window above the altar, shining down on Tilney’s casket. As though that same light cast upon his soul, he opened his heart to whatever the season had in store for him. He wouldn’t stand in Rick’s way from attempting a little Christmas magic where it had been missing for so long. He would welcome it and do his best to live a happy life.

  First things first, on this day, and most likely the following night, he would drink with his buddies to the memory of his friend, Hank Tilney. It might well be the last drop of alcohol to pass his lips during this holiday season, but he was going to make it memorable – or not – depending upon how drunk he allowed himself to get.

  Long holiday weekends usually provided one sure thing the following Monday: stress. It began the moment Elizabeth’s secretary, Amanda, carried in all the print work for her presentation the next day with the Chairman of the FD Burn Foundation. Her advertising pitch, practiced ad infinitum w
as ready and spot on. The test video for YouTube advertising as well as the iPhone commercial was ready to roll.

  Elizabeth’s idea was to take the campaign nationally instead of only regionally. Tugging at the heartstrings of Americans across the country, she had lined up plastic surgeons, burn and hyperbaric nurses and grateful survivors. Each interview delivered first-hand accounts of how the FD Burn Foundation came to their assistance when the cost of care exceeded available funds or worse yet, victims had been refused necessary medical treatment due to administrative insurance guidelines.

  She was positive her client would be enthusiastically on board with her campaign pitch.

  It was six o’clock by the time she left the office. The blackness of winter night had already fallen and a light snow began to fill the air with floating white flakes. Thankfully, she had arranged for a town car to drive her home, cross-town through the glittering festive lights of the city and Central Park. She was especially eager to grab a salad at the twenty-four hour deli on the corner, get back to her warm apartment, freshly decorated for the holiday, and fire up her laptop.

  All day she wanted to check out the responses to her personal ad, but given the overwhelming workload, not to mention her stress level, she refrained. She knew sipping a glass of Chardonnay while listening to music before her Christmas tree would be the best manner in which to read and hopefully, reply.

  With a flip of the light switch, the evergreen with all its glittering, white lights came alive. Shiny, red balls plus her favorite childhood ornaments and the fresh scent of spruce greeted her cheerfully. Of course, her tiny Emma and Mr. Knightly watercolor, silver-framed ornaments were displayed prominently in the front. It’s not as though anyone other than Charlotte would visit and it was she who made them to begin with.