Lucky 13

by Cat Gardiner

  He still hadn’t answered her question of how he knew her kickboxing moniker.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, Darcy. You’re the last man in the world I’d ever go to dinner with.” She couldn’t help a small smile play upon her lips. “Besides, it’s widely known that black widows only kill after having sex, and I assure you, you’re safe on that account.”

  “That’s a shame, too, because it’s a risk I’d consider taking.” He truly meant that last remark. Leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table, he seductively spoke, “You know you don’t mean that. I can see it in the fire of your eyes, and I know fire.”

  Like a child, she closed her eyes. “Your huge ego is causing you to misinterpret dislike for attraction.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps my ego is bruised, but I know I’m not misinterpreting anything.”

  The bell rang and he returned her pad, sliding it below her hand but not without brushing his fingers against hers. Was it her imagination when she felt a spark triggering a wave of detonating fire along their briefly connected fuse? For a split second, she allowed the rousing thought that a night in Darcy’s arms could possibly be explosive TNT.

  Liz’s Blog Post Here

  Chapter Seven – Saturday, December 7

  18 Days Until Christmas

  Twenty-eight degrees Fahrenheit outside had no bearing on the heat generating within the Providence Club on West 57th Street. It seemed appropriate since the venue was located at the northern edge of Hell’s Kitchen, and yes, that day they were serving up not only New York’s Bravest but also New York’s hottest and most tantalizing, totally fat-free, treat – beefcake.

  The Foundation’s event coordinator and volunteers had done an excellent job of decorating the facility that had once been a church. The antique oak wood paneling framed blown-up stock photos of partially clad firefighters surrounded by flames, suggestively holding hoses, axes, or hanging from assorted firefighting apparatus. Holiday magic of a completely different type filled the large resurrected structure with the continuing arrival of over six-hundred women, all hoping that Santa would bring them their gift early. Particularly since one of the pin-up calendar men was scheduled to be auctioned today for a date during the following week.

  New York City’s Z-100 radio station was broadcasting live from the balcony where the DJ welcomed the assembling female audience to the sound of Paulini’s “Fireman,” reverberating against the glass windows and skylights. Lights flashed upward into the cathedral ceiling to the downbeat and, if one looked closely, they could see the shimmying of the crystal chandelier as if in anticipation of what was to come once the men lined up around the balcony railing.

  Elizabeth was all business and the little Santa head pencil sticking out of her tightly wrapped bun could attest to it. That pencil had been very busy the entire day and now, with only minutes until show time, it found its home once again lodged within her locks. Her glasses sat in place, her clipboard of lists and directives clenched in the crook of her arm, and her emergency lip balm was covertly tucked at the ready inside the watchband, below her sleeve.

  Jane's last minute arrival commanded attention when she entered the main room with her practiced, singularly recognizable catwalk strut through the center of the venue directly towards her sister. All legs and smile, she possessed a friendly nonchalance about her participation at this unusual event.

  Given the fact that the Foundation had already grossed over fifteen thousand dollars in ticket sales combined with ten percent of the bar revenue plus the money expected from the date auction, Elizabeth was ecstatic. And this was only the beginning. They still had a year of events ahead of them. Based on the hot bodies prepping upstairs in the two VIP rooms, 2014 was going to be the Year of the Fireman.

  Exchanging double kisses in the center of the dance floor, the sisters greeted one another.

  “You’re late, Janie. Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything is fine. I’m really sorry. Something I ate upset my stomach this morning and then Charlie was running late, and therefore, so was I. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “Are you feeling better? I could get you a ginger ale.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Jane smiled warmly, hoping to alleviate the stress so clearly evident on her sister’s furrowed brow. “Don’t worry about me. Today’s important for you.”

  “I’m nervous, but we’re doing great so far. Did Charlie join you? I was hoping to see him, maybe get him to part with a little of his money.”

  They walked toward the elevated judging table positioned beside the dance floor, and Jane laughed. “He sent me off with a check, sending his love to you and telling me the last place in the world he would ever find himself was at a male auction.”

  “It’s not just an auction. Did you tell him it’s the auditions for the city’s firefighter calendar?”

  “No, I forgot that part. Hey, cute sweater dress you’re wearing. I love the cowl.”

  “Thanks, I picked it up at Bergdorf last week.”

  “Speaking of dresses how did my Karen Millen work out last night. Any dates?”

  Elizabeth looked around the room until her eyes settled on Charlotte squatting beside the table with her now spiked, fire engine red hair. Narrowing eyes shot invisible daggers in her friend’s direction. “Don’t ask. You don’t want to know. Let’s just say, I owe you a dress.”

  “No matter, it was free designer sample. Did you at least get a date?”

  “I did! He’s a bond trader at Goldman Sachs. He seemed nice and enjoys athletics. We emailed this morning and made plans to go out this Friday night.”

  “Wonderful!”

  “National Model Search” reality show judge, Miss Toni’s effusions alerted everyone to the model’s arrival. All but one of the celebrity judges seated at the table knew Jane. Of course, how could they not? She had been on the cover of one of Sports Illustrated Swimsuit’s highest grossing editions. Jane Gardiner was a household name in every female-loving, fantasy-driven male’s vocabulary. With a quick name change, ‘Bennet’ otherwise once known as Janie B., had been abandoned following the Playboy debacle.

  Charlotte, busily intent on completing the mandatory photoshoot of Catherine de Bourgh, barely noticed Jane and Elizabeth's arrival at the judging table until Miss Toni’s “What’s up girrrll?!”

  She turned from the camera and locked eyes with Jane who gave her a covert wink and nod.

  Catherine, a woman in her sixties, exuded old money and upper crust society refinement. Her St. John suit proclaimed her wealth, and her fixed mien announced her snobbery. Her gray, overly-sprayed, perfectly coiffed, helmet head demonstrated her reluctance toward trends. The downturned sides of her pinched lips made it blatantly evident that the festive holiday spirit hadn’t quite taken root in her heart year round.

  Dropping her chin slightly, Catherine examined Miss Toni in all his glory wearing a blue, schoolgirl uniform. Unsure if he was a man or a woman, her eyes traveled the length of his six foot five-inch frame, beginning at the plaid headband right down to size fourteen feet. The uptown, uptight woman would have raised her eyebrows in distaste of his black and white saddle shoes if the perfectly drawn lines weren’t frozen in place from her recent Botox injection.

  Miss Toni greeting the newly arrived judge, “And they call me queen of the catwalk, girl you walk like you’re walking into hell in gasoline soaked pajamas! You go girl.”

  Upon hearing this raucous urban salutation Catherine immediately commanded, “Miss Bennet, come here.” Her bent, polished fingertip wagged toward Elizabeth with punctuated insistence.

  She smiled brightly to the woman clearly in charge as Charlotte bent over her camera and tripod. “Can I get anything for you Mrs. de Bourgh? We are about ready to start, and judging from the look of some of these women, they’re hungry and not just for the hors d’oeuvres.”

  “Yes but first I need to make myself clearly understood. My nephew will not be selected for this calendar. That would be an e
mbarrassment of the worse kind. No Darcy, let alone the President of Pem Tech, can ever, ever be seen, nay, exposed, in a pin up calendar.” Despite the powdered rouge she wore, her face blanched at her words. "Do you understand, Miss Bennet?"

  “Your nephew Will is the President of Pem Tech and a fireman?”

  “Please don’t remind me. His dalliance with these civil servants has gone on for far too long. While I appreciate all the Department does to assist the Foundation, my nephew is not from their world and never will be no matter how hard he tries to assimilate. Theirs is a lifestyle so far removed from his. His blood is blue and his collar is white and always will be.”

  “I see.”

  Yes, Elizabeth did see and if it wouldn’t have been mistaken as deference to this haughty woman, she would have hung her head in complete shame. She was mortified for having accused him of being a liar and that was not the case at all. Again, Charlotte’s words reverberated in her brain - judgmental.

  Catherine’s eyes traveled over Elizabeth’s conservative yet stylish appearance. She liked what she saw in this young woman holding a clipboard and for just a moment considered … “Tell me Miss Bennet, are you single?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Are you married? Betrothed or seriously involved with anyone?”

  “Not at the moment. I’m committed to my career and just haven’t found the right man to settle down with.” She wondered why exactly she was sharing this information with a woman so wholly unknown to her and at the most inappropriate time, no less – like when thirty-nine hot bodies were about to start dancing half-naked before her.

  “That’s good to hear. We are always looking for dedicated, fresh blood to join the board of the Foundation. You appear to be a young woman who takes her profession and life seriously. Strong organizational skills, professional attire, educated, and committed one-hundred percent to her assignment, someone whose life is clearly mapped out and is not prone to fits of romantic visions of grandeur. Focus is what we need on the board – not members whose personal lives will take them away from the mission of the FD Burn Foundation. Prevention, Education, and Restoration.”

  “The board? Right.” Why was she disappointed? What was she expecting the woman to say?

  “I tell my daughter Anne this all the time. That is why she doesn’t date or get involved in anything that doesn’t ultimately benefit the charity. She needs to be proficient in only one thing – promoting the charity. Her whole life is the Foundation.”

  “Oh! Is your daughter here today, Mrs. de Bourgh? I’d love to meet her.”

  Catherine’s hand flew to her heart in mortified shock. “Absolutely not! This is no place for a young lady of Anne’s stature and sensitivities. I certainly do not intend to expose her to such smut. It’s bad enough my niece is here, but she’s a headstrong young woman. There’s no end to either her mischief or her brashness.”

  Elizabeth was thankful for the perfectly timed diversion of the DJ’s announcement from the top balcony.

  He scanned down across the swarm of eager women, some standing, some dancing, and some still at the bar. The music pumped in the background as he declared, “We’re counting down ladies. Get ready for New York’s Bravest to burn down the house.”

  The motivated crowd, growing more and more restless - as only horny women could – went wild.

  “Don’t forget we have two auctions following our judging. For the right price, you could be the winner of a date with Mr. December or a VIP guest pass to the photoshoot on Monday morning!”

  Again, the crowd responded with an animalistic roar.

  Upstairs in the VIP room, shirtless firefighters wore only their black bunker pants while doing pushups and muscle pumping.

  Rick stood beside a half- dressed Darcy, handing him a shot glass. “One – you only get one for the entire day.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me?”

  “I’m not kidding. The last thing I need is for you to fall down those steps, break your neck, and then I have to face Aunt Catherine’s wrath.”

  “Gee thanks.” Darcy took the shot glass and slugged back the potent liquor, its contents barely burning his throat on the way down. “Aaahhh …”

  “Better?”

  “Hardly. I can’t believe you convinced me to do this. I must be crazy. Then again, I let you convince me to go speed dating last night, so clearly I am.” He pointed his finger, jabbing into his cousin’s chest. “I owe you big time for that.”

  Rick smirked knowingly. “Did you match with her?”

  “Now I know you’re the crazy one? We were like oil and water last night. Damn, she gets under my skin so much that I don’t know whether to throttle her or to kiss her.”

  “Hmm … that’s quite a dilemma. Like an itch you need to scratch, huh? I’d choose the kiss – personally.”

  “At least the night wasn’t a total bust. I matched with two other girls. Of course you can’t tell in three minutes, for all I know they could be psychos. I did catch a whiff of patchouli on one of them and you know how I hate that hippy shit. I probably won’t date her. Nevertheless, they seemed like nice girls, certainly not women whose idea of a good time is to list on a pad all the ways she’d like to destroy me.”

  It didn’t escape Rick’s observation that his cousin didn’t specifically reply about scratching his itch for Elizabeth. “You’re so wrong about Liz. I wish you would give her a chance – choose the kiss. I’ll give you her number; call her.”

  “No. Is she downstairs?”

  “Of course and looking pretty cute in a tight sweater dress and tall black boots. Last I looked, she was cowtowing to our officious aunt.”

  “Good, because when my turn comes to audition – I have a special song picked out just for Ms. Santa Head Pencil up Her Ass. I guarantee you, she won’t be snubbing me a second time.”

  “Oh man, you need a lesson in flirting. Trust me a simple palm tickle would have done the trick. Don’t provoke her any more than you have already. Just ask her to dinner, Darce. I know you want to, and judging from her blog, I think she’s interested in …”

  Realizing what he said, Rick suddenly bit off his words, abruptly turned and began to walk away until Darcy’s right hand clasped around his bicep.

  “Hold it. Right. There. Blog? Did you say Blog? She’s blogging about me! Did you read it?”

  “Look, I wasn’t supposed to say anything. I wasn’t even supposed to know, but I woke in the middle of the night to find Charlotte blogging in the kitchen. She was uploading a photograph she took of me at the tree lighting, and well, the cat kind of got out of the bag.”

  “What does the blog say?”

  “Nothing, really … well apart from the fact it looked to me that Liz is majorly attracted to you and doing her best to find fault. Sounds like someone I know.” Rick raised an eyebrow.

  Darcy squeezed the bottle of baby oil, filling the palm of his hand with the slick liquid. “I want that link.” He smoothed it over his pecs.

  “No. You’ll just do something stupid or say something you shouldn’t. A blog is public and then you’ll never get a date in this town. Listen, lighten up about her and about today. Your mother would be proud at how you’re doing something so out of character for this charity.”

  ‘Yeah, I suppose she would be. Although I’m pretty sure dad would be laughing his ass off. Greasing my half-naked self for a bunch of screaming, horny women wasn’t quite what he meant by ‘doing something to make a difference in the lives of others’.”

  “Um … well … you will be making a difference in some women’s lives today.”

  After the body prep and makeup artist finished oiling down the West End Cave’s captain, he came up behind Darcy, slapping him on his bare back. For a man of fifty-four, Colin Donahue was in terrific shape, so much so that his ex-wife encouraged him to audition with all the younger men. His black helmet sat in place and he was pumped, greased and ready for the show as soon as he heard the music begin outside the VIP
room’s closed doors.

  “We’ve missed you down at the station 24/7, Darcy,” he said.

  “I miss the station, too, but my cousin here is insisting I join in the holiday festivities a little more this year. Unfortunately, he’s become my keeper.”

  “Trust me, I understand about immersing yourself in the job.” Donahue looked around the room taking in the men and the palpable excitement. “I’ll tell ya’ this is a great thing you’ve done here for the boys. Tilney’s having a good time at our expense from his perch up there. This is just what the station needed to get us back on track. It’s a good way to honor him, help raise some money for the cause, and spread some holiday cheer.”

  Darcy gave his friend and boss a half-smile. “I’m just sorry he couldn’t be a part of it, sir. You know he would have hammed up this whole thing, probably choosing a song like “I’m Too Sexy.”

  “That’s my song! My ex chose it for me!” Donahue laughed, flexed his biceps and puffed out his chest which had a smattering of graying hair.

  “Oh yeah? If she thinks you’re so sexy then why did you get the boat and she’s living large between the Hamptons and Aspen?”

  “Yeah, well, she isn’t in Aspen this Christmas – she’s in the audience. Flew back east just to see me strut my stuff on stage.”

  He waggled his eyebrows a bit, because he might have been divorced from his ex but he was still in love with her. He understood being married to a firefighter was difficult business. It wasn’t for everyone, but man, they were good together when they got together – especially when they got in the hot tub … all those bubbles.

  “You know who’s in the audience here to see me? My friggin’ sister – how screwed up is that?”

  Darcy looked over at Rick, eager to change the direction the conversation was headed in. “Maybe on the last page, we can have an honorary photograph of Tilney where the yearly calendar is laid out? Might be a nice gesture his wife would appreciate. Can we see to it that some of the proceeds from today get funneled to her?”