by Cat Gardiner
Rick replied enthusiastically, “Excellent ideas. I’ll talk to Liz and Aunt Catherine about both. Can you get us his uniformed portrait, Captain?”
“Yeah, sure!”
Thorpe charged into the VIP room after sneaking a peek at the crowd of wild women assembled in the banquet room below. “Yo! You’re not gonna believe who’s one-a da judges! Miss July - Playboy’z favorite co-ed, Janie B. Ya know da blonde in my locka. I ain’t shittin ya’- it’s huh.”
Darcy grinned, remembering the naked, blonde hottie in his friend’s locker. “The one with the arrow shaped birthmark pointing to her fireplace?”
“Dat’z da one. My Janie.”
The event coordinator, a pleasant, brunette with the obligatory earpiece wrapping her head, knocked on the door of the room and entered. “Showtime, fellas. If you can just line up at the door, we’ll begin your strut to the balcony. Just like we practiced – and don’t be intimidated by the theatrical smoke coming up from the floorboards behind you. It’s all for effect. And remember not to be intimidated by the pervy horde of women below the balcony. Just make sure you smile. Oh, and rotate those hips. Not as fast as a gyrate, but slow and rhythmic to the music. Got it?”
Darcy groaned, Thorpe clapped his hands, and Rick slapped his cousin on the back. “You heard the lady, smile, baby – you’ve got some money to make and some hearts to break.”
Twelfth in the row, Darcy put his helmet on and genuinely smiled back. Perhaps it was the whiskey – perhaps not. Maybe it was just the fact that he intended to make one Ms. Elizabeth Bennet melt into a puddle on the floor. Ah, revenge is sweet.
Just as he neared the door, Rick called out with a mischievous snicker, “Oh by the way, she didn’t snub you. She lost a contact in the ring and couldn’t see you.”
Darcy’s face froze. He had misjudged her.
The announcer motivated the anxious crowd,
“Ladies, let’s greet our contestants for the FDBF-New York City Fire Department’s 2014 Calendar.”
The minute Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff” began its disco assault on the men’s nerves, the screams and cheers from the crowd of women below carried up to the cathedral ceiling.
In addition to the last-minute infusion of regret at his misunderstanding of Elizabeth, for the first time in a long time, Darcy was petrified. He had no idea just how wild women could get when faced with dancing, half-naked, sweaty men.
Boy was he in for an awakening.
One after the other, the men strutted out the door, securing their positions around the balcony overlooking the stage and the horde of women. Red and white emergency strobe lights circled the room, and stage smoke billowed behind the men. Against a paneled wall, simulated flames emanated from the flametron projector creating a hot, hot, hot atmosphere.
Elizabeth tried to remain objective and professional, after all, this was business and she was a judge. She tried not to look for Darcy, really she did, but didn’t know why she found herself doing so. He had offended her, insulted her and provoked her, yet simultaneously he had intrigued her. Moreover, she acknowledged in the silence of her heart, she was petrified by what he had awoken in her in just two brief meetings.
She was oblivious to Catherine’s unexpected expression of wonder as though the woman hadn’t seen a man in years, and if paying attention, Elizabeth would have been surprised to see her sister diligently cataloging each man’s physical attributes, noting their photogenic potential. At that moment, she couldn’t even be bothered to notice Charlotte’s expression hidden behind the huge lens of the camera, but without a doubt, the zoom lens certainly was having a good time. The only thing she noticed was the frenzied response of the women when the men appeared above them. More screams equated to more money for the charity. There was eye-candy for everyone’s taste: athletic, beefcake, slender, ethnic variety, even hairy vs. manscaped and every one of them ate up the attention they were receiving.
The music’s heavy beat thundered almost as hard as Elizabeth’s heart against her chest wall.
Her eyes stayed riveted upon the door as each man exited raising an arm to acknowledge the crowd upon his entry to the balcony. When finally Darcy appeared, he smiled broadly and raised his arm, showing that smattering of dark, wispy hair.
Thunderstruck, she intently watched him take his place at the railing and all the other hot-bodies faded away. All she saw was number twelve smirking at her as he gripped the railing and rotated his hips clockwise to the music. He was raw heat and she caught fire from his smoldering.
Perfection was the word that came to mind. Broad shouldered and muscular, his tight, six-pack abs clearly showed the thin trail of sexy hair descending to what lie only inches below the low resting bunker pants on his hips. She licked her lips. Unlike many of the other guys, Darcy didn’t have a tattoo. His chest was smooth and unspoiled. His physique was the artistry; he didn’t need ink to enhance its beauty.
She was screwed and she knew it. Looking down at her clipboard to avoid the penetrating heat of his stare was useless. A slow burn traveled over her aroused body. Flushed and suddenly nervous, she looked up again, her eyes meeting his. That man was hotter than the sun.
He winked at her.
Her heart rate sped up.
It felt like a scene from the 1970s Tom Jones TV show. The women went wild, some even throwing things up onto the balcony. Someone screamed out to the captain, “Take it off, Colin!”
Like all the men, Darcy provocatively and slowly slid his spread hand down his greased, bare chest, and it was then that Elizabeth knew she was more than just intrigued. She was attracted to him like a moth to a dangerous flickering flame.
As for Darcy, yeah, he was completely mortified standing beside Thorpe on one side and the captain on the other. Touching himself before hundreds of strange women, not to mention his aunt and sister was the most humiliating moment of his life. Definitely not an experience to be proud of and certainly one that required heavy alcohol consumption to forget, but it was for the Foundation, established by him in honor of his parents. He held onto that.
Now, armed with the information that Elizabeth wasn’t as stuck up as he had thought, he was determined more than ever to make her eat her words from the night before. He would wear her down. No matter how much he verbally protested, denied or swore indifference to her – he was lying. He was screwed and he knew it, and try as he might, all the reasons he came up with not to pursue Miss Pencil up her Ass were all the reasons he wanted to. She was fantastic and pushed every one of his buttons. From that first moment he saw her in the boxing ring, she captivated him. She made him feel alive.
The music pounded, the women screamed, and it was when all the men flexed their right bicep muscle that he couldn’t help delighting at the discombobulated expression on Elizabeth’s face. Even below her eyeglasses, he was sure he could detect the growing fire inside her. He smirked thinking of her words from the night before, Last man in the world… we’ll see about that.
Elizabeth felt her chin drop, hanging open at the sight of Darcy’s raw masculinity. In an attempt to distract herself from the slow movement of his hard body to the rhythm – Oh God, he has rhythm - she removed the lip balm from the inside of her watchband and smoothed it over her open lips, quickly stopping once her thoughts drifted to the phallic symbolism brushing against her mouth.
After a period of total inertia and awe, as quickly as the song and her admitted lust-filled experience had begun, it was over. Each man left the balcony one at a time, ushering in the individual auditions. She looked at Jane, who seemed completely unfazed by the hot men just showcased. Of course, her sister was used to incredible hard bodies strutting on a catwalk.
“Lizzy, which is the one you like?” Jane inquired almost Machiavellian in tone.
“What? I don’t know any of them.” She replied defensively.
“Sorry, my mistake. It was just that look upon your face. I haven’t seen that stare since we spied on John Lucas with binoculars during y
our freshman year of high school.”
Jane looked over at Charlotte squatting at the edge of the platform with her camera. The two women’s eyes met and Jane winked.
The DJ began introducing each individual firefighter to the crowd prior to their dance with a special song of their selection. “I’m too Sexy,” “Sexyback,” “Fireman,” “I Know You Want Me,” and “Blurred Lines,” prompted all the women into adolescent-like screams as the men gyrated and teased for their two minutes of fame. One after the other, the men strutted to center stage in what was turning out to be the best damn male exotic dance show in town. It wasn’t one-dollar bills the women tucked into the men’s suspenders or bunker pants but twenties and all for a worthy cause.
The DJ announced into the microphone,
“Our twelfth firefighter is from the West End Cave, and he’s vying for Mr. December. That’s all you need to know ‘cause he desires a ‘Little Less Conversation’.”
Elvis Presley’s guitar riffs signaled Darcy’s fully clad entrance onto the stage with the spotlight on him. Screams, just like the Beatles’ arrival to NYC shook the club.
Raising both arms in greeting, his eyes instantly sought Elizabeth at the judge’s table. He smirked. Let’s see just how indifferent you are, Elizabeth.
The red and yellow emergency strobe lights circled above him to the upbeat tune, and for dramatic effect, the smoke machine’s emissions began their sultry rise behind him. He was, without a doubt, smoking hot.
Just before he punctuated his hips to the cowbell beat of the song, he winked again at Elizabeth, and as soon as the lyrics began, she knew exactly whom he was moving for. She was almost embarrassed when he removed his black jacket and helmet, throwing them into the audience. He was stripping just for her.
Clearly the crowd’s favorite, as was evident by the swelling repetitious chants of ‘De-cem-ber, De-cem-ber’, each body roll, hip thrust and hand slide against his sweaty, slick chest made the women go wild.
His bunker pants rested dangerously low, revealing his defined pelvis, and what a pelvis it was. Elizabeth couldn’t help silently repeating the mantra Elvis, Elvis shake that pelvis.
She learned all too quickly what he wanted from her when he held out his arm, pointed in her direction and singing along with Elvis for her to close her mouth and satisfy him.
Oh God, he can sing! she screamed in her mind. Beyond embarrassed, closer to humiliated, by his attention, the sudden stern set of her mouth and the daggers, not so hidden behind the rim of her glasses, spoke volumes.
Many of the women in the audience thought the judge insane to not feel flattered by the hunk’s attention.
Miss Toni called out, “Oh girl that man is hot for you! Hot, hot, hot! You’re gonna’ need a hose to satisfy you!”
Darcy’s little show was probably the stupidest thing he could do because it only served to infuriate Elizabeth and confirm to Rick, Charlotte, Jane, and Georgiana that he was head over heels interested in her. All of whom were eager to bring them together.
Georgiana couldn’t believe what she was witnessing from the audience. Sure, it was somewhat repulsive but absolutely hysterical to watch her brother gyrate and grind on stage like a Chippendale dancer. All he was missing was the bowtie. She laughed uncontrollably with each thrust of his pelvis.
Even their cousin Anne, very cleverly disguised, laughed so hard she cried. Of course, it didn’t help that she already had two White Russians under her belt. Given her drunken state of mind combined with a joyful defiance of her mother laced with a blossoming hint of perversion, she was considering firefighter number ten, Ivan Glazkov, as her third tall, cool drink of milk and vodka. All for the charity, Anne reminded herself. Yes, the charity – that’s right.
Georgiana followed the direction of Darcy’s pointed finger and was quite surprised by the businesswoman he overtly targeted. When his hips rolled seductively to Elvis’s “Come on, Come on, Come on,” she was pretty sure her brother was so far gone and this woman so NOT, that there was only one thing she could do about it – help. First things first, she needed information.
As soon as he exited stage right, all the judges curiously turned to Elizabeth, almost in one orchestrated head turn.
Catherine’s pursed lips and failed attempt at a stern eyebrow raise disciplined her. Before giving the woman a chance to voice her displeasure, Elizabeth nervously blurted out, “I need a drink” and left the table.
The auditions continued as she pushed her way through the hungry pack of screaming pervy women to get to the bar on the other side of the large room. She was in desperate need of something strong – a drink - not Darcy. With her back to number thirteen on stage, nicknamed Hose Monster for two reasons, she ordered a Manhattan as LMFAO’s “I’m Sexy and I Know It” filled the room.
The cheering from the women was as deafening as the music when Hose Monster straddled a section of fire hose with a wiggle, wiggle, wiggle.
A blonde young woman slid onto the swivel barstool beside her, grinned and said, “Hi!”
“Hi! Are you having a good time?” Elizabeth inquired, taken aback by her friendliness. She looked as though she could be a model herself, blonde, statuesque, with familiar big, blue eyes and a brilliant smile.
Georgiana continued to smile mischievously. “Shit yeah! This is incredible. I’ve never seen so many hot stud muffins in one place before. I guess I have you to thank for that. The friend who came with me tells me that you’re the one who put it together for the FD Burn Foundation. Is that true?”
“I had lots of help, thank God. The Foundation and all the volunteers have been incredible, coming together to pull this off on such short notice. I don’t think I could have mobilized all these men in this short of time all on my own.”
“Well you certainly mobilized number twelve up there. Do you know him?”
Elizabeth snorted a laugh. “I’ve met him before.”
“He’s into you. I can tell.”
“No, I think he’s just trying to pick a fight. The first couple of times we met we were barely civil to one another. There’s something about him that just gets under my skin, and he knows it! He was definitely attempting to embarrass me and push my buttons up there. I have a feeling it’s payback for a set down I gave him a few days ago.”
“So you like him?”
“No. Definitely not. I’m here for business purposes only. Fraternization with any of the calendar candidates would not be a wise decision. Besides that guy isn’t my type anyway.”
“Yeah, I know what you mean. He’s not very attractive. I’ve seen better looking.”
Even though her brother wasn’t on stage any longer, the woman he liked looked over in that direction. Maybe she was trying to see him. Whatever the reason, she understood it for how it appeared, and the judge’s defensive reply confirmed her suspicions.
“What? I didn’t say he wasn’t attractive – I just said he and I can’t seem to get along. He’s actually gorgeous in my opinion. Better than gorgeous, he’s downright perfect and perfect for this calendar.”
“So you’d date him – that is - if you got along with him?”
“Like that’ll ever happen!” Elizabeth chortled, downed the rest of her drink in one long gulp, then unabashedly admitted to the stranger, “But in an alternate universe where I was superficial, I’d date him, shag him, and keep him as my sex slave. Now, if in this alternate universe he was a man of character, and we had things in common, saw eye to eye, and had a good time in each other’s company, well then that would be a game changer. When faced with a man with all those attributes, I could just possibly allow myself to fall madly in love with him and never let him go.”
“So you do like him? I can see it in your smile. Surely, there is something redeemable about him, no? Something worth exploring?”
“Hmm, there are things. Let’s just say, that guy maybe meets nine of my required criteria. He has a long way to go before achieving the other twenty-seven.”
To
Georgiana, the fact that this woman had actually begun to tally the points in her brother’s favor showed her to be not as opposed to him as she protested. “You keep a list of requirements?”
“Sure, don’t you? Doesn’t every single woman?”
“Nah, I’m not so cerebral. My criteria are pretty simple. If he likes music, makes me laugh, and treats me with respect, I’ll consider going out with him. Throw in looks and a body like firefighter number two then I’m all in.”
Georgiana smiled brightly. “We haven’t officially met – I’m Georgie.” She held her hand out for a shake. “Full-time student, part-time musician, and perpetual trouble maker.”
“Nice to meet you Georgie, I’m Liz Bennet. Full-time advertising guru, part-time kickboxer, and perpetual list maker. Listen, do you want to come and sit up at the judges table with me? The view’s better and you won’t be squished up against hundreds of other screaming women.”
“Aww thanks. I wish I could but my friend is somewhat shy and I need to stick with her. Maybe I’ll run into you again.”
“Yeah, that’ll be nice. It was nice talking with you.” Elizabeth reached into her sweater pocket and withdrew a business card. “Call me sometime. We can go to lunch.”
“Absolutely. Consider it a date.”
Liz’s Blog Post Here
Chapter Eight – Sunday, December 8
17 Days Until Christmas
Elizabeth hated going home to Meryton, a small, former farming community of two thousand residents on what is known as the North Fork of Long Island. Surrounded by vineyards and former potato and corn farms it was picturesque, tranquil and entirely too close for comfort. Everyone knew everyone and therefore everyone’s business. Essentially, Meryton was still provincial, rural and ostensibly close-minded to the bigger world beyond its small perimeter. At times, Elizabeth joked, it was like going home to the community from the film The Village.