Cupid's Christmas

by Bette Lee Crosby

  Cupid’s Christmas

  A novel

  Cover Design:

  Michael G. Visconte

  Creative Director

  FCEdge

  Stuart, Florida

  © Copyright 2012 by Bette Lee Crosby

  ISBN #978-0-9838879-8-0

  BENT PINE PUBLISHING

  Port Saint Lucie, FL

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  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Cupid

  Cupid…Here’s the Problem

  Eleanor

  Cupid…Mistakes & Misconceptions

  John Gray

  Cupid…Trouble Starts

  Cupid’s Gremlins

  Eleanor

  Cupid…The Homecoming

  John

  Cupid…Rude Awakening

  Cupid…Limping toward Labor Day

  Eleanor

  Cupid…Resume Repair

  Cupid…The Distraction Attraction

  Cupid…A Change of Plans

  Cupid…Pauses & Posters

  Eleanor

  Cupid…Loving Lunch

  Cupid…The Good and Bad

  Cupid…The Last Word

  Cupid…The Crash

  Cupid…The News

  Cupid…The Prodigal Son

  Eleanor

  Cupid…The Dog’s in the Mail

  Cupid…Tis the Season

  Cupid…And now, the End of this Story

  A Special Note About the Dog

  Acknowledgments

  Excerpt from Spare Change

  Novels

  For Katie

  Who will forever hold

  a special place

  in my heart.

  Cupid

  The problem with humans is they’re in love with love. Even worse, they’re determined to find it themselves. They stumble in and out of relationships that simply were never meant to be and then wonder why it didn’t work. Females are infinitely more complicated than males. Lindsay Gray for example, she’s dead-set on doing this her way and four times she’s ended up with the wrong male. She’s the kind of female who makes my job a nightmare.

  Contrary to popular belief, love isn’t a result of me shooting an arrow into some human’s heart—that whole bit is a lot of hooey. I get my orders from Upstairs. The Boss gives me a rundown of matches then it’s my job to make sure the male and female get together. When things go wrong I’ve got to come up with a Plan B. Unfortunately Lindsay Gray has already used up B through E, I’m now working on Plan F and she’s dangerously close to being reclassified as Love-Challenged.

  Her problem is she can’t tell love from lust. She sees a pair of heavy-lidded dark eyes, or a rippling muscle and thinks she’s in love. This started when she was only ten years old and caught sight of the boy who lived two doors down. The lad was twelve and wanted nothing to do with her, but that didn’t stop Lindsay from developing a preadolescent case of lovesickness. She followed that poor boy around like a faithful puppy until she saw him kissing Sara McLachlan. Once that happened she swore she’d never love again and she didn’t, until she was eleven.

  Lindsay’s mistaken love more times than I can count, and every time it ended in a disaster. She can’t understand why this keeps happening to her, but the answer is obvious—humans with do-it-yourself determination are not equipped to identify true love. They inevitably mistake passion for love. Elizabeth Taylor is a perfect example. She refused to let me handle things, so eight times she got married and seven times she got divorced. One poor chap was killed in a plane crash before she had a chance to divorce him—that was not my doing, that unfortunate event came from Life Management. Not one of those gents was included in Elizabeth’s plan which goes to prove what I’ve been saying.

  But I’m digressing, so let me get back to the subject at hand.

  One of the advantages of this job is my ability to see the future and I can tell you Lindsay’s got a lot of problems ahead of her. Problems far worse than her bad boyfriend choices. Most of those problems are coming from the guy over in Life Management. Me, I’m a lovable fellow. But Life Management—well suffice it to say he handles things like car crashes, bankruptcies and heart attacks.

  Right now my primary assignment isn’t Lindsay—it’s her father and Eleanor Barrow. But if I don’t step in and take control of Lindsay’s life, she’ll ruin theirs. Eleanor and John deserve better, they’ve been waiting a long time.

  This isn’t the first time for Eleanor and John Gray, they were a perfect match back in high school. If Eleanor had gone to Penn State instead of Kentucky, she and John would have had four daughters and a lifetime of happiness. I set up that first match, but once she left the North East, she was out of my region. Raymond, the fellow she married was from Seattle—North West region—and they met at the University of Kentucky—Central region. You probably know where this is going, right? She was out of my region, Raymond was out of his and my counterpart in Kentucky was busy fending off the nineteen girls who thought they were in love with the same basketball player, so Eleanor and Raymond got married and became what we call an MM. (Migratory Mistake)

  Despite the fact that I’d let her down, Eleanor made the best of it. If you were standing on the outside looking in, you’d actually think she was happy. Of course I knew the truth because I go to the inside of a person’s heart—I have to, it’s my job. Eleanor was a good wife and a good mother—a bit overindulgent with Ray Junior maybe, but still a good mother. Papa Raymond was another story. It was bad enough that he had an eye for the ladies, but he also had a great fondness for beer and the business sense of a turnip. An insurance salesman who sold life insurance to everybody but himself, how crazy is that?

  When Life Management stepped in and did their dirty work, Raymond got an illness nobody wants and it was two years before they finally gave the okay for him to die. Eleanor took care of him that whole time and once he was gone, she worked two jobs so Ray Junior could go on to college.

  Eleanor’s a woman with a big heart, lots of grit and steadfast determination, which is fortunate because when it comes to dealing with Lindsay Gray, she’s gonna need all of it. If Eleanor’s got a flaw it’s that she’s blind to the faults of those she loves, which is why Ray Junior is such a problem.

  John’s marriage to Bethany fared far better,
but that’s because they were one of my matches. Bethany was a Jersey girl, and in my jurisdiction. So after I’d allowed Eleanor to slip through my fingers as she did, I felt I owed John, and I gave him a second perfect match. Bethany’s accident was certainly not of my doing. Again—Life Management. If I’m focused on a person I can look ahead and see the Life Management events that are going to take place. I can see them, but not change them. That’s all part of a Master Plan. Don’t think I’m without power, I can make certain adjustments here and there—plant an idea, change the tone of a conversation, adjust timing, arrange for a flat tire—but when it comes to the really big stuff, no can do.

  You might think with Raymond and Bethany both out of the picture I’d make things right for Eleanor and John, but I know my business and the timing was all wrong. They both had baggage, and it was way too much to shove into the basement and forget. So I waited almost nine years. Then on a balmy afternoon in the spring of 2010, they passed one another on Main Street in Medford. John’s hair had turned partly silver and Eleanor was about ten pounds heavier than she’d once been, but love doesn’t see things like that, so they recognized each other instantly.

  Eleanor glanced sideways just as he was passing by. “John, John Gray?” she called out.

  Before he turned and saw her face, Eleanor’s voice touched his heart. “Good grief,” he gasped, “Eleanor Shipley!” Without stopping for a second thought, he reached out and took hold of her hand. “It’s been ages,” he said, “and you look gorgeous as ever.”

  Eleanor blushed a bit, not enough for John to notice, but me, well I see everything.

  “It’s not Shipley anymore,” she said, “It’s Barrow.”

  “Barrow, huh? So who’s the lucky guy?”

  “Raymond Barrow. From Seattle.”

  “Oh,” John sighed then he tried to cover his disappointment by mentioning that he too had gotten married. “You might’ve known my wife,” he said, “Bethany Drake, she graduated the same year we did.”

  Eleanor pondered a moment then said, “Yes, yes, I remember Bethany, tall, blonde hair, very pretty. So you two are married…”

  “Were,” John corrected, “Unfortunately Bethany passed away nine years ago. Automobile accident, terrible thing…”

  “How awful,” Eleanor sighed and the sigh was not feigned, for she too knew the pain of such a loss. “My Raymond passed on eleven years ago. Colon cancer.”

  John was not one to take joy in another’s suffering, but at that moment it was all he could do to keep from smiling. “Do you have time for a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  Eleanor nodded and off they went.

  The lunches and afternoon meetings became a regular thing, and then three weeks later he invited her to dinner.

  I didn’t have to lift a finger on this match, all I did was step back and let love take its course. Eleanor and John were matched thirty years ago and watching them now was like watching a crocus spring forth from the snow covered ground. After three months they were seeing each other every evening, and after six months they were talking marriage.

  You’d like to think a relationship such as this would be nothing short of wonderful, but remember even a rose has thorns.

  Although Ray Junior is married and has a life of his own, he bristles at the mere mention of Eleanor dating. “A woman your age,” he says, “Are you out of your mind?” Like so many young people, Ray fails to realize that love knows no age. Inside of every heart there is a tiny spot that remains forever young. That’s the spot where love grows, where hope never dies and miracles can still happen. I’ve been around for more centuries than you can count, and not once have I encountered a person too old to love—too hard-hearted perhaps, but never too old.

  A person doesn’t have to be all knowing to realize Ray Junior is going to present a challenge for Eleanor and John, but I’ve looked into the future and I can tell you that right now he isn’t their biggest problem, Lindsay Gray is.

  Cupid…Here’s the Problem

  Lindsay had been living in Manhattan for almost two years when she bypassed her second perfect match. After she ignored the English major, I figured I’d go with a more business-minded type, so on seven different occasions I arranged for her to be in the elevator with Christopher Roberts, the financial planner in apartment 7B. He was good to go, I could tell by the way he watched her from the back and offered to carry her groceries to the door.

  “No thanks,” she said, “I’m okay with it.”

  Lindsay’s tough to read. I can never tell if the spark is there or not, so I keep watching. The second time they meet, she gives him a big smile and he asks if she’s new in the building. This time she doesn’t turn her back.

  Now it looks like she’s picking up on his lead, “No,” she says, “I’ve been here for two years.” The third time they meet, the elevator stops on three and he gets out when she does.

  “Didn’t I see you at the Starbucks over on Second Avenue?” he asks.

  She nods, “I stop there every morning, it’s close to where I work.”

  “And…” he gives her a sexy little smile, “where’s that?”

  “The Big Book Barn, on Seventeenth.” She tilts her head, looks directly into his eyes for thirty seconds and then turns back to the keys in her hand. Perfect. An invitation sprinkled with a touch of shyness. This is how it’s supposed to happen.

  He asks if she likes Italian food and tells her about Antonio’s. “The Veal Parmigana is unbelievable,” he says. “The place is not much to look at from the outside, but inside it’s like an Italian trattoria. There’s this little courtyard where they have outdoor dining...”

  “Sounds charming,” she says looking up again.

  He can sense the way she’s eyeing him, so he asks if she’d like to have dinner this coming Saturday.

  She, of course, answers yes.

  Now I’m doing a happy dance, thinking my Lindsay troubles are over. But after four dates—excellent dates, dates with wine, music and dancing—she stops returning his calls because of a musician she met on the subway.

  When Lindsay started gushing about how much she was in love with that musician, I was sorely tempted to have her step into a pothole and break an ankle. Nothing serious mind you, but enough to keep her at home so she could have some thinking-it-over time. She was definitely in need of it, because she was way off track. That musician was scheduled to marry the second violinist and move to Paris.

  The breakup was inevitable, but it didn’t happen immediately—it never does. Lindsay and that guitarist spent seven months together. Seven months of arguments and apologies, more arguments and more apologies, until one evening he stomped out never to return again. Even though that relationship was not of my making, I had to feel for Lindsay. Love is the most complex of all emotions. Hate is clean and uncomplicated, but love will turn you inside out and when it goes awry you’re left wondering what you did wrong. You always blame yourself even though the only wrong you’ve done is to give your heart to someone who was not part of your plan. The musician was never part of Lindsay’s plan, but that didn’t ease the pain of his leaving.

  After the musician there was a banker, a wannabe model, a dentist, and a handsome lad who walked dogs for a living. None of them were part of Lindsay’s plan and they all went the way of the musician. The banker and dentist she simply tired of, the dog-walker moved away because the landlord raised his rent and he could no longer afford to live in Manhattan.

  With Phillip, the wannabe model, Lindsay convinced herself that she was fully and completely in love. Yes, she knew Phillip was haphazard, but she told herself that he would eventually settle down. In time, he would give up thoughts of being a model and find a job suited to his talents. He would one day ask her to marry him and she, of course, would answer yes. She remembered how she’d let herself be goaded into argument after argument with the musician and she was determined not to let that happen again. When Phillip showed up hours late with an excuse so lame that a st
eel brace couldn’t make it stand, she accepted it. When he swiveled his head to turn and look at women with short skirts or cascading cleavage, she chalked it up to nothing more than harmless ogling. Then one day he left his cell phone on the desk and she happened upon the text from Krystal. Only then could she see the foolishness of her ways.

  “How could you?” she screamed.

  “She means nothing to me,” he pleaded. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? You’ve slept with this girl, that’s obvious!”

  “One time. It was a one-time thing.”

  “A one-time thing?” She picked up a bookend and heaved it across the room. “Get out,” she yelled, “…and don’t even think about coming back!”

  In the time it took for him to ride the elevator down three floors and cross the small lobby, his modeling portfolio, the framed picture he’d given her and the gym bag he kept in the apartment had landed on 23rd street.

  Phillip was just the last in a long string of romantic disasters. He is what he is and Lindsay was foolish to think otherwise. I can say for a fact, she was never in love with the man, but try telling her that. Her friend Amanda even warned her.

  “Lindsay,” Amanda said, “Phillip is nothing more than a gift box, gorgeous on the outside, but totally empty inside.”

  Lindsay of course didn’t listen, which came as no surprise. As I’ve told you the girl is an incurable romantic. If she would have backed off and let me handle things, she’d now be celebrating her fifth anniversary on a Mediterranean cruise ship instead of sitting in a third floor apartment painting her toenails.