I’ve climbed the final staircase. One barrier remains. The metal door is hot as hell. I burn my fingers on its handle and on the knob that must be twisted to release the lock. I have the same kind of lock on my apartment door. My fingers should know it, but the surface is too hot. The sleeve of my pullover becomes an erstwhile “potholder.” I throw my less-than-significant weight against the door. Adrenaline tells my body it doesn’t feel the searing when it makes contact with the steel.
I’m now out on the roof, making choking sounds that I hope sound like “Xander!” In one of my recurring nightmares, one I’ve suffered since childhood, I’m being attacked and I open my mouth to scream, but no sound will come out. I feel like I’m living it now. Where is this kid? I make my way toward the burning science shed and then I think I glimpse him through the billows of black, just outside the shed, tented underneath his hooded parka. I can’t tell if he’s moving. Behind me, the firemen have made it to the roof. Do they see us? I don’t know. If they don’t, we’re in the direct line of fire of their hoses. The force of the water could injure us—or worse.
I reach Xander. He’s unconscious, I think, but breathing. I don’t know what to do, don’t remember any of the lessons we’re all supposed to memorize, except “stop, drop, and roll.” Since his body is not on fire, the mnemonic is moot.
“Xander, wake up!” I shake him. Try to get a response. “Wake up, goddamn you!” I’m flinging the crumpled heap of child back and forth as though he’s a Raggedy Andy. “You have to go, now,” I insist. “You have to go downstairs.”
Through some miracle I manage to rouse him. And through the charcoal denseness, I can make out the figures of two, maybe three firefighters coming toward us.
Xander’s eyes open, but the smoke is stinging them. He shuts them again and clings to me. “You have to go, sweetie. Crawl on your belly. That’s it. Pretend you’re a snake. Crawl on your belly toward the door.” But he doesn’t want to let go of me. I manipulate his little body into a prostrate position and try to pull him along with me. Who knows what the hell is really stored in that shed? Could be heat-sensitive chemicals. I’ve got to get him back to the stairway before there’s a Jerry Bruckheimer-style explosion.
I hear a voice, muffled, filtered through an oxygen mask. “We’ve got you now, ma’am. Is the boy okay?”
“He’s alive. Take him,” I say.
I don’t remember what happened next.
“Well, look at that, your eyes are blue.” I have just opened my eyes—I think. I’m on the sidewalk outside the school, surrounded by a crowd of adults. I think I see an ambulance amid the jumble of emergency vehicles. I am peering into the concerned, carbon-smudged, sweating face of a firefighter.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says. “Welcome back.” He removes an oxygen mask from my face. I have no idea how long I’d had it on.
“How’s…?”
“The little boy? He’s gonna be all right. We’re going to send him to the hospital, though, just to be sure. His mom is on her way over here.”
“That’s good. Thank God.” I close my eyes again.
“Nuh-uh. No Sleeping Beauty act. We need you awake right now. I don’t want you slipping back under.”
“I want…where’s Zoë?”
“Who’s Zoë?” the firefighter asks me. His eyes are the color of bittersweet chocolate.
“My daughter. My little girl.” My own voice sounds unfamiliar to me. “I want her to know her mommy’s okay. I’m okay…right?”
The fireman nods. “You’re better than okay. You’re pretty fucking—excuse my language—pretty damn brave.” He chuckles. “I guess ‘damn’s’ not much better than ‘fucking.’” Is he blushing under that soot? “Brave, but maybe a little nuts. Running into a burning building to save a little kid. You’re going to do me right out of job, Mrs…?”
“Marsh. Ms. Marsh. Claire. Call me Claire. I’m…did…? Did you give me mouth-to-mouth resuscitation?”
He nods again but doesn’t elaborate. “You were saying something, just before you asked me…about the mouth-to-mouth.” His dark eyes seem to flicker with interest. Or maybe it’s just a fleck of soot and I’m imagining things in my new glad-to-be-not-dead state of semi-consciousness.
“I was? What was I saying?”
The fireman looks embarrassed. “A Ms. You were saying that you were a Ms., Not a Mrs.”
“I’m divorced.” Which reminds me…“Where’s my daughter? I need to see her.” With my hero’s help, I raise my head and look around. All the kids are still on the sidewalk. The rest of the firemen are leaving the building, starting to pack up their gear. I guess they’ll give the word when it’s safe to bring everyone back inside. “Zoë. Zoë Marsh Franklin. Can you find her for me, please?”
The fireman doesn’t leave my side, but calls to one of his colleagues to find a seven-year-old kid named Zoë Marsh Franklin. “Tell her her mom’s okay and wants to see her!” Fuzzily, I guess that they must have kept the kids away from me in case I wasn’t going to be all right. That would have been a terrible thing for small children to witness.
“Mommy!” Zoë hurls herself between me and the fireman, throwing her body over mine. “You’re Fireman Dennis!” she says, looking at him.
“You two know each other?” I ask.
“We met him when we went to see the firehouse,” Zoë says. “Remember when you signed my permission slip? He gave us the tour. And I wrote all about him in my report for class, remember? He showed us how they slide down the pole and everything. And how to cook chili. And I got to sit on the fire truck and ring the bell and even slide down the pole, too. Did you save my mommy’s life?” she asks him.
“I think I might have helped,” he says, his manner slightly “aw-shucks.”
“Wow,” Zoë breathes. She looks like she wants to hug him but thinks twice when she gets a closer look at his grime-coated exterior.
“I think what we both mean is ‘thank you,’” I say. “Thank you very much, Fireman Dennis.” I hold Zoë close, very, very happy to be alive. “So,” I begin awkwardly, realizing I’m nervous, “so…my mother taught me that the proper way to say thank you is to write a note. Although she was never quite clear on the protocol involved when someone saves your life. So, I guess what I’m asking is…to whom should I address it? My note. Fireman Dennis…?”
“McIntyre.” He extends his hand. My own looks tiny in the palm of it. “Dennis McIntyre. And my mother taught me never to stand on ceremony. So, if it’s okay with you, Zoë, your mom doesn’t need to write a letter. She can thank me in person.” Dennis puts his hands on my daughter’s shoulders and looks directly into her shining eyes. “Can I take your mom out for dinner next week? And maybe a movie?”
“Are…are you…are you trying to pick me up?” I ask.
“I already did that.” He smiles. “Claire. So, if it’s all right with you, I’m ready to move on to step two.”
Chapter 15
Dear Diary:
Mommy’s different. I was so scared when she went into the school the day it caught fire. And Mrs. Hennepin wouldn’t let me go to see if she was okay when the firemen brought her out. So I was even more scared then. But Fireman Dennis saved her life and now she doesn’t get mad at me so much anymore. She used to get mad at me sometimes if I didn’t finish my dinner and when I picked at my food. Fireman Dennis asked her on a date. Mommy wanted to know what I thought about that. I told her I think it’s good because he’s very nice. Mommy said she doesn’t know how she feels about that. She and Fireman Dennis have been talking on the telephone and they talk for a long time and she’s happy when she talks to him. Maybe he could be my new daddy. I don’t think my real daddy will come back. I used to think that but I don’t think it anymore. I think he is happy being with Serena. Daddy went away in June and it’s February now. That’s…July, August, September, October, November, December, January and part of February. That’s really a long time. If he was going to come back to live with Mommy a
nd me he would do it. So I don’t think he’s coming back. Maybe Mommy thinks that too. Maybe that’s why she is talking to Fireman Dennis a lot.
They are going to go on a date but Mommy is busy with her job and Fireman Dennis is busy with his job and we have my homework every day except on weekends and my yoga and ballet and Museum Adventures and kinder karate, and if she goes out without me Mommy won’t let me stay home alone so we have to get a baby-sitter and MiMi said she would baby-sit me but she has been busy too.
MiMi is going to have a big birthday party at nighttime and I’m going to get to go and be with the grown-ups. She came to visit us and asked Mommy if she could borrow Mommy’s wedding dress to wear at her birthday party because she said it would be fun to wear a wedding dress on her birthday. Mommy didn’t have a fancy wedding dress because she and Daddy didn’t have a big party. She did wear a long white dress but it is not fancy like a bride’s dress with a big skirt like a princess. Well, it’s a little bit fancy. The back of it stretches on the floor a little and if you get too close, you’ll step on it. Mommy said MiMi could borrow it if she wanted to but maybe it was bad luck because Mommy and Daddy didn’t stay married.
I can’t believe Claire met a guy! That didn’t come out right. I can believe it; she’s gorgeous, sweet, and funny. What guy wouldn’t fall for her? But if he hadn’t dragged her off a burning rooftop and given her mouth-to-mouth, chances are they wouldn’t have been introduced.
Maybe one of these days they’ll actually go out on a date. I invited him to my birthday bash, so she’ll see him again at least once. Between his schedule and hers—and Zoë’s—they’re having a hard time getting it together. Zoë actually seems pretty okay with it. That kind of surprised me, I think. In fact, she seems more cool with it than Claire does. It’s a bad pun, but I think my sister is afraid of getting burned again. I don’t want to see her hurt. On the other hand I can’t watch her deny herself, out of fear, a second shot at love. If all goes well, I’ll get to meet Dennis tonight. I think she’s sick of my calling him her “hot date.” My birthday won’t exactly be a cozy setting, but at least they’ll get to spend a bit of time together. And he gets to meet the whole Marsh family in one shot. Talk about trial by fire.
I’d better quit while I’m ahead, here.
I stepped into The Corner Bar, which is exactly what it sounds like. A local place located at an intersection. Dark. Used to be smoky. If you bury your nose in a banquette and inhale deeply, you can still get enough of a whiff of stale cigarette smoke to satisfy most nic-fits. The only glitch is the jukebox, which plays kitsch like Olivia Newton-John and Weird Al Yankovic.
Jake, the guy who owns The Corner, is a thirty-something who treats the bar like his pride and joy, which makes it a cool place to hang out, toss back a few, and shoot some pool. A couple of weeks ago, when I broached the subject of renting out the place for a private party, he got really into it. Jake, in fact, was the one who talked me into getting my guests to go whole hog and do the black-tie thing. Since his music is an acquired taste, he agreed to supplement the jukebox selections by cranking up his stereo. I agreed to supply some tunes.
I wanted to talk to Jake just to be sure that everything was cool for tonight. The Corner had just opened. Jake was wiping down the tabletops and talking to a curly-haired, good-looking guy in a suit who was leaning against the edge of the bar.
“Hey, girlfriend!” He dropped his rag on a table and gave me a hug. “Happy Birthday, Sweet Pea!”
“When’d you get a girlfriend?!” the suit wanted to know. If you know Jake well, the man’s in love with his saloon.
“Figure of speech, man.” Jake slung his arm over my shoulder and brought me over to the suit. “Owen, this is Mia. The birthday girl. Miss three-oh.”
“Congratulations. I did it myself not too long ago.” He grinned and winked at me. Nice smile. Even nicer eyes. “Trust me, you’ll survive.” The suit extended his hand. “Owen Michaels.”
“Mia Marsh. What brings you to The Corner in a three-piece suit at…” I looked at my watch. “Eleven A.M. on a Saturday?”
Jake poured Owen a glass of O.J.
“Business meeting in an hour. With a potential client. I believe you’ve got to look the part if you want to inspire confidence.”
Fair enough. “Does he?” I asked Jake. “Inspire confidence?”
“You’re looking at one satisfied customer. Actually, it’s Owen who should be satisfied. The Corner has been a great ROI for him.”
“ROI?”
“Return on investment. Owen and I went to Colgate together. You know how some kids want to be astronauts or firemen when they grow up? I always wanted a bar. Now, this guy,” he said, pointing at Owen, “Mr. MBA, here, has the Midas touch when it comes to investing. He can play the stock market like it’s a Stradivarius. Knows when to jump in and when to bail out.”
“Awww, shucks, Jake,” Owen drawled comically.
“Jump in? Bail out? That sounds more like playing the Hokey Pokey,” I quipped.
“Mia? O.J.?” Jake asked me. I nodded. He poured. “Want anything special in it?”
I shook my head. “I’d better not start this early. I’m in a party mood and I’m shitty at pacing myself. So, what are you going to put in a ‘Miamore’?”
“What’s a ‘Miamore’?” Owen wanted to know.
“A specialty drink I asked Jake to come up with for my birthday. It’s the name of the cosmetics line I want to start up. Eventually. My pipe dream. I’m a makeup artist.”
“I haven’t tried it yet but I was thinking of floating Chambord on top of a glass of Muscatel. It will be sweet as hell. Just like you,” Jake teased. “We’ll try it now, if you want, so I make sure the Chambord will actually float for a bit.”
I frowned. I had a mental image of what Jake’s idea would look like. Blood and plasma. Ugh. “Tell you what. I pass. Think up something else. What about making it deep pink? I don’t know, vodka, Chambord, and pink lemonade. Not to shatter your rosy illusions, Jake, but sweet and tart is closer to who I really am. It’s probably a drink already, but we can rename it for tonight.”
It was Jake’s turn to frown. “Sounds awfully girly, but it’s your birthday, Mia.”
“I think you should have whatever drink you want. And I like the name,” Owen said helpfully.
I stuck out my tongue at Jake. “Hah! See? And I think you’re swell,” I said, turning to Owen. “I know it’s short notice, but if your tux is clean, you’re welcome to stop by tonight. Any time after eight.” I liked this guy. Okay, so he was wearing a suit before lunch on Saturday, but there was something about him I couldn’t quite pinpoint that made me like him right away. I don’t know…he was friendly, direct, confident, without being a show-man about any of it. Like, “yeah, well, so I’m good at making money.” No big deal.
“Thanks for the invite, Mia. I’d like that,” Owen said. “I’ll try to make it.”
To my ears, it was kind of noncommittal. Like “sounds cool, but don’t count on me.” Story of my life so far. Oh, well. I’ve got more to worry about than whether a near stranger I’ve just spent all of ten minutes with will show up later. More pressing, in fact, is figuring out what I’m going to wear. I thought I had it all mapped out, but I’ve changed my mind fifty times already.
By 10 P.M. the party was in full swing. Most of my friends are night owls. I was surprised that Zoë was still going strong. My niece was wearing an adorable party dress with ruffles and flounces. She looked like a little princess.
If I didn’t know that Claire had far less spare time than the mayor, I’d swear she looked rested. She was radiant. I think her new guy has something to do with it. Dennis McIntyre is not only a hunk, he’s attentive, warm, and seems great with Zoë. He also hasn’t turned and run after maximum exposure to three more Marshes. He’ll really be one of New York’s Bravest if he makes it through the night unscathed. Some first date. Poor guy. Actually, our family’s not rude or mean or anything—just eccentric.
“So, have you kissed him?” I whispered in Claire’s ear.
She laughed. “Mouth-to-mouth. So, yeah, I guess. But I wasn’t conscious, so I don’t think it counts!”
“Do you think it’ll go anywhere?”
“My fingers are crossed. At least he understands my crazy life. I’ve had to cancel dates because of Zoë’s schedule and he’s had to break them to go put out fires.”
“How can he make a date with you on a day that he’s working?” I’m confused.
“No. They call him in on a day off sometimes.”
“Isn’t it scary, dating a fireman?”
“We haven’t had a date yet. This is it, remember? You know, I didn’t think about it until this minute, but it’s scary being a mother every day, too. I’m not a paranoid person—except in play-grounds—but you just never know what can happen.”
“Let me get you a drink,” I offered, and pushed my way to the crowded bar. The Corner was packed. I’m a lucky woman, to have so many dear friends. Apart from Owen—who had just walked in, looking mighty tasty in his tux—there wasn’t a casual acquaintance in the bunch. I asked Jake to fix a Miamore for Claire, and one for Dennis, who has sidled up beside me, perched his butt on a bar stool, and asked if there’s anything he could do to help.
“Be good to my sister,” I said. “That’s not a suggestion. It’s a threat.” I laughed, but we both knew I was dead serious.
“If she can find time to let me, I’ll do my best,” he assured me.
“She’s been badly burned,” I told him. “Relationship-wise. Burns can take a long time to heal. And there’s almost always scar tissue. I expect you know that.”
“I’m a patient man.”
Play Dates Page 22