Lucky in Love?

by Briggs, Laura

  Lucky in Love?

  By Laura Briggs

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2011 Laura Briggs

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  Myri Taylor didn't believe black cats brought bad luck. Nor did she believe walking underneath ladders doomed anyone with misfortune or that cracks in the sidewalk brought anything other than dandelion growth.

  Maybe it was the gift of being naturally lucky. A job as a fashion assistant at Liline's Designs, an apartment on her own only two blocks from the heart of Baltimore's "fashion district" of shops and boutiques. Clear skin and auburn hair with a light wave that even humidity couldn't frizz. All this without ever owning so much as a single rabbit's foot or four-leaf clover to explain it.

  "Don't you ever get curious about fate?" her friend Bette asked. "I mean, horoscope predictions, a horse shoe over the doorway–even black-eyed peas on New Year's?" She raised her eyebrows as she snipped through a bolt of metallic purple cloth.

  Myri laughed. "Why would I care about that stuff? I mean, it's not like I've ever had a problem I couldn't solve. Besides, superstitions are just a veil people use to protect themselves from the truth. Sometimes life is lucky, sometimes it's not." She tossed her hair as she glanced over the designs for Lis's latest gown. A formal dress it was rumored the governor's wife would wear to a state dinner.

  "Whatever. Take your chances if you want, but I think the stars and signs have a total bearing on my life," said Bette. Having seen her apartment more than once, Myri believed her. An astrological chart painted in the bathroom, a list of psychic hotlines by the phone. Bette had once told her that a fortune teller at a school fair had accurately predicted her change of major in college to art.

  "Will this be put together by tomorrow's fitting?" Lis entered, followed by her assistant balancing a stack of sketches and coffee mug. "I want the new ruches emphasized on the right side of the collar." She tapped her polished nail against the design in Myri's hand.

  The fashion diva awakened fear in the heart of her competition and most of her employees. Pale skin, sharp voice, angular features surrounded by close-cropped blond hair. But her legendary parties for employees and clients were enough to make up for the "slave driver" routine. Secretly, Myri thrived beneath the pressure, loving every minute of snap decisions and spontaneous brainstorming for hot or chic design changes.

  "They should have this stitched together by five," Myri answered. "Johann's putting the finishing touches on the wrap as we speak." Her voice brimmed with excitement despite the hours she had spent arguing with the arrogant designer over Lis's specified changes.

  "Good." Her boss's lips formed one of her rare smiles. "Keep up the good work, Myri." With that, she strolled on towards the conference room, her assistant trotting to keep up.

  Bette's jaw dropped open. "Wow," she said. "I can't believe she complimented you like that. I mean, a compliment from Lis has to be dragged out with wild horses."

  Mryri rolled her eyes. "Everybody exaggerates that. Lis is no worse than any other boss. Just strict about how the job's done." She straightened the fabric as Bette laid the design pattern over the surface. "It was just a lucky chance that she liked my answer."

  "This is beyond luck. This is good karma," answered Bette.

  Myri suppressed a smile over these words. "There's no such thing," she answered.

  "Whatever," repeated Bette. "At any rate, Shawn will back you up at lunch. She believes in coincidences, too." As her scissors sheared through the elegant fabric once again.

  *****

  The view from Myri's apartment window was a series of semi-historic buildings and a city park in the distance. Her furniture was fantastic bargains from street sales and junk shops, antique cherry wood and '60s designer pieces. Her closet was filled with Prada shoes and patent leather from a college stint as a shoe model.

  But Myri wasn't lucky. As she would point out, her apartment was just the coincidence of being at a party where the former tenant mentioned his lease was up–and the college job barely paid the bills and ended when too many blisters and too much homework got in the way of the runway.

  Trying to convince anyone else these obstacles were signs of imperfection was impossible. A girl with a great figure, a perfect job, and a happy life must have a secret that others would give anything to learn.

  While her friend Bette believed it was the stars, others generally chalked it up to the gift of being popular. Including one of Myri's best friends. Shawn was blond and attractive, a freelance musician who played coffee shops and eclectic clubs. But who lived hand to mouth and had a roommate in her shabby apartment, too.

  "Hey, a compliment's a compliment," argued Shawn, as she eased her car into a parallel parking spot downtown. "I think your boss is finally beginning to take notice of you, Myri. Maybe you'll get a promotion over this."

  Bette popped open one of the lime green painted doors on the Beetle and climbed out. "Forget it, Myri. You're a Sagittarius. This is not your month for major career moves."

  "Again, with this?" Shawn rolled her eyes. "Didn't my horoscope say I was supposed to be in a heated romance by now? Me, who is still desperately single?"

  "She says it's your personality driving them away," Mryi teased her as she slid out of the car behind her friend. "They're intimidated by your independence and strong will."

  As if to prove her point, Shawn climbed from the driver's s seat, revealing a pair of heavy work boots and baggy jeans splattered with paint. Typical casual wear for Shawn, who was far from a fashionista–and clashed with Bette's garish floral prints and the yellow sundress ensemble Myri had designed herself.

  "So where is this restaurant?" asked Myri. "I thought we were going to the Greek place over on Central." She glanced around at the windows displaying antiques and novelty items to attract tourists, a florist's shop with bouquets of red and pink roses.

  "It's this great little Chinese place I tried a couple weeks ago," said Shawn. "I played a gig a couple of doors over from it." A red awning displayed a white dragon, the name Fu Lin's in Oriental font. The heavy door hung with a red and gold tapestries depicting Chinese characters.

  "That's luck," said Bette, tapping one of the letters. "I've got an earring like that."

  "Let me guess–it's mate is 'good'," answered Myri. With a teasing smile as she squeezed her friend's arm.

  The dining room was crowded with patrons, the smell of steamed dumplings and fried rice. A woman in an embroidered Chinese jacket showed them to a table on the other side of the room. She placed menus before them, bowed with a smile and left.

  "I think I'm in the mood for egg rolls," said Bette, flipping hers open. "Maybe a side of noodles."

  "Do they serve Mongolian barbecue here?" asked Myri. "I sampled some at a party last week–"

  "Another party?" asked Shawn. "When are you ever home anymore?" she asked. "I mean, it's not that I mind–especially since you come to my concerts–but you need some sleep now and then, girl."

  "I sleep," Myri defended. "It's just, in the fashion world, you have to move through the circles. If you want to get ahead, that is." She folded her menu and gave their waitress a smile.

  "One plate of Mongolian barbecue and a side of fried rice, please," she said. "Just water to drink."

 
; "Make that two," said Shawn, with a sigh. "Maybe if I match your diet, eventually I'll match your social life." She handed over her menu. "My last social outing was helping a guy pick out carpet for his apartment. That was our one and only date."

  "See, what did I tell you?" said Bette. "It's that kind of attitude that holds back your destiny, Shawn." She closed her menu as well. "Egg rolls and noodle, please," she said to the waitress, "with a ginger ale."

  "Very good," said the waitress, departing with another bow.

  "If my destiny was to be with that guy, then I'm glad I missed it," Shawn answered. "I'd rather spend my life playing coffee houses than be with a guy who's desperate for fuschia carpeting."

  "Tell her that she's dooming herself, Myri," argued Bette.

  Her friend shrugged her shoulders. "I don't believe in destiny," said Myri. "If Shawn's life were controlled by the stars or the cosmos, wouldn't that completely rule out free choice? I think we make our own path without road signs from fate."

  "Bette thinks everything is a signal," said Shawn. "Remember that fortune teller story–"

  "You shouldn't be scolding me," said Bette. "Didn't you once say that the luckiest item in your wardrobe is that Bob Dylan t-shirt? The one that always guarantees you a good day when you wear it?"

  Shawn blushed. "That's not exactly a psychic reading–" she began.

  Myri interrupted. "Forget it, girls," she said. "Let's have a nice lunch out without caring whose psychic opinion is right." At the sight of their waitress approaching, she moved aside the paper dragon in the center of the table to make room for a tray of steaming plates.

  "Fine," answered Shawn. "Since I know I'm right, I guess there's no need to discuss it anymore." She lifted a pair of chopsticks and stabbed at a piece of meat.

  Myri hid a smile as she ignored this comment. Lifting her own chopsticks, she had a fleeting memory of the Asian-themed party with paper lanterns and barbecue–a rooftop affair hosted by one of Lis's associates. Her cherry blossom dress, sewn from her own original design, had attracted a slew of compliments, one from a snooty designer who asked where she purchased it.

  The waitress placed a little dish in the center of the table, three fortune cookies nestled together.

  "For luck," she said. "I will be back to refresh your glasses." She moved to another table, the tray tucked under her arm.

  "Oooh, what do they say?" Bette had already pounced on one, popping open the cellophane package. "I love these things."

  "They're like eating cardboard," snorted Shawn. "Here, have mine–I never eat them." She tossed a second one towards Bette, who had already cracked open the first cookie.

  "Shouldn't you finish lunch first?" teased Myri. Bette pulled a piece of paper from inside.

  "Live to dream; don't look over your shoulder for missed opportunities," read Bette. With a sigh, she tossed it onto the table. "My last one was better. That one predicted that I would be first in line for Sting tickets."

  "Open the other one," suggested Myri. "Maybe it's better advice."

  Bette picked the paper slip from the newly-cracked cookie and inspected it. "Nope," she answered. "It says 'Be a better friend or be a faster enemy.'"

  "Nice," answered Shawn. "A wisecrack. Destiny has a sense of humor."

  She pushed the dish towards Myri. "Here, have the last one so Bette doesn't hog them all."

  "I think they taste good," Myri answered. "My grandmother used to keep a box of them in her cabinet." She remembered standing on a chair to reach them, tossing aside the fortune from a newly-broken cookie to bite into the crisp shell.

  Reaching across, she slipped open the package and drew out the crisp cookie. Snapping it in half to reveal a folded slip of white paper. Automatically, she flipped it onto the table.

  "Hey, open it," said Bette. "It could be good news."

  "You can have it if you want," Myri answered, biting into the cookie. "I don't care."

  "It doesn't work like that. You opened the cookie, so it's your fortune," answered Bette.

  "Forget it," Shawn answered. "Myri doesn't believe in that kind of thing." She moved to toss the slip into the bowl again.

  "I want to hear it," insisted Bette. With a sigh, Myri reached for the slip of paper, unfolding it to read the tiny words inside.

  "Romance awaits around the corner. Open your heart to love's possibilities," she read.

  "See? It was good news." Bette shot a triumphant grin in Shawn's direction.

  "It's a nice thought," Myri said. "If only, huh?" She slid the piece of paper into her handbag, where it lay with a jumble of souvenirs from lunch with her friends, menu cards and decorative caps from funky bottled water brands.

  "Maybe if I'd gotten that fortune, the date with carpet guy would've gone better," said Shawn, mockingly. "What do you think, Bette? Was it just bad karma? Or was he just Mr. Wrong?"

  "Enough already," said Myri. "I think you guys have exhausted this subject for now." She pulled her wallet from her bag. "Lunch is on me," she said. "After all, Bette's birthday is next week, so she should celebrate a little early."

  "Don't do that," protested Shawn, fumbling for her wallet in the battered pocket of her leather coat. Myri waved her credit card away.

  "Go," she said. "You have to drive Bette home so she can pack for that weekend wedding, remember? She has to be at the wedding dinner by five." Myri pulled several bills from her wallet and motioned for the waitress.

  "But what about you?" frowned Bette. "You have to meet with Lis for the first shoot by three --" she checked her watch.

  "Relax. I'll take a cab to work," said Myri. "It's not that far." With a smile as Shawn gave in, tugging Bette's sleeve as she rose from her seat.

  When the waitress disappeared towards the register with the receipt and payment, Myri made quick steps towards the door. Surely there would be a cab available at this hour; if not, she could always take the bus. Her high heels clicked on the pavement as the door swung closed behind her.

  Straight ahead was a yellow cab, the door open like an inviting sign to climb inside. It was too good to be true, but Myri didn't care. She leaned down to the passenger window.

  "Can you take me to West–" she began. Trailing off at the sight of a man in the backseat, a bemused smile on his face."Oh, I'm so sorry," she said. "I thought it was free–"

  "If you're in a hurry, then let's split it," he offered. "I don't mind." His smile became a captivating grin, accompanied by a warm pair of blue eyes above. A tingle passed through Myri's body at the sight.

  "Okay," she said. Sliding inside, she smelled the faint aroma of cologne as the door swung closed.

  "Were you having lunch at Fu Lin's?" she asked. "The restaurant on the corner, I mean." A blush was creeping across her face as she glanced at him.

  "No, just picking up some paperwork from the realtor next door," he answered. "I'm new here, thinking about renting a business office, maybe." He jerked his thumb in the opposite direction from their street. "I actually tried a little Greek place across town for lunch."

  "Oracle's?" she asked. "I love that place. The olive salad is really good. And that lamb dish–"

  "The one stuffed with fennel," he suggested. "Yeah, I tried that one." His eyes creased in the corners as he smiled, an almost boyish appearance. He was good-looking, but not in the same way as the brooding, somber models who posed for the firm. He was casual, almost rugged.

  She could feel his glance sweep over her, taking in her dark hair and patterned yellow dress. The matching shoes with straps that crossed her ankles, footwear left over from her modeling stint.

  "You work in fashion?" he asked. She raised her eyebrows.

  "Is that a casual conversation line you use a lot?" she asked. To her surprise, his face reddened slightly.

  "No, it's just, I can usually recognize things on the market. That's professional–" he gestured towards her dress, "–but I've never seen it any shop window or runway photo. So I'm guessing you designed it yourself."

&nb
sp; "Correct," she answered. Her heart skipped a beat over this compliment, more so than when Lis pointed out her good work. This was different; making her wish that the cab ride wasn't coming to an end so soon.

  "This is my stop," she said, forcing herself to speak as the street sign came into view.

  "Mine, too," he answered. "Lucky, huh?" He pulled out his wallet as the cab drew close to the curb. Myri fumbled with the clasp on her handbag.

  "No, I got it," he said. Handing a payment to the driver before she could free her billfold from the purse's interior. "Consider it my way of saying thank you for being great company."

  Her cheeks blushed, forcing her to turn away as she reached for the door handle. "Thank you," she said, climbing out. He slid across the seat and exited the cab behind her. Forcing herself not to look, she crossed the sidewalk to the main door to Liline's Designs. In the glass pane, she caught the reflection of the stranger from the cab, a bag slung over his shoulder, just a few feet behind her.

  Should I turn? Speak to him? The chemistry of the moments before tempted her to glance back. But that would be awkward, wouldn't it? Making small talk in an elevator until they parted ways on separate floors, off to separate destinations?

  The elevator doors closed before he entered the main lobby, giving her only a glimpse of his leather bag and blue shirt before her eyes were forced to move upwards to the floor numbers flashing above. When the doors opened again, she was on her floor.

  Leline's was buzzing as usual with pre-debut chaos. A model in a half-pinned dress, two designers arguing over skirt style for a new two-piece ensemble. A seamstress from Bette's department was frantically reaming out pieces of silk as Lis's assistant made notes on a pad.

  "Myri," called her boss. "I need the sketch I gave you this afternoon for the coture gown in plum." Lis was tugging the cowl neck of a pink evening gown into place.

  "Right here," said Myri, pulling them from beneath a stack of sketches on her desk. "And Johann's notes are here." She added them to the stack before handing it over.