by Dee Ellis
“I decided to rate based on what I know. I mean, I am a nerd...so tops being Lizzie Bennett and bottom being Anastasia Steele,” Gigi shot me a look when I laughed so I cut it short, “These are based on several factors; looks, intelligence, sense-of-self, personality, neediness. For instance, Ariel is most definitely Anastasia. Too easy, empty, vapid. She...she doesn’t really count but Krista was barely a Bella Swan. Needy, never knew what the hell she wanted.” Gigi climbed from the couch, taking my plate before I could argue.
“Being as I am not a well-read type of guy, Red, give me the whole break down.”
“Oh, I intend to. Keep you out of your own way, maybe.” Mr. Belvedere mewled in agreement and I scooped him up against my chest.
“Traitor.” Mr. Belvedere rubbed his head under my chin and purred.
“So, basically your conquests, Finn’s too I suppose...really women in general, in my opinion are based on my level of respect and admiration for literary characters. Nerdy, I know but I was a loner so I had to keep myself entertained, right? It’s like this." Sitting again cross legged in the wide leather armchair, she bent over the dark wood coffee table.
For a moment she drew something out, a short list of what looked like names. Bringing Mr. Belvedere with me, I brought him against my chest to watch her. He allowed that for a moment before he became interested in Gigi. She was likely his favorite plaything, mostly because she barely tolerated him. Climbing atop the table and watching her scribble, he tried more than once to snatch her pen away. Gigi swatted him away and so he changed tactics and sprawled out on the notebook she was scribbling in.
“Blasted fur ball! Done. This is it, basically.” Gigi spun her notebook around and I saw a list.
“So one being the worst, ten being the best, I assume,” I confirmed and she nodded before I read them aloud, smirking at her, “Lizzie Bennett; Strong, Smart, Loving, Beautiful. Hermione Grainger; Brilliant, Brave, Self-Reliant. Katniss Everdeen; Resilient, Powerful, Unselfish. You forgot smoking hot, Red. Eowyn; Brave, Responsible, Loyal. I know that one for sure, Lord of The Rings, right? Bella Swan; Needy, Uncertain, Disloyal. Jo March; Impulsive, Argumentative, Giving. Who’s that one? Emma Bovary; Reckless, Selfish, Greedy, Confused. Anna Karenina; Childish, Selfish, Clingy. Ooh, the slutty one, right? I think I remember the movie-it had Kiera Knightly, right? Also smoking hot then. Now the worst of the worst. Daisy Buchanan; Selfish, greedy, shallow. And lastly, Anastasia Steel; Weak, Easy, Boring. You are such a bonafide nerd, but I love it. I think I actually agree, Red. Ariel’s really an Anastasia, huh? Krista was only Bella? I guess I could see that.” I tore the notebook sheet from her bright pink spiral notebook, intent on keeping it.
“I spent a long time making that list. Adding to it, changing characters, making them almost perfect. Maybe read the books with those characters so you get where I’m coming from. Or, Netflix the movies and learn what to avoid, and who you should be looking for. Mom is a Lizzie, without question. You need a Hermione or Katniss; I don’t know if they even make Lizzie’s anymore.” Again her face turned up and I raised a brow.
“Where do you rate yourself on here, Red?” Her face, because it was that easy to rile her up, turned bright red.
“I don’t know. Maybe Eowyn. Or Jo. I don’t need a man but I’d like one. One day I want to rule my own kingdom,” We laughed and then she sobered, “meaning I want to do my own thing, have my own identity. You, dear brother, spend too much time with the Anna’s, Daisy’s and Anastasia's. You deserve at the very least an Eowyn.”
“Thanks, I guess? No, no you’re right though. I am keeping this list for reference. It might help me keep my distance from the bottoms. Think it might be time I find a Katniss or at the very least, an Eowyn.”
After more episodes of Doctor Who, we finished off the last of the Chinese. Gigi made a dent in the egg rolls while I finished most the Lo Mein. We talked more about the women in my life and I realized my family didn’t entirely believe I was notching a bed post and nearing high numbers. More like they thought I was chasing something. They knew getting ditched then baptized in the world of easy, quick and meaningless love had done a number on me.
The trail of women I had left in their wake were half assed attempts to find my Katniss or Eowyn, apparently. I knew that was partly true; I had always been seeking something. If I was being honest with myself, I knew it was exciting to have women throw themselves at me, make it easy. I’m just a man so when one of those badge bunnies at O’Malley’s lures me out back long enough to suck my cock, I let them.
Which means Gigi was right and pinning it on my broken heart from years before was bullshit. I liked the attention, I liked that they gave chase and never let me doubt I could spend the night buried inside one of them if I wanted.
It was a shit way to be and I knew that. Often, I struggled with it. Still, I had let it go on for this long, so I wasn’t struggling all that much. Though I had kept my numbers down for the women I actually did fuck I had done plenty else.
The number of regulars at O’Malley’s who knew what my cock tasted like or how good I was with my fingers between their legs was high. There were more badge bunnies who could say I’d had some part of my body in some part of theirs than I wanted to count.
It was too easy. After a long day, we almost always ended up at that bar, with those women waiting for us. Never did I walk in there without a choice of at least ten women. The minute we walked in we had beers and chicks waiting. Especially if it was a serious call that left us worse for the wear. We could be covered in soot, dirty and sweaty and they wanted us even worse.
Once, after a really bad fire that took hours to battle, Finn and I were exhausted, our breath rattling in our lungs and stinking of smoke. One redhead, who by then I had learned feasted on badges like a never ending buffet, offered to let us spit roast her. Finn was down, of course, but I declined.
Eventually she convinced a cop to take my place. Two for the price of one, she had said. I didn’t regret it but I imagine more guys said yes than said no. I knew I was no better than those guys.
Didn’t mean I didn’t want to be better. At first I didn’t want to be that guy and had done it out of spite. That hadn’t been the case for a long time. I did it because I liked it and really, because I could.
It had been awhile since it had felt anything less than desperate though. The fact that I couldn’t remember Freckle’s name, and in fact now couldn’t remember more than her freckles, was wakeup call enough. I’d had my fun and damn, it had been fun.
I didn’t think it was very fun anymore. Coming home to an empty house time and again, never having anyone to talk to, never even wanting someone in my place made for a lonely, sad life. If I didn’t have my family, especially my sisters, I would be as pathetic as Finn. I maybe had lied to myself about searching for her before, but now I thought maybe it was time I really start trying to find her. I certainly didn’t want to live the way Finn wanted to.
“Did you hear Pop’s renting the cottage again?” Gigi was saying as she gathered her things to head out.
“No, I haven’t talked to Pop all week. Thought he might finally sell the place.”
“We all know Pop wants to keep that place in the family,” Gigi threw a long arm around me in a hug as she stepped into the hall, “maybe one day one of us will see the charm he obviously does. Thanks for lunch; I have a class in a little bit. See you soon, I’m sure, Cage. Love you!”
“Be careful, Gigi. Love you too.” With a wave of her hand, she bounded down the steps and I closed the door behind her.
It was still early and I was curious about the cottage now, but not up for a conversation with Pop. It was strange my mother hadn’t mentioned him renting it out again earlier when we talked. Then again that talk was all about guilting me for my man whoring ways and I knew it.
Also I thought perhaps she knew how much Pop loved the place and hated that none of us got as excited about it as he did. Mom loved the cottage too but with four kids o
f their own and plenty more cast offs from the fire houses, it had proven too small. It was at least a century old and we called it a cottage because it looked completely out of place in downtown Chicago.
Just blocks from my station and the Washington library, it had been the first place Pop had purchased for Mom. In the middle of towering condos, glass and steel storefronts and modern office structures, the gray brick peaked roof house was an eye catcher. Looking more like it belonged atop a hill with a sprawling garden and forest nearby, it had character.
It was just three bedrooms with a wood fire chimney that let off gray puffs of smoke and a low white picket fence. I had always joked with Pop that it looked like a Thomas Kincaid painting in the winter. Which was exactly why it had been their first home; my parents were nothing if not traditional. Even the larger home on the outskirts of the city they had moved to could attest to that.
When the family started to grow, and Mom couldn’t say no to one of Pop’s guys who were on the outs with their wife or other family, Pop had to trade up. After saving every penny and busting his ass, he moved us to Itasca. He built a rambling Colonial style home near Lake Kadjah. Still, he held on to the cottage and from time to time, rented it out.
Each of us had lived in it at one time or another. Regan got married soon after college and Tegan had gone away for college. I think Pop just loved the place too much to let it go. Renting it out could be a handful. With me close to it now, I suspected looking over the place and his new tenant would likely be my job.
Pop was old enough to retire but nowhere near ready to just yet. He loved the job, and loved his men. I thought maybe one day I’d make him as proud as they did. When I had announced I was volunteering right after graduation, and forgoing a four-year college right away, Mom was irate. Didn’t want another one of us to live the life.
I think it was one of the first times I knew I’d really made Pop happy, though. That was enough for me to stick with it. Soon enough I decided to go back to school. I knew this was the life for me. More than making Pop proud, or hoping to follow in his shadow somehow, I loved the job. I was almost done with my degree and finally both my parents were okay with my career choice.
Now if I could just figure out the other important shit, I’d be all set. Thinking about that list of Gigi’s, the rating scale, I decided it was time to stop fucking around. Though I loved hanging out with my sisters, or Finn at one of the dive bars we circulated, I wanted more.
Mr. Belvedere was not much for conversation. Take out and Doctor Who marathons with my baby sister didn’t exactly fulfill my nights. Neither did the Daisy Buchanan’s or Anastasia Steel’s I wasted time fucking. With a smirk, I patted my limp cock and made a quiet threat. No more one’s or twos; no more Daisy or Anastasia, pal. From now on, I was waiting for my ten, or at least an eight. Lizzie or Katniss. I could deal with a Katniss.
Where one might find someone with the qualities an eight or ten might have, in the middle of Chicago, was beyond me. Cuing up Netflix, I took Gigi’s advice. I barely had the patience to get through the texts I had to pour over for class. Let alone time to read through the heavy novels Gigi’s rating scale chicks were in.
Instead, I’d take the cliffs notes versions. I had time to watch a few movies starring her heroines. Decide if her rating scale held any water. See if I could get out of my own way and find her. The girl who I didn’t want to sneak out on before dawn broke. Who I could bring home and introduce to Mr. Belvedere. To my sisters, my mom and pop. Bonus, I knew for a fact both Katniss and Anna were smoking hot so it couldn’t be all bad.
First up: 50 Shades of Grey. Mr. Belvedere settled himself down on my chest, spun in a circle and sat back to learn too.
Charli
This was it. Where it all went to shit. I just knew it, because there was no way this could all really be happening. I stood on the sidewalk, the air chilly but not enough for me to need the jacket I was wearing. It was early September and back home the trees would be bare and the wind unforgiving. It was crisp and clear here still, though there was a bite in the air.
I was waiting for Sara and her friend Deacon Cooper to meet me. In front of me was the cutest, most perfect little cottage I had ever seen. It absolutely did not belong on this block in the middle of Chicago. There were storefronts for everything from a cannoli shop that made me mildly homesick to a rugged tattoo parlor. There had to be something wrong with it or the neighborhood turned into a war zone once night fell. I just knew it.
Things like this did not happen to me. I could not have written a better story line if I had tried. I had, in fact tried. Once upon a time, writing had been my dream. I didn’t need to leave my home town to do it but that had always been the second dream. Get out and experience the world and come back with something to write about.
Instead I let Tucker put a ring on my finger, let my family lock me into my mom’s dream and hadn’t put pen to paper since. Or typeset to computer monitor as it were. I loved my mom’s bakery and had always liked helping out there. It had never been my dream though, and she knew that.
“Some of us create one way, some another. Your talent is how you create something without limit. You can sit with a pen and pad and draw up with words places and people that will stir people once you share it. Just got to get to the sharing part, Cupcake.” All wise words, spoken by my very wise mother. Which one day, was the plan.
For now, I was happy with my shiny new office at the library. I just slid a name plate with my name onto the door, making it real. After I had carried my things in, Sara had taken me on a much more extended tour then out to lunch. Now we were to meet at the cottage Deacon was thinking of renting out. Which was why I was standing on a busy Chicago sidewalk, peering up at the perfect house.
Waiting for something bad to happen. I wasn’t sure what. Maybe the place would go up in flames before my eyes. Or a shady character would come out of the shadows and let me know I was not welcome here and to vamoose. Worse still, they could show, show me the place and it could be perfect. That would be terrible.
From the outside looking it, the cottage could literally not be more perfect. It was a small stone structure, with a brick chimney that promised a warm hearth inside, and settled back from the street. Between two taller brick brownstones, it was absolutely out of place. It had steeped roofs and a small porch with a swing and a wide oak door leading inside.
The back yard seemed to spread out beyond the rose trellis. I could just imagine a cute garden with a bistro table waiting. It looked to be two stories, with colonial windows face out towards the street. With a low picket fence with thatches of rose bushes weaving through them, it looked down right picturesque. From my perch out on the street, it was perfect and I knew I was going to love whatever the inside held.
Loving it would make this all the more real. The job being real had been like a shot of vodka to my senses. Leaving me intoxicated with the possibility of what life could be like here. Now this place looked like something that belonged on the cover of one of the harlequin romances my mother used to let me read. It might be too much.
Because if I liked it and moved in, then I was really doing this. Relocating a million miles away from home. Really less than five hundred miles, but it felt like more. The shop would stay closed. The boys would have to sell our parent’s place and the farm. This would be a brand new chapter of my life and I wanted it so bad I could taste it.
“Oh pet,” Sara’s lilt boomed from beside me, “sorry we’re late. Deacon is a busy man.”
“I apologize. Nice to meet you, Deacon Cooper.” Blinking from my reverie, I spun to greet them.
“Nice to meet you, sir. Charli Dixon.” Still blinking because he looked like a fire marshal I took his hand.
Towering over both of us, he was handsome. Dark hair, grayed at the temples and peppered throughout, he had an imposing presence. Wide shoulders, a sharp jaw and lovely tawny skin with piercing hazel eyes, his large hand took mine. A quick smile flashed a dimple and I
did not miss Sara’s answering smirk.
Straightening my shoulders, I shook his hand and smiled back. Had to make a good impression. I knew little of him yet; Sara said he was a devoted family man and the home had been his honeymoon home. With a few daughters and I think a son, they had outgrown it.
“Pleasure. Shall we, Charli?”
“Absolutely, sir.” I dipped my head and he turned from opening the gate.
“Please, just Deacon. Sara has spoken very highly of you the past few months. I think she’s had her eye on this place for you for a while.” Sara came up beside me, hooking her arm through mine.
“Just got a feeling she’s a keeper. You know me and my feelings, Deacon.” My smile felt huge on my face but I couldn’t help it.
“I do know those, Sara. Well let’s take the tour, see if it suits you.”
I knew it suited me already. Besides being literally picture perfect, it was exactly ten blocks from the library. I might not even need the truck if I made this my home. On my walk over, I had scoped the lay of the land; a Whole Foods was a few blocks away, a quirky looking laundromat and plenty of take-out places and bars for me to socialize at. If I ever felt the need to, which was not exactly a high priority for me.
The house itself had more than enough space for me. After we toured the three bedrooms, large living room with the cutest fireplace that reminded me of home, and huge kitchen, I knew it was too good to be true.
“Rent has to be way out of my range. It’s the cutest place I have ever seen, with room enough for a library and office and I can walk to work. Neighborhood doesn’t seem like it erupts into a war zone. I saw no shadow figures waiting to warn me off.” I said this all aloud and Sara and Deacon exchanged a look.
“What is your range, Charli?” My eyes narrowed as I watched them exchange a much different looks.
