Lucky 13

by Cat Gardiner

  I don’t know … maybe Cindy’s opinion is the usual consensus among the many Manhattan women I’ve dated.

  However, mostly people in general look at me with dollar signs in their eyes, as a man who has more money than the City’s Mayor Bloomberg and who is the consistently absent President of Pem Tech Electronics. I’m the guy they all think they want to be and the guy who everyone thinks has all the best things in life. I’m the guy everyone assumes has the world by the balls and enjoys his life like there’s no tomorrow.

  All of that makes me laugh because who am I really?

  I’m twenty-nine year-old Fitzwilliam Darcy, commonly known as Will and preferably called Darcy. I’m a part-time firefighter for the New York City Fire Department, Ladder Company 13. I’m scarred, I’m flawed, and I’m guilt-ridden. I have a slight tendency to drink to cope with all three – particularly during the holidays. I live with my younger sister Georgiana on Central Park South, and I haven’t had the guts to look for a life-long commitment. It’s a shame, since I would love nothing more than to find a love like my parents had, but hey, I have to be realistic – why waste my time. This is Manhattan in the 21st century and a woman worthy of the Darcy name just doesn’t exist.

  The ladder apparatus, a Seagrave Rear-Mount Aerial truck, nicknamed “Big Dog” takes a hairpin turn onto 86th Street, and I can see the grey smoke streaming into the black sky above the apartment building. So can my five buddies.

  The Captain in the front seat yells back to us, “It’s a workin’ fire, boyz.” We grow quiet; my guess is everyone is either saying their prayers or silently psyching themselves up to face the beast.

  These guys are salt of the earth, hard-core heroes who put their lives on the line every day. Guys who are my brothers, guys who I go into hell and back with, not just each time the alarm goes off in the house but outside of it too. The minute I raised my hand and took the firefighter oath, I joined the Brotherhood. It was the best thing I ever did. I didn’t grow up with guys like this, but sure as hell wish I had. I’ve placed my life in their hands, as they have with me. There is nothing pretentious or arrogant about any one of them. They know who they are, they take honest pride in what they do, and they make me a better man.

  And there you have it, my life in a very small nutshell.

  Like every arrival at a blaze, I take stock of my equipment and surroundings. Ready to exit the truck quickly, we pull up to the blazing four-story apartment building, and I see the street filled with displaced residents. Thankfully, the Red Cross has arrived on the scene and is handing out blankets and hot cocoa. A familiar chill runs up my spine before the adrenaline begins to pump. The medics and rescue truck are just pulling up and Engine Company 42 has already begun to hook up to the hydrant. Before putting on my gloves and hood, while strapping on the tank and harness of my air pack, I use the moment to consider what I have to be thankful for on this Thanksgiving Day. Besides my two cousins, my sister and my fire department brothers, in a quick listing I rattle off: 220 pounds of muscles six foot, two inches of raw strength, lungs that can undergo the most strenuous types of cardio, a personal hatred of fire and the ability to use them all to save lives.

  Chapter One - Black Friday, November 29

  26 Days Until Christmas

  The holiday season in one of the most magical cities in the world kicks off not with the Christmas tree lighting in Rockefeller Center, but with mad, crazed shopping. For a single woman, this partaking has the potential to be either the most joyful excursion or the most depressing endeavor. Purchasing holiday gifts for friends, colleagues and loved ones with the gift-giving lightness of a generous heart amidst the hustle and bustle, otherwise known as pushing and shoving to “Holly, Jolly Christmas,” has the power to transform the experience. However, the moment one allows their mind to drift into that forbidden territory of not selecting and purchasing the perfect gift for a significant other – the whole experience becomes a descent to destination Doomsville.

  It was Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year and the day after Thanksgiving and Elizabeth did the only thing any smart professional, conscientious, single woman would rightly do - she headed to work. Frankly, the last thing she wanted to do was go shopping for Kitty’s wedding and the requisite bridesmaid’s dresses on a day when every mall would be absolute pandemonium. As much as she loved the Christmas season both as an advertising guru and a gift-giving, spirit-loving kid at heart, she was sure that particular outing with her sisters would cause even the happiest of hearts to turn humbug. No, definitely not. Shopping for wedding dresses could mean only one thing – disaster.

  The floor of Big Apple Design Company was quiet as she sat in her executive-sized office on Madison Avenue. After opening her laptop, the detail-oriented professional that she was noted that her stapler had been moved. Carefully, she restored it to its precise location one and a half inches to the left of her telephone. Her desk was otherwise orderly and neat, everything arranged exactly in its designated space. Not a pile of folders or paper lay stacked. Market research, ad layout graphic designs, and client presentations had been all properly filed away, and her personalized “Liz” coffee mug sat just where she liked it on its special coaster, handle to the right. She surveyed her workspace. Perfect - now she was ready to begin.

  Elizabeth’s neatly clipped, manicured fingers flew over the keyboard as she composed her first personal ad for submission to New York Magazine.

  Attractive, SPW/F ISO SPW/F 30-40 to enjoy the holiday season with. Do you love the magic of NYC at Christmas? Ice skating on the Rink at Rockefeller Center below the tree? Window-shopping along Fifth Avenue? How about a romantic carriage ride in Central Park or caroling in Washington Square Park? Let’s make this a month to remember. I love music, reading, and athletics. I love to laugh and I hope you do as well.

  So lost in her thought process, she didn’t hear the light knock to her open door where her best friend, Charlotte Lucas, and BADCo free-lance photographer stood chuckling at Elizabeth’s serious expression and appearance.

  Elizabeth’s eyeglasses slid down the bridge of her nose, a pencil stuck in her immaculately restrained raven hair, and her finely sculpted eyebrows furrowed in a focused concentration worthy of the Director of Project Management.

  “What the hell are you working on?”

  Elizabeth jumped in her seat and quickly took in the colorful outfit her friend wore. “Oh! Charlotte! You frightened me. I’m trying to type a personal ad and … what the heck are you wearing?”

  Charlotte looked down her petite body - black leggings and orange Converse hi-tops. Grasping the edge of her orange and black shirt, she proudly admired the silk-screen design of Boy George on the front. His makeup and braid ribbons were quite detailed and colorful. “What, don’t you like it? With my brother still in South America and my mother annoying the crap out of me, this is how I decided to spend my Thanksgiving. I silk-screened it all by myself.”

  “You really are gifted, Char. I’ve never known anyone as creative as you. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

  Plopping into the chair facing Elizabeth’s desk, Charlotte laughed. “Tell that to my mother. Apparently, since I can’t find a decent man, she thinks I’m a lesbian. It seems your mother is filling her head with screwy ideas. I mean, so what if I have spiky hair. It doesn’t mean I play for the other team. Lord knows, I don’t need to tell you, a decent man seems incredibly hard to come by in Manhattan. They’re either pretentious, gay or worthless users or losers. Creativity and responsibility just don’t seem to co-exist in the men I meet.”

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry. My mother has lost her filters lately. Apart from her normal crazy, I think Jane’s wedding has her all frazzled and now Kitty has gotten engaged. Let’s just say, you had a much better Thanksgiving than I did.”

  Charlotte gave a knowing smirk and a head nod. “Ah, well that explains why you have finally succumbed to placing a personal ad. You should place one in the Village Voice. You’ll meet a
ll kinds of guys from there.”

  Elizabeth looked aghast at her friend’s black-rimmed bespectacled, nose-pierced face. “Um … not quite my style. You know that. I’ll stick with New York Magazine.”

  “You’re such a snob, Lizzy. You know, if you want, I can help you in your dating endeavor. Hell, I’ll even clean up a bit and go with you. Just because I can’t find someone who fits my wish list, doesn’t mean you can’t. I’m sure there are plenty of guys out there who meet – well maybe not all of your thirty-six point criteria … but at least six or seven of them.”

  “Very funny.”

  “All I’m saying is that I go to a lot of different venues around the city, everything from mixers to parties.”

  Ticking off on her purple fingernails, she listed them in no particular order. “Let’s see, there’s the personal ad, which you’ve already jumped on. There’s Sparkology online dating, S3 Sports Mate Leagues, a professional matchmaker, Facemate, which is based on facial features and there’s also a traveling pheromone party – where you can find the love of your life from armpit smell.”

  Elizabeth crinkled her nose. “That’s just plain gross.”

  “I hear it works. Well, there is NY Minute Dating – a perfect ploy to satisfy your need for efficiency. And definitely up your social ladder is Dating by Dishes.” She added in a hoity-toity voice, “For the swanky, discerning taste.

  “Oh, and we can’t forget all the galas and holiday balls, which are right up your alley. Particularly, the Matzo Ball! That’s a perfect singles event to do this December.”

  “I can’t go to that! You know I’m not Jewish.”

  “You may not be, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t in search of a Jewish husband. They make the best ones. You should download that new app, ‘Yenta’. Their slogan states ‘for those who are looking for a Jew Boo’.”

  “That’s not funny. I don’t want a boo. Heck, I don’t even know what a boo is exactly.”

  Elizabeth was adamant, “No, I am not looking for a husband, just someone nice to enjoy the holiday season with but specifically to drag to my mother’s house on Christmas day. If he survives that, hopefully I can take him to Jane’s wedding. There is nothing more pathetic than a single Maid of Honor. With my luck, I’ll end up catching the bouquet!”

  “Well, whatever you want to do … I’ll be your go-to-girl. After I set up your Facebook and Twitter accounts, I’ll arrange every venue, except the Matzo, of course.”

  Elizabeth tapped her pencil against the desk blotter. “Definitely no to Facebook and absolutely no to Twitter. You know I don’t do social networking. Do you really think telling the world what my every move is will get me a date? I don’t think so. That has ‘danger, bad luck ahead’ written all over it! Besides, you know my mother would cyber stalk me, probably announce to any potential suitor that I have very few eggs left, so why bother.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. Ok we’ll just stick with the basics. Will you at least consider blogging? It might be cathartic and encouraging if you knew you had readers and cheerleaders.”

  “That I’d consider. I’m sure there are a lot of women out there who can empathize with my situation.”

  “Great! You take care of the blog, and I’ll make all the rest happen. We’ll do it all together.”

  Elizabeth liked the idea of having a partner in crime. It seemed safer and certainly less threatening. “You’d go with me to do all this stuff?”

  “Yeah sure. Why not? There is, of course, just one small matter we would need to attend to.”

  “Dare I ask?” She hadn’t been friends with Miss Non-Conformist since junior high school without knowing what her ‘small matter’ entailed.

  “We need to get you out of these professional clothes when we go to some of these events, put on a little makeup, get you away from that interminable chignon-thingy you do with your hair, maybe even dump your specs, especially when we go speed dating. You have six minutes at the most to make an impression and well, let’s just say sitting all buttoned up in your ivory, silk blouse, making lists with your little red Santa-head pencil isn’t going to get you a phone number. I’m not saying you should expose yourself but a little cleavage and eyeliner couldn’t hurt.”

  “You wear glasses,” Elizabeth stated defensively.

  “Yes, but I don’t need them. They’re a fashion accessory for me. Big difference.”

  Elizabeth removed the pencil – the one with the Santa head – from her hair, releasing long, silky locks down around her shoulders. Repeatedly tapping said Santa head against her desk reminded her that she only had twenty-six days until Christmas. She rapidly mulled over the prospect, knowing, as the words came from her mouth, she was going to regret this decision, but the prospect of being “Unlucky Number Thirteen” was pretty convincing.

  She sighed. This dating thing was going to be a lot more difficult than she thought. “Fine, I’ll … I’ll try harder.”

  With that commitment, she pressed the ‘submit’ button on her ad without even proofreading.

  Will stared out from his apartment building’s rooftop terrace onto Central Park. He didn’t mind the cold. After last night he’d had enough heat to last him a lifetime. His mood was black, as black as this Black Friday felt and as black as the clothing he had unconsciously chosen today. He was lost in his thoughts as he looked down at the shoppers along 59th Street. Most were completely oblivious to the tragic fire the night before, a horrific act of arson’s folly that claimed the life of one of Will’s good friends, a fellow firefighter, when he fell through a four-story ceiling.

  They had been buddies for six years, both in and out of their firehouse, known as ‘West End Cave’, and now Tilney was dead, leaving behind a pregnant wife and two small children.

  The firehouse would forever mourn the loss of one of their brothers. The fire department chaplain would give him a eulogy fit for the hero he was, and the Department would honor him with a full formal funeral procession through the streets of New York City to the cemetery. Bagpipes would be played and the press would attend. The City would pray for the soul of hero firefighter Henry Tilney when his photograph was splashed on the front page of the Daily News. And Will would most likely do what he normally did this time of year - he will trudge through an unhealthy amount of depression, drink too much and probably piss off a few people with his taciturn, rude behavior until the Christmas season passed.

  His cousin, Rick Fitzwilliam, came to stand beside him on the rooftop, zipping his worn leather jacket as the wind whipped around him. “You better come back downstairs. Georgie is getting worried about you, and frankly the way you’re staring down at the pavement with that look in your eye, so am I.”

  “What are you crazy? I am not gonna jump. I’m just looking at all those ridiculous shoppers down there. Why people do this to themselves is beyond me. The crowds would drive me insane.”

  “After last night, with your friend’s death and the way you’ve been slugging back the scotch since you came home, I’m not really sure just how depressed you are,” Rick voiced in grave concern.

  “I’m not going to jump. Besides, I’d just stain the concrete and annoy everyone by ruining their view of Central Park and blocking the walkway to Ascot Chang with my mangled body.”

  “Well, that’s true enough … this is New York City, after all.” Rick slid the glass of scotch from his cousin’s grasp. “I think you’ve had enough. Are you sure you want to go down this road again this year? Your station captain is only going to make you talk to the Department’s therapist again, then you’ll threaten to punch the therapist in the face again, and then you’ll ruin Georgie’s, not to mention my, Christmas again. Sleeping at the firehouse twenty-four seven for thirty days straight doesn’t do anyone any good.”

  “Yeah it does and don’t pretend you don’t know why and how.”

  Rick ran his hand through his sandy blond hair in frustration. Every year it got harder to get through to Will. Every year, he slipped a little
more into his memories of the night his parents died in a fire in their Lenox Hill brownstone. Every year, he became more determined to save city residents from the same fate, and every year, another year ticked by without him meeting someone special to help him move on. Instead, with the exception of his commitment to the fire department, he filled his life with intentionally meaningless dating that he knew would never lead anywhere.

  “I get it, Will. Your parents were the closest thing I had to a normal family. When they died, a big part of me died with them, but I didn’t stop living. I understand completely how you feel, but you have Georgie who embodies both your parents in every way. You still have Pem Tech whose Board of Directors has been chomping at the bit to vote you out, and you still have the FD Burn Foundation, which I might add is organizing their annual fundraiser. We need your help. Tell me, when was the last time you saw Bingley?

  “About three months ago. I spoke with him last week though. You know he’s getting married, right? Spur of the moment thing to some fashion model.”

  “See, even Bingley who swore never to get married is making changes to his life. I’m imploring you - make this a special Christmas. Yes, mourn Tilney but live for his memory and that of your parents.”

  Will’s piercing eyes bore into Rick’s warm ones. He stood toe to toe with his cousin, towering over him by five inches. No two men looked more different than these two blood relatives did. Darcy’s dark thick hair, deep blue eyes, five o’clock shadowed chin, and tall frame were in stark contrast to Rick’s clean cut, fair hair, hazel eyes and shorter compact stature. However, they were as close as natural-born brothers since Rick had grown up in the Darcy household after having cited ‘irreconcilable differences’ with his own parents.

  “What are you proposing I do, quit the Department? Because that isn’t going to happen,” Darcy challenged.