by Cat Gardiner
That poor family and at Christmastime no less. Elizabeth shuddered remembering her conversation with Rick after the auction. Helping Tilney’s family was part of what the Foundation did, and Darcy had requested that ten percent of the proceeds went to the firefighter’s surviving family. That request, coming from grinchy Mr. December, surprised her to say the least.
Taking a settling breath, she observed that further along the brick side perimeter, the men’s remaining gear and equipment hung carefully ready for the next jump call that would inevitably come.
A young woman with a look of eager excitement, conveyed by her bright smile, entered through the open bay door. Elizabeth recognized the brunette beauty as the woman who won the VIP auction to spend the day watching the photoshoot. With big blue eyes and a perfect pearly white smile, this girl was bound to be appreciated by all the men present today. One of the promises made to the winner was ‘hands on’ assisting and by the virtue of a six-hundred dollar winning bid, Elizabeth was sure she would want to get her money’s worth and her hands ‘dirty’.
Elizabeth stood straight, self-consciously smoothing her skirt with her right hand. For a fleeting moment, she actually felt threatened and viewed the woman as a rival. A rival for whom or what she had no idea. Well maybe she did, but she certainly wasn’t going to admit it to anyone, most of all to herself. After Saturday’s show by firefighter number twelve and her own, unintended winning of the date auction, she was pretty sure he would attempt to cash in today. She wanted to disarm him and look her best, give him a glimpse of the woman he had seen at The Watering Hole, yet show him her professional side, too. It killed her to admit she wanted his approval, but she needed to determine whether he was just taunting her from the stage in mock amusement or teasing her because he was seriously interested.
“Excuse me is this the West End Cave? Is this where the calendar is going to be shot?” the woman asked.
“You’ve come to the right place. Hi. I’m Elizabeth Bennet of Big Apple Design and the campaign manager for the FD Burn Foundation. You must be the winner of the VIP ticket. Congratulations.”
“Yes, I’m the winner! This is so exciting!”
The women shook hands. “I’m Jen Middleton. I can’t tell you what a wonderful diversion this is for me. Thank you so much! I’ve been studying for my Masters in Public Health, and I’ve had about enough of medical anthropology to last me a lifetime.”
“Well you’ll definitely be diverted today. Our photographer and her team should be here any minute, and I’m sure they’ll need some assistance with scene placement, maybe makeup or props. You’ll like Charlotte. She will make it really fun for you.”
Elizabeth saw lust-filled anticipation in Jen’s eyes as soon as Mr. March walked through the garage and winked at her. Even dressed in a wool cap, navy fire department tee-shirt, and black cargo pants, his tight backside was just what the girl needed to set her off.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m here,” Jen squealed.
Elizabeth chuckled. “Calm down, Jen. It’s going to be a long day – a fun day – but you have all day to enjoy these guys. You don’t want to burn yourself out before we even begin. Follow me and I’ll show you where to put your coat and purse.”
“Maybe burning myself out might come in handy with these guys around.”
Inside quarters, they greeted the men in the gym and stored Jen’s belongings in a locker. Signaling the returning engine and ladder rigs, the incessant beeping of the warning alarm sounded as they backed into the truck bay. The yellow caution and red emergency lights at the rear of each vehicle flashed within the station, alerting Elizabeth of his arrival. Unexpectedly, her heart rate sped up. She felt excited and it pissed her off.
Leaving Jen fawning over some of the firefighters in the kitchen, she went to greet Captain Donahue.
Dirty men exited the rigs, and Darcy waited at the back of the truck, watching the ladder partially enter and making sure enough room in the bay remained for the photographer to do her work. His hair was askew, his black bunker uniform filthy, and his face was smudged with soot.
He looked a mess, but strangely, it made him look all the more sexy. Raw masculinity and heroic bravery embodied by one smoking hot body. Just as Elizabeth realized how fatigued he looked, their eyes met, and he smiled slightly from one corner of his mouth. She quickly looked away.
Darcy tried not to focus his attention on her. There was still a lot of work to do in the aftermath of a run, not to mention the apparatus had to be cleaned. Um … not his, the truck.
“Good work, Darcy, Thorpe, I really thought that fire escape was going to give way below you. You made quick work of those security gates over the windows, and not a minute too soon,” said the Captain.
Thorpe touched his helmet. “Saint Florian, my best friend protects again.”
Donahue wasn’t nearly as filthy, although as part of the Forcible Entry Team, he always saw the worst of it. Heading toward the showers, he shouted back across the bay, “Darcy, come hit the showers. The rest of the guys’ll clean the rigs and they’ll take care of the equipment. We’ve got a calendar to shoot.”
Darcy handed off to Thorpe the two oxygen tanks he held for refill. “Thanks, John. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, don’t want ya’ to think I got sour grapes about da calendar.” With his chin raised a bit, Thorpe indicated toward where Elizabeth stood near the tool sharpener. “Miz Bennet’s lookin’ my-t-fine. Real do-able. Don’t ya’ got da hotz for huh?”
Darcy looked in her direction and couldn’t help the smile elicited from just admiring her. It was warm and filled with a sense of pride. Not that he had anything to be proud of. She wasn’t his girlfriend or even at this stage of the game a friend. Yet, he felt a curious affectionate possessiveness towards her.
Beginning at her caramel Louboutin pumps, his eyes traveled up the length of her long slender legs to her curvy hips beautifully displayed by the snug fit of a wool crepe skirt. His eyes drank in her narrow waist and full breasts. The curve of her lips with that subtle trace of color, the rosy blush of her cheeks from the chill in the station, and the high genie-style ponytail, set him aflame. Before him stood The Black Widow from speed dating. She was knockout gorgeous.
Darcy wondered about the transformation of her appearance, simultaneously delighting in the vision. “I agree. She does look mighty fine. Mighty fine.”
Somewhere deep inside, for a nanosecond he thought, and hoped, she had dressed for him … until Charlotte and her crew arrived.
They entered West End Cave through the open bay door. Charlotte wore a 1970s, olive-green snorkel parka she had purchased for a song down at Dave’s Army/Navy surplus store on 26th and Sixth. The fur-trimmed hood covered her hair and a black, wool scarf wrapped around her neck. Slung over one shoulder was a huge camera gear bag and behind the other shoulder hung a long, slender case containing light stands and a tripod.
Beside her, rolling a black, upright trunk was Penny, the makeup artist chosen to work with these inexperienced models. The opportunity to contribute time and talent to both a worthy cause and the models themselves, had created a good competition for this gig among the makeup artists, but Penny was experienced with hard bodies, plus she worked well and often with Charlotte.
Elizabeth waved her arm high, signaling them toward the back near the quarters where it was warmer to set up for the shoot.
Trailing about fifteen feet, bringing up the rear behind Charlotte and Penny, an unexpected visitor approached. Shock registered on Elizabeth’s face and her heart nearly stopped when she recognized it was John Lucas her long-ago high school and college years sweetheart and Charlotte’s brother.
Darcy stood back, blatantly ignoring the Captain’s instructions to hit the showers. He and Thorpe silently watched Elizabeth and the man who entered the station. The two firefighters’ heads turned back and forth watching the scene before them and the elated expressions on her and the unknown interloper’s faces.
Unprofessionally, she squealed like a schoolgirl, “Oh. My. God! Johnny? It can’t be!”
She squeezed between the rigs, breaking into a run and almost tripping in her high heels toward the good-looking guy wearing a Mets ball cap. His uniquely lopsided smile appeared genuine. Much to Darcy’s dismay, it was clear the guy was ecstatic to see Elizabeth. Furthermore, it was reciprocated.
Darcy’s lip curled – he hated the Mets.
His unwelcome competitor quickly released the gear bag he carried, dropping it to the floor, and opened his arms in greeting. “Honeybee!”
Bursting with gleeful laughter, Elizabeth barreled straight into Johnny’s arms.
He picked her up in a tight hold and spun her around with her ponytail flying and her knees bent as though they were in some sappy romantic movie. The only things missing were the violins and the sunset. Darcy didn’t know whether to vomit or punch the guy. He stood frozen in place, green with envy and feeling sick to his stomach, watching “Honeybee” welcome “Johnny.”
Thorpe elbowed him.
“Looks like ya’ got some competition.”
“No man, she was never mine to begin with,” Darcy replied feeling the sad sting that accompanied his words.
As she unloaded her equipment, Charlotte looked back and frowned, apprehensive, and a bit unnerved by her Elizabeth’s enthusiastic welcome toward a man, even if it was her brother, who had devastated her best friend’s dating history. Granted, she had finally acquiesced to John’s annoying, repeated insistence on accompanying her today, but as usual, hoped for the best in spite of his history with Elizabeth. Both were no longer immature high school students. Still though, she was leery of the ramifications of such a reunion at this particular time in Elizabeth’s life.
Of course, she was pleased for this visit with her brother. It did her heart good to see him home from his international travels, apparently desiring to reconnect with people who had always been a strong part of his life. Too many years, in too many countries as a photojournalist had passed since he’d been around friends and family.
Charlotte looked toward Darcy, noting how he watched the scene of Elizabeth and John’s greeting. It was obvious to her that he was jealous. The stony set to his dirty face, his stare cold, and his fists clenched at his sides all spoke volumes, and she couldn’t help but think, Well, perhaps some good could come from John’s presence after all. This is just what you need to step up your game.
Elizabeth’s actions caused her to speculate that either her best friend was trying to make Darcy jealous or she had clearly forgotten John’s poor treatment to her all those years ago.
John put Elizabeth down and playfully wrapped her ponytail around his index finger. In her heels they were the same height, standing eye to eye. “Good to see you, Honeybee! Char mentioned you might be here today. You’re as beautiful as ever.”
“You lie John Lucas! What on earth are you doing here? When did you get back?” She took both his hands in hers. “It’s so good to see you!”
“I got back yesterday and thought my sister could use an assistant for the day. I thought I could save her a bit of money and maybe teach her a few things in the process.” He winked at her.
His insinuation that Charlotte was inexperienced didn’t quite take root in Elizabeth’s psyche. She was too absorbed in his unexpected arrival on the scene. John Lucas, accomplished, world-renown, Pulitzer-winning, professional photographer who can capture a story in only two frames, was here.
The same John Lucas of Meryton, Long Island and her long-time ex, grinned happily at her. “Is this your shoot?”
She looked around the station, her eyes making contact with Darcy’s as he stood silently observing. He furrowed his brow and tightly pursed his lips. His eyes bore into her almost burning her flesh. The image of him watching her did something inside of her. It evoked something unfamiliar.
“Yes, it’s my shoot …” Her voice trailed off a bit as though embarrassed and suddenly regretting that Darcy had witnessed this reunion.
John turned her chin toward him, noticing where her gaze settled. “You don’t mind my assisting do you?” He leaned down to her ear. “We can get reacquainted.”
His familiar action had redirected her attention. Coming out of her sudden regret, she had clearly forgotten, or willingly dismissed, the very first sign of one of the reasons she had broken up with John all those years ago.
Elizabeth picked up the bag from where it lay. “Mind? Not at all! It’ll be like old times. We’re back this way. C’mon!”
In four-inch heels, she teetered with the heavy bag draped over her arm, and Darcy resisted the urge to assist her as he watched them walk through the bay. This John Lucas was a grade-A asshole, allowing her to carry such a heavy bag when his arms remained empty.
At least one woman’s attention was directed toward Darcy. Jen couldn’t take her eyes off him when he stormed off toward the men’s locker room.
Elizabeth looked over her shoulder just in time to see Darcy leave through the door into the men’s quarters.
Charlotte couldn’t let it pass without comment the moment John stepped out of earshot. She leaned in toward Elizabeth’s left ear. “Looks like someone’s a little jealous.”
“I hardly think that. He’s not interested in me. Take the pictures, do your job, and leave the commentary at the door, please.”
“Testy, testy. I’m only just saying maybe it’s a good thing that John came with me today.”
“Why’s it a good thing?” John asked, just catching the tail end of the supposition.
Elizabeth challenged Charlotte, daggers shooting from her eyes into her friend. “So you can tell Charlotte how to do her job – in silence.”
Thirty minutes later, the rigs sparkled like new, the garage was steamy warm, and all of Charlotte’s photography equipment was unpacked. She and John had made quick work of setting up the light stands and reflectors at certain locations beside the engine and ladder. There was even a specific area set aside with a green screen for ChromaKey photographs. Two large soft boxes, supplying diffused lighting surrounded the set.
She looked adorable but ready for business in her black leggings and a long-sleeved tee-shirt with large safety pins clasped up one side. A green military cap, matching her camouflage Converse sneakers, completed the outfit. Bouncing up and down to the hip-hop music she’d brought with her, she built the energy and an upbeat atmosphere inside the fire station. Fastidiously, she organized her cameras, batteries, light kit, and lens and was ready to rock and roll.
Everyone was pumped literally and figuratively, well aware that this lighthearted mood, as well as the project itself, was so different from the serious life-saving business that took place at this station every other day. Even the Captain found himself getting into the groove the minute the makeup artist sprayed his bare chest with oil from her little bottle.
John took a seat behind the laptop tethered to Charlotte’s Nikon. Once captured, each frame would come up on the computer screen for viewing and screening for sharpness, composition, and light. Those shot before the green screen would later be superimposed onto computer-generated backgrounds of key New York City landmarks. In the end, there would be hundreds to choose from, though the calendar only needed thirteen. The remaining images would be available for sale on a special website that Charlotte and Elizabeth’s executive assistant created to help benefit the Foundation.
While Elizabeth spoke to the Captain and Penny demonstrated makeup techniques to Jen on Mr. February’s impressive pectorals, John seized the moment to talk with his sister. “How much are you getting paid for this shoot, Char?”
“Paid? I’m not getting paid. This is for a charity, Johnny. The FD Burn Foundation does good work, and I’m happy to donate my services for the entire job.”
“Yeah but your time and expense … you’re never going to make it in this field if you don’t get paid. Do you think I’d travel all over the world, putting myself in dangerous
situations, if I wasn’t highly compensated for my time and my talent?”
“Well that’s the difference between you and me. I think the world should be made aware of the atrocities you cover, and the risks I would take to capture them freely would be a benefit I could provide to humanity. You, on the other hand, were never the idealist that I am. You pursue your career for money and notoriety.”
John chuckled. “That’s why you’re broke, barely making ends meet, and living in a two-room apartment in the Village with only a hotplate and a black and white TV. The exact opposite of what I have to show for being an award-winning and well-respected photojournalist. C’mon Char, we could be good together out there. I made a mint in the last six years abroad, and I have a reputation that warrants it.”
“No thanks, I’d rather work for free when necessary, remain only moderately known in the profession and keep my soul. Besides, contrary to what you believe, I do have a reputation in the advertising industry. BADCo highly respects and touts my credentials, and as for this job, they offered to pay me, but I chose to donate my time and my talent. Don’t think I don’t know why you insisted coming with me today. You thought I couldn’t handle such a high-profile job as this on my own.”
John shook his head, almost in disappointment. “Well … I still wish you’d reconsider my offer. I could teach you a lot out in the field.”
“Like I said, no thanks. Taking to the road with you – as what, your assistant? - isn’t appealing in the least. You have no home or family of your own to share your wealth or your achievements. You have no ideals and no responsibilities to anyone. I may not have a big screen, mack daddy TV, but at least I own one. You can’t even say you have that – you’re like a vagabond. Face it Johnny, you can’t commit to anything or anyone beyond John Lucas and the money you make. I’m happy here and happy with who I am. I love what I do in my career and the company I keep.”
He feigned hurt by putting his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.”
