Lucky 13

by Cat Gardiner

  Charlotte was somewhat shocked when all of a sudden John rose from the black director’s chair and abruptly grabbed the spritzer bottle. “I’ll do it. She doesn’t have experience with where the lighting is hitting. He doesn’t need oil everywhere or it’ll appear shiny from the reflection.”

  Surprisingly, because Elizabeth was so focused on her proposed task, her attention meandered from the presence of the cameraman and the reporter. She was both offended by John’s presumption and his now clear possessiveness and forcefully grabbed the bottle from his grasp. “I've got it John! I know what I’m doing at my photoshoot. I’ve been to enough of these in my career to have learned a thing or two.”

  Darcy smirked, John fumed, and the reporter ate it up, seizing the moment of shooting inactivity. “Mr. Darcy, what does it feel like to be Mr. December for the FD Burn Foundation’s 2014 firefighter calendar?”

  Elizabeth stood beside him holding the bottle of oil. He looked to her, the bottle, and then back to the reporter and replied with a broad smile, “It’s suddenly become my dream job.”

  Throughout it all, Madonna sang from Charlotte’s boom box about how she had no shame and was on fire.

  Charlotte’s powerhouse "in charge" voice blasted, “Please madam, wait for your interview! C’mon Liz, don’t dawdle. I still have two more sets to complete outside before the temperature drops even further.”

  Jane and Charlie watched the brief snippet of edited film showing Elizabeth standing only inches from Darcy, spraying his bare chest with oil. They couldn’t see her hand tremble, but they could see how he observed her. By the tilt of his head and his hooded, seductive eyes he watched her unconsciously lick her lips. Oh yeah, viewers saw it too and they could tell he was enjoying the attention and she was enjoying giving it. They both were heated to the core.

  Jane ignored what the reporter was saying and blurted out, “Was that Lizzy?! Oh. My. God, she’s going to die when she sees this!”

  “She looks great, Jane. Did your sister go for a makeover?”

  “Very funny. Knowing Lizzy, she most likely dressed for him.”

  What Jane and Charlie never got the chance to see from their television was how Elizabeth looked into Darcy’s eyes the moment her hand touched his chest, smoothing the oil – slowly, caressingly. The palm of her right hand grazed over his pebbling right nipple, now aroused by her attention. The heat from his smoldering stare cauterized every frayed nerve she possessed. She looked downward following the unhurried, seductive movement of her hand, which had unconsciously traveled down his firm abdomen, over his exposed hip.

  His body was ablaze, and her hand molded to every plane and curve, fanning the flames of desire. The affect of her touch left him breathless.

  She slowly stroked raw muscle, slick skin, and pure strength. With her left hand, she caressed up his right bicep as it held onto the ladder. Elizabeth could not have known he continued to hang on for the sole purpose of resisting the urge to take her in his arms. Beginning at Darcy’s shoulder and extending downward to his forearm, of its own accord, her left thumb ran along the sexy, bulging vein in his arm.

  Darcy moved his head closer to hers and spoke for her ears only, “Elizabeth, can we perhaps …”

  His hand barely had the opportunity to take hold of hers when John bellowed, “I think he’s oiled enough, Honeybee!”

  The spell was broken. Both Darcy and Elizabeth snapped out of their erotic trance.

  The news reporter’s attention also became diverted and fixated. Now further intrigued by the insistent interloper, Candy asked in recognition, “Aren't you John Lucas, Pulitzer winner for your coverage of the Taliban in Afghanistan? Are you providing the photography for the FD Burn Foundation?”

  The edited news report moved their focus to Charlotte and BADCo’s involvement as the Foundation’s advertising agency.

  On the TV screen with the image of John standing beside the reporter ready for an interview, Jane’s body responded in shock. “Oh no!” She dropped the TV remote to the floor. “He’s back. Shit!”

  “Who’s back? Who’s that guy? You know him?” asked Charlie with a furrowed brow.

  “Shush. I need to hear what Dick Wad has to say.”

  “Well, this certainly is unprecedented. John Lucas, one of the city’s most talented and well-respected photojournalists is donating his photography talent to the FD Burn Foundation’s calendar. So, Mr. Lucas, tell our viewers what made you come back to New York and want to get involved with this worthy charity. You’re a far cry from Egypt and covering the Arab Spring. Has covering foreign crisis lost its appeal?”

  “No, not at all. New York is my home and it was important to me to come back for the holidays. Especially at this time, it seems fitting that I give back to the city where I got my start.”

  “So you’re working closely with Mr. Darcy then, two of New York’s handsomest bachelors working toward raising money for burn victims. Well ladies, there you have it. New York’s Bravest working with one of New York’s most talented – it’s one of the hottest collaborations since Joe Manganiello teamed up with Channing Tatum in Magic Mike. Get out your credit cards because calendars go on sale December 23 at Fifth Avenue’s Barnes and Noble. Come and meet these hot calendar men and get their autographs.”

  At the close of the Leisure News segment, Jane turned the TV off and presented the most disgruntled expression she possessed. “He’s back. Ugh. He’s back.”

  “Who’s back? That photographer? I thought your friend Charlotte was the photographer.”

  “She is. That was her slime bag brother who we grew up with. He was Lizzy’s high school sweetheart who used her terribly until she had enough confidence and common sense to kick his sorry ass to the curb. After years, she had finally grown tired of his using her and self-aggrandizing, convincing her he was as good as she would ever get as though he was some gracious god bestowing her with the gift of his being. He had her wrapped around his finger and extracted every bit of self-esteem and independent thought from her.”

  “Man, I see trouble. Now he shows up and is staking a claim.” Charlie had known many guys like him.

  “Knowing John … absolutely. That’s always been his M.O. He’s a great manipulator and a selfish jerk and unfortunately extremely charming and boyishly cute. Given Lizzy’s current frame of mind and determination to find a Christmas date, his arrival on the scene could really make her susceptible, even cause her to deliberately forget all the reasons she broke up with him in the first place. He’s familiar, an effortless opportunity for a date and someone my mother approves.”

  “He seemed humble enough, giving back his time to help his sister for the Foundation.”

  “That’s a load of bull. John is no more charitable than Scrooge was before the ghosts showed up on Christmas Eve."

  Charlie thought for a moment, clasping his hands before him. “Hmm … I know, what if I offer him a photo job – send him down to the Gulf of Mexico to one of the oil rigs. For the right price he might take the opportunity to tell the story about the dangers and hardships of life as a rig worker.”

  “Not advisable. He’d only find a way to either exploit you or expose Bingley Oil on something contrived – photo manipulation is rampant in the field. Trust me, I know.”

  “He doesn’t sound very ethical.”

  Jane raised an eyebrow, saying so much. “I think what we need to do is to get Fitzwilliam together with Lizzy – and soon, before John has a chance to pick up where he left off. She’s too busy and has come too far in both her career and in who she is to start doing his laundry, errands and cooking all for a moment of lovin’ between the sheets and a Christmas dinner date.”

  “Well, I’m meeting Darcy on Wednesday to pick up our tuxedos. I’ll work on him and you call Lizzy and invite her to dinner next week. Should I tell Darcy that Lizzy is your sister?”

  “No! Don’t you dare! Let’s have some fun with their blind date.”

  “Janie, you know I suck at keeping s
ecrets. How can I not tell him?”

  “Please don’t say anything. It’ll be so much more exciting when they find out they are actually maid of honor and best man. Oooo … I’m so excited! A little holiday blind-dating matchmaking will be so much fun.”

  Charlie grinned and moved his body in closer to Jane, leaning her toward the armrest of the sofa. “I like holiday fun. What do you say we have some of our own, right now?” His lips were just about to capture hers when he sniffed and crinkled his nose. “Have you been eating Fruit Loops?”

  Defensively she stated, “Only a little bit.”

  Charlotte looked ludicrously out of place in Rick’s Upper East Side apartment. Cold chrome, white leather and black accents comprised the decor of the townhome on 69th Street and Madison Avenue. Gutted and renovated, its clean lines and stark monochromes were perfect for an urban professional who had tons of money made from society divorce cases.

  Even the sophisticated, haute couture Christmas tree in the corner was void of vibrant color. It stood beside the bare window in pristine white splendor, filled with twinkling white lights, white ornaments and silver glittery words such as ‘joy’, ‘peace’, and ‘love’.

  Furry, red-socked feet, resting on the ottoman before her, stood out in contrast to the colorless apartment. It was ten minutes after eleven at night and Charlotte had just unexpectedly arrived.

  She stretched cat-like, observing and absorbing her surroundings.

  Rick had ventured into his never-used gourmet kitchen on a mission.

  “I like the painting above the mantle, is that an original enamel Swarez?” She called out.

  Peeking his head around the corner, he looked to where she sat in the open living space. “Yeah, I commissioned that one and two correlating pieces I've hung in the master suite. I picked them up in England last year.”

  A second later, his head tucked back into the vacuous refrigerator, scanning its meager contents. He was sure there was something edible in there – anything. Having Charlotte over was a surprise, and he readily admitted it was wonderful to see her standing on the other side of the door when it opened, but damn if he had nothing to feed her.

  “Will I get to see the ones in the bedroom?” she asked.

  He poked his head around the wall again and grinned naughtily. “What do you think?”

  “Good. I hoped you’d say that. Can I stay the night?”

  Rick came back into the room, his hair tousled, his blue jeans hanging haphazardly low, and his white socks peeking from the bottom. He held a jar of pickles in his hand and furrowed his brow. “You want to stay the night? I don’t mind, but it just doesn’t seem like your M.O. I mean … staying up here versus me down at your place.”

  “Fine, I won’t stay. No biggie.”

  “Charlotte, I want you to stay.”

  “Well, since you insist. Thanks, Preppy. It’s because my brother John is back in town and he snores as if he’s gonna suck the roof down. Besides, you know how cramped my apartment is for two.”

  “I didn’t know you had a brother.” Sitting beside her, Rick unscrewed the top of the jar and withdrew a long dill spear. “Open.”

  She hungrily complied, and he lowered the pickle into her mouth.

  With a full mouth she spoke, “My older, more successful, opportunistic brother. I love him, but whenever he comes back to the city, he brings all his unsolicited opinions and self-inflated ego with him. I hate how he attempts to put down my career and lifestyle.”

  “There’s something to be said about being an only child.”

  “He’s all right I guess. We’re just very different. He’s a Pulitzer winning photojournalist who thinks I’m selling myself short by doing what I do as a freelance photographer for BADCo.”

  Rick lowered another spear and she bit it in fast, consecutive bites until reaching his fingertips. “Are you happy?”

  She licked his fingers. “Hell yeah, I’m happy.”

  “Good.” He was silent for a moment, where the only sound being the crunch of Vlasic dill. “I’m happy too.”

  “About?”

  “You. Me. Us. Your coming over tonight. Your wanting to stay.”

  She cocked a disbelieving eyebrow. “Really? You mean that?”

  “Yeah, we have fun together. We click.”

  “Is that a photography pun?”

  He put the empty jar down on the hardwood floor beside the sofa and leaned into her, nuzzling her ear. “I really like you, Charlotte.”

  “You’re not just saying that in the hope I’ll tie you down in silk string tonight are you? Cause, ya’ know I’m a sure thing, Preppy.”

  A sweet kiss brushed her lips followed by the slow caress of the back of his index finger down her cheek. “No strings attached. I like what you and I have, Punky.”

  “Hmm … so you’re saying you don’t want me to tie you up?” She kissed him back, longer this time, enhancing the kiss from playfully adorable to seductively enticing.

  “I definitely didn’t say that. I bought a new tie especially. Italian silk.”

  Rick leaned her back toward the armrest, his hand snaking up her sweater. All of a sudden, her back pressed the TV remote’s power button and on came the huge, flat screen mounted to the opposite wall. Breaking their lust-filled moment, Candy Moore's intrusive ABC news report filled their quiet interlude.

  “As you can see, Fitzwilliam Darcy is a natural for the camera. Judging by the looks of the twelve other calendar men, it seems the New York City firefighter’s calendar will be one of the top-grossing items in the competitive industry for holiday spending on women’s stocking stuffers. And ladies wait until you see the cover firefighter. Every woman loves dark chocolate and your eyes are going to feast on the brave, sexy calendar man whose nickname alone "Hot Chocolate" is warming up the set.

  These all-American brave heroes are not only smoldering hot, but they’re also driven by their personal commitment to charity. Some of the proceeds generated by events pertaining to this calendar have already gone to the grieving family of Firefighter Henry Tilney, one of New York’s Bravest who perished in the line of duty on Thanksgiving night.”

  Chris the cameraman zoomed in on Charlotte squatting before Darcy who hung from the side of the ladder truck.

  “You look great. Are those vintage Converse sneakers?” Rick asked.

  “Of course.” Her grin vanished the moment the segment quickly switched to a shot of Elizabeth oiling Darcy. “Oh my God, she’s gonna die when she sees this.”

  “And he’s gonna be mortified.”

  “She’s most likely on the phone with the station now, demanding the segment be pulled.”

  “He’s probably going to threaten them with a lawsuit. I expect him to be calling me at any time – yelling balls to the wall for getting him involved in this.”

  “You should have seen the two of them today. Lizzy flirted with my brother all day, and Darcy played Mr. Charming to the VIP girl who won the auction. But I tell ya’, the camera saw everything and even with all the diversion, those two still couldn’t keep their eyes off one another. That’s why I had Lizzy oil him for the set. I thought at any second they’d jump each other's bones right there on the back of the truck.”

  “What happened? Did he finally ask her out?”

  “No, my stupid brother happened. Him and his stupid need to outdo everyone. He took the oil from her and minutes later asked her for a date.”

  “But they just met.”

  “No, John is Lizzy’s ex-boyfriend. I didn’t intend to bring him because even though we all go back since childhood, their dating did not end well, but John gave me no choice in his coming to the shoot. Like an annoying gnat, I couldn’t avoid his persistence. Moreover, when he found out that she was going to be there, he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I have to admit, in a way, I was curious how Darcy would react to John’s usual possessiveness. In the end, Darcy never got the chance to ask Lizzy for a date. Once his set was done, he changed his clothes and
stormed out the bay doors without even a word to anyone.”

  The segment of the reporter interviewing John played in the background of their conversation. Rick occasionally looked over to the screen to observe his cousin’s competition. He certainly had appeal. He was good-looking, successful, and charming, not to mention a Mets fan.

  “So what’s on their schedules for the remainder of the week?” he asked.

  “On Friday, Lizzy has her date with the bond trader from speed-dating. They’re meeting at the Bowlmor down at the Chelsea Pier. Eight o’clock – sharp.”

  “Good, I’ll arrange for Darcy to be there with his match from the speed dating. Thursday is the matchmaker visit, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, Lizzy’s trying to back out. Did your boy finish filling out his profile questionnaire for the shadchan? Cause’ the matchmaker is totally on board with our game plan. I think she’s even excited about it. Of course, she won’t push the match unless she’s positive they are a perfect fit for one another.”

  “You won’t believe the fuss he made about the questionnaire. I had to bribe him with a bottle of Johnny Walker Blue Label. That near killed me to do because he’s been pretty much on the wagon since Black Friday.”

  Rick reached around Charlotte’s slender waist and grabbed the remote off the sofa, holding it out toward the TV behind him as he kissed her and shut it off. “Enough about them, let’s focus on how you and I fit perfectly together.”

  "Did you know, Preppy, I love puzzles, especially ones with all the right pieces?"

  Two women, sixty miles apart watched the same news report, and both were transfixed on Darcy’s expression as Elizabeth’s hand was about to glide over his bare chest. They heard Candy Moore say:

  Well it seems as though the FD Burn Foundation’s Ad Exec, certainly takes her campaign seriously. Apparently, BADCo believes in a ‘hand’s on’ approach. That’s one lucky woman wouldn’t you say, viewers?