Lucky 13

by Cat Gardiner

  The first woman, Frances, standing stock still with a head full of foam rollers in front of the TV, dropped the remote control onto the shag carpeting. As if hearing about the President of Pem Tech’s wealth and viewing his tight abs wasn’t sufficient, viewing her suddenly very lucky daughter spraying oil upon his taut nipples made her eyes pop. Satisfied that Elizabeth had her fill of sexual experimentation because clearly - after touching that gorgeous, hard-bodied man – how could she remain a lesbian, she picked up the phone, oblivious to the hour, and called Charlotte’s mother.

  “Frances do you have any idea what time it is?”

  “I’m calling because you should know that no matter how hard your daughter tries to make Lizzy gay, my daughter has changed her mind. She is engaged to a multi-millionaire who has a body like a Greek God.”

  “Did she break up with Charlotte? Oh, my poor daughter is going to be so upset. Engaged you say?”

  “That’s right Millicent, engaged to Fitzwilliam Darcy.” She hung up the telephone.

  The second woman sat in her parent’s posh Park Avenue apartment, practicing her facial exercises and watching the news report behind her reflection in the mirror. Darcy, half-naked and clinging to a fire truck, even on a television screen, was enough to ignite Caroline Bingley’s lustful yearning. However, when the camera moved in on him enjoying the attention of the leggy woman about to oil his body parts, she knew she needed to step up her game.

  It had been six weeks since Caroline last saw Darcy at Paul Labrecque for his usual massage or his occasional haircut. Of course, she always made it her mission to make sure her services were scheduled at the same time as his. Her red hair always needs a retouch, not to mention Antoine needed to monitor her Botox for complications. She didn’t need his refreshment injections any longer since she now employed Kokiko, a professional face-slapper, to fight any invading wrinkles.

  She watched the news camera quickly zoom into Darcy’s expression and the woman’s hand about to slowly smooth oil over his firm pec as though she was a professional nipple fluffer. Candy Moore speculated,

  “It looks like Mr. Darcy is enjoying the attention. Perhaps he has a future as a model to add to the many other notable hats he wears, philanthropist, firefighter, corporate executive, and how can we forget his short-lived, but very memorable performances at Joe’s Pub down in the East Village.

  Donning latex gloves, Caroline dug her fingers into a large jar of her specially formulated nighttime moisturizing cream – Preparation-H combined with, glucosamine-k, some type of exotic bird droppings, vitamin-c serum, retinol-A and a few other highly dubious anti-aging products. She was always careful not to get the smelly, viscous cream below her long fingernails knowing it would instantly dissolve the glue on her acrylics. Pouting her newly collagen injected, puffy lips, she flexed her facial muscles and began to apply her coveted concoction, thinking it was about time she paid a visit to Darcy’s firehouse.

  Sufficiently slathered, she mumbled through swollen lips, “Hmm … we’ll see whose attention he’ll be enjoying, and I have just the outfit for you Mr. December because every Santa needs a Mrs. Claus.”

  White-faced, she looked down at the hybrid designer dog resting at her feet, his green Santa’s elf costume making a mockery of the fierce dog hidden inside his little Taco-Terrier body. His big ears twitched back when she asked in a silly baby-talk voice, “Isn’t that right, mama’s little elf? You need a daddy don’t you, my little Cancun?”

  Behind Caroline and her little Taco dog, the news report came to a close.

  But don’t worry, if you can’t make the signing at Barnes and Noble, you can pre-order your calendar by calling, 212-HOT-FIRE. Winter in New York has never been so blazing hot! This is Candy Moore for Eyewitness News.”

  Liz’s Blog Post Here

  Chapter Eleven – Wednesday, December 11

  14 Days Until Christmas

  Amanda, Elizabeth’s assistant, poked her head into her boss’s office, spying Elizabeth decorating with perfect precision the two foot Christmas tree on the end table in the corner of her office between the sofa and armchair. She watched as Elizabeth moved the small, red ball she had placed at the front of the tree then step back to analyze her decision with artistic appraisal. Amanda resisted the urge to giggle.

  “Ms. Bennet, Mr. Reynolds called down to say he would be stopping by to see you in five minutes. He wants to discuss the Burn Foundation campaign.”

  Elizabeth hung the gold ball dangling from her fingers and distractedly asked, “Amanda, what do you think of the tree?”

  “It’s nice, boring, but nice.”

  “Boring? I think it’s pretty.”

  “It’s pretty. It says ‘professional Elizabeth Bennet’. I actually like my tree with unusual stuff on it – some kind of theme. Disney or Victorian … even souvenirs from places I have been. Even though I think the holidays are a time for tradition, I also think they are a time meant to be magical, a time to try things you never have before.”

  “Well, I certainly have been experiencing a lot of that since Thanksgiving.”

  Elizabeth stepped back and examined the tree again, grabbed the ornament box and removed each shiny ball she had carefully arranged in systematic fashion. She placed them back in the box and held it out to Amanda.

  “Here. Trash these or give them away. Maybe I’ll head on over to Macy’s or FAO Schwarz at lunch and pick up some fun, whimsical ornaments.”

  Amanda took the box then looked at the piece of paper resting on the sofa. “Hand it over.”

  “What?”

  “The list and diagram of where each ornament should get placed.”

  “Fine, but if the tree looks terrible when I’m done, you’ll be to blame,” Elizabeth teased.

  Bearing his usual happy countenance, Stan Reynolds knocked on the open door. “Tree trimming time?”

  “Sort of. I’ve just been reprimanded for lacking creativity.”

  He took a seat on the sofa beside the bare tree. “Liz, lacking creativity? I beg to differ. Free-spirited spontaneity, yes, but creativity, never. Take for example the Foundation’s 2014 campaign - absolutely ingenious.”

  Elizabeth smiled in gratitude and politely dismissed her assistant. “Thanks, Amanda. I’ll touch base with you before I leave for lunch.”

  Stan was one of her all-time favorite people, not only a fabulous mentor and creative genius, but also a friend. Always kind and soft-spoken in his personal relationships but a tiger in the conference room, he encouraged his people to seek the edgy, push the limits and not to be afraid to use every possible form of media available to them. His relationship with her was also fatherly, and it was welcome since her own father almost obsessively appreciated his solitude, silence, and distance from most things pertaining to the Bennet women.

  She took a seat diagonally across from him. “Actually, my original campaign was entirely different. The 2014 calendar and schedule of appearances and fundraisers were all Rick Fitzwilliam’s idea. True, we collaborated once he let me have a peek into his brilliant concept, but he brought it to the table during my pitch meeting. He felt sex was a sure fire way to get women to part with their money and frankly, I wholeheartedly agree. I’d buy the calendar.”

  “Clearly.”

  She knit her brow. “Why do you say that?”

  “I saw the eleven o’clock news along with 1.7 million other viewers Monday night. I bet ABC is thrilled. Their Nielsen ratings went through the roof with that little Leisure segment Eyewitness News did at the photoshoot. I’d say Candy Moore hit the nail on the head, and her cameraman was spot on with those close ups. Didn’t you see the segment?”

  “Um … no, I haven’t. What was so obvious about my interest in purchasing a calendar?” Damn if she didn’t hate to ask that question twice. She knew what he was intimating. After all, she had lived through the humiliation of oiling the man. If she had not been interrupted by Johnny who knows what insult or fault Mr. Conceited December would have lo
bbed at her.

  “It wasn’t your interest in the calendar but rather one month in particular. December, I think.” Stan’s smirk became more pronounced with Elizabeth’s obvious discomfiture.

  Oh, damn. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she vehemently denied.

  “Sure you don’t. Patricia and I always enjoy a little oil, gets us in the mood. It’s highly titillating.”

  “Please don’t go there, the visual of my, ahh … boss and his wife is more than I can handle with only one cup of coffee down.”

  Stan laughed. “Calm down, I’m just teasing you. Although I’ve gotta’ admit, that show you put on with the spritzer bottle resulted in eight hundred and twenty-six pre-sold calendars, and at twenty-five bucks apiece, well you do the math. Good work!”

  “Oh. I guess I had better call the printer and increase production. I reviewed Charlotte’s shots yesterday and narrowed down the selection. Although she e-mailed them, I printed my favorites and have been examining them for any subtle flaws. Very few need digital touch up or airbrush enhancing, so we won’t be losing much time. I’ll wrap up the final selection after lunch.”

  “I have every confidence in you. A bit surprised you haven’t taken the opportunity to watch the segment, but that’s negligible. As usual, everything is exceeding our client’s expectations. In fact, I heard from the founder of the FD Burn Foundation this morning. What glowing praise – they are really impressed with your management of the campaign. The founder went on and on about your professionalism and how pleased everyone is with your quick execution of the campaign. You hit the ground running and everything is coming together. A bonus was even suggested for you, not to mention the founder will be paying Charlotte directly, a generous amount I might add – wouldn’t hear of her contributing her services.”

  “Really … wow, the founder of the charity called offering to pay Charlotte directly? That’s a huge compliment to the agency. I’m so happy, Stan.”

  “This is a compliment to you directly and, of course, Charlotte.”

  “I have heard that during John Lucas’s interview in that news segment, he took credit for the shoot. I’m really sorry about that. The Foundation is aware that it’s all Charlotte, right?”

  “Absolutely. In fact, that point was specifically made during our conversation. Although Lucas’s name and face cannot hurt in marketing these calendars, due to his credentials, we know that it’s Charlotte’s exceptional work bringing the project to life. Her talent will sell them. The founder knows this.”

  Stan knit his brows. “Do you know who the founder is, Liz?”

  “Sure, it’s Mrs. de Bourgh.”

  He was surprised his ‘ace’ hadn’t done all the detail work on this, but he was slightly amused by it. “Listen, are you sure you don’t want to see that news report?”

  “No thanks. You’ve seen it, the client is happy, the target market is responding and money is coming in, that’s all I need to know.”

  Stan looked at Elizabeth’s unusually messy desk. Slick photographs lay strewn on top of manila folders, her coffee mug dangerously rested beside her laptop, not on its usual coaster. “Is everything all right?”

  “Sure, what could be wrong? It’s the holidays, I just made a date for Sunday with an old flame, and I’m managing the most meaningful, not to mention fun, ad campaign of my career, what could possibly be wrong?”

  “Okay. If you say so. Just know I’m here if you need to talk.” He rose and walked toward the door. Before exiting, he turned back to her. “I’m proud of you Liz. It’s a huge campaign for a worthy cause. You and Charlotte once again proved to me what a valuable team we have here at BADCo.”

  “Thank you, Stan. It means so much for me to hear that. I’m glad you’re happy.”

  “What would really make me happy is if you would give Mr. December a chance. You might well be surprised to learn he’s not the man you think he is.”

  “How do you … what … who told you?”

  “Ah well, you ladies may have you secrets but so do we men. My lips are sealed.” With that, he left her office just as Amanda buzzed her intercom.

  “Phone call on one Ms. Bennet, a girl you met at the auditions on Saturday.”

  Elizabeth’s face lit up. She really didn’t think Georgie would telephone, but she was happy she had.

  “This is Liz Bennet.”

  “Hi Liz, it’s Georgie. We met at the fire department calendar auditions on Saturday. I hope it’s okay that I called you.”

  “Hi Georgie. I’m so glad you did. I was hoping you’d take me up on my offer.”

  “Well, to be honest I wasn’t sure if you meant it. I mean, you didn’t know me and you did down that Manhattan quickly.” She laughed easing into the conversation. “Not to mention you were pretty agitated by that firefighter.”

  “Hmm, yeah that firefighter.” Elizabeth shuffled through the photographs lying before her on her desk. She pulled out one of Darcy’s eight by ten glossies, subconsciously running her finger down the image of his right bicep, remembering how that supple vein felt below her finger two days before. “Did you have a good time at the event? Did your friend?” she asked distractedly.

  “Oh, we had a blast. My friend doesn’t get out much, so she really enjoyed it. We’re both looking forward to the Launch Party next Friday. For all my years as a New Yorker, I’ve never been to the New York City Fire Museum.”

  “It’s going to be a great event! Were you able to get tickets? It’s my understanding that the event is already sold out.”

  “Yeah … I sorta have a connection. So I was wondering if you would like to meet me for lunch today. I’m heading over to Fifth Avenue to start my Christmas shopping. Maybe, if you’re free we can meet somewhere?”

  “That’s perfect! I’m headed over to FAO for some Christmas ornaments. How’s noon at C’Est Bon Café on 55th & Madison?”

  “Great! I’ll see you then.”

  “I’m looking forward to it, Georgie.”

  At eleven thirty, Darcy and Georgiana stood before Tiffany’s at the corner of 57th and Fifth Avenue. It was something they hadn’t done in years – eight to be exact. In companioned silence, they enjoyed the spectacular holiday windows, oblivious to the crowds surrounding or rushing behind them.

  Panels of Tiffany’s distinct robin egg blue and swags of pine and ornate gold trim surrounded both large display windows on either side of the entrance door. Before the brother and sister, a fantastical Central Park winter scene was laid out - a miniature, hansom carriage nestled in faux snow sat filled with little blue boxes tied with red bows. A brilliant diamond bracelet lay draped around the horse’s neck.

  Georgiana broke the silence, “You should take her on a carriage ride through the park, maybe when it’s snowing. It would be really romantic. That’s where you should kiss her for the first time.”

  “G, I’ve got to get the date first and at the rate I’m going, it doesn’t look like that’s going to happen. I almost asked at the photoshoot, but we were interrupted.”

  They moved to the second window, closest to Gucci and Trump Tower and passed an attractive woman singing a Christmas song while rhythmically ringing a Salvation Army bell for kettle donations. Together, brother and sister silently enjoyed the winter cityscape behind the glass. Each miniature rooftop displayed pairs of colorful gemstone earrings resembling kissing turtledoves.

  Georgiana touched her brother’s arm. “Monday went that poorly, huh? Did you argue, again? What interrupted you from asking her for a date?”

  “Another guy … someone she flirted with all morning.”

  “So now you have competition to deal with. Well anything worth having is worth working for. In your case, fighting for.”

  Darcy pointed inside the display window. “Those - third from the left, the emeralds. See that flicker in the facets? They look like Elizabeth’s eyes when she’s angry.”

  “Gorgeous.”

  “Gorgeous isn’t even the right word
– more like captivating.”

  He paused again contemplating the impossible, then abruptly said, “Look, I’ve got to meet with Bingley to pick up my tuxedo at Armani and you have a luncheon date to keep, so we should part ways here. Be safe, hold onto your bags tightly. Shit happens at Christmastime.”

  “So protective. See you, bro.” Georgiana kissed his cheek and walked away.

  “Good luck and don’t forget to get the blog address.”

  She waved in acknowledgement and headed down Fifth Avenue toward her lunch date two blocks away.

  Darcy looked at his watch. He still had fifteen minutes. Looking back at the earrings, he did the unthinkable, but the most optimistic thing he had done in years - he entered Tiffany’s.

  Sitting beside the café’s window looking out onto the busy lunchtime holiday hustle, Elizabeth waited for Georgiana’s arrival. Located in Manhattan’s business cluster of advertising agencies, C’Est Bon Café was a frequent haunt since it was close to her office on Madison Avenue.

  The cup of hot chocolate surrounded by her hands warmed the chill that had settled in her bones. The whipped cream floating on top the rich comfort drink made her giggle every time her upper lip touched the white foam leaving her a childlike ‘Got Milk’ mustache. She felt full of Christmas cheer and excitement. Determined to live a little and give into the spontaneity of the moment, the conservative professional couldn’t ignore the innate child in her along with the urge to dip her finger in the cream, sucking it from the tip.

  Elizabeth gleefully waited for her new friend, incredibly pleased with herself, having spent thirty minutes in the happiest place in all Manhattan - FAO Schwarz.