Lucky 13

by Cat Gardiner

  The sofa’s plastic below Charlotte’s butt had been nicely warmed and softened from the heat within the apartment. She settled back looking around the apartment as Sadie sat next to her, removing her knitting from a vintage Lily Pulitzer bag and began to work while they waited for Elizabeth to complete her profile.

  “Sso ... tell me Charlotte, are you in a relationship?”

  Motioning with the end of her knitting needle toward Charlotte’s spiky hair, she asked as if the most natural of questions, “You’re not faygele are you? Not that it matters … as I said, everyone likes the taste of something else. A good shadchan has to be open to such possibilities. I ask you … vhere vould Sadie be in the business if she didn’t find everyone’s bashert? Eh?”

  That question again. Damn, if she wasn’t going to have to grow her hair out. Charlotte rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not a lesbian. I just started to date a man, but we’re not in a serious type of relationship. We’re just enjoying each other right now. Rick and I are sort of from different worlds. He’s uptown and I’m downtown.”

  “Vell … this Rick … so high class, he’s a good catch ... mit a bissel gelt in his pocket? Someone you vant to have a relationship, move to Lon k-Island and have lotsa babies?”

  “For the first time ever, I’m thinking about something like that, but I’m not sure if he’s thinking the same way – about a relationship that is. We almost talked about it the other night, but he used the phrase ‘no strings attached’. He’s a lawyer and is pretty busy. We have fun together and um…”

  Sadie chuckled as she focused on the knit and pearls of the poncho she was making to sell on her Etsy website. “Nothing changes. Let Sadala give you some free advice, eh? I tell all my girls, ‘Don’t eat the challah before you make the blessing’. He vants vat you got and he’s got vhat you vant - Every girl vants the Chuppah. Vat you need to say is ‘No Chuppah, no Shtupa!”

  “Shtupa?”

  Sadie motioned back and forth with the long knitting needle. “Shtup - Have the sex.”

  “Hmm ... I guess.”

  “I thought Elizabeth was a faygele. I recognized her from the Metro personal ad.”

  “You surf the net? Wow, I never would have expected that.”

  “Vhat you think I don’t use all the resources available to me? All those singles, spilling their hearts on the vorld vide veb. It makes my job easy.

  “Now tell me about this man for Elizabeth. Shame he’s a goy - I have lots of good girls who’ll make a nice vife.”

  “So you know he’s not Jewish?”

  “Of course.”

  “You know she isn’t Jewish either, right?”

  Sadie raised her eyebrows and gestured to the photographs above them. “One hundred and sixty nine marriages … vhat, you think Sadie doesn’t know a shiksa vhen she sees one?”

  Charlotte’s smile grew. “You mean you were just busting her chops?”

  “Of course, you vant your money’s vorth don’t you? Now, tell me about this Fitzvilliam. Oy vey, vhat a name!”

  “That’s my Rick’s last name, Fitzwilliam. Oh. My. God! Who would do that to a son?”

  “A nice Benjamin or Aaron … even Villiam, but Fitzvilliam, ach! The things they name children these days ... like computers. Apple, Mac, Siri … vhat happened to good names, strong names. Someone even named a poor bubele Brooklyn. S-aright, I like Brooklyn … but it’s a baby not a lean piece of pastrami from Villiamsburg.”

  “Who knew he had such a bizarre first name? Everyone calls him Darcy. He’s Rick’s cousin.”

  “So, vhat about this Darcy? Vhy doesn’t she like him?”

  “They are clearly attracted to each other, yet for some strange reason they fight whenever they’re in each other’s company. It seems as though they’re both fighting the attraction. So all they manage to do is argue and insult one another. Rick doesn’t understand it, but I do. Lizzy is afraid of feeling too much. So, Rick and I just figured we would help them out a bit. What did his profile say – I’m so curious.”

  “Such a man. That I should have had such a man, but Sadie didn’t marry for love. S-aright the shtupping was good. Now this one, this Darcy, he’s a catch – a philanthropist he says. Sensitive, brave, artistic, rich and vhat a looka. If I was fifty years younger. Oy. He cooks ... gourmet, no less.”

  “Elizabeth cooks!”

  “Sso … They’ll cook together ... hot stuff.” Sadie wiggled her eyebrows, causing both of them to burst out in laughter.

  They quickly stifled when they noticed Elizabeth standing at the doorway listening. She held up her profile proudly. “I’m finished.”

  “So fast. Come. Sit.” She moved her knitting to the armchair beside her and patted the now vacant sofa space so Elizabeth could take the seat. “Let’s have a look.”

  Elizabeth winked to Charlotte, all of a sudden feeling confident about the shidduch process, certain that the four hundred dollars just might really be money well spent.

  Sadie pretended to seriously read the profile. Putting on her larger-than-life white, bubble frame eyeglasses, she nodded while scanning, every once in awhile dropping the glasses to the tip of her nose, impossibly attempting to look over the thick rim at her client.

  “Five daughters? Oy vey … your poor mammale. I’m having flashbacks of Fiddler on the Roof. Oh, that poor Golde.”

  “No Sadie, it’s more like my poor papa. Mom is … well, mom is unique.”

  “Unique … vhat can be so unique about her? Vhat does she have eyes behind her head? A good yiddishe mama usually does.”

  Elizabeth looked to Charlotte who deliberately diverted her eyes. “Where do I begin? My mother is a master at guilt and will make you feel bad about anything and everything. For me – in particular – it’s my birth she makes me feel guilty about, my very existence. She can’t stop complaining until you please her but there’s never any pleasing her. She thinks she knows who the perfect man for me is, and she is quite overbearing about it. I don’t mean to be unkind, but my mother is an interminable gossip of the worse kind – even lies to stir up drama, makes things up to draw attention to herself. She meddles in everyone’s business and starts rumors like the one that Charlotte is a gay.”

  Charlotte’s eyes met Sadie’s, both almost laughing.

  Elizabeth took a deep breath. “My poor sister, Mary, and I are on the receiving end of her histrionics – only I had the sense to leave home. Poor Mary is so insecure, she’s dating the most ridiculous man, convinced by my mother he’s all she can get.”

  “So vhat you’re telling me is your mammale is a yenta of the worst kind. Ach, that’s not unique! Now I understand vhy you haven’t met a nice man to marry. Who vants to marry a yenta? You vant to see the vife - you look at the mother. That’s how the men think today.”

  She patted Elizabeth’s knee. “Don’t you vorry about a thing, bubele. Sadala has just the right man for you.”

  She withdrew Darcy’s profile and read some of his attributes aloud. Holding her index finger up, she wagged it back and forth. “This one … now this is the one. He is your bashert. I know my business. So handsome and does mitzvah. He’s a real mensch, Elizabeth. Tall, strong and vorks two jobs – not because he has to but because he vants to. You like sports … he likes sports. He plays baseball in the summer. He loves music, plays the guitar, sings, and cooks. A nice man who cooks and he’s looking for a nice vife.”

  “Isn’t it misleading him, Sadie? I mean, I’m only looking for a nice man to share the holidays with and invite as a dinner date on Long Island.”

  “Date shmate. This is the one Sadala says you vill marry. Mark my vords.” She pulled a business card out of a little holder on the cherry wood end table beside her. “Here, take this. You like Chinese?”

  “Who doesn’t?

  “Good. Shanghai Café Deluxe down the street vill give you a special deal vhen you tell them Sadie sent you. See … with a little schmoozing, you get results. Twenty percent off your entire meal, and vhat a dish
he serves up. Best soup with dumplings outside of my kitchen and 2nd Avenue Deli for the matzo balls. You know the Deli? It’s uptown. Don’t vorry about a thing. I’ll make the date and call you. All you have to do is show up vith that shayna punim and in three months, I’ll be buying a dress at Loehmanns for fifty percent off to vear to your vedding. How’s that?”

  Liz’s Blog Post Here

  Chapter Thirteen – Friday, December 13

  12 Days Until Christmas

  The date with her speed dating match already had doom written all over it and given Unlucky Thirteen Lizzy’s history, it seemed a disastrous omen.

  Standing outside the Bowlmor bowling alley on Chelsea Pier, waiting for the man she matched with wasn’t so bad. Well, apart from looking at her watch six times already and that was six times more than she wanted to. He was late. By her governing Miss Punctuality standard, late was a pretty bad beginning for a first date, and he was late by ten minutes. Not to mention she was freezing. Once the sun went down, the temperature had dropped significantly. Neither Elizabeth’s new blue, wool coat, nor her thick scarf did anything to warm her. She stood before the busy entry door repeatedly withdrawing her frozen hands from the marginal warmth of her deep coat pockets, only to burrow back in while she bounced on the balls of her feet to keep warm.

  Preston, her date, approached her nonchalantly, like he didn’t have a notion that he kept her waiting for him.

  “Elizabeth, right?” he asked. If not for her blue coat, he definitely would not have recognized her. The cosmetic-less woman with eyeglasses and a bun head before him was visually not the same woman as the night of speed dating, and he was more than a little disappointed.

  Elizabeth smiled brightly. “Hi Preston.”

  They shook hands. Funny, she remembered him as taller and clean shaven. She had never really appreciated that five o’clock shadow look. No matter, it was a small detail. He was still a handsome enough guy, and the rosy chill to his cheeks and nose was kind of cute as the hot steam came from his mouth when he spoke.

  Preston held the door open for her, entering the state-of-the-art entertainment venue. Bowling lanes, game room, pool hall and bar areas surrounded a wide open floor plan of luxury pink leather seating. Towering above, overlooked a private loft reserved for parties and special VIPs. The place was a hive of activity and for a Friday night, they were pretty lucky to have reserved a bowling lane. Accented by the obligatory holiday colors, the dimly lit retro décor of blues and purples set the scene for a fun evening. Crashing bowling pins mixed with pop music and cheers of encouragement to teammates made up the din of the bowling area. Neon lights and TV screens hung from the walls and ceilings. It was exciting and clearly the ‘go to’ place on the Pier.

  As soon as they neared the bar area, Preston noticed the ‘Restrooms’ sign and excused himself for a moment leaving Elizabeth to wait around nervously. She occupied the time, taking the opportunity to admire the general splendor of the venue, reflecting how Bowlmor had launched a rock solid advertising campaign, even YouTube commercials, promoting “The Perfect 1st Date.” She smiled and thought optimistically, We’ll see.

  Several minutes later, Preston re-joined her, and they walked toward the bowling shoe counter.

  “Do you bowl much?” Elizabeth nervously asked.

  Her date’s smile was enthusiastic and he now seemed more comfortable in her presence. “Not so much. I’m haunted by childhood memories as being the fat kid pushing a ten pound ball down the alley with two hands.”

  “Ah, I understand. I have scars not too dissimilar. I can’t remember the last time I went bowling.”

  “Good, then we’ll make spectacles of ourselves together. We’ll have a good time.”

  They made quick work at requesting their rental shoes, and Elizabeth couldn’t help crinkling her nose when the ‘shoe specialist’ sprayed the insides with fungicide. She made a mental note to add to her ‘things to do list’ an entry to ‘purchase tea tree oil’. Acquiring foot fungus on Friday the 13th was easily within the realm of a bad possibility. Her shoes were a pretty pink color so she tried to re-focus on the positive.

  Their lane was the last available. Although dimly lit, Elizabeth admired the colorful yellow and fuchsia seating with bowling pins and balls to match. The smooth, highly glossed wood lane was highlighted by royal blue lighting, casting a futuristic feel to the atmosphere. Utilizing a few minutes of diversion, she absorbed the design elements, attempting to settle her nervous thoughts before launching her initiative to “get to know” her date.

  “So tell me, do you live downtown, Preston? Three minutes hardly gave us any time to flesh out such details.”

  “I do. I live over in NoLita. It makes getting to work on Wall Street a whole lot easier. How about you?”

  “West End Avenue, not far from Dog Run. I was just down in the Lower East Side, yesterday. Great area.”

  He nodded and then couldn’t quite help his eyes from traveling over her red cashmere sweater that fit so perfectly.

  An awkward silence lasted for a couple of minutes before Preston cleared his throat and took a seat at the touch-screen console to keep score.

  “I’ll keep score; you’re up first,” he said with a presumptuous air about him.

  Already she was getting mixed signals from him, one minute charming and joking, the next distracted. She chalked it up to his being nervous as well.

  “Right. Okay.” Elizabeth grabbed a fuchsia ball and walked to the line at the beginning of the lane. Damn if she didn’t feel her date’s eyes burning into her backside. She had deliberately worn her ‘Lucky’ blue jeans in hope of a good outcome to the night. Not the sexual kind of ‘getting lucky’ but the ‘hope the night doesn’t go to hell in a hand basket’ kind of lucky.

  Never in all her time dating had she been so nervous and she didn’t know why. Sure, he was easy on the eyes, successful, and so far a gentleman – apart from his checking out her ass (ets,) but she supposed that was to be expected. She had checked out his but all that wasn’t enough to make her riddled with anxiety. Perhaps it was the fact that time was running out. Christmas would be here before she knew it.

  In the dimmed alley, she stood at the foul line at the end of the lane and lifted the ball to her chin. Ready to conquer the nervousness, she eyed the colorful pins at the far end as though they represented her fears. She closed an eye, did some silly mathematic ratio in her head and readied to swing the ball with what she hoped was precision, until she heard that voice, just to her right.

  She knew that voice. It had been tormenting her dreams the past four nights. Damn it! He’s everywhere!

  Darcy smirked, surprised by her unexpected presence but delighted in the possibilities. “Are you following me, Elizabeth?”

  Her head snapped to the right to see him standing on the other side of the short, black railing in the lane right beside her. He stood in the exact position as her with his blue ball raised before him. The white collar beneath his shirt and pearly white smile glowed in the blue light above.

  Closing her eyes, she dropped her head back with a resigned, You’ve got to be kidding me? expression. Realization belatedly dawned, Of course, it’s Friday the 13th in the year 2013!

  Forgetting for a moment she was with someone who she was trying to impress, Elizabeth couldn’t resist her need to smartly reply. For a split second, she thought it funny that he held one blue ball, and she restrained her tongue from jumping all over the innuendo. Instead she replied sharply, “Don’t flatter yourself, Darcy. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were stalking me. First speed dating, then my gym on Tuesday, now here when I just so happen to be on a date.”

  She looked behind him at the woman sitting at the computer, recognizing the pretty blonde wearing a low cut shirt, from the ‘Size Matters’ speed dating.

  “I’m shocked Darcy, you actually found a woman who met your high standards. Where’d you find her - 1-800 Hot Babe?”

  He looked behind her and reco
gnized Preston. “Same place you picked up cro-magnum with the unibrow and last week’s leftover facial hair. Doesn’t he know what razor blades are for? He’s staring at your ass you know.”

  “No, he’s staring at the arse beside me.”

  At those words, she lowered the ball and swung it down the lane. It veered into the gutter.

  Darcy laughed, lowered his arm and threw a strike, crashing the pins loudly. He laughed again.

  The blonde, who he previously determined had hideous feet when she changed into her bowling shoes, jumped up and ran into his arms squealing. Oh yeah, this is gonna be so good, he thought, but damn if Angela’s happy squeal didn’t make her sound like a pig being castrated. She ruined his moment of euphoria. He cringed. Of course, he had fully reconciled the fact that faced with the perfection of Elizabeth, every other woman would pale, if not outright repulse him. Such was the case tonight with that shapely ass of hers encased in Lucky denim. Yes, those jeans are lucky.

  Having spent the entire morning reviewing Elizabeth’s dating blog, not to mention commenting under the name of ‘Caveman’, he was now fully armed with thirteen posts chock-full of information, humor, empathy and insight. He now knew exactly where she was coming from and where she was headed: Date on Sunday with Photo-Boy Lucas, blind date (him) by Jewish matchmaker, blind date (him) by Georgie.

  He had studied what Elizabeth wanted, what pissed her off, her sensitivities, and her denials, and he understood the hurts that Lucas inflicted, leaving scars and deep-seeded fears. The cream on the cake was that he also knew how attracted she was to ‘Mr. December’. Written within almost every line of her blog, whether blatantly admitted, hinted at, or just below the surface, it was there - acknowledgement of her own sexual intrigue and desire for him. That day, making a few lists of his own he strategized what to do to catch, romance and woo this incredible woman with spirited intensity, allure, and the most beautiful eyes and smile he had ever seen.