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Saint Agnes’ Eve
by Tom Lazenby
5.0 stars – 1 Reviews
Kindle Price: $3.99
Text-to-Speech and Lending: Enabled
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Here’s the set-up:
Holly Likewise has a dream; an extraordinary dream of her future romance with the mystery man whom she is destined to marry. With eyes like the sky and a face like no other (or so she thinks), he’s a true gift from above. And, though still asleep, she’s never felt more alive in her life. For a moment, everything seems perfect. But upon awakening, Holly quickly realizes that her midnight honeymoon has been cut all-too short. Strangely disappointed by the sudden disappearance of her undercover lover, Holly dismisses her nighttime vision as mere fancy; a product of her mother’s stories about destiny and the legend of Saint Agnes’ Eve. At thirty-three years old and prone to disbelief, she has no time for games. Moreover, her busy New York City lifestyle and less than stellar love life have left her feeling slightly depressed about her future. But when she comes face to face with the darkly handsome man she saw in her dream, Holly begins to believe that there might be something to the legend after all.Jimmy Cavanaugh has a plan; a master plan to rob a safe holding one million dollars of unclaimed cash from one of the biggest pimps in Las Vegas. From there, he’s on his way to New York City to visit his estranged brother, Jake, while waiting for his passport to come through. Ready to live out the rest of his life on Easy Street, Jimmy’s made the score of a lifetime. With places to go and money to burn, he quickly proceeds to cut a reckless path of uninhibited pleasure across the glittering landscape of the concrete jungle. But somehow trouble still manages to find him, and Jimmy soon discovers that leaving behind a life of crime isn’t as easy as he thought.
Jake Cavanaugh has a problem. Not only is he being pressured by his demanding twenty-something fiancée to trade in his life as a struggling artist and part-time bartender for a new job selling luxury cars at her workaholic father’s Scarsdale dealership, but his whole life is about to be turned upside down when he gets a surprise visit from his recently paroled, trouble-making twin brother. With things getting crazier by the minute, Jake resigns himself to the seemingly unavoidable fact that his path is destined to take a dramatic turn for the worse. Between his backsliding brother and badgering bride-to-be, his future seems uncomfortably set; until an unexpected encounter with an enchanting illustrator rekindles his desperate passion for art and for the undying love they are destined to share.
In a classic case of mistaken identity and spellbound soul mates, Saint Agnes’ Eve tells the tale of a modern-day romance inspired by a medieval legend, and brings to light the dawning reality that (for two star-crossed lovers) dreams really do come true.
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And here, for your reading pleasure, is our free romance excerpt:
PROLOGUE
Jimmy Cavanaugh sat outstretched on a broken lounge chair by the motel pool feeling completely at ease with the world around him. It had been nearly three months since he had gotten out of the clink, and the motel had been his residence ever since. The Easy Ace Motel was the kind of place for people who wanted everything and had nothing. The rooms were cruddy, the staff sleazy, and the patrons slick. The pool was the nicest thing about it; the water clean, clear, and limpid. It was an attractive enticement to potential sojourners. The one area that had been untainted by the grime that threatened to take over the entire establishment. The one spot where you could dream of a better life. And Jimmy had done that more than once.
He took a long pull on his gin and tonic as he watched the palm trees (five of them, one next to the other) swaying back and forth in the warm Nevada wind; their dark fronds, silhouetted against light blue and purple colored sky, shimmied and shook like fringe-skirted hula dancers. It was nearing six O’clock and the sun had dwindled submissively to the horizon, leaving scattered strands of bright pink clouds in its wake. Jimmy smiled at the passing of the day. Tomorrow, if all went right, he would be a rich man.
Vicky had told him all about it. One million dollars. Maybe more. All waiting for him to pick up. The plan was perfect. Vicky would drive him into the house, go to dinner with her fat slob of a husband, and Jimmy would rob it. It was so simple, it almost sounded too good to be true. But it was. He had spent the last two weeks planning the job. From Vicky’s description, he figured the safe to be a typical steel wall, dial combination lock. Not wanting to leave anything to chance, Jimmy had gone out and purchased a high-speed electric drill with carbaloid bits, a four-foot crowbar, and a portable oxyacetylene cutting torch. With the tools he had in tow, he figured the job would take him a half an hour at the most. It was a gamble which involved a considerable amount of risk. But he was willing to risk it all for a shot at the big time.
Jimmy simpered as he sat in his chair, recollecting the sordid past that had led him to this fateful moment of opportunity. His whole life had been a constant gamble since leaving New York. As a child, his father had always told him life wasn’t fair. Jimmy had decided to make it fair game. He hadn’t wanted to settle for a decent living. He always had his mind set on getting the big prize; hitting the jackpot, by whatever road he had to take—even if it meant breaking the law. It had been many years since he had taken that first step into the world of crime. A world of outlaws and derelicts; danger and deception. A world with no limits. No barriers. And it didn’t discriminate. It appealed to everyone from white-collar businessmen to the junkie on the street. There was only one prerequisite a man had to have before entering into a life of crime: balls. Big friggin’ balls. Most of the time more balls than brains, but those were usually the ones who got caught. Jimmy smirked. It was a lesson he had learned the hard way. His youthful indiscretions had landed him behind bars more than once, and he wasn’t about to go down that road again. Like any other business, time was money, and he had done his fair share of wasting both.
When he had finished his drink, Jimmy got up off the chair and trudged lazily back into the squalid motel room. Turning on the light, he felt the familiar sensation of being transported back into the not-so-distant past. The lime green shag carpet and brushed chrome lava lamps dated the room to circa 1965. The flimsy wallpaper consisted of a saffron yellow floral design which gradually faded then darkened into a grim sepia around the edges. The dim overhead light and decrepit ceiling fan conspired to decapitate any resident attempting to adjust the speed or replace the bulb. All in all, the room presented a stark exhibition of tawdry décor that reflected the unchecked self-indulgence of its psychedelic heyday.
Jimmy moved slowly across the living room floor and made his way into the bathroom. He needed a shower. Graffiti etched in by a knife on the bathroom wall read, Frank Sinatra was here. Jimmy smirked. No doubt the place had gone downhill since Old Blue Eyes last set foot on the property. He spent five minutes in the shower before the water went cold. Piece of shit motel.
When he had finished his shower, he toweled off then walked slowly back into the main room. The suitcase atop the bed contained everything he owned in the world. He checked his plane ticket, set to leave tomorrow night. He would miss Vegas. The lights. The sleaze. And, of course, the action. But it didn’t matter. He would be getting plenty of action where he was going; especially if he pulled off this job.
He checked the room over once more. He wanted to make sure he didn’t leave any trace of himself behind. His whole life was about to change. No more flea-bitten motels. No more fly-by-night “career opportunities” set up by his parole officer. This time it would be different. He was going to set himself up right. And this time, it would be for life.
CHAPTER 1
The alarm clock went off at six A.M. sharp, spewing forth a discordant shriek of garbled voices and heavy static that fought to rouse the living from their secret slumber. Holly Likewise threw her arm out of bed and smacked it into submission. Normally the clock would’ve been set for five-thirty but she had been up most of the night working and had needed the extra sleep. She considered lying there for just five more minutes but knew it was probably a bad idea. She couldn’t be late. In exactly two hours from now she was scheduled to submit her latest sketches for the February issue of New Style Magazine. The theme for the month was, “The Vintage of Valentine’s Day,” and Holly had spent the better part of her evening filling in the twenty or so outlines she had done detailing the classic cuts of bygone couture that epitomized the spirit of the season. With a reluctant sense of delayed obligation, she moaned in disgust, opened her eyes, and dragged herself out of bed.
Standing in the center of the room, she reached down and touched her toes (a sort of wake up ritual she had practiced for the past five years; the day she couldn’t touch her toes was the day she was starting to get old) then made her way to the bathroom. Turning on the light, she tossed her white silk pajamas into the hamper, stepped into the shower, and lost herself in the hot stream of water. Ten minutes later she stepped out onto the cold tile, wrapped her body in a towel, and looked at herself in the mirror. Alive again. Her fair skin seemed to glow under the wide awning of light bulbs that spanned the top horizon of silvered-glass; her green eyes shining clear and bright. Holly smiled. The extra sleep always did her skin a world of good. Though she would never be mistaken for a supermodel, she felt blessed by the fact that she didn’t have to cake her face with make-up every morning to look pretty.
She quickly toweled off, brushed her shoulder-length red hair (which looked almost brown when wet) then headed back into the bedroom. She went over to the closet and put on a pair of tan slacks and a cream colored cardigan. Once dressed, she picked up her keys, slung her purse over her shoulder and was out the door.
After exiting the building, she made her way up to East 87th street and hailed a taxi. Once settled into the back of the cab, Holly took out her cell phone from her purse and switched it on, signaling the start of her work day. A few moments passed before she saw she had a new voice message from Greg. Holly pressed the single button, which instantly dialed her voicemail, and waited. You have one new voice message and six saved messages. New message:
Hi Holly, it’s Greg. It’s about a quarter after ten, you’re probably asleep. I really don’t have much time to talk right now; I’ve got to catch a flight. I just wanted to call to say that, I, uh…I don’t think I can see you anymore. Please don’t take this the wrong way, I think you’re great. But when it comes down to it, I just don’t think we have enough in common to form a lasting relationship. I think it’s best that we quit while we’re ahead. Excuse the message, but I thought this would be the easiest way for the both of us to end this. I hope you meet someone who you really connect with in the future. Okay, well, I guess that’s it. Take care of yourself, ya hear. Okay, well, Bye.
That was how it went. It was over, just like that. Six months of her romantic life down the drain. Holly fought the urge to shed a few tears. Maybe it was for the best. But, at the moment, it certainly didn’t feel that way.
She had been seeing Greg since August. The relationship had gotten off to a lukewarm start. He had a good job working for a Swiss bank in the city and was always traveling somewhere or another. Initially, she had not found him all that attractive but he had somehow managed to win her over with his strong personality. Strong was the only word she could equate with it. He had been exceedingly forward when it came to his plans for the future and what he wanted out of his romantic life; marriage purportedly being his primary intention. She had waited until their fifth date before she had accepted his offer to go back to his apartment. He had kept her at an arm’s length after that; always calling to cancel dinner dates and leaving town in a hurry. When he had finally mustered up the decency to see her again, he told her about an offer he had received to move to Zurich for work. From then on she had known it was only a matter of time.
Holly, all of a sudden, felt like utter crap. She needed someone to talk to. And it wasn’t her boss.
She phoned her job and said she was sick, then told the cabbie to take her over to Forest Hills. Twenty minutes later, the cab dropped her off in front of her mom’s apartment building. Holly stepped into the foyer and approached the intercom, then pushed the button next to the name, “B. Likewise.” A few moments went by before she heard the familiar voice.
“Who is it?”
“Ma, it’s me. Buzz me in.”
“How do I know it’s you?”
“Ma, it’s me!” Holly said, astonished.
“You didn’t use the secret code.”
Holly shook her head in good humored frustration. The Code. Six depressions of the button; three and three, separated by a short pause. Holly proceeded to press it three times, waited a moment, then pressed it another three. Finally, she heard the buzz. Holly opened the door and entered the building. She made her way over to the elevator and pressed the button. A ten second wait and she stepped onto the platform. As the lift ascended, the shaft echoed with the ominous sounds of creaking cables and screeching wheels. Holly felt a sudden uneasiness surround her as the elevator bucked nervously and the lights flickered like wildfire. She closed her eyes and said a quick prayer. Just five more floors to go. Thirty turbulent seconds later, the doors opened and she jumped out.
She quickly made her way down the hall and around a corner. When she reached the apartment, Holly raised her hand to knock but the door opened before her knuckles could make contact.
“Honey, it’s good to see ya!”
Barbara Likewise was the epitome of unhindered ebullience at the sight of her daughter in the threshold. She was dressed in a light purple blouse with a hibiscus print that seemed more apropos for a Hawaiian luau than a New York winter. Holly smiled at the getup. Her mother had always stressed the importance of keeping a positive attitude, and her sartorial penchant for bright colors seemed to reflect her cheerful disposition.
Holly thought her mother looked absolutely fabulous for her age. At sixty-two, Barbara Likewise still had the slim, willowy figure of a ballet dancer. She wore her hair in a stylishly cropped blonde bob that fell in tousled layers just below her chin. Her face had hardly a line on it and the white strands that speckled her light blonde hair seemed to be virtually unnoticeable in the light.
She gave Holly a quick hug and a kiss then smiled a wide grin that threatened to swallow her whole.
“Hi, Mom.”
“C’mon in, I’m making breakfast.”
Holly stepped into the apartment and followed her mother down the short hallway with the purple runner. The Christmas tree still stood proudly in one corner of the living room, though nearly a month had past. Plastic branches festooned with colorful glass bulbs and glittering strands of silver and gold tinsel reached out from all sides, silently awaiting the season’s end.
She followed her mother through the living room into her glorified nook of a kitchen. Holly sat down at the kitchen table and watched as her mom fixed a quick breakfast of scrambled eggs and toast with orange marmalade. The sight of her mother busy at work conjured memories of her early childhood at home in Connecticut. Though it had been many years since she had last set foot on the property, the three bedroom, raised ranch of her youth had been permanently etched into her subconscious as a solemn symbol of warmth and security. Holly smiled. She had fond memories of growing up in the Nutmeg State and, on many occasions, had found herself considering the possibility of returning there one day to raise a family of her own.
“Why haven’t you called? I’ve been worried sick about you,” her mother asked, scraping eggs off the pan onto a plate.
“Sorry. I’ve been really busy lately.”
“You and your career. You know, you’re going to burn yourself out if you’re not careful.”
“Mom, I gotta pay my bills.”
“I know, but that’s still no excuse.”
Holly shrugged, staring at the plate of food her mother had placed in front of her.
“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Barbara asked, taking a seat at the table.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“C’mon. I know you better than that. First you take the day off work to come see me and now you’re not eating. That tells me something ain’t right in wonderland.”
“Greg and I broke up.”
“Greg? What happened to Lewis?”
Holly rolled her eyes at the mention of his name. Two weeks before meeting Greg, Holly had agreed to go out with Lewis, the son of her mother’s friend. Over the course of dinner, she had discovered Lewis to be a silly man of thirty-eight who had left his job as a lawyer to enroll in clown school. Since then, he had eked out a living performing in a few travelling circuses and various private parties around the Tri-state area. Holly was not impressed.
“What was wrong with Lewis? He was a lawyer.”
“He was a clown, Ma. And I mean that literally.”
“Well, my friend Rose has a son who’s single.”
“Ma, please. I don’t need you to set me up with anyone. I’d just like to try and meet someone on my own.”
Someone with class. Someone with style. Someone like no one she had ever met before. A man with a warm heart, a keen mind, and a firm grasp of his place in the world. Of course, good looks and a great job never hurt, but that was secondary. From her past experiences on the New York dating scene, Holly had come to realize that high salaries and fancy suits didn’t mean anything when it came to character.
“Don’t worry about it too much. You’ve got plenty of time.”
“I’m thirty-three years old, Ma. Forty’s right around the corner.”
“Well, the clock’s still ticking. Hey, you know what tonight is?” Barbara asked, changing the subject.
“No. What’s tonight?”
“It’s Saint Agnes’ Eve. Remember when you were little you used to get so excited?”
Holly arched her eyebrows. “I used to get excited when you told me the tooth fairy was coming too.”
“I remember you jumping into bed as a little girl. You didn’t want to miss a minute of your dream. You couldn’t wait to see your future husband.
“But I never did see him, Ma. Most of my dreams turned out to be nightmares.”
“Well maybe you weren’t ready for dreams about marriage.”
“Maybe I didn’t see him because it’s just a stupid legend.”
Barbara leaned back in her chair, feigning surprise. “Well, look at you. All grown up and not an ounce of fantastical belief left in you. Did I ever tell you how I met your father?”
“Mom, you told me this story a hundred times. You met him at a New Year’s Eve party and you couldn’t stand him. But three weeks later, on Saint Agnes’ Eve, you had a dream that you were going to marry him, so you did.”
“And it was the best decision I ever made.”
“Not everyone’s that lucky, Mom.”
“Patience, honey. You’ll find the right guy for you.”
Holly gave a small smile as the words passed from her mother’s lips. Though she always meant well, Holly knew her mom could never really relate to her own predicament. And, deep down, Barbara knew it too. She had been married herself at twenty-three to a wonderful man who had been the love of her life. She had never had to worry about things like dating or searching endlessly for “The One.” Looking back on it all, that part of her life—finding the perfect husband—had been rather easy. She had always considered their relationship to be special; even more than special. It was simply meant to be. From the very first moment she had met Darren, she knew her life would never be the same. Though their first actual encounter had been less than magical, he had left her with a vivid impression that had aroused her curiosity to the point where simply forgetting about him was not an option. Consequently, she had been utterly annoyed when she had caught herself thinking about him periodically throughout the next day. And equally surprised when (having found her number through the student directory at Hunter) she had received a phone call from him later that evening. His humble, if not slightly awkward, request for a date had seemed delightfully charming at the time and had succeeded in dispelling any reservations she had harbored the night before. As it turned out, agreeing to see him had been one of the smartest moves of her life. After just three weeks of dating, she had found herself head-over-heels in love, and wondering how such a thing could have happened so fast. Eighteen months later she had graduated from college with a diploma in her hand and an engagement ring on her finger. They had been married in September of that year, and six years later she had given birth to their only child.
Barbara felt a sudden upwelling of emotion at the thought of Darren Likewise, the love they had shared, and the life they had built together. Their marriage had been an affair for the ages, a special union blessed by God and written in the stars for all to see. He had been everything she had ever wanted in a man and had provided her with a lifetime of happiness. Sadly—tragically—that lifetime had been cut all-too short. After twenty-six years of marriage, she had found herself heartbroken and alone. Though Holly had offered to postpone college to remain in the house, Barbara had insisted on her daughter getting an education without any interruption. The loss of her husband had been a devastating blow to both of them. But it had happened, and they had gradually come to terms with the radical twist of fate that had changed their lives forever.
As her thoughts returned to the present, Barbara felt a strong sense of concern as she smiled at her beloved daughter. She had been praying that Holly would meet a good man. A man who could offer her the kind of love and devotion she had experienced with Darren. Though Holly had chosen to play the role of the independent career woman, Barbara knew she would like to get married. She had never failed to notice the subtle signs of uneasiness Holly had about the future. And she had begun to worry for her. She had tried to give advice in small doses of carefully worded suggestions. But she knew when to leave it well enough alone. It was a different generation, with a new set of rules. And Barbara had been out of the game for a long, long time.
She often felt regretful for not having another child; a sibling for Holly who would be there for her, and vice versa, when the going got tough. Thankfully she had aunts, and uncles, and cousins. Lots of cousins. Most of them within a two hundred mile radius of the city, though some had grown tired of the winters and decided to move west. But whether it was the hustle and bustle of New York or the glitz and glamour of Hollywood, she would always have family. And family—after all was said and done—was what mattered most.
***
It was nearly nine when Holly got back to her apartment. After leaving her mother’s place at noon, she had caught a cab back into the city and spent the rest of the day at the movies. Sadly, the triple feature of romantic comedies had done little to lift her spirits. So much for romance. She fingered through her keys until she found the right one then unlocked the door. She was cold and tired and couldn’t wait to fall into a soft, warm bed. As she stepped inside she heard the familiar purr and meow from her cat Mittens, a black tabby with white paws.
“Yes, sweetheart, I’m home.”
She picked up Mittens with both hands, cradling her like a small child. Holly carried her into the kitchen, opened up a can of Fancy Feast and set it on the floor. After feeding the cat, she poured herself a glass of red wine and looked over her apartment. Her living room was tastefully decorated with a unique assortment of antique furniture and modern art. Outside the window snow fell in dusty white flakes, sparkling like stardust under the silver moon. Holly smiled. Though the Upper East Side spread was costing her an arm and a leg, she made sure that after juggling multiple assignments and putting in countless ten hour workdays, she returned to a comfortable home.
When she had finished with her drink, Holly threw her coat over the living room couch then strode down the hall to the bathroom. She quickly flossed and brushed her teeth, washed her face and combed her hair. Then she headed for the bedroom. She had endured a lousy day and was determined to get a good night’s sleep.
As she changed into her pajamas, she remembered her mother’s words about the Eve of Saint Agnes. “Pray to Saint Agnes,” she used to say, “and you’ll see the man you’ll marry.” Holly smiled at the thought. She had always been a bit of a skeptic; or at least from the time she was twelve, the fateful year she had discovered a Toys-R-Us receipt accidentally wrapped up with one of Santa’s Christmas presents. But, skeptic or not, she decided saying a prayer couldn’t hurt. She knelt down beside her bed, made the sign of the cross with her right hand, and closed her eyes.
After saying her prayers, Holly pulled back the covers and let herself collapse onto the bed. For a moment she stared at the ceiling, then reached over to her bedside table and turned out the light. She soon felt herself overcome by the heavy shackles of sleep as the fuzzy incoherence of slumber began to take form. A moment later she found herself floating upon a soft cloud of ineffable lightness. The space before her seemed to unfold itself as she advanced effortlessly along a narrow vista of snowy white mist. The smell of freshly picked roses wafted pleasantly throughout the balmy air. As she moved forward the mist began to clear, revealing the interior of a vast cathedral. Looking down she lifted her arms, which were now clad in white lace. She was surprised to find she was wearing a wedding dress. Looking up she recognized familiar faces of friends and family standing along the aisle. Her mother smiled joyfully from the front row, her face alight with maternal pride. Holly’s eyes moved to the altar, where a man stood with his back turned. She felt a subtle sense of eager anticipation well up inside her, as though destiny was beckoning her onward. As she ascended the three steps onto the slightly raised platform, he turned to take her hand, a spark of divine recognition shining in his handsome face. The eyes were blue, warm, and loving; eyes like the sky. He took her hand gently and smiled. Then he leaned in and kissed her softly on the lips. Holly had a feeling of utter fulfillment as the dream came to an end and she fell, ever so slowly, into the waiting arms of oblivion.
CHAPTER 2
The office was aflutter with activity. Phones ringing. People walking to and fro. The vibe of energy. Just the type of atmosphere one would expect from a first-rate fashion mag. And New Style magazine had finally succeeded in establishing itself as one. Initially, the company had been seen as an upstart publication by some of the more established magazines in the industry. But, over the course of the last five years, had proved itself to have staying power through the dedication and hard-work of the talented writers, artists, and marketing team it employed.
Holly sat at her desk working on her latest sketch. She tried to concentrate but found it difficult, her mind still set on the fantastic and extraordinarily vivid dream she had experienced last night. She had woken up feeling well-rested yet slightly confused, half expecting to find the man from her dream lying in the bed next to her. She had already accepted the most rational explanation. The dream had simply been the product of her mother filling her head with all that nonsensical talk about Saint Agnes’ Eve and future husbands. Holly smiled, giving a slight exhale of amusement. Don’t start thinking into things, babe, she thought. It’s just a dream.
She had just finished the outline of her drawing when she heard footsteps approaching her desk.
“Good morning.”
Holly looked up from her desk to see her co-worker and friend, Deborah DeLowen, smiling back at her. She wore a knee-length skirt of vintage red suede with black stiletto heeled boots. Some of her clothes were a bit over-the-top for Holly’s taste, but when it came to fashion, Deb had a style all of her own.
“Morning, Deb,” Holly said.
“Wow. You’re alive.”
“Does that surprise you?”
“I don’t know. The gossip mill was churning the rumor that you were on your deathbed or something. And since you didn’t return any of my phone calls, I figured it might be true.”
“Sorry. I was at the movies most of the day.”
“The movies? That’s what you stood me up for?”
“Were we supposed to meet?”
“Not exactly,” Deb said, perching herself on the edge of Holly’s desk. “I just wanted to make you feel guilty.”
“For what?”
“For making me wait to ask you a very important question.”
“What’s up?”
“Well, I was just wondering what you’re going to wear tonight?”
“Tonight?” Holly asked, looking confused.
“Nuh, no, no. Don’t even try to tell me that you forgot about this.”
Holly stopped for a moment and tried to think. Was it somebody’s birthday?
“Hello? Does the name Crescent Imperial ring any bells?”
Of course! It had completely slipped her mind. It was the magazine’s five-year anniversary and the editor had gone all out, renting the grand ballroom in the world famous Crescent Imperial hotel. Holly tried to act casual about the whole thing.
“Oh, right. I haven’t given it much thought. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know if I’m going.”
“Why not? Don’t you have to go?” Deb asked, sounding more demanding than curious.
“I don’t think it’s mandatory. And besides, I don’t have a date.”
“Where’s Greg?”
“On his way to Zurich. Might even be there by now.”
“He took the job?”
Holly nodded.
“Well,” Deb continued, mellowing her tone. “I thought you told me he wasn’t right for you.”
“Well, he wasn’t wrong for me either. At least not completely. To be perfectly honest, I thought we could’ve had something.”
“That’s a total lie.”
“Only if I don’t believe it.”
Deb gave a slight turn of her head. “I don’t see why you would want to. The guy was a jerk and you know it. You deserve better than that.”
“Yeah, well, what we deserve isn’t always what we get.”
“Oh, honey. I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
“No, I’m okay. I just wish I knew what I’m doing wrong.”
“Who says it’s you?”
Holly arched her eyebrows. “Every guy I’ve ever dated.”
“Well then you’re dating the wrong guys.”
Holly was quiet. Easy for you to say. Deb was perfect. Almost perfect. Statuesque to say the least, with her golden blonde hair, full bosom, and light smooth skin; a typical wet dream on two legs. Keeping guys had never been a problem for her. But despite her flawless features and seemingly effortless grace, Deb was not in a class by herself. In fact, a usual day saw the office teeming with a bevy of beautiful blondes and brunettes whose staunch devotion to hair and make-up made most women appear absolutely ordinary. Though she felt like a fish out of water, Holly secretly enjoyed being the only true redhead on the floor, despite the spurious claims of two chromatically frustrated female interns who (at sporadic intervals throughout the year) sported similar shades of crimson locks, which shined in lustrous praise to the goddess of Clairol.
“Look,” Deb continued, “I think you shouldn’t let this seemingly unfortunate breakup ruin your evening.”
“I won’t, believe me. To tell you the truth it’s really not that big of a deal.”
“But it’s at the Crescent Imperial. It’s one of the best hotels in the city.”
“I wasn’t talking about the hotel.”
“C’mon,” Deb pleaded as she stood up from her seat. “This is the one time this place is going to rent out a hotel ballroom for us to have a party. There’s going to be plenty of eligible bachelors. And I hear the food at the hotel is amazing.”
Holly sighed, feeling the playful pull of peer pressure. While she didn’t doubt Deb’s enthusiasm, she also knew her best friend’s definition of “eligible bachelors” was very different from her own. But she had to get back to work, and Deb wasn’t the type of friend to take no for an answer. Though finding eligible bachelors could be hit or miss, her previous visits to the Crescent had assured her that, if nothing else, the quality of the cuisine was superb.
“Okay. You talked me into it. Now can I get back to work?”
Deb smiled, pleased with herself. “Be my guest. See you tonight.”
Holly gave a small smile as she watched Deb strut her stuff past the few straight men who sat huddled behind their desks at the other end of the office. A second later, she found herself holding back a laugh at the sight of heads turning to catch a rear-view glimpse of that fabulous female form. Holly shook her head. After millions of years of evolution, the sexually stimulated male mind was still as predictable as Pavlov’s dog.
Holly squinted, crinkled her nose, as she returned her attention to her drawing. The sketch just wasn’t shaping up right. Between her breakup, her best friend, and the wonderfully persistent image of her precarious bridegroom, she felt like her brain was completely off-kilter. She leaned her elbow on her drawing board and sighed. A night out at a fancy hotel was sounding pretty good right now.
***
Jake Cavanaugh suddenly found himself jolted into consciousness by the sharp ring of steady insistence blaring at him from below. His face gave a quick contortion of surprise as his head lifted then fell back onto the pillow with the dull heaviness of a lead ball. Jake sighed. Though his brain registered the sound, his body wasn’t listening. He had been accustomed to shutting his cell phone off before he went to sleep but Andrea, his fiancée, had demanded that he keep it on at all times. What if there was an emergency, she had said. How on earth would I get through to you? So far, the only “emergencies” had been the time when she had misplaced her 1.4 carat diamond studded earrings she had received for her sweet sixteenth birthday, and the morning she had found her fifteen pound Siamese cat lying dead on the living room couch. Jake had seen the two events as a somewhat unusual, but nonetheless accurate harbinger of things to come. And yet both incidents had paled in comparison to the ridiculous level of pre-ceremonial severity his prospective life-partner had devoted to detail. Since then the calls had been limited to midday proposals concerning floral arrangements and menu selections for the big day.
With a tired groan, Jake reached down to the floor and picked up the phone.
“Jake. Are you there? Can you hear me?”
“Hey, babe.”
“Honey, you weren’t still sleeping, were you?”
“No, I’m up.”
“You know it’s almost two o’clock.”
Jake opened his eyes and looked at his watch. The fact that he worked slinging drinks until four in the morning, finished closing up around five, and didn’t get home until nearly six never seemed to concern her when it came to rousting him from dreamland.
“Yeah, I see that.”
“Well I’m sorry if I disturbed your beauty sleep, but I had to tell you right away that dinner for tonight has been rescheduled from seven to six-thirty.”
“Six-thirty. Got it.”
“Please try to wear something nice. And I don’t mean jeans.”
“Hey, I thought we were allowed to wear anything around the family.”
“Hardly.”
Jake smiled to himself, remembering their last visit to the Summers’ estate. He had thought that—after having met her parents on numerous occasions—he would not be committing any sort of fashion faux pas by showing up for dinner in a long-sleeved cotton jersey, sport jacket, and blue jeans. He was wrong. He had always taken her family to be a bit stilted. Nevertheless, he had done his best to make a good impression.
“By the way,” Andrea continued, “I was going over the list for the rehearsal dinner and I was thinking about adding a macrobiotic dish to the menu.”
“Macrobiotic?” Jake uttered groggily.
“Yeah. You know how people these days are so health conscious.”
“Sure.”
“Great,” she replied cheerfully. “So anyway, I’ve got a little more shopping to do; it shouldn’t take me more than a few hours. If you want I can pick you up a shirt and tie, maybe some pants for you to wear tonight?”
“No, no. It’s okay. I’ve got plenty of ties.”
“Nothing too loud I hope.”
“No. They’re as quiet as they come.”
“Wonderful. Like I said, I shouldn’t be more than a few hours, which should give you plenty of time to get ready.”
“Absolutely,” Jake agreed, half unconscious.
“Okay, sweetie, I’ve really gotta go. I can’t wait to see you tonight.”
“Yeah, me too.”
“Don’t forget to wear the shoes I bought you.”
“Right.”
“Love ya. Bye.”
She hung up before he could respond. Jake shut his cell off and tossed it onto the bed. He felt like he could sleep for another hour easy. But he knew he couldn’t. Sooner or later she would be coming by, and that meant he had to be ready—shaved, showered, and sharp as a razor.
Jake sat up in the bed, yawned, and looked around the room. The four hundred square foot Williamsburg studio had been his home for the past five years. The newly gentrified borough of Brooklyn was a haven for struggling artists, musicians, actors, and bohemians of urban culture. It was the kind of neighborhood that practically catered to creativity. And he had fit right in. He had been trying to establish himself as a painter for the past ten years, with little success. Though still young at thirty-four, he was slowly beginning to have doubts about “making it” in a field where most people never made a dime. And he wasn’t the only one. Over the past eight months, his life as a “struggling” artist had come under heavy criticism since getting engaged to Bill and Grace Summers’ eldest daughter. Jake frowned at the thought of continually having to prove himself to Andrea’s parents, particularly her father. He had been on unsteady ground (to say the least) when discussing his artistic ambitions with his future in-laws and somehow got the feeling that, if it were up to them, his life would be undergoing some rather cataclysmic changes after the wedding.
But despite his growing concern for his future, he wasn’t ready to give up. He still managed to sell a few paintings (albeit not enough to support himself) and had begun to develop a small following in the art world. Jake knew if he could just get himself into one of the better galleries in the city he would be able to break through. Of course you had to convince a gallery owner your work was “relevant” enough to merit a show. But if he followed Andrea’s plans to start a family, he could kiss his dreams of artistic achievement goodbye.
Putting his worries aside, Jake stood up and headed for the shower. The small tiles of the bathroom floor were cold on his bare feet. It was only January, and winter was in full swing. Jake stepped into the tub and turned on the hot water. The rapid stream of liquid heat quickly served to curb the chill that was starting to run up his spine. When he stepped out ten minutes later, the room was like a sauna. He toweled off then went over to the mirror and wiped away the heavy layer of condensation that had settled softly atop the glass. He stared for a moment at the reflection that looked back at him: deep blue eyes, square jaw, thin lips, all set under a mop of thick black hair. He took his time shaving; brushed his teeth and combed his hair. When he was sufficiently groomed, he went into the bedroom and dressed in a pair of sharp black pants and a button down shirt. By the time he was ready it was only a quarter to four. He still had two hours to kill. He had a bowl of cereal to hold him over then went down to the local bodega and bought a bottle of Merlot and two bouquets of fresh flowers. Though he was well past the point of having to bring a gift to a “family” dinner, Jake didn’t like showing up empty handed, and any gesture that moved him closer to being in the good graces of Andrea’s parents was well worth the effort.
When he returned to his apartment he set the wine on the kitchen counter, put the flowers in the fridge, and had another bowl of cereal. When his hunger was sufficiently curbed, he moved into the main room, popped “King Kong” into the DVD player and hit play. Jake smiled. Nothing said classic cinema adventure like a fifty-foot ape and Fay Wray dangling precariously atop the Empire State Building. He was still seated in front of the television when he heard the front buzzer. He got up and opened the door. Andrea was there. She was impeccably dressed in a strapless black cocktail dress and bright red high heels.
“Hey, why didn’t you call?”
“I called three hours ago,” she said, stepping inside and planting a quick peck on his cheek.
“No, I mean now. I would’ve come out instead of you having to come in.”
“No, it’s okay. I have to use the bathroom.”
“Sure.”
Jake watched as Andrea moved across the floor into the bathroom. He grabbed his blue sport jacket and put it on. Two minutes later, she walked into the kitchen.
“I swear that is the smallest bathroom on the face of the planet. And when are you going to get rid of that awful chair?” she asked, eyeing the shabby gray armchair in the center of the room.
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It just looks so old.”
“It’s an antique; it’s supposed to look old.”
“Whatever. Anyway, are you ready?”
“Yeah. Here,” Jake said, handing her one of the bouquets from the fridge. “I got one for your mom, too.”
“Jake, these are orchids.” It almost sounded like an accusation.
“So.”
“So, my mother’s allergic to orchids. She gets within five feet of them and she starts sneezing like a crazy person.”
“I didn’t know they sneeze differently.”
“Huh?”
“Crazy people.”
Andrea frowned. “Please, don’t try to be cute; I’m not in the mood.”
“You sure sounded in the mood on the phone three hours ago.”
“Yeah, and I’ve been running around ever since.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be cute; I just made a mistake, that’s all. She can have the wine.”
“Great, a bottle of wine. I’m sure she’ll be jumping head over heels for joy.”
“Did I do something wrong?” Jake asked, looking confused.
Andrea lost the attitude. “Oh, honey, it’s not you. I just wish you didn’t have to try so hard to impress them. You’re never going to be what they want.”
“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean that I should stop trying.”
Jake went over to Andrea and put his arms around her waist.
“If only they knew you like I do.”
“That would be kind of awkward, don’t ya think? I mean, your mom’s a sweetheart but your dad doesn’t strike me as the type of guy who’s into trying new things.”
Jake smiled.
“Shut up,” Andrea said humorously, pushing Jake away. “Come on,” she continued, “we don’t want to be late.”
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Saint Agnes’ Eve
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