The Night She Got Lucky

  “And when no one is bleeding,” Piers added.

  Both men laughed.

  “She is divorced. Did I tell you that?” Lucio went on. “Her ex-husband was a dickhead. He still is, I hear.”

  One of Piers’s blond eyebrows arched high on his forehead. “Rick told you that?”

  “Oh, no, I believe Rick is still on his honeymoon. But I did have a lovely discussion with the lady who performed Rick’s ceremony. She was an unusual old woman—quite an intense gaze for one of her age.”

  “What did she say?”

  Lucio switched his wine glass to his left hand so he could gesture with his right. “It’s a story we have both heard before. An unfaithful husband caught in the act. But in Ginger’s case, she caught him in the driveway. In the back of the family minivan.”

  “You’re joking!” Piers’s lips parted in disbelief.

  Lucio sighed with the burden of the truth. “But my point is this—I wonder, with all the lovely lady has gone through, whether perhaps I should leave her alone.”

  Piers’s eyes widened.

  “Perhaps I should never bother her again, yes?”

  Piers thought for a moment, then gave him a confused look. “But didn’t you say she was your first client?”

  Lucio laughed. “Holy God, I forgot all about that! All I’ve been thinking about is Ginger the woman, not Ginger the paying customer!”

  “Hmm,” Piers said.

  “But that is what she must remain—a customer. After all, I do not have the kind of stability a woman needs from a man.”

  “Unfortunately, you do not.”

  “I have no money. No career. No home. I’m a hairbreadth from prison. I would set a poor example for her sons, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Today’s events took a wrecking ball to my life!” Lucio’s voice became louder and more excited, which he knew only intensified his accent. If he were having a conversation with anyone but Piers, he would fear he couldn’t be understood. “Now I must pick up the bricks, one by one, and try to rebuild something, but I do not think my life will ever look the same!”

  Piers nodded some more, propping his pale, sandaled feet to the balcony railing. “I know how you feel,” he said.

  Suddenly, Lucio had a brilliant idea: The steadfast Piers Skaarsgard would make a much better match for a woman like Ginger. He nearly made that observation out loud when something inside stopped him. He did not want any other man near Ginger Garrison. Not even a man of the most stable circumstances or unsullied history. Not Piers. Not anyone.

  Lucio looked over at Piers, the glimmer of the city bathing Piers’s white face and long, lean body in a pale glow. His old friend was six foot four, three inches taller than Lucio. He was his opposite in many ways, and always had been. Where Lucio had a tendency to be loose with his tongue and his anger, Piers remained stoic. Where Lucio went through women faster than rolls of film, Piers had only loved once—and it was Sylvie Westcott. While Lucio plunged headfirst into jobs, relying on gut feelings to guide him, Piers had always taken a studious and cautious approach to his work. Neither way was better. Just different. And both men had built formidable careers in a brutally competitive industry.

  Lucio took another sip of wine, admitting to himself that this was the real reason he wanted the Erskine award. It wasn’t just the money. It was the recognition. The honor. Each November, every professional nature and wildlife photographer on the planet sent work to the Erskine committee in Stockholm. Then every March, they would await the announcement of who won, and in what category. This year would mark Lucio’s first win. That is, if they chose to allow him to keep it.

  Suddenly, Piers dropped his feet from the railing and doubled over, his head hanging to his knees. Lucio heard him cry.

  The Host! Lucio set down his wine glass and turned his full attention to his friend. How selfish he had been—thinking only of himself and his ego when Piers was still filled with sorrow over Sylvie’s death. It had only been six months. And to think, when Lucio had just complained about his house tumbling down, it had only been a metaphor. For Piers, the destruction had been literal. His home had collapsed when Sylvie died. He had lost his wife, his place in the world.

  Lucio put a hand on Piers’s bony shoulder as he cried. He did not know what to say. He hoped just being at his side was enough. It was the kind of support he should have offered six months ago.

  Lucio was suddenly filled with shame, hot and heavy in his chest. He had learned about Sylvie’s illness a year before she died, when he was on assignment on Easter Island. He’d sent an e-mail, but did not have the opportunity to speak to Piers and Sylvie for another three months. By the time he’d called, her leukemia had worsened, and Lucio was already on his way to Papua New Guinea with plans to move on to northern China.

  He never made it back in time to say good-bye to one old friend and to comfort the one who remained. The truth hit Lucio hard—he’d had one chance to do the decent thing by Piers and Sylvie, and he’d blown it.

  “I am so sorry I was not here for you,” Lucio whispered.

  Piers did not respond. His crying continued, and, out of embarrassment, Piers turned his head away and pulled his shoulder from under Lucio’s touch.

  So Lucio waited. He poured himself another glass of wine and kept vigil over his grieving companion.

  Eventually, the sobs began to subside. When Piers straightened from his crouch, Lucio said, “I should have been here for you and Sylvie. I beg your forgiveness for my selfishness.”

  Piers nodded gently and wiped his eyes with his shirtsleeve. “Sorry for my outburst. The grief came out of nowhere and I could not fight it. It happens that way sometimes.”

  Piers raised his head and leveled his gaze at Lucio. Maybe the diffuse light of China Town was playing games with him, but Lucio could have sworn he saw peace in his friend’s face. Piers looked almost serene. “I know you well, Lucky. And I know you would’ve been here if you were able,” he said.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Ohmigod! They’re here!”

  Ginger swiveled her head to where Roxanne had pointed, past the palm trees and toward the northeast corner of Dolores Park. Sure enough, Josie and Genghis were heading up the sidewalk. Ginger got a lump in her throat at the sight of her smiling friend and her goofy Labradoodle.

  It was awfully good to see her home safe.

  Genghis arrived first. He bounded up the hill, tongue and ears flying, his dark brown eyes lit up with excitement. Ginger laughed, relieved to see that five months after Genghis’s disastrous grooming, his coat had grown back to its normal disheveled and wild state.

  HeatherLynn began wiggling in Ginger’s arms, demanding to be put down. The instant the little bichon’s paws hit the grass, she ran off toward her long-lost friend. In dog years, a six-week absence must feel like full-scale abandonment, Ginger decided, and HeatherLynn was beside herself with delight.

  “Josie! Up here!” Bea jumped up and down in her Reeboks as she waved.

  Ginger watched Josie jog up the hill, her face as happy as her dog’s. When she reached them, they fell into each other in a raucous group hug. They laughed and cried and screeched with joy. Eventually, Ginger held Josie out at arm’s length so they could get a good look at her.

  Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes sparkled and her gorgeous hair fell in soft spiral curls just below her shoulders. She looked fit and hardy. Relaxed. In love.

  Yes, she was glowing.

  So what if it was a cliché to say that a woman could be so in love that she glowed? The truth was the truth, and in Josie’s case, there was no other way to put it. Josephine Sheehan had been glowing since the day she met Rick Rousseau. She’d glowed on her wedding day. She was glowing now.

  Ginger kissed her glowing cheek. “Was the North Pole completely wonderful?” she asked.

  “Are you exhausted from the trip?” Roxie wanted to know.

  “So, are you pregnant yet?” Bea seemed shocked that her question would be
met with bug-eyed stares of disbelief. “I have money riding on this, you know.”

  A triplet of car-horn beeps caused the group to turn toward the street. Rick drove by, waving and blowing kisses to the group. “Teeny will be back in an hour, baby!” he shouted out.

  “Okay, Rick!” Josie returned his kiss and waved. When the newlywed turned back toward her friends, a distracted smile played on her face.

  Ginger sighed, wondering how it would feel to be so outrageously happy, so delirious with love.

  “He drove you into the city?” Roxie asked.

  “Yeah. He’s going to bring Genghis and me into town early on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays so we can keep our usual walking schedule. Isn’t that thoughtful of him?”

  Bea lifted an eyebrow. “That’s a damned fine man you got there, Joze.”

  She giggled. “Yeah. I know. He’s incredible.”

  “Huh. Take a look at that, would you?” Roxanne pointed toward Lilith and Genghis. Everyone went still, afraid to breathe or move or do anything that might upset the delicate balance at work.

  Genghis licked Lilith’s face in greeting, while Martina and HeatherLynn stood nearby as witnesses. Lilith didn’t growl. She didn’t snarl. She wasn’t frothing at the mouth. Instead, she was happily licking Genghis in return, as much as was possible through her muzzle. Lilith was wagging her tail! These were all new developments.

  “Holy shit,” Bea whispered. “I thought she hated anything with a penis—you know, as a matter of principle.”

  “Shush!” Ginger hissed.

  “This is incredible,” Josie said. “Did I miss something with Lilith while I was gone? Did you start those behavior classes with Eli Gallagher?”

  Roxanne’s eyes flashed. “No! Why? Did Rick say something about what happened with Eli and me?”

  Josie squinted. “Uh, no. I was just wondering about the change in Lilith’s … you know … personality.”

  Bea leaned close to Josie for effect. “You wouldn’t know this, of course, seeing that you were kind of busy getting married and all,” Bea said, “but Ginger and Roxie made a couple of new friends at your wedding.”

  Josie’s eyes went big.

  “Roxie met Eli and Ginger met Rico Suave,” Bea said, her shoulders bouncing as she giggled.

  Immediately, heat spread through Ginger’s body. It felt as if she’d caught fire from the inside out. Of course, part of it was because she was pissed at Bea for bringing up Lucio the instant Josie got home. But most of it was just her usual response—whenever she thought of him, heard his name, or pictured him in her mind, she heated up. She couldn’t control it. The man lit a flame in her.

  “No kidding,” Josie said, smiling kindly. She turned to Roxie. “So what happened between you and Eli? Rick certainly didn’t mention it.”

  Roxie interrupted Lilith’s breakthrough moment with a jerk on her leash. “Forget it. Let’s walk, okay? You only have an hour, right?”

  “Hey, wait.” Josie placed her hand on Roxie’s tensed-up forearm. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Hey, Rox, seriously, I was just teasing.” Bea added her hand to Roxanne’s arm. “I didn’t know something had really happened between you two.”

  Ginger stayed back, listening. She had been readying herself to field questions from her friends about Lucio and his trip to the sexual buffet, but instead, Roxanne was on the hot seat. Ginger didn’t even know Roxanne had something to get hot about.

  “I asked him to join me for lunch a couple weeks ago,” Roxie said. “His answer was no.”

  “What!” Ginger was shocked at the sound of her own outburst. “I mean, really? You asked him out?”

  Roxanne nodded. “Yeah. It was stupid of me. He just seemed really nice and I thought I’d try.”

  Josie frowned. “He really turned you down?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense at all,” Bea said, leaning back in bewilderment. “I saw the way he looked at you during the ceremony—he was the dog and you were the bone.”

  Roxie offered a weak smile. “Yeah, well, that’s what I thought, too. But we were both wrong, obviously.”

  Ginger frowned; then, as if on autopilot, she tapped her fingertips against her brow creases. God, how she wished she could stop doing that! How could she fully embrace her mature beauty if one of her hands was always busy patting and slapping at her wrinkles?

  “Was it because of your Web site?” Ginger asked.

  “Surprisingly, no,” Roxie said with a laugh. “He thought that was kind of amusing.”

  “Then what?” Bea asked. “Is he in a relationship?”

  “You could say that.”

  Josie laughed. “Stop being so cryptic, Rox! Why did Eli turn you down?”

  “Well, at least he was honest about it,” she said. “He told me he planned to be in California for only about a year. He said he was here to deal with some unfinished business with his father and he wouldn’t have time to date.”

  Bea snorted. “Sounds like a load of bullshit to me.”

  A sudden burst of barking and growling made everyone jump. Roxanne pulled a now-snarling Lilith off Genghis, who slinked away, wild-eyed from the sting of betrayal.

  “I guess she’d had enough of being nice,” Roxanne said with a sigh. “Can’t say I blame her.”

  The women continued their walk. Ginger broke the news to Josie that the Herald had fired her from her editor post the week before. Josie asked Ginger if she was okay, and Ginger assured her that yes, she was. In a soft whisper, Josie admitted she’d been fired, as well. The certified letter had been waiting for her when she picked up her mail from the post office.

  “They fired you while you were on your honeymoon?” Bea was incredulous. “How low can you get?”

  “You know you’re next,” Roxie said to Bea. “Sports and comics may be the last to go, but they’ll go. We might as well admit it—newspapers are dead.”

  The women walked a few moments in silence, and Ginger thought it felt like their own private memorial service for the San Francisco Herald. “She was a grand old lady,” Ginger said. “That job ended up being the longest and most fulfilling relationship of my life.”

  “She’s been awfully good to me, too,” Bea said.

  “I really loved my job,” Josie added.

  “Fuck ’em,” Roxanne said.

  Ginger then steered the conversation to the honeymoon, and Josie enthusiastically regaled them with tales from her trip. It had been Josie’s dream to travel to the North Pole ever since she wrote the obituary for Gloria Needleman’s adventurer husband, Ira. When she mentioned this dream to Rick, he made elaborate plans to take her there for their honeymoon.

  Josie told them that once they were aboard the nuclear-powered icebreaker out of Norway, the captain and crew were shocked to hear it was the couple’s honeymoon. “Why?” the captain asked, perplexed. “I hear Florida is really quite nice.” Josie described the thrill of setting foot on the precise geographic North Pole and talked about their private flight to view ringed seals, polar bears, and arctic fox. She explained the odd glow of Arctic twilight and their four days of “luxury” in an ice hotel in northern Sweden. “You haven’t slept until you’ve slugged four shots of vodka, then crawled under a stack of reindeer hide,” Josie said, laughing.

  “I think I’ll pass,” Ginger said.

  “The vodka part sounds okay,” Bea said.

  Josie’s attention eventually turned to Ginger. “So what’s this about Lucky Montevez?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Ginger said, bending down to retrieve HeatherLynn, who immediately curled up in the crook of her arm. “He’s branching out into pet photography and said he’d take a portrait of me and HeatherLynn.”

  Josie’s eyes got big. “Seriously? Pet portraits? Are you sure about that?”

  “Yes. Anyone else interested?” Ginger looked around the group. “He said he would appreciate me hooking him up with
other clients.”

  “Interesting,” Josie said, swinging Genghis’s leash at her side while her dog ran free, her brain obviously hard at work. “So how well have you two gotten to know each other?”

  Ginger pursed her lips, trying not to let the panic show on her face. That was an interesting way to frame her dilemma, wasn’t it? She didn’t know Lucio Montevez at all, but, oh, did she know him.

  “We’re casual acquaintances,” Ginger said.

  Bea snorted again. “Except for the part where he ripped off your dress and kissed you senseless.”

  “Puh-leeze!” Ginger tried to shout over Roxie’s and Bea’s laughter. She immediately turned her efforts to reassuring a startled-looking Josie.

  “There’s a perfectly logical explanation,” Ginger said, tossing back her hair. “I should never have ordered my bridesmaid dress in a size four. It was too tight. I blacked out. Lucky—I mean Lucio—carried me to my room and unzipped my dress so that I could breathe. It was nothing.”

  Josie tried very hard to look unaffected. “Oh,” she said. “Okay.”

  “I’m pretty sure I read a paperback with that exact plot back in high school,” Roxie said. “My mom didn’t want me reading trashy romances so I kept them hidden in a gym bag with my old soccer cleats.”

  “Was it Breathless Passion in His Arms?” Josie asked, excited. “I read that one, too! It was my favorite!”

  “No, no, no,” Bea said, hardly able to stop herself from snorting in advance of her punch line. “The title was The Night She Got Lucky!”

  Everyone laughed. Everyone but Ginger, who was thinking that the girls had no flippin’ idea just how lucky she’d been. And they’d never know the truth. They couldn’t handle the truth.

  When Josie stopped giggling she shook her head in wonder. “My God,” she said with a sigh. “I go on one measly little six-week honeymoon to the North Pole and all hell breaks loose.”

  To celebrate the end of Josh’s all-liquid diet, Ginger told him she’d make him anything he wanted for dinner—anything soft. He said he wanted chicken enchiladas with rice and beans.