Mary & Breight: A 'Tis the Season Chick Lit Story

Mary & Breight

Headlights on Sixth Avenue snaked in both directions, inching forward one tire tread at a time, while Elvis's Blue Christmas crackled from the taxi's ancient speakers. It was the second Friday in December and raining. Not snowing--that would be walkable and pretty with the right footwear--but a cold, driving rain that forced everyone into cars to reach their society soirees, ugly sweater parties, and company dinners.

Already late for her magazine's annual champagne bash, Mary Celeste put a hand to her temple and leaned forward to speak to the taxi driver. She caught a glimpse of his attire. A taxi driver wearing a tuxedo. Interesting.

"Excuse me? Do you mind changing the music?"

"Sure thing," The driver reached for the old-fashioned steel knob on the cab's dash, revealing what appeared to be a gold Rolex. Must be a good fake, she thought, as Elvis melded into static and then Bing Crosby crooning Little Drummer Boy.

"What is this?" Mary joked. "Some kind of taxicab time machine to the 1950s?"

"Hilarious."

"Well, you have to admit it isn't every day you see an authentic museum piece driving through the city. I mean, AM radio? Do you even take credit cards?"

"Why? Don't you have cash?" The driver glanced back at her, eyebrows raised. His eyes, brown and rimmed with thick lashes, met hers. His full, wide mouth turned up in a half-smile.

Wow. Cute. Mary blinked. And familiar.

"I have cash," she said. "It's just that I need to get to this party..."

"You and the entire city."

"Yeah, but if I don't get there, I can kiss my promotion to entertainment editor good-bye. And I'll have to marry Linc." She collapsed back against the seat. "I'm screwed."

*****

Entertainment editor, Marcus Breight thought. Interesting.

The blond's phone rang and she sighed, answering. "What now, Mother?"

Marcus put on his blinker and cut into the right-hand lane. The driver behind him honked and flashed his high beams. Unperturbed, Marcus wiped the fogged-up windshield with the rag Malachi had handed him along with the keys and company phone.

"Defrost ain't workin' so hot," his brother had mumbled through his bourbon-induced haze before collapsing onto his ratty, old couch.

Marcus tossed the rag back onto the seat, gripped the steering wheel with hands that had been big enough to palm a basketball since he was fifteen. Athletic scholarship to Longfellow College, three College East championships under his belt, signing with the Pirates last year, and what was he doing? Driving a taxicab in a rainstorm instead of partying with his teammates downtown.

He should just let Malachi's one-man cab operation fail instead of bailing him out time after time.

The blond spoke into her phone."You must be joking. Mother. He cheated on me, so no. I won't." Marcus caught a glimpse of her in the rearview mirror. Short, curly hair, messy in that on-purpose way. Tiny upturned nose. Cute.

"I'm not fighting about this anymore tonight."

Definitely cute. And currently huddled into a corner looking stressed out and miserable. Suddenly, he felt protective. Like rip the phone out of her hands and toss it out the window protective. Weird.

"I wouldn't care if it was the Hope Diamond. I have a career. I don't need a husband."

She sat up.

"You know what, mom? You like him so much, you marry him."

Marcus grinned. There was some spunk there. Maybe she could protect herself.

"Oh, who cares about Dad. Divorce dad, marry Linc. I mean, if he's such a catch and all."

Marcus's eyebrows shot up and his smile widened. Definitely could protect herself.

"Listen, I'm at my party." She caught him looking at her in the mirror, shrugged. "I'll see you and dad tomorrow at brunch. Yeah. Love you, too. Bye."

****

Mary slid the phone into her clutch and leaned forward. "Sorry. You must get tired of listening to everyone's drama all day, every day. I like the tux, by the way. Nice touch. Classy."

The driver looked offended and turned his gaze to the traffic ahead.

Mary sat back, confused. What had she said?

Pouting, she stared at Christmas lights decorating downtown. They looked smeared in the rain. One single party shouldn't determine her career. She shouldn't have to marry a privileged narcissist with zero creativity or drive, either. She shouldn't have to settle for rain when she wanted sparkles and snow.

She sighed. "You know, I used to love Christmas."

"Used to?"

"Yeah, back when I was a kid and we had snow in December. You ever make forts?"

The driver glanced back. "Yeah. My brother and I used to build some big ol' snow forts in the park. Snowball fights, too. Went sledding down Halifax Street Hill. Did you grow up here in the city?"

*****

The blond nodded. She pushed a curl out of her eye, tucked it behind her ear. "Yes. I remember sledding there. Hey, maybe we went to school together."

She leaned forward again, and he could smell her perfume. Something like vanilla and spices. Warm. Delicious. He could feel her eyes studying him, trying to figure out where she'd seen him before.

"Wait a minute. You're Marcus Breight, aren't you?"

"Guilty."

"Wow. I'm Mary Celeste. We went to different high schools, but I remember you. Basketball player. You're with the Pirates now. What are you doing driving a cab?"

"Long story."

"You don't want to talk." She sounded disappointed.

When she slumped back against the seat Marcus frowned, realizing he did want to talk to her. Just not in this stinking cab. Time for Malachi to rescue his own business, Marcus decided.

Signalling, he wrenched the cab out of traffic, took a side street toward the park, away from downtown.

She sat up. "Where are you going?"

"You really want to go to that party? Or get a coffee with me?"

"Coffee," she said, a dimple forming in one cheek. "And, wow, Marcus.  Look."

"What?"

She pointed out the windshield. "It's starting to snow."