Getting Lucky

The first thing Kane Saraci heard upon waking was the dusty white box fan in the corner of his bedroom. He overdid the whiskey last night he knew, because every passing blade made a whoosh sound that seemed just a hairs breadth quieter than a freight train. His tongue was dry and thick in his mouth, all he could taste was cigarettes and... Colts foot? Maybe, but the flavor was earthy and rich.

Somewhere in his mind echoed in a woman's husky Irish brogue You can take me home if you like...

Kane's dark eyes shot open like Velcro hastily wrenched apart.

“Oh!”

Water first. He was definitely dehydrated. Then he could eject this wretched bar fly. Whoever she was. He'd sworn off women some months ago after he left Melissa, an abusive roaring drunk lunatic. That was the fine selection of women he had grown accustomed to after years of tending his bar. If he could wake up at a reasonable hour, he could meet some normal girl at a gym, but late hours kept him worn out, and days off were spent in his studio painting. His creations were his true purpose. Not serving drunks at the bar, or being drunk at the bar, and most definitely not the bar flies.

Kane hoisted himself up the headboard and stretched out his neck. He drew in a long draught from his water bottle on the nightstand, followed by a couple aspirin. Next in his mouth was a Marlboro, which felt like a breath of fresh air, despite being exactly the opposite.

It was time to see what the damage was, as he had no recollection of the girl. He seated his black rimmed glasses on his sharp nose from the nightstand and turned to the other side of the bed. Empty. Kane breathed pure relief. At least she had the courtesy to show herself out. Then he noticed a soft Irish flute coming from his studio.

“Oh, hell no.” She was in his studio playing with his stereo, and going through his Cd's. Not okay.

` He hopped up and was down the hall before the Celtic drums kicked in. For some unknown reason he felt the need to knock before he entered... his own studio.

“Tar isteach!” Same husky Irish accent.

He opened the door, feeling foolish. Before him was the most stunning woman he'd even seen. She was all of 4'9”, a slim brunette with deep blue eyes and flushed, full cheeks. Her plump lips were Cupid's bow in shape. All she was wearing was his tuxedo shirt, buttoned low, though at her height it went down to her knees. I wish I could remember last night, Kane thought. He could feel his righteous ire simmering down.

“Oh, top of the morning to ya! You were quite fluthered last night, I tell ya! Passed out before I could have my way with ya,” she said and gave a bawdy wink. “Not that I would do such a thing of course, I'm to go to my marriage bed pure, I'll have ya know.”

So they didn't- good. That will make this easier, Kane thought.

“Yeah, um, I'm not marrying a hobbit, no matter how cute you are. I don't even know your name. So you'll have to leave.” Kane said firmly. He would regret this, he knew, but he had to stick to his guns.

“Oh, my name ya say? Well, it's Sa-”

“Without telling me your name.” Kane leaned on the door jam and crossed his arms. “It's not personal, I just have terrible luck with women. No thanks.”

“Ah, but you've heard of the luck of the Irish...” She said with a sly smile. An adorable smile.

“I'm Albanian. And the luck of the Irish is all bad. You hear of the potato famine?”

“Oh. That makes sense. Not a true Irish saying, that one.” She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully, “I'll have you know, I'm a fair bit lucky though.”

The woman looked down at her feet. Kane hadn't taken his eyes off her until she looked away. In that moment he surveyed his studio and saw all of his paint brushes had been cleaned and his paints had been organized. His palettes were likewise spotless and stacked neatly at the foot of his easel.

“You cleaned my studio?” Kane asked rhetorically.

“I tidied everything.” She said, “I love your work. I see your heart in it. I saw it last night. too. That's why I let you catch me. My name is Sarah, so ya know.”

“Catch you? Okay, Sarah. That's kind of you. What do you want?” Kane asked wryly.

“I'd stay here until you choose to marry me.” she said with bright innocent smile.

“Not likely. Still and all I could use a good roommate. Can you pay rent?”

“Yes.” She replied.

“What do for a living?”

“I'm a leprechaun. I make shoes and sell them. Online, now and days.” She said deadpan.

Kane burst out laughing. When you tend bar you attract crazy drunks. When you tend bar on St. Patrick's day, you attract crazy drunks that think they're leprechauns. He was beginning to wonder if the accent was fake for the first time. Anything was possible with this girl. Still, for some reason he intended to let her stay.

“You're kidding, right? I'm well versed in folklore. There are no female leprechauns.” Kane quipped.

“We'll just see about that, Won't we now?”

With that she rose up on her tiptoes and lightly kissed him on the corner of his mouth, then gracefully skipped out of the room, leaving Kane with an incredulous look pasted across his face.

*

The next three weeks went by smoothly. Kane relinquished his room and began sleeping on the futon his studio. Sarah sent for some of her belongings and had wall to wall shelving installed in the bedroom. She went about studiously filling them with finely hand crafted leather boots and shoes of many styles, all with 'S' shaped golden buckles on them. She claimed this was her maker's mark.

Kane would return from work around three in the morning, always pleasantly greeted by Sarah at the door. They would stay up until dawn, drinking a never ending supply of thick Irish stout that Sarah made, talking, and watching old movies. There was no further talk of leprechauns or marriage, which suited Kane well enough, though he found that he was becoming particularly fond of her.

On their third Friday evening together, they had been drinking stout and watching John Wayne in “The Quiet Man”, it dawned on Kane that he had spent more time watching her then Maureen O'Hara. He knew she could tell, but for some reason he just couldn't tear his eyes away. Finally she met his gaze and spoke.

“Not that I mind the attention from such a fiercely handsome man, but you're missing the best bits.”

“Sorry.” Kane said with a smirk, “But you're not supposed to take your eyes off a leprechaun.”

“Tis' true. Least not until I grant your three wishes.” She explained.

“Oh, yeah? When's that supposed to happen?”Kane joked.

“When you marry me, of course. Rather, a Handfasting ceremony.” She said.

“So you're saying we tie our hands together and then I get three wishes?”Kane asked skeptically.

“Not quite.” She said, and sidled up next to him and leaned in, her lips brushing his, “You have to mean it, now. You've got to love me...”

“I do.” He said without thinking, shocking himself.

“I know, dear. I know all your hearts' desires. The night we met I saw through the smile in your eyes. I saw the goodness in your heart, but I could see the deep sorrow that lies there as well. And such loneliness! So I let you catch me,” she pressed in her lips more firmly onto his, “Now what're you going to do now you've got me?”

“I'm going to marry you.” He said breathlessly against her.

Sarah swiftly shuffled back to the other side of the couch before he could seal the kiss.

“See to it that you do. Tomorrow's as fine a day as any. Now skip off to the jacks and get yourself a cold shower. Hold you over until tomorrow night.” She said, and offered another bawdy wink.

Kane rose from the couch shaking his head. He felt stupefied and flustered. He fully intended to go through marrying this girl tomorrow. First he was going to take that shower.

*

The first thing that Kane noticed the following morning was a tweed three piece charcoal gray herringbone suit hanging on the back of the door. On the floor was a box with a hunter green bow on it. Inside was a matching flat cap, a pair of gray and black Italian wingtips bearing Sarah's maker's mark, and a small black leather Moleskine notebook. He opened it and saw there was a note from Sarah. It read:

I have made preparations for our handfasting ceremony. Meet me at your pub at three O'clock. You'll be fiercely handsome in that suit, I know. Before you come, make my rainbow for me? - Sarah

Images flashed in his mind's eye of the Cliffs of Moher, a rainbow touching at the cliff's edge. He lunged to his desk and he scooped up his charcoal pencils and pastels. He began sketching in charcoal the Cliffs, the rainbow in pastels. He knew it was right.

*

Kane arrived fifteen minutes early with the notebook and a bottle of dry mead. Upon entering the pub, Kane was greeted by a stocky blond man he knew all too well.

“Dad! How did you make it on such short notice?” Kane asked.

“Wouldn't miss it for the the world! Though if I'd gotten the invitation earlier, I'd have been able to pitch in more. No way a guy my age could put on a wedding in three weeks.” His father said.

“You got the invite three weeks ago?” Kane felt the blood drain from his face.

His father patted his shoulder and gave him a concerned look.

“I'm getting a Coke from the bar. Go get married son. She's a beaut!”

*

After the ceremony Sarah pulled Kane aside.

“You brought the notebook?”

“It's right here. So how about my three wishes?” He said playfully.

“It's more like your three hearts' desires. Not something you ask for per se, but something I give you. That persistent sorrow you've carried with you all your life is gone. The loneliness too, to be sure” she explained. It was true. He was at peace.

“Okay. The third?” he asked.

Her eyes gleamed.

“My dowry. A pot of gold!”

“Ah, the traditional one pot of gold.” he smirked skeptically.

“No more, no less.” she said seriously, “Do you have my rainbow?”

He pulled out the notebook and turned to his sketch.

“Aye, that's it! At edge of the Cliffs of Moher.”

She tore out the image and made a small rip in the center.

“Hey!”

“Hold out your hand.” she said.

She held it to his palm. Underneath the image his hand began to fill with ten large gold coins. Kane was totally dumbfounded at the obvious display of magic.

“That's $20,000 in gold, an advance. The rest of the pot you get on the honeymoon in Ireland. At the Cliffs.” She wrapped her arms around him. “There's something I'm needing to tell you before our wedding night. Don't be mad.”

“Mm?” Kane was sipping his mead, still shocked about the gold.

“There are no female leprechauns.” Sarah said apologetically.

Kane choked on the mead, spewing it from his mouth.

“Beg your pardon?” He exclaimed.

A mischievous smile spread slowly across Sarah's face.

“Oh, you brat. Well, I guess we'll see about that tonight, won't we now?”Kane said as he pulled her in and kissed her longingly.

It turned out there was at least one female leprechaun.