by S. E. Lund
I took out one of the frozen dinners and had one for supper. The building had cable, and so I went to bed that first night in my tiny room, using every one of the four plugs: one to run the air conditioner, one to watch the television, one to power my laptop, and one to keep my food cold.
Life was good.
Chapter Six
Joshua
The next morning, I met Michael and together, we walked through the renovations that were ongoing at the new site.
They were amazing.
Earlier that year, I'd leased several floors in an old building on Fifth Avenue, wanting something of my own instead of working in my father's building. I had initially thought about Hoboken, but there was something about midtown Manhattan that I loved, so when the opportunity came to get a large chunk of an old building in a great area of the city, I jumped.
Michael and I went in together as partners. The offices of Macintyre Publishing would be located on the top floors, but the rest would be high end office space. The building was mostly office space but there was some retail space on the main floor. There was even an art gallery on the main floor. I'd snagged the penthouse space as my temporary living quarters, enjoying the roof-top patio and view of Central Park.
I spent the first couple of hours with Michael, checking out the renovations, going over the numbers, and watching him troubleshoot. He was good at this. Covington was right – Michael had a successful construction business and was a good-looking guy. Theoretically, he'd have no problem finding a wife.
But he didn't sound like he wanted one, either.
"So, you sounded about as enthusiastic as David about getting married to get access to the trust fund money," I said as we took the elevator to the main level.
He laughed. "I'm too busy building my empire to get married," he confessed. We stood in silence for a moment and I was sure we were both thinking of our father on his deathbed, telling each of us how much he loved us and admonishing us to stop being playboys and settle down.
"We didn't always see eye to eye on things, but I miss him," I said, a tightness in my throat.
"Me too."
Around us, workers busied themselves, hauling drywall and gallons of paint from the trucks into the building.
"Well, I guess I better get back up to the office," I said. "Got some important work to do."
"New reporters to hire for the relaunch of the paper?"
I shook my head. "I'm meeting a headhunter today to find some new blood for the paper."
"Oh, yeah?" Michael said, his face breaking into a huge grin. "That's exciting. What are you looking for? Reporters?"
"Every position," I said, and pointed to the construction site. "I've got big plans for the Chronicle. I want to find new blood and really ambitious people who won't worry too much about the hours they'll be putting in to make the paper work."
"Staffing is always an issue in the construction business, as you can imagine. "
"I'll bet it is but that's why I use headhunters. I've had real success with the firm I've contracted with. I only wish it was as easy to find a wife."
"Hey, you could always sign up for a season of The Bachelor," Michael quipped, slapping me on the back.
"Right," I said and laughed. "Maybe one of those online dating sites?"
"Bro, those are for losers," he replied, shaking his head.
"I figure there are people who do this for a living. They have fancy algorithms and psychological tests. I hire contractors when I want a building renovated. I hire electricians when I need it wired. Why not use an algorithm to find a wife?"
"Oh, man, you're taking all the romance out of it."
I exhaled. "I'm not big on romance at the moment."
"I know," Michael said and squeezed my shoulder. "I understand completely. We just have to suck it up, right?"
"You got it."
With that, I went back up to the offices. I had to do some last-minute work before I could get in a bike ride around the park before my afternoon meetings started.
I had a quick shower and dressed, getting ready for my meeting with my headhunter, who was going to start the process of finding me whole new staff for the Chronicle.
I took the elevator down to my office on the forty-seventh floor. I was usually the first one into work at seven o'clock, but that morning I'd had a meeting all morning with Michael at the new build, of course, and then I had my bike ride around Central Park, so I was late getting into the office. The desks were full and my second-in-command came at me with a file in his hand and a clipboard with documents to sign. My admin assistant held out a cup of coffee from my favorite barista down the street.
I was ready for the afternoon."
"When is Marcella going to arrive?" I asked Eli, who placed the clipboard in front of me and handed me my pen.
"She's waiting in the coffee room," Eli replied. "She arrived early and asked if she could sit and use our Wi-Fi to do some work while she waited."
"Bring her in," I said and signed the checks in front of me. Then I opened the file with the label Marcella Binetti, Staffing Specialist. She was the owner and CEO of Binetti Human Resources, which did work now and then for MBS when we had a need for workers.
Within a couple of minutes, in she walked, dressed in her usual black jacket and skirt duo, her black hair with the silver streak done up in an elaborate style. She looked like a fashionable and much friendlier Cruella Deville.
"Marcella," I said and went to meet her, shaking her hand, air kissing her cheeks. I led her to the seating area and we sat down across from each other. She placed her bag on the coffee table, and crossed her legs, studying me carefully.
"So, you're looking to find some staff for the Chronicle," she said, getting right to the point. "How exciting for you to take the paper over and try to resurrect it. But lots of work, I presume."
"Marcella, you would not believe it."
For the next hour, we discussed the positions I needed to fill and what efforts she'd undertake to find the right people.
"Thanks," I said and leaned back in my chair. "You can't imagine how happy I am that you're taking on this job. There's so much to do getting the paper up and running again. Too bad you couldn't find me a wife while you're at it."
"A wife?" she said, frowning. "As if you need my help for that. Honestly, Joshua, you're the last man I know who needs help finding a wife. All you have to do is go to a society function and the women will drip off you if you let them."
"I do need help." I ran my hand through my hair, feeling overwhelmed at the prospect of spending hours on dating sites filling out forms. "I don't have time to spend on this, but at the same time, it has to be done."
Then I told her about the clause in my father's will that gave each of us boys an incentivized trust and that we wouldn't get any money until we married.
"That's too bad," she said, her voice sympathetic. "I still don't think you need any help, Joshua. It should be easy. Go out to as many social functions as you can. Meet as many young single women in your circles as possible. You'll find someone appropriate."
I made a face. "That sounds like work. I always thought that falling in love was a natural process. You meet someone when you least expect it and you fall."
"If you want, I could create a list of suitable women and then arrange meetings with each of them so you can feel each of them out. That might take care of some of your time."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. In the old country, my family had matchmakers and they took care of everything. It would be like The Bachelor but without the cameras," she said and her tone was hard to read. Was she being sarcastic or genuine?
"That's what my brother said to me."
"I have access to so many young professional well-educated women in their twenties and thirties. Surely one of them would be suitable. But if I am going to try to find a wife for you, you have to tell me what you're looking for."
I raised my eyebrows, because it sounded like we were actually talking
about her finding me a wife.
"You're serious?"
"I'm a headhunter. It's only one step removed from being a matchmaker."
I shrugged. "I don’t know if you can find love by listing a bunch of requirements on a piece of paper and interviewing candidates. I want to fall in love."
"Who said you won’t fall in love? What you have to do is expose yourself to as many of the right women as possible. One of them will be the one, if you meet enough of them. Then more you meet, the more of a chance you have to find the right one."
I made a face, not enamored by the idea of hiring someone to find me a wife. Of course, I thought I had fallen in love with Christie, so what the hell did I know about love?
"Tell me about your ideal woman," Marcella said, taking out her pen and opening her notebook. "What would she be like? What about her level of education?"
I shrugged. "I guess I'd be looking for someone who has either a professional degree or a degree in the arts and sciences."
"Okay, so a degree. What else? Do you want a student or someone who had work experience?"
"I don't know," I said, folding my hands. "It really comes down to the person, not the degree or job they do."
"Yes, but Joshua, you have to meet the right women. Women of your background and values. The only way to do that is to think about your perfect woman and figure out where to meet her. I can help you with that. I have resumes of thousands of women in Manhattan. I'm sure I could sort through them and find some perfect candidates."
I thought for a moment, trying to approach it like a professional.
"I'm not so sure…"
"Give me a chance," she said. "Let me bring you a few resumes to look over. I even have headshots."
"What the hell," I said and shrugged. "Give it your best shot. It's not like I have all the time in the world to spend on dating sites or in bars."
"Good, good," Marcella said. "What about your perfect woman's politics?"
"I'd prefer someone who is independent politically, not affiliated with either political party. No need to get into political fights with me."
"That makes good sense," Marcella said. "What else do you require? Things you will not budge on. What about a family?"
"She has to want to have a family," I said and nodded. "I always thought that two kids would be perfect. Three preferably. She should want to stay home with them until they are school-aged."
"Okay, that helps. What else? Any preferences in terms of appearance?"
I shrugged. "She should be fit, a non-smoker, and attractive. I don't have any physical preferences beyond that."
"You don't care about height and weight?"
"She should be fit and attractive. That's the most important. I don't care about hair or eye color."
Marcella nodded. "Anything else you can think of at the moment? Religious affiliations? Hobbies?"
"As long as she isn't a fanatic, I'm tolerant." I leaned forward. "Look, Marcella. I really don't think you can engineer a romance. Maybe on television, but in real life, it comes down to chemistry."
"Look where chemistry got you…"
She raised her eyebrows.
I leaned back, prepared to fire her for that but then I kicked myself mentally. She was right. I had let my heart lead my head with Christie, thinking that our amazing chemistry would be enough to ensure I'd made a perfect match.
Obviously, I didn't know what the hell I was talking about.
I sighed. "She should enjoy travel. Not that I've had much opportunity to do any, but when I have a family and the children are old enough, I'll want to take them around the world. She should enjoy music and have her own preferences. Other than that, I'd like her to have some serious personal interest or hobby. I don't care what it is, as long as she's passionate about something."
"I think I could come up with a great list of candidates tomorrow, in fact."
"You really think you can find me a wife?" I said, shaking my head at the prospect. "I don't think it’s possible, but it would sure take a burden off my shoulders."
"I'm almost certain I could. I'll have one of my staff come and interview you for personality and temperament matters. Is there anything else you require in a wife?"
I shook my head. "Not really. I thought I had myself a wife but apparently, I have very bad taste in women."
"Then leave it up to me," Marcella said and waved her hand. "It's going to be a matter of meeting them and feeling each of them out. Seeing who's compatible and who isn't. If you want to get married in a year, you need to start right away, if possible. Ideally, I'd like my staff to come by next week and conduct a few personality tests, that kind of thing."
I raised my eyebrows at that. "You sound like you have this all figured out."
"I've often thought how similar my profession is with matchmakers. In fact, it might be a profitable side business."
"Got to love entrepreneurs," I said and stood up, escorting her out of the office. "I don't envy you the job, frankly. I can't really believe you'll be successful."
"I'll find you a wife, Joshua. Leave it up to me. I'll bet that within a year, you'll be engaged and will be on your way to your wedding. In fact, you could leave the whole business up to me. I could even arrange the reception. I could check out venues and book them in advance. That way you'd get the most desirable choices."
"Isn't the groom supposed to consult with the bride's family first?" I said, feeling a bit too mercenary about everything. "It's traditional for the bride's family to pay for and organize the wedding and reception."
"Details. Don't worry about them. I'll take care of everything once you find your bride. Is there any place in particular you would like for the wedding? A church or other venue?"
"I'm Catholic, not practicing."
"St. Patrick's would be optimal," Marcella said and I could almost see the wheels turning in her mind. "It depends on the bride, of course, so maybe I could book it now and we could change the booking if there's some serious conflict."
"St. Patrick's is very popular," I said, remembering when Christie and I booked it the previous year. "They usually book a year in advance."
"I'll get right onto it."
I held the door for Marcella, smiling at how excited she seemed about the whole business.
"Do you have a date in mind?" I said, only somewhat sarcastically.
"Summer, preferably. Say, June in one year from now. I'll go ahead and book St. Patrick's if I can. We can always reschedule if necessary."
I looked at her more closely to see if she was serious but her expression was neutral.
"As to the reception," she went on. "Where would you prefer? Your own residence or would you consider renting a space?"
I sighed. Christie and I had planned on spending a few days at the house in the Hamptons.
"At my home in the Hamptons. It would be a perfect venue and I could house a dozen out-of-town guests there."
"Perfect. We can talk about decorations and food choices when we get closer to the date."
"You seem to have this all figured out," I said, walking down the hallway with her to the elevator. "The date, venue, reception. What about love?"
"What about love?" she asked, while I pushed the elevator down button. "Love will happen. It's as simple as one plus one equals two. All you have to do is meet the right woman."
"I went through all this a year ago." I shrugged. "I thought she loved me. She didn't. She loved my money and position."
"You let you heart lead the way and you'll find her, Joshua. I know." She made a sympathetic face. "I recall reading about your engagement and what happened but I thought it was mutual."
"I didn’t want to hurt her reputation."
"That was very gallant of you. Don't worry. This time, you'll be successful."
"I hope so. It was a hell I'd prefer not live through again."
The elevator arrived.
"Thanks again, Marcella. My assistant will provide you with any assistance you nee
d in this matter and regarding staffing the paper. He'll coordinate with your office on meetings and that sort of thing."
"That works for me. Thanks and good luck."
I smiled. "I'm sure that in your expert hands, Marcella, I won't need luck."
I returned to my office and sat down behind my desk, glad I'd gotten that out of the way and could forget about finding a wife and the mother of my children for a while. I had bigger and harder fish to catch and fry.
Yet something nagged at me in the back of my mind. Was I being too venal about the whole business? I felt somewhat jaded about love and marriage, especially after my recent failed engagement. I had thought I'd be living the happy-ever-after lifestyle by now, but that had all come to a crushing halt earlier that year, when I'd discovered my soon-to-be-wife in bed with her boss.
That night I was supposed to be away on a trip to California to meet with David, but I'd come home to retrieve some files I'd left on the desk in my home office. I walked in only to find that, within half an hour of my departure, after I had kissed her goodbye and we had said how much we loved each other and couldn't wait for the wedding, he had come over and was fucking my future wife in my bed.
In fact, the bastard was in the short strokes when I opened the door, and he actually finished. Neither of them realized I was standing there in the doorway, watching myself become a cuckold.
Our wedding was weeks off, so I'd found out in the nick of time. If I had married her and found out afterward, she would have been entitled to a small share of my income and wealth, based on our pre-nup. This way, the only thing she had of mine was the engagement ring and a lot of time I had wasted imagining that I was in love with her and she with me.
We split, and I kept the reason to myself. I told only David, who had waited for me at the airport even though I'd missed the plane. I had to take the next one after kicking her out of the apartment, her hastily-packed overnight bag in hand.
I told her she could come and get the rest the next day when I was out of town. Then I left for LA and never looked back.
I spent the next week in a drunken haze, partying with my brother in LA's finest watering holes, eating in the best restaurants to be seen in and to see other Hollywood stars and celebrities. David had a stable full of willing groupies who were only too happy to console me in my post-break-up doldrums. It was a week I soon hoped to forget because there was too much of everything – too much pussy, too much booze and pot, too much crazy dancing until late in the night. In addition, I'd had too little sleep and sober reflection on what went wrong and how I missed all the signals.
