Matching Wits with Venus

by Therese Gilardi

  Finally, he threw on a navy sports coat that showed off his well-developed arms and splashed on some of the cologne that the saleswoman at Barney’s had told him was this season’s must-have fragrance for men. He glanced at himself in the mirror and smiled. With skills like his, he need not worry if his mother’s business dried up–he could find work here in Hollywood. After all, he had managed to make himself look like something out of central casting.

  But before he thought about other possible means of employment, Cupid was going to make one last effort to get his mother’s attention. He was still smarting from Venus’s refusal to consider his plan for modernization. He would have to take more drastic measures. Surely Venus would not be able to ignore him when he came to her with new matchmaking methods. Methods he would learn from that Hollywood matchmaker who seemed to be siphoning off so much of Venus’s business.

  Venus had faced challenges like this one throughout the millennia, men and women whose matchmaking skills put them one step ahead of her – they made matches before Venus could engage Cupid to shoot out her arrows. However, through all the years Cupid had never seen his mother feeling so threatened. Cupid smiled to himself. Once Venus saw that he had the ability to make matches she’d have no choice but to give him more responsibility.

  Cupid walked out into the hallway, stepping lightly so his mother would not hear him, and quietly made his way to the servants’ entrance of the mansion. He took a backward glance at the house, then walked around the long way and joined the crowd of people out enjoying the afternoon sun. He loved a day like this, when he could enjoy two afternoons thanks to the nine-hour time distance between Italy and California. He hummed to himself as he turned onto Hollywood Boulevard.

  ****

  “Oh no, this one’s wearing ‘the uniform’,” Jennie groaned as she stared out the window, to the street in front of “Happily Ever After By Amelia.” “Although I have to admit, he is kind of cute.”

  Amelia looked up from her computer, where she’d been busy created an even more refined patented personality profile. A tall, perfectly proportioned man in jeans, a white button-down shirt, and a dark sports coat was striding along the pavement. Amelia noticed how the man’s sun-kissed hair fell to one side. She reached up and touched her own unruly curls.

  “This guy looks like he’d be tough to match–he’s too handsome,” Amelia said as she studied the man.

  Jennie scoffed.

  “Seriously? Too handsome? How is that even possible?”

  “You know what I mean. Think about how much trouble we’ve had with guys like that. They claim they want a partner, yet they don’t want to commit when they know they can get women falling at their feet whenever they want.”

  Jennie cocked her head.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Trust me. Especially since, like you said, he’s in ‘the uniform’. Those guys are always so much harder to work with. It’s not even their fault. It’s just that, well, the actors, producers, directors and other film people who are so used to having teams of assistants anticipate their every desire just have no notion that that’s not how the rest of us live. I mean, come on. Look at how people are reacting to this guy right now.”

  Jennie peered out the window. It was true; the sidewalk suddenly held a number of women who all seemed inclined to go in the same direction as the man. If he was aware of their presence, he gave no indication. Instead, he studied the storefronts along the block, pausing at the coffee shop next door to read a yellow flyer that Amelia knew was for a folk rock trio performance that weekend.

  “I’m sure he’s in the industry,” Jennie said.

  Amelia bit her lip.

  “You’re probably right. That would explain why he seems oblivious to all those women around him. He’s used to being trailed by a crowd. Although I don’t recognize him.”

  “That doesn’t mean a thing,” Jennie replied.

  Amelia chuckled. “No, it doesn’t.”

  Jennie laughed.

  “You know I’m thinking about Mr. Hollywood.”

  Amelia grinned.

  “I thought we agreed not to discuss that ever again! How was I to know he was a Golden Globe, Academy Award, and Tony nominee? He told me he was a physicist!”

  “Oh, the look on his face when you began questioning him about string theory!”

  Amelia laughed.

  “Well it worked out in the end, didn’t it? That’s definitely one for the books – I can’t believe I ended up matching him with a scientist.”

  “She really looked gorgeous in all those tabloid wedding photos,” Jennie said wistfully.

  Amelia sighed. Though she’d been happy to make that match, she was longing to expand her business beyond the tight little circle of “industry” people she serviced. She didn’t want to be exclusively a matchmaker to the stars. Not when there were so many other people she could help.

  The attractive man on the sidewalk stopped in front of Happily Ever After By Amelia. Amelia saw him smile at the lace curtain framing the window, the café table that sat beneath the glass, and the rose colored front door. He reached for the door handle and stepped onto the hardwood floor.

  “Hello. I’m looking for….”

  Jennie, who was standing near the door, reached out her hand and smiled. Amelia looked over at her friend. Jennie’s cheeks were shiny, the way they always used to get whenever she was around a boy she found attractive back when they were in high school. Jennie stepped forward and wrapped her left hand around the man’s right hand as they shook hands, which Amelia knew was a surefire signal Jennie was smitten.

  Amelia sighed. She’d have to take care of this one all by herself, or Jennie would suggest that she be added to the man’s roster. Jennie’s occasional lack of professionalism was the one thing that kept Amelia from asking her to become a full partner in her matchmaking business. She feared that her friend’s impulsive tendency to follow her heart without using her head could lead to many poor judgments, maybe even financial ruin.

  “I’m Jennie. Welcome to Happily Ever After By Amelia. You are?”

  The man started.

  “Cu … Cumin. Colin Cumin.”

  “Cumin. Like the spice?”

  “Yeah, that’s right.”

  Jennie giggled. Amelia held her breath. She was afraid Jennie would make a silly comment, perhaps ask this man if he was hot like the spice. But fortunately, she said nothing.

  Colin looked past Jennie, to where Amelia sat in front of her computer. His eyes strayed to the screen; he leaned forward ever so slightly. Amelia realized he could see everything she’d been working on. She quickly turned off the computer screen, then looked up at Colin.

  “Hello,” he said. “Are you Amelia?”

  Amelia stood up. She had to admit it, Jennie was right. This man looked like a Roman god, with the body proportions of an artist’s model, thick, blond hair with ends that curled ever so slightly, and blue eyes that reminded her of the color of the sky right before a thunderstorm. Amelia shook herself, wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped forward. Even in her high-heeled, suede boots she was a full head shorter than him.

  Colin extended his right hand. Amelia leaned toward him. Her beaded bracelets clanged together as she held out her hand.

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  Colin held her warm fingers for a moment longer than necessary, then smiled.

  Amelia scowled. She found this man disconcerting. She was irritated by his cheeky manner, and angry with herself for the quick shiver of pleasure she’d felt when he’d held her hand. She was also unsettled by the odd realization that his fingers fit her hand as well as that pair of coral, kid leather gloves her father had given her for her sixteenth birthday.

  “So, Mr. Cumin.”

  Amelia pointed at the small café table, which held a large bowl of potpourri in the center.

  “Please have a seat. I assume you’re here because you wish to make a match?”

  Colin’s c
heeks flushed, though only for an instant. He sat in the wrought iron chair and leaned against its plump pink and purple pansy pillows. His eyes scanned the room, as though looking for something.

  “Mr. Cumin. Mr. Cumin, are you listening to me?”

  Amelia waited for him to look at her before she continued.

  “I will take you on as a client but my schedule is very busy. I’m not certain I can give you the service you desire. But if you’re interested we have to get started immediately. I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

  Amelia knew her tone was too gruff – even Jennie was glaring at her from the other side of the room – but she didn’t care. She wanted this man out of her shop, and fast. However she knew she couldn’t dare refuse to take him on as a client. She was still building her business, especially her male clientele. Besides, if word got out that she was turning down handsome men who were seeking her services she might as well forget about developing that new personality profile. Her female clients would disappear. Still she hoped he would leave; although Amelia rarely gave in to her intuition she couldn’t shake the sense that this man was not what he claimed to be.

  Colin studied her for a moment, then said, “I’d like you to find me a match.”

  Chapter Three

  “Really? Mr. Cumin, you don’t look like you need…”

  “Amelia, can you please come back here, there’s something I need you to help me find,” Jennie called out from the back room.

  “What’re you doing?” She hissed as soon as Amelia joined her near the back window.

  “I don’t know.” Amelia shrugged. “I can’t help myself. Something about this guy is all wrong.”

  “Look at you, you’re all flushed. You like him!” Jennie said with a laugh.

  “What? Don’t be absurd!”

  Jennie nodded. “I get it. You want to save him for yourself.”

  “Very funny. Ha ha ha. Listen, Jen, if I let some, some slick talker who’s no doubt got a pile of buried secrets onto my books, it’ll ruin my business.”

  “Even if he looks like a Roman god?”

  “Especially if he looks like a Roman god.”

  “Look. You’re always saying that the one thing you really hate about Los Angeles, and about a lot of the women and men coming in here for matches, is that there are far too many people quick to judge others by appearances.”

  Amelia bit her lower lip.

  “So don’t be one of them. Just because a guy’s really good looking doesn’t mean he’s a cheater or he’s got secrets. Geez, I had no idea you thought that about so many of our clients and friends.”

  Amelia shook her head. She knew Jennie was right, but she couldn’t help herself. She was innately distrustful of men, and women, who were too overwhelmingly attractive. Although she knew a person’s physical attributes were often inherited characteristics over which they had no control, she was disdainful of those who, like her mother, obviously devoted great time and effort to keeping up appearances.

  “Of course I don’t think that about our clients. It’s just, well, this guy. Don’t you get a bad vibe from him?”

  “No. Let him take the personality profile test then decide what you think of him.”

  Amelia nodded. “You’re right. As usual.”

  Amelia made her way back to the front room.

  “Excuse me,” she said as she slid back into her seat. “I’m sorry, I had to step out. So, let’s get you started on our patented personality profile, then I can make you a match.”

  Colin stared at the long list of questions that ran the length of several pages of the thick packet of paper Amelia handed him and frowned.

  “You go ahead and take a few minutes to study those and see if you have any questions before we begin.”

  Amelia opened her laptop and turned it so the screen was just out of Colin’s line of vision. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, smiling slightly as he scowled. She made the usual entries regarding a potential new client then turned to the arts column she read faithfully every week. She scanned the notices of newly released work until she found it, the review that called Candace Alberin “the hottest L.A. poet on the scene right now”. She followed the link to another article, which stated that, “The elusive Ms. Alberin is doing for the sestina what Charles Bukowski did for modern American poetry”. She copied the reviews then returned to her files.

  Across from Amelia, her new potential client was tapping his pencil loudly. Amelia chuckled to herself as she registered Colin Cumin’s indignation that he was expected to take the time to fill out his own paperwork. On occasion she’d encountered this response: clients who never tended to their own needs were angered that Amelia was unwilling to forego having them take the time to answer their own personality profiles. Amelia watched out of the corner of her eye as Colin leaned forward.

  “Miss Coillard. Or is it Mrs.? Or do you prefer the more modern Ms.?”

  “Amelia will be fine,” she snapped, her fingers clicking across her keyboard.

  She was listening to Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons” as she worked. He groaned softly, then tapped his pencil again on the table.

  “I’m sorry. Is there something you want, Mr. Cumin?”

  “It’s Colin. I…no. I was just wondering if we might discuss some of these questions in more detail.”

  Amelia shook her head.

  “I prefer to work with a completed questionnaire.”

  Colin spent the next hour filling out the paperwork while Amelia sorted through her e-mails. Finally, he reached the last page. He threw down his pencil and smiled.

  “Done.”

  “Great.”

  Colin leaned over. Amelia suspected he was again trying to catch a glimpse of her computer screen; she closed it quickly as soon as she saw what he was doing. She picked up the questionnaire and began to read through his answers while he watched. Midway through the tenth page Amelia began to furrow her thick eyebrows. She looked up at him.

  “Mr. Cumin, Colin. Are these answers your attempt at a joke?”

  “What’re you talking about?”

  Amelia pointed at the questionnaire.

  “Under favorite books, you’ve listed an edition of ‘Petrarch’s Sonnets’ that’s only available in Latin.”

  Colin tilted his head to the side and nodded.

  “Under favorite films, you’ve written ‘Never seen one’. And under the space where I’ve asked you to provide your iPod play list, you’ve stated you have no idea what an iPod is.”

  Colin smiled and shrugged his shoulders.

  “Guess you could say I’m a little different than your other clients.”

  Amelia stood up and walked to the front door. She opened it so hard the pink and purple hearts hanging from ribbons across its backside banged against the wood.

  “I’d like you to leave, please. I’m afraid I can’t make a match for you. And please don’t bother coming back. I’m sorry we couldn’t have been of service.”

  Colin’s mouth dropped open. Amelia smiled slightly. She had been right; this man would be more high maintenance than even her most demanding clients. Clearly thought he was the universe’s gift to women the world over. She watched as he turned around, looking for Jennie.

  “Goodbye Jennie, very nice to have met you. I’m sorry your boss won’t work with me.”

  “Bye Colin, good to meet you. Best of luck.”

  Colin walked past Amelia and disappeared into the crowd of sightseers, t-shirt vendors and dog walkers shielding their eyes from the sun.

  “I don’t think that was too smart,” Jennie said quietly as she plugged in the electric teakettle.

  ****

  “That’s got to hurt,” Mercury said as he appeared next to Cupid on the pavement. “Come on, let’s go shoot some arrows, take your mind off that woman.”

  Cupid followed his father to a large palm tree. Mercury tapped the tree’s trunk and the splintered wood opened onto one of the small elevators that resembled a rocket s
hip. It was another part of the extensive Roman infrastructure that lined both the mortal and underworlds. They nodded at the elevator attendant, who was clad in the customary gold-braided uniform, and assumed their places against the wall, their backs to the handlebars that had been installed for their safety in the event of inner planetary turbulence.

  A moment later they disembarked at a large shooting range overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Mercury snapped his fingers and a manservant appeared bearing Cupid’s bow and arrows. They loaded their bows and began firing arrows into the sea below.