Matching Wits with Venus

by Therese Gilardi

  “You’ve got your father’s natural aim. You don’t even have to think when you shoot,” Bacchus called from a nearby blanket, where he was reclining while three beautiful women fed him grapes and wine as a fourth massaged his wide shoulders. “Your son’s good, Merc. Shame he’s not putting that perfect pitch to better use.”

  Mercury turned to Cupid.

  “He’s right. You should be doing more than just acting as your mother’s errand boy. You need something that’ll challenge you. You could always work for me.”

  Cupid frowned.

  “I’ve got an important job. If I don’t land those arrows nobody will mate and the world will end.”

  “Just think about it,” Mercury replied.

  Mercury clasped Cupid on the shoulder, waved at Bacchus, and blew kisses at the four women while Cupid reloaded his quiver. A moment later he descended back into his underworld kingdom, leaving Cupid feeling cranky and restless.

  His father was right. He had to get back to Los Angeles, so he could spy on Amelia while she worked. He was certain if he could just see her computer program he’d be able to decipher how she made her matches.

  And then he could make similar pairings himself. If his mother didn’t like it, well then perhaps he would have to consider joining his father in the underworld.

  ****

  “Can you believe that man?” Amelia asked as soon as Colin left. “The nerve!”

  “Yeah, he’s something else all right.”

  The front door opened and one of Happily Ever After By Amelia’s most finicky clients entered.

  “Who was that hunk I saw sitting in the window? I want to be matched with him!”

  “I’m sorry, Randi, but he’s not a client,” Amelia replied.

  “But I saw him filling out that pink and purple personality profile questionnaire!”

  Amelia shook her head.

  “He wasn’t suitable for a match.”

  “Why? Is he married?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Amelia knew he wasn’t married because one of the first things she did whenever a new client came to her was a quick computer search of public records, to verify that the client was indeed single. Naturally, there was no guarantee that the person in question was who they said they were. But it was a good starting point. If a red flag turned up she would be able to terminate her relationship with the client before the personality profile had been completed. It was so much better to be safe than to be like that poor matchmaker in Studio City, the one who’d paired up a felon and a bigamist.

  “A criminal?”

  Amelia shook her head.

  “Then I don’t see what the problem is. He looked perfect to me.”

  Randi pulled at an imaginary snag on the sleeve of her Chanel sweater.

  Amelia smiled.

  “I promise I’m working on the perfect partner for you. Trust me.”

  Randi narrowed her green eyes.

  “I certainly hope so. You know, Amelia, you’re far from being the only matchmaker in town. And you and I both know I’m giving you a second chance here, which is something I rarely grant anyone. Don’t make me regret it. I’d hate to have to tell everyone that I saw an attractive prospect in your office, but you chose instead to hook me up with some loser.”

  Amelia glanced over at Jennie.

  “Not to worry. Now,” she said, guiding Randi by the elbow toward the door.

  “Let me get back to my search for your mate.”

  After Randi left Jennie dragged a café chair over to Amelia’s little antique desk in the corner, where Amelia was hunched over her laptop, about to delete Cupid’s profile.

  “Lia, do you have anyone for Randi?”

  “No.”

  “So what would have been so wrong with Colin Cumin?”

  Amelia looked at Jennie.

  “I’m not sure. But my gut instinct tells me this guy isn’t who he says he is.”

  “Your gut instinct? Who are you, Venus? That’s why you developed the program, to take intuition entirely out of the matchmaking equation.”

  “You’re right. I lead with my head, not my heart. And my head tells me that guy is trouble.”

  However, several of Amelia’s clients disagreed. By the time she left an hour later, three more women had stopped by and asked about “the hunk in the window”.

  “Maybe I should make prospective clients sit at the back window. That way Justin could check them out ahead of time,” she mumbled as she packed up her bag.

  ****

  It took Amelia half an hour to get home to her small, white washed, stucco bungalow. Like the other homes surrounding it, Amelia’s place had a street facing, front entrance and a tall stucco wall that enclosed her tiny yard. Bursts of bright blooms from large bougainvillea climbed a trellis next to a wooden gate, giving off the impression that a charming romantic interior was on the other side of the carved wooden door.

  But, while Happily Ever After By Amelia was crowded with pink and purple scented candles, hanging beads, large crystals, jars of potpourri and carved Victorian furniture, Amelia’s little house was so sparsely furnished, a visitor could be forgiven for thinking that Amelia was in the process of moving.

  At least that’s what Cupid thought as he peered in through the living room window. He watched as Amelia passed a white couch and low coffee table holding nothing but old mail, a few tattered literary journals and a small notebook. She headed over to the corner, where a Moses basket rested against the white wall.

  “How’s my baby? Give me a kiss!”

  Amelia lifted a brown and white Maltese-Shih Tzu from the basket and kissed the top of the little dog’s head. The dog wagged her tail then licked Amelia with her tiny tongue.

  “Come on, let’s go get dinner.”

  Cupid trailed behind Amelia as she walked Petal to the taco stand around the corner. He walked a little slower than usual because he was so laden down with his magical arrows; he’d forgotten to drop his quiver off at Venus’s after his round of target shooting with his father. Cupid watched as Amelia ordered a take-out burrito plate, which she carried home and ate while seated in front of her laptop. Cupid could see that the screen held pictures of celebrity couples beneath the banner of a well-known British tabloid whose editor he’d shot with three different arrows.

  When she was done, Amelia fed Petal a few scraps of tortilla, pulled the worn notebook onto her lap, turned on some big band music and gazed around the room. She chewed the end of her pen for several minutes, then bent over in concentration and scribbled furiously. She held up the notebook, frowned, and scratched out much of the writing before surveying the room and leaning down over her notebook once more.

  After about forty-five minutes, she stood up, stretched, and sat down in front of the computer. She moved the screen, so it was now partially beyond Cupid’s line of vision, and she looked toward the window.

  For a moment, Cupid was afraid she’d spotted him, although he knew his fear was absurd; humans could not see gods unless those gods chose to manifest themselves in a visible form. Still he moved to the side, into the shadows, where Amelia had a small collection of pink potted geraniums. As Cupid strained to see the computer, he tripped over a flowerpot.

  Petal began to whimper. When Cupid started to back away so the little dog couldn’t smell him, he stumbled over another flowerpot. He reached to steady himself and pierced his hand with one of his arrows. Cupid yelped as he pulled the arrow from his palm.

  Obviously concerned by Petal’s cries, and what no doubt sounded like the howl of a coyote outside, Amelia looked out of her living room window into the inky sky. Although Amelia could not see Cupid, he stood on the other side of the glass, staring straight into her large, hazel eyes.

  Chapter Four

  “We must’ve had a tremor last night,” Amelia said as she entered Happily Ever After By Amelia carrying a large cinnamon donut from the nearby bakery truck.

  Jennie cocked her head, squinted her
eyes and frowned.

  “I don’t think so. I didn’t feel a thing, or hear about any little earthquakes.”

  “Well Petal was going crazy, and it always takes something big to set her off.”

  “Maybe Petal had an inkling that we’ve got trouble rolling in to town today.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Jennie pointed at the computer screen atop Amelia’s desk in the corner.

  “Over half a dozen irate e-mails claiming that if we’re going to reject men like Colin Cumin maybe women will begin to take their business elsewhere.”

  Amelia groaned.

  “I knew that guy was trouble. Now look what’s happened.”

  “You need to think about this, Lia. Randi works in production at one of the big studios. If she decides to start bad-mouthing Happily Ever After By Amelia then we’re going to lose not just production people but also the actors, the stylists, everyone who’s working in wardrobe….”

  “I know, I know! I’ll see what I can do to fix this.”

  Amelia called up Randi’s contact information and dialed her cell phone.

  “Randi? It’s Amelia. Listen. I’m feeling…”

  She looked at Jennie and rolled her eyes.

  “Bad about what happened here yesterday. Do you want to meet me for lunch? … Great. See you at noon.”

  Amelia clicked her phone off.

  “I’ve got to find her three matches that’ll make her forget all about Colin Cumin,” she said, turning to her computer. “Which should be next to impossible since I’ve been searching for weeks, and I’ve yet to find even one. I tell you, times like this make me realize why people want to believe in Cupid. Imagine if all you had to do was shoot someone with a magical arrow and they’d fall in love with the first person they saw. How easy would my life be if I could just do that?”

  ****

  Cupid decided he needed to consult with some of the other gods so he could determine the best way to court a mortal woman. He was convinced that the negative encounter he’d had with Amelia while filling out his personality profile meant he’d have to figure out a way to attract her. However, he was confident he could win her over with the right amount of time and effort.

  He couldn’t stop thinking about how fragile she’d been, with her sorry solo dinner, her solitary canine companion and the fact that she was clearly unable, despite her professional knowledge, to find herself a match. He also couldn’t stop thinking about her curt dismissal; she’d been the first woman he could remember who’d failed to fawn all over him. She’d even seemed annoyed by his presence.

  He was frustrated. He was so used to women throwing themselves at him. Even now, as he reached into the jacket of his sports coat, he held the phone numbers of several of the women who’d approached him on the street as he’d descended from Venus’s mansion en route to Happily Ever After By Amelia.

  Cupid took the express elevator from behind his mother’s villa to the underworld. He expected that almost everyone would be out on the lawn in the walled garden, practicing for the upcoming bowling tournament. He was planning to seek the advice of some of his fellow gods; certainly they would know what he should do. After all, several of them had dallied with mortals in the past.

  Apollo would have been the right god to ask since he knew everything about wooing women. But he was on safari, so Domidicus would have to do. Surely he’d have some ideas about how to romance a woman, since he brought brides to their husbands.

  As the elevator glided to a stop, Cupid turned to Enrique, the operator, who was patting the gold braid on the epaulet of his uniform.

  “I figured Dom’s down here, getting ready for the big showdown, right?”

  Enrique turned to Cupid. “The last I heard, Signor Domidicus was in Bath, taking the waters with several of the other gods. Would you like me to take you there?”

  “Please.”

  Enrique pressed the “Bath” button on the golden panel and the elevator shot off in a new direction.

  Domidicus was sitting in the Sally Lun Bun Shop with two beautiful women Cupid didn’t recognize, having a plateful of cream buns and a pot of Earl Grey tea. When he saw his old friend enter the tearoom he motioned for him to join his little party. Cupid sat down next to him and ordered a frosted bun.

  “Haven’t seen you in a while,” Domidicus said. “Where’ve you been?”

  “At my mom’s.”

  Domidicus nodded. “That explains it. I hear Venus has had a bit of trouble lately.”

  Cupid turned to the young woman seated next to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

  “I’m Marissa."

  She giggled.

  "Dom is taking me to my husband’s house.”

  Domidicus laughed.

  “Eventually. So Cupid, you look worried.”

  He turned to the women at the table.

  “Why don’t you ladies go have a closer look at the bakery case and see if there’s anything else you want to order?”

  Domidicus looked at Cupid and asked, “What’s going on?”

  “I’ve met this woman….”

  Domidicus rolled his eyes and shoved another piece of bun into his mouth.

  “What’s the problem? You like her you just shoot her with one of your arrows. Venus will never know.”

  Cupid shook his head.

  “I want her to be with me because she wants to not because I’ve shot her.”

  Domidicus held up a bun.

  “Buy her a dozen of these. They’re irresistible.”

  “The way to a man's heart is through his stomach, not a woman’s.”

  “You know, I always get that mixed up. Look I can’t really help you. All I do is deliver the brides to their future husbands. I have no idea what happens to make them want to stay married to those guys.”

  One of the women who had been seated at Domidicus’s table, a tall brunette with long hair and even longer legs, looked over at Cupid and smiled.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear. It’s none of my business, but you can have almost anyone you want. Why would you want to waste time on someone who’s not interested?”

  Cupid leaned forward. As he frowned a slight dimple appeared in his perfect chin.

  “You know, I don’t know why. I just know I want her.”

  Cupid frowned.

  Then he shook his head and muttered, “Gotta go–I see my mother.”

  Cupid headed for the rear exit as Venus appeared on the sidewalk outside the shop.

  Cupid hurried toward the express elevator. He didn’t think, given his somewhat limited grasp of the nuances of English and Amelia’s knowledge of the sonnet collection he’d mentioned on his personality profile, that writing a poem was a smart idea. He would need to create a work of art. He would go to Paris, the city of love, and study drawing at the Louvre. Once he arrived in the French capitol he’d buy a black beret, sketchbook and easel so he would blend in with all of the other art students who decamped in front of the masterpieces. He would go from painting to painting in the great museum until he found the work that most reminded him of Amelia and then he would copy it and present it to her as a sign of his affection.

  ****

  Amelia tucked her laptop into the brocade case she’d purchased at a prop shop in the valley and threw it into the back seat of her tiny, blue convertible. She drove down Sunset Boulevard, past all the tour buses, famous nightclubs and celebrity hopefuls, their sunglasses as wide as their too-white smiles, until she arrived at the Saddle Ranch.

  The Saddle Ranch was Amelia’s favorite spot for a business luncheon. She found that the mechanical bull and three foot bowls of pastel cotton candy always put her and her clients in a nostalgic frame of mind, which invariably led to a satisfying meal and pleasant negotiations. Plus she loved the barbeque chicken salad, which was served in large wooden bowls that reminded her of her days as a Camp Fire Girl, when she and her friends would pitch tents in the foothills of the Santa Monica Mountains wearing
the brown robes that displayed the merit beads they’d earned.

  Her mother, unlike the others, had never sewn the beads on her robe, let alone accompanied the group. But that was all right with Amelia. By the time she was a Camp Fire Girl, she’d long given up on the idea of unconditional love or loyalty. She’d even felt sorry for the girls who believed in the “happily ever after” endings of the stories they used to tell each other as they lay around the fire in their sleeping bags—they were only lining themselves up for a lifetime of disappointment, just like her father.

  “Amelia.”

  Amelia looked up and gritted her teeth as Randi swept over to the table, surveying the room as she walked, and nodding her approval that they would sit at a large booth and not one of the small tables in the center of the floor. As usual she was dressed to impress, with the latest jeans from a boutique on Melrose Avenue and a chunky gold necklace that looked like it must have come from one of the jewelers on Rodeo Drive. Her manicure was impeccable, and even though it was not yet sandal weather for anyone but the tourists, Amelia was certain Randi’s toes looked perfect inside a pair of shoes that had been featured in last month’s edition of “Vogue”.