Make Me a Match

by Diana Holquist

  And then she saw Jack, standing behind Finn and Camille. He looked at Cecelia like she had sprouted a second head.

  A dancer returned her hair clip. Another, her shoes. They surrounded her, peppering her with questions and praise.

  By the time she got free of them, Jack was gone.

  Chapter 16

  Cecelia found Jack in the hotel bar, his tux jacket slung carelessly over the back of his chair, sipping a single malt. His slumped shoulders instantly sobered her from the intoxication of her dance. Or was it the intoxication of the gypsy liquor she’d been throwing back all night?

  Or the intoxication of Finn?

  She slid into the seat next to Jack’s, struggling to clear her head. He seemed not to know her. She touched his shoulder, but he didn’t respond. Something inside her curled up and retreated. I hurt the man I love.

  “I got off early,” he said. “I thought I’d surprise you. Guess I was the one who got the surprise.”

  She struggled to calm her still-dancing nerves. Why had she danced that dance? What had she done?

  “Camille told me you came with another guy. Who is he?” Jack’s voice was soggy with defeat.

  He is my One True Love; he is dying; he is a man who set me free; he is my destiny; he is nothing; he is Camille’s. The vibration of the music from the ballroom called to her, and at the same time frightened her. She could still go back to her comfortable world. “He’s a friend—”

  Jack’s voice was tight and cold. “A friend I learn about from Camille? A friend you take to dinner behind my back? A friend I don’t know?”

  Yes, she wanted to scream, there’s so much you don’t know. But that was her fault, not his. Cecelia took a deep breath. “I met him in the park when I was out with Amy. I wanted to hook him up with Camille. I think it worked.” The easy lie elated and terrified her. She could get her life back to normal with a few well-chosen words. But did she want to? She put her hand lightly on the wooden table between them, her fingertips pulsing with the rhythm from the ballroom.

  “What’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

  I’m a gypsy. My destiny is set. I’m in love with another man. I’m in love with you. “I have to tell you about Amy.”

  Jack held up his hands like a man in a sinking rowboat, hoping to keep at least his fingertips dry. “Please.”

  Cecelia’s loose hair brushed her shoulders. The heat of the dance radiated from her face. “Amy is a psychic,” Cecelia began.

  Jack blinked.

  Cecelia told him about Amy, her power, and their past—about everything but Finn.

  Jack continued to blink.

  When she was done, Jack looked at his now empty glass, refusing to meet her eyes. Finally, he said in his courtroom voice, “You believe your sister is a psychic.” The words sounded absurd coming from his mouth.

  “I’ve seen proof,” she countered, too emphatically, like a talking head on a toothpaste ad. It did sound absurd and for a moment she saw everything clearly: she loved Jack because believing in Amy wasn’t possible in his world. If she joined him, she was free of Fate. Of her destiny. Of Finn.

  Jack must have read her silent concurrence, because his voice quickened. “You—a doctor of medicine—think that your sister can defy the scientific laws of nature and intercept—what? Thought rays? Ghosts? Spirits?” Jack glanced toward the door, as if he were expecting someone more rational to show up to provide a more plausible explanation.

  “It’s hard to say what she hears.” At that moment, she both loved and despised Jack for his ruthless pursuit of empirical evidence. Finn is my One True Love? It depended on what world she inhabited. It is up to me to decide.

  “If you believe that Amy can hear the Name of your True Love, is it me?” Jack’s lawyerly mind cut right to the chase.

  “She never told me.” The truth flooded her, but she tossed the lie like a rickety raft, keeping them afloat between two islands—one civilized, one a dense jungle.

  The erratic drumbeat of the folk music continued to pulse from the ballroom. In the face of Jack’s astute rationality, it sounded ominous.

  “Why didn’t Amy tell you?”

  Cecelia drew in a breath. “Amy and I made a pact that she would never tell me unless I wanted to know.”

  “But why?” He took her hand.

  “Because—” Cecelia focused her full attention on Jack. Her hands nestled in his. She closed her eyes. Was this her life? She thought of her dance—wild, irresponsible. She felt the warmth of Jack’s hands—calm, strong. She didn’t have to go back to the painful memories of that dance. Not if she chose civilization, safety. Not if she chose Jack. “Because I want to be normal.”

  The music stopped and the silence made Cecelia aware of her pounding heart. She opened her eyes.

  Jack nodded, as if this were the first thing Cecelia had said that made a lick of sense. He motioned the bartender for another scotch. When it came, he sipped it thoughtfully.

  “Here’s how I see it, Cel.” Jack looked right at her and his directness filled her with shame. “I think that we control our lives. The concept of One True Love means that life is predestined. That’s not the kind of world I want to live in. I control my world. You control your world. Maybe it’s true that some people read the future, but other people make it.” He paused. “We’re the sort of people who make it.”

  Cecelia wanted to be that sort of person. With every fiber of her being, that was what she wanted. The wounds that the dance had opened in her felt like they could close again. In one concise statement, Jack had made her future clear: she could accept Fate or defy it. She gathered her hair and pinned it to the back of her head. No more dancing. No more purple drinks. No more gypsy wildness. No more lies.

  No more Finn.

  Jack stared past her out the doorway of the bar. Suddenly his eyes grew wide. Cecelia turned and looked, just catching the blur of Finn and Camille hurrying by. They fled breathlessly, almost floating across the square of light. Then they stopped, and drifted back, dead into the porthole of the doorway. Camille bent demurely to fix a strap on her shoe, her dress falling distractedly low to reveal remarkable cleavage. She steadied herself with a proprietary hand on Finn’s shoulder. He stared down at her, no doubt mesmerized.

  And then, they floated off again. Gone.

  Cecelia’s head swayed with the narrowness of her escape. She had almost left her kind, rational fiancé for a stranger who thought Camille was worth going home with.

  Cecelia had chosen the right man.

  Jack’s hand still covered hers. He was wearing the gold cuff links she had given him for their first anniversary together. Cecelia’s heart pounded. She touched his arm. Here is good. Here is safe.

  Finn chose Camille, and she chose Jack. Everything was back to normal and Cecelia felt infinitely relieved.

  She and Jack had decided to return to the banquet. He gathered his coat, she her bag. He pulled back her chair like a gentleman, let her precede him. But before they got out of the bar, he said, “Of course, now you have to ask Amy who your One True Love is.”

  Cecelia stopped dead. But the worlds don’t cross.

  “Before we get married. You have to know.”

  “Jack, it’s not necessary—”

  “I can’t marry you if you don’t know.”

  Cecelia’s stomach clenched. They had stopped just inside the door of the bar, and people had to excuse themselves to push by. “What if it’s not you?”

  “Then you’ll decide what to do. If you believe in Amy, there isn’t any other way.”

  There was no music, no first-time lovers running off on fanciful whims. Just pure rationality leading to the unavoidable solution. Amy would tell them Cecelia’s True Love’s name. They could take it or leave it.

  But if it was so rational, why did it sound so nuts? Amy would say Finn was her True Love—

  If Jack believes.

  If Jack didn’t believe, then Amy could say anything. It didn’t matter. In
Jack’s world, Amy was make-believe. Not a liar, but an actor. A game player. A clown. “Okay. I’ll ask her.”

  “I love you, Cecelia.” Jack stared deeply into her eyes.

  It was almost over. Jack knew that Amy was a psychic and he still wanted to marry her. One last lie and they’d be past it all.

  And Finn? Well, Finn was probably in line at the drugstore, buying a replacement condom.

  Chapter 17

  Finn stood in the line at the drugstore, waiting for the stooped, wrinkled woman ahead of him to choose her lottery ticket. Camille’s red Maserati glimmered through the plate-glass windows of the store, and everyone in the place stared from it to him.

  He couldn’t wait to change back into jeans. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to relieve the tension that this crazy night had implanted deep in his skull. He never should have said “yes” to the gala. In the park, eating hot dogs, he’d thought that maybe he and Cecelia could be friends. But the minute he picked her up in that dress—God, that dress—he knew he was kidding himself.

  Then when Jack showed up, it was like a bucket of cold water was thrown over his head. I am falling in love with an engaged woman. Not smart. He had to get out of there immediately. Sure, he could have slunk away, walked uptown in the warm evening air. But the best way to get out and to protect Cecelia’s reputation was to leave with another woman. So when he had complained of a headache, and Camille had offered him a ride home, it was the perfect solution to make Cecelia look blameless. After all, he must have really been nothing more than a friend if he left with another woman. Even if he felt like a cad.

  Problem was, now he had Camille on his hands.

  The lady in front of him finally chose her last scratch-off game—she went with the Baseball Buzz and not the Sand, Surf, and Scratch—and moved to the next counter to scratch. Finn nodded at the clerk.

  Camille revved the engine outside.

  “Extra-large, huh?” the clerk asked, eyeing Finn’s selection, then the car outside. “Looks like you’re in for quite a night.”

  “There’s tonight. And then there’s tomorrow morning,” Finn said, paying for the extra-large bottle of Tylenol. And then there’s the rest of my screwed-up life. They exchanged money for the receipt.

  Finn opened the bottle, tossed the wad of cotton in the trash, and downed four pills. The lady with the lottery tickets tossed the used tickets in the trash too. Guess she should have tried the Sand, Surf, and Scratch. Choices are hard. Finn offered her a Tylenol. She shook her head and shuffled away.

  “Good luck!” the clerk called after Finn, laughing. “Let me know if you need backup.”

  Finn shot him a weary smile. I must look like an asshole in this tux.

  What a night. Cecelia and that dance. Oh, hell. It had taken every ounce of his energy to keep his head turned to Camille. If he had watched that dance, it would have been over. He’d have to ruin Cecelia’s life and pursue her, fiancé or no fiancé.

  Which was why he didn’t look. Kept his eyes trained on Camille.

  Camille.

  He pushed through the door into the cooling evening air. He crumpled his six-foot-two frame back into the passenger seat of the low-riding sports car. “Thanks for stopping here.”

  Camille shrugged. “Hey, it’s not every day a guy tells me that he has a headache. Especially when I wear this dress.”

  Finn smiled. “I appreciate the ride. And the dress. I’m just beat and my kid’s probably waiting up. It’s just a few more blocks and to the right.”

  Camille gunned the car down the deserted street, past boarded-up storefronts, graffiti-covered empty lots. “So how do you know Cecelia?” she asked, not so sweetly.

  “I don’t really. Not much.” Not enough. Finn knew his answer wasn’t what she was fishing for, but he needed another extra-large bottle of pills for that story. Then a thought occurred to him. When Jack had entered the room, his eyes had been on Cecelia. But then they quickly turned to take in Camille. Something had sparked between those two. “How well do you know Jack?” he asked.

  She slammed on the gas pedal hard. Finn braced himself against the side door as they peeled down the street, then careened right onto Trudy’s street. She screeched the car to a stop in front of the bar, took a deep breath, then smiled at Finn. “I don’t.”

  Finn took in her angry lips, her flashing eyes. “Hot damn. You’re sleeping with Jack!”

  Camille smiled ruefully and shrugged. “Guess we both got dumped.”

  For the first time that night, Finn liked her. She’s on my side. He was still just drunk enough to enjoy the dim lights of the bar that danced on the hood of the fancy car, the irony of the situation, the night air. He offered her the Tylenol.

  She grabbed the bottle, dumped three in her palm, and downed them. Then she handed the bottle back and cut the powerful engine. They were engulfed in the silence of the dark night. “Cecelia is an odd bird,” Camille said, leaning back in the black leather seat. “I wouldn’t blame you for being in love with her. She’s gorgeous. She’s smart. She’ll be rich soon enough.”

  He was about to deny that he loved her. But he couldn’t get the words out. “And she’s engaged,” he said. “I know I’m old-fashioned, but that really kills the buzz for me.” Do I love Cecelia? Oh, hell, he hoped not. Maybe it was just lust. Lust he could walk away from.

  Camille’s eyes were closed. “Theirs is not a marriage that should happen.”

  “Who are we, the marriage fairies? We decide who gets who?”

  “Why not? Maybe we’re the best ones to decide. Jack was cheating on her.”

  “With you,” Finn reminded her.

  “Right. But that little affair was over almost before it began. The minute I met you.”

  “Sorry to let you down,” he said.

  “Oh. It’s no big deal. I don’t do men for the long-term; just the occasional treat. And now that I see where you live, I don’t think you’re really my type.”

  “Hey, you should see the inside. It’s amazing.”

  “Are you inviting me in?” She smiled at his wide-eyed shock. “Relax, Boy Scout. I’m just kidding.”

  “So Jack came to the gala looking for you?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.

  “I was going to stay at that boring party just long enough to hobnob, then meet Jack in the lobby. But instead, you caught my eye. Too bad you turned out to be such a Boy Scout.”

  “Could we cut the Boy Scout stuff?”

  “Right. Okay. Too bad you turned out to be in love with Cecelia.”

  Her words knocked him in the gut. All the wind sucked out of him. In love. With Cecelia. Who’s engaged to another man. Who is cheating on her. His mind skipped back to the first part. The realization hit him full on. He was in love with Cecelia. “I might love her.” He took two more Tylenol. “That is not good.”

  “What’s good have to do with love?” Camille asked.

  “Like I said, I’m old-fashioned. I just want her to be happy.”

  “Bullshit. You want to fuck her brains out, Boy Scout.”

  Hell, this woman certainly wasn’t turning out as uptight as Cecelia had painted her. Finn pursed his lips to hide his smile. “Well, yeah, of course. But not if it ruins her life. If she chooses Jack, then that’s her choice.” Even if he’s a two-timing schmuck.

  “And you’re not going to try to change her mind?”

  “No. She already made a choice. So did Jack.”

  “Don’t you get lonely?” Camille asked into the darkness.

  Finn nodded. “Every minute of every day. But it’s not enough of a reason to ruin someone else’s life.”

  “I see it as brightening up someone’s life. Even if it’s just temporary.”

  “Guess we can agree to disagree on that.”

  Camille nodded. “Friends?”

  “Friends. Scout’s honor.”

  They shook hands.

  Finn hesitated.

  “What?” she asked.

 
“Friends if you break it off with Jack.” There, that was the least he could do for Cecelia.

  She rolled her eyes. “Broken. Not that there was much to break. He looks good, but he’s a little boring in bed—”

  Finn held up his hand. “Too much information.”

  Camille laughed. “Anyway, after that dance of Cecelia’s, I bet he might be re-interested in his chilly fiancée.”

  “Hey—she’s not chilly—”

  “Careful,” Camille interrupted. “Your true feelings are showing.”

  His true feelings were showing. They were, in fact, growing before his eyes into giant green monsters, ready to tear down buildings, swat down airplanes, roar into the silent Baltimore night in pursuit of Cecelia. He had to get his mind off her. “You want a beer?” Finn asked Camille. She suddenly seemed incredibly sad to him.

  “Is that a proposition?”

  “A beer and a game of cards. Oh, and you can meet my daughter and her granny. That’s all I have to offer.”

  Camille tossed her keys in her purse and reached for her door. “You know what, Boy Scout? Somehow, tonight, that actually sounds good.”

  “Is the bimbo gone yet?” Trudy asked Finn. She ducked behind the bar. Only a few regulars were left, scattered around the tables. Max, Finn’s supervisor, was paging through a newspaper at the far end of the bar. “Maya’s upstairs sound asleep,” Trudy said, before he could ask. “She knows where to find us.”

  “Yeah, I saw her sneaking down and looking at me a few times already.” He smiled to himself at what Camille, a cardiologist, would think of Trudy calling her a bimbo.

  “So? The date didn’t work out, huh, Romeo?”

  “It wasn’t a date. I knew all along Cecelia was engaged.” To a cheating bastard. Finn’s stomach tightened uncomfortably. What was he going to do now? Would Cecelia even believe him? He thought back to his conversation with Camille. He loved Cecelia—

  “Is that why you brought home Bambi?” Trudy broke into his thoughts.

  Finn shook his head. “Her name’s Camille. She’s all right. She gave me a lift after my date left with her fiancé.”