by Jenny Jacobs
“Okay,” Rilka said. Tell dates not to stare. Couldn’t people figure that out without Rilka’s help? Apparently not. “I have another client with some similar problems meeting people. Would you like to give it a shot? He’s a double amputee.”
“I won’t stare at him if he won’t stare at me,” Daphne said firmly. “And as long as we go somewhere private.”
• • •
What was he doing here? Jeremy wondered as he looked at the woman shrinking back into the corner of the sofa. Daphne wasn’t afraid of him, exactly, at least as far as he could tell. She was afraid of life.
He didn’t want to be here and she didn’t look so thrilled, either.
Still, she’d told him she wanted to go somewhere private, so he’d agreed to meet her at her place. Now he was sitting in his chair, facing the sofa and trying to think of something to say.
“Nice place,” was what he came up with.
“Thanks,” she said and they both fell silent.
He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. If he were with Rilka, he’d just have a fucking conversation. But this … rabbit would faint if he were his normal self.
“So,” he said. “There’s a game on. You wanna watch?”
Chapter 6
Rilka spent the morning wondering when Jeremy would report in on his date with Daphne. She was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten laid, although she hadn’t heard from Daphne either, but that didn’t mean the date was a dead loss.
She’d just gotten off the phone with an older man who remembered Gran fondly and set up an appointment for later in the afternoon when it rang under her hand. She glanced at the caller I.D. and was relieved to see it was finally Jeremy. Though she would have preferred for him to come see her. There was something cheering about Jeremy.
“Hi, there,” she said.
“May I ask what the hell you were thinking?” he demanded. So obviously she had gotten confused; there was nothing cheering about Jeremy.
“I was thinking you asked me to set you up on a date.”
“With someone suitable,” Jeremy said.
“Daphne didn’t work out?” Rilka said. Although, yes, she didn’t really need telling as she could deduce. “I told you about her and I told her about you. So don’t tell me either of you had problem with — ”
“The scar’s not the problem,” Jeremy interrupted. “She’s extremely shy, painfully aware of her disfigurement, and she needs someone to be gentle with her — ”
“Well, of course,” Rilka said.
“Then why did you set us up? I’m not a gentle person, for chrissake. You know that. What, did you think, ‘I’ll put the two appearance-challenged people together’? Did you really think that?”
“Well, damn,” Rilka said.
“You did?” His voice rose.
“It’s something you guys have in common,” she snapped.
He started to laugh. “You really suck at this, Rilka.”
“You’re just mad you didn’t get laid,” Rilka said.
“Well, obviously,” he said. “I thought I made it clear I only wanted women who would come across on the first date.”
She was laughing now, too. “You are such a pig.”
“Exactly. So set me up with another pig, not a fragile porcelain doll, okay?”
“You bet,” Rilka said.
• • •
“She’s fat,” Don said. He was in her hallway, having stopped by before work so he was wearing his uniform, which emphasized his fatness, but Rilka didn’t point this out. “Fat, fat, fat,” he said again, in case she hadn’t heard him the first time. “Didn’t I specify I was interested in attractive women?”
“Don, you’re packing a little extra poundage yourself,” Rilka said, provoked, but she wasn’t being mean, just trying to be realistic.
“What? Did you think, ‘Hey, I’ll stick the fat people together’?”
• • •
“He was a jerk,” Julia snapped. “I hate men.”
“That’s probably not the most helpful attitude to take,” Rilka said, though God knew she sympathized. “I agree that Don isn’t the most — ”
“Then why did you set us up?”
“He said he was interested in a career woman.”
“I see,” Julia said grudgingly. “But I think I’d rather date someone more like me.”
“Meaning?” Rilka asked tentatively. She hadn’t been right about anything since approximately June of last year.
“A hard charger. Like an entrepreneur or a stockbroker or — I don’t know, a foreign correspondent.”
A foreign correspondent. Rilka raised a brow. “We’re in the middle of the Midwest,” she pointed out.
“Stop being so literal,” Julia said, beyond exasperated.
• • •
“I hope it wasn’t too awful,” Rilka said, having decided to bite the bullet and call Daphne instead of waiting for her to check in. Story of her life lately, setting people up and then apologizing for it. You have a gift, Gran used to say and now Rilka realized her gift was for screwing things up.
“He wasn’t, like, bad. He didn’t mind the scar,” Daphne said. “But he’s not my type. Nothing to do with his legs. Just — I want a real gentleman. Someone classy.”
Rilka rubbed her forehead. We’re fresh out of classy gentlemen. Last one died around 1952. If you’re in the market for a fat cop or a dumb supermodel, we’ve got you covered.
“We’ll keep trying,” she said with a cheerful smile.
• • •
“This is Rafael,” the elderly man said, clapping his companion on the shoulder. Rafael was tall and dark, with smoldering eyes that made Rilka think she’d given up on men too soon. Then she remembered that even if she hadn’t given up men, there’d still be that pesky rule about not dating the clientele. And also — realizing that she was sucking her tummy in and worrying about her hair — she didn’t want someone who made her tense. Although maybe she wasn’t built for relaxing.
“Good to meet you,” Rilka said.
“And I’m Reston,” the older man said. He been the one to call for an appointment but hadn’t mentioned he’d be bringing a friend. But Rilka was nothing if not flexible.
“I’m Rilka,” she said, extending her hand. He didn’t shake it but instead clasped it between both of his and gave her a warm smile.
“I know. I knew your grandma. Fine woman.”
There was nothing to say to that. I’m nothing like Gran, so I hope you won’t be too disappointed.
She eyed the older man. Graying, slightly bald, a little stooped but with a reassuring sparkle in his eye. She couldn’t immediately think of a match — her demographics skewed a little younger — but she’d try her best. As she always did. Her best sucked, but that could not be helped.
“If you’d wait here,” Rilka spoke to Rafael, gesturing at the sofa in the living room.
“He can go first,” Reston interrupted. “I hadn’t mentioned him when I called because I hadn’t discussed it with him yet.”
“All right, then,” Rilka said. “You wait here.”
Reston opened his mouth to object, then gave her a grin that transformed his wrinkled countenance. “You’re a lot like your grandma.”
I am nothing like Gran, Rilka wanted to tell him, but did not. She showed Rafael into the kitchen. He moved quietly and with an economy of motion. She had the sense that he’d assessed the environment down to the color of the flowers on the windowsill. He’d probably calculated her net worth to within ten dollars. Not that she thought he was judging her. Just that he was assessing, analyzing. It was all information, and he lived for information. She’d been like that once, back when she’d had a real job.
“Tea?” she asked to be polite. She knew he would turn her down. He didn’t know enough about her and how she ran her establishment to take a risk on accepting food or drink from her.
“No, thank you.” His voice had a trace of an accent, confirming the Hispanic
heritage his dark good looks had indicated. He took a place at the table, giving the chair a dubious glance before sitting in it. Rilka took the chair across from him, glanced at it to see why it deserved such a dubious assessment, saw nothing, and also sat down. She knew he didn’t want to be here. She’d bet good money he wasn’t really interested in a match or even a date. Reston was the reason why he was here. So —
“So, tell me what’s going on,” she said.
He gazed at her with warm brown eyes, sincere yet calculating, an intriguing combination. Maybe she could bend the rule about not dating clients. “Reston is chairman of the board,” he said. “So I am obliged to treat his requests seriously.”
“Ah.” Rilka leaned back and smiled in commiseration. “And he thinks you need to settle down with a nice girl.”
“Something like that,” he said, a humorous expression flashing across his face.
“And you’re doing fine without anyone.”
“I am in line to succeed the current CEO of Electra Corp. Reston believes a nice wife and potential family will make me more palatable to the board. More relatable.” Which meant he was doing fine without anyone, but his career required a wife, or at least the appearance that he was looking for one. And if he found someone, she would need to accept his workaholism.
He didn’t want anyone and if he did have anyone, he wouldn’t have time for her. So that was going to work out great. Unhelpfully, Rilka’s brain took that moment to remember reading a study that showed top executives shared many traits with sociopaths. Sure, she thought. Make my job easy.
Without having to think too hard, Rilka could guess the board of Electra Corp. consisted of old white men who were racist enough to worry about an Hispanic man running things and his mentor Reston thought making him more relatable would tip the balance. The world never changed, it just learned to hide things better.
“So we’re … doing this for your image.”
“Precisely.”
“Hmm,” Rilka said. “Would you be receptive to finding a match? I mean, supposing I really do find the right woman for you.” Ha.
“I have very little time to date,” Rafael said. “I’m not finding her on my own.”
“That a yes?”
“A qualified yes. I’m not delighted to be here but I have learned to make the best of a bad situation.”
If only I could learn, Rilka thought with a sigh.
“Come now, surely I am not as hopeless as that? I am presentable, I have a good job, and excellent prospects.”
But who are you, under the job title and the grooming? The facade had not gone up overnight and getting past it would take time and wanting to try. And probably a certain amount of luck. The right woman, Gran would have said, but Rilka wasn’t sure.
“It’s not hopeless at all,” she said cheerfully. Someday she would stop being able to fake the cheerfulness and then what? “You do understand that if I set you up with a date and you don’t show up because you’re busy working, I’ll know you’re not making a good-faith effort.”
He smiled. “And you’ll tell Reston? I assure you that if I agree to a date, I will keep it.” He hesitated. “Unless something unavoidable comes up.”
“Right,” Rilka said, and didn’t burst into noisy sobs or start howling like a wolf. She had excellent self-restraint.
“I really will try,” he said and gave her a beautiful smile.
“Let me think about some possibilities,” she said. “Are you looking for any particular qualities in a match?”
“First and foremost, someone who understands how important my work is to me.”
Rilka nodded. An enabler for workaholism. Well, she probably had a few suitable candidates in her files. Some women weren’t that picky — if he was employed, that was all they needed to know. But he almost certainly had his share of unspoken expectations. Well, they’d get to find out what those were. She sighed.
“If you’d leave me your contact information, I’ll be in touch soon,” Rilka said. She clipped the business card he handed her to the notecard she would soon fill out with his requirements: Must enjoy being being second on the list of things he wants to do.
Then they stood and she walked him out of the kitchen. When they reached the living room, Reston popped to his feet and said, “My turn!” Rafael nodded and took his place on the sofa. Rilka made a gesture and followed him in.
Older men with fat bank accounts weren’t that much harder to work with than younger men with fat bank accounts. Whenever she got disgusted with men, she remembered women. That didn’t alleviate her disgust, just broadened it. Ecumenical disgust. Everyone was awful.
That was depressing, so she reminded herself that there were plenty of good people in the world and if she had a few minutes she could probably think of one.
Reston dragged a chair out and sat at the table, grinning happily at her.
Rilka promised herself a decadent chocolate dessert for getting through the day. Something gooey, with nuts. And lots of it. She smiled back at Reston, who sat forward on the edge of the chair.
“So tell me how it’s going,” she said. No, don’t.
“I knew your grandma.”
“So you said.”
“She was quite an adventuress, your grandma.” He gave a cherubic smile that told her way more than she wanted to know.
“Sure was.”
“She was in the Hungarian Resistance. Does anyone in your generation remember World War II?”
“I’ve heard of it,” she snapped. Reston himself was far too young to remember it personally.
His grin intensified and for a moment he reminded her of Jeremy. “She was quite a woman. You have a little of the look of her. Though I don’t think she was ever half as serious as you seem to be.”
“She enjoyed her work,” Rilka said without thinking. Reston let out a guffaw and said, “And you don’t? You’d rather sit at a desk adding up rows of columns or typing on a keyboard all day?”
What I’d like is to be an adventuress, Rilka thought with a sudden stab of longing. Did they even make adventuresses these days? Or was it just icky Paris Hilton and her ilk, the kind of people no real woman would want to emulate?
“Surely there are other options,” she said.
“Could be, could be,” he said.
He wasn’t here to offer her career counseling. She reined herself in and said, “So, please, tell me why you’re here.”
“Ah, that’s easy. You know, your grandma set me up with my late wife, God rest her soul. Virginia was quite a woman. I don’t expect I’ll find another like her.”
That was sweet. “But you want to try?”
“Good heavens, no!” Reston said. “No, no, no. I’ll tell you what I want. I want a trophy wife.”
Rilka inhaled tea. Someday she was going to learn to stop drinking when clients were talking. When the fit of coughing passed and she was able to get her breath back, he said, “Took you by surprise, did I? But I’ve decided I’ve earned a nice bit of fluff to go on my arm. I’ll leave her a nice sum of money, I can guarantee that upfront. And I could feel affection for the right girl. I’m sure the right girl could feel affection for me.”
“I’m sure, too,” Rilka said sourly. “I have just the person in mind.” Natalia, a young blonde-from-a-bottle had visited her a few weeks ago, explaining she was looking for a sugar daddy. Rilka had sighed and said she’d see what she could do, though she hadn’t actually intended to do anything.
I hate my life, Rilka thought. I’ve got an old goat who wants a trophy wife and the truly depressing thing is I have a candidate on the books.
“You’ll have to take her someplace disgustingly expensive,” Rilka warned him. “Bring her a dozen roses. Pick her up in a limo.”
“I know how to do my part,” Reston said. “What’s her name?”
Anything you want it to be, Rilka thought, if the price is right. “Natalia.”
“That’s a nice name.”
“Sh
e is not a nice girl.”
“That’s all right,” Reston said happily. “Saturday, eight P.M., I’ll pick her up.”
“Sure. I’ll arrange it,” Rilka said. Right after I take a shower to get the ick off.
• • •
“Didn’t mean to keep you waiting,” Rilka said, opening the door. It was just Jeremy so she didn’t have to be on her best behavior, but she felt like she owed him an explanation. “I was just taking a shower.” It hadn’t washed away the stain of her sin, but it had relaxed her slightly. Maybe. Or maybe she needed another shower and some industrial strength de-grimer.
Jeremy nodded and rolled into the room. “Not a problem. Your neighbor’s dog ran off and I ended up chasing him down, so I was late anyway.”
“Mrs. Olsen’s dog? That ugly little peekapoo creature? Why she doesn’t keep him on a leash I don’t know. But it was nice of you to help.”
“I’m a nice guy.”
“I’m sure that’s true,” Rilka said. “But I’ll have to take your word for it.”
Jeremy grinned at her. “I’m wounded. Don’t you feel the niceness radiating from me?” He batted his lashes soulfully.
“Uh-huh,” Rilka said, walking toward the kitchen. “My last appointment ran late, and then there was the shower, so I haven’t had lunch. Want a snack?”
“Of course I do. Chasing silly little dogs works up an appetite.”
“I was going to nuke some frozen pizza.”
“That sounds like my kind of cooking.”
“I used to cook,” Rilka said. “But now that it’s just me — ”
“The microwave seems easier,” Jeremy finished.
“Yeah.” Rilka busied herself with plates and the pizza box and microwave. She was aware of Jeremy watching her but he didn’t say anything. When the microwave dinged, she got the pizza out and served it at the table.
“So how’s it going?” she asked around a bite of pepperoni, and realized she wasn’t asking because she was his matchmaker, she was asking out of personal curiosity. So that was weird.
“Food first,” he said, reaching for a slice. “Story of my so-called life second.”
“Fair enough. I’m tired of talking anyway.”
