The Matchmaker Meets Her Match

by Jenny Jacobs

  “Difficult clients?”

  “Could anyone be more difficult than you?” She grinned and added, “In fact, I think one was. He wants a trophy wife. The disgusting thing is I have just the right woman for him.”

  “That sucks. You can’t just say ‘men are pigs,’” he said sympathetically.

  “Well, you can,” Rilka allowed, “but then you have to stipulate that women are pigs, too.” She bit into the pizza again. Not bad for something heated in the microwave.

  “So how’d you get into this business?” Jeremy asked. Apparently the story of her life was fair game even though they were eating. “Forgive my saying but it doesn’t seem like your kind of thing. So there must be a story.”

  If she were Gran the adventuress there would be a story. Or even if she’d been a businessperson with a plan. She shrugged, swallowed, and said, “It’s not much of a story. I got laid off from my job — I was an analyst for a brokerage firm — and Gran had just died and left me the business or whatever the hell you’d call it.”

  “Gran?”

  “She was this Hungarian resistance fighter, or so the story goes, and escaped communist Hungary just in the nick of time. Took lovers until she was a very satisfied ninety-three-year-old and then died.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “I’ve never known my father. My mother is in Bangkok. Or at least she was. She’s a bit of a gypsy.”

  “Trying to take after your grandmother?” Jeremy asked.

  Rilka stopped, holding the next slice of pizza in midair. “Huh. I never really thought of that. But maybe she is trying to take after Gran. Gran the adventuress.”

  “The way you say that. Let me guess. Are you feeling as if your life is lacking in adventure?”

  “Yes,” she said vehemently and took a huge bite of her pizza.

  “I went looking for adventure once,” he said.

  Rilka swallowed her bite of pizza. It felt the size of a fist in her mouth. Not just a job, she thought, chasing the dry pizza down with a long swallow of Diet Coke. An adventure.

  She didn’t know what to say. I’m sorry wasn’t it. She figured shutting up was probably an okay strategy.

  After a long moment, he said, “Didn’t mean to stop the conversation like that.”

  “I know,” Rilka said. “You’re just sayin’. Adventure: not all it’s cracked up to be.”

  “Exactly. Just sayin’.”

  The silence was not as awful as it would have been with someone else. He didn’t seem to think she should say anything. He finished his pizza although she had sort of lost her appetite.

  “You appear to be done with your lunch,” she said after a while, getting to her feet and holding out her hand for the empty plate. “Can we talk about your so-called life now?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, but though his tone was light his expression was serious.

  “What happened?”

  He shrugged, didn’t meet her eyes. “Nothing,” he said.

  “Nothing?”

  “You’re the one who’s supposed to be setting me up,” he said. “Then you tell me to go to bars and hit on women.”

  “I’m pretty sure I said, ‘Get to know people.’”

  “For the purpose of getting laid. That’s called hitting on women.”

  She contemplated him. Hadn’t she known from the start he was going to be a pain in the ass?

  “So you’ve been going to the bar and not hitting on women? Is that what ‘nothing’ means? Or are you getting shot down? Because I don’t mean to be rude but we almost certainly need to work on your technique.”

  He didn’t flash her his trademark grin so that made her feel like an asshole. He was finding the placemat inordinately interesting.

  She touched his hand with hers. “Hey, it’s just me. You can talk to me. God knows I haven’t gotten laid in … a long time. So I understand — ”

  “I don’t think you do,” he said. “When was the last time you tried to find someone?”

  Rilka drew back at the anger in his voice. “This isn’t about me,” she said.

  “You brought yourself into it,” he pointed out. He was sounding less pissed and more exasperated, so that was better. Probably.

  “Okay,” she said. “Fair enough. I’m not trying because I’m not interested in being in a relationship.” Although that wasn’t quite it. She just didn’t want to be in a relationship involving any of the people she actually knew. Anyway, this wasn’t about her. “But you want — ”

  “To get laid,” he said helpfully.

  Now she was exasperated. “I swear to God all you have to do is go to Twelfth and Main this evening and hire someone to take care of that for you.”

  He seemed unruffled. “I told you I prefer amateur action.”

  Rilka leaned back in her chair. Here was a man who knew what he wanted and couldn’t get it, which just went to show that contrary to what the self-help gurus said, knowing what you wanted wasn’t the main part of the battle. It was getting what you wanted that was a bitch.

  What she wanted was simple: a companion to laugh with, who wasn’t afraid to say what he was thinking but didn’t flinch when she said what she was thinking. Someone to go on the adventure with together, side by side. Or maybe sometimes she would lead the way and sometimes he would. And they would help each other when one of them needed an extra boost over an obstacle.

  And great sex.

  She wasn’t sure she believed in love, so she wasn’t demanding that, right? Just companionship. Was that really so much to ask for? Apparently.

  “Okay,” she said. “Sadly, I cannot be your pimp as there are certain statutes in this town forbidding that kind of thing, but I will do my part to set you up. But you need to keep doing yours.”

  There was a long moment of silence and then Jeremy sighed and said, “Okay. Thanks for the pizza.”

  And went home, leaving her wondering what the hell she’d missed.

  Chapter 7

  Good job, Jeremy told himself as he hammered at a stuck oil pan plug. Insult the woman and she’ll be sure to come across for you. It was two days after his last meeting with Rilka and he was still agonizing over what a dumbfuck he was. Accusing her of not making an effort in her love life when it wasn’t any of his damned business what she did with her love life except insofar as he kinda wanted his love life and hers to be intertwined. Which would be easier if he would just tell her that. But that would mean being vulnerable with Rilka. The mere thought was enough to make a man’s balls shrivel in fear.

  He smacked the plug with the wrench. There’d been a time when he would have just leaned in and kissed her. But he was no longer the impetuous youth he had been and he had learned that losing his legs had changed what people thought of him, even if it hadn’t changed what he thought of him. A single woman who might be flattered by a pass from a good-looking guy when he was able-bodied was often appalled when a man missing his legs had the cojones to think she’d welcome his attentions. A hard lesson, but he’d learned it.

  Not that Rilka would be offended by a pass from him because he was missing his legs. She’d be offended because he was a client and she didn’t see him in that light.

  He kinda wished he’d met her before now. Before … Iraq. He hammered the plug again.

  “What’s biting you?” Nate asked from the next bay where he had a Mazda up on the lift and was wrestling the muffler off.

  “Nothing,” Jeremy muttered.

  “Need a hand?”

  The plug finally came loose, making Jeremy snag a cut open across his knuckles.

  “Nope,” he said, sliding out from under the car. “Got it.”

  A honk at the overhead door made Jeremy glance around. A brunette was getting out of a red Ford sedan. Rilka. His heart leaped. His heart was an idiot.

  “I’ve got it,” he told his brother. Nate, who had moved away from the Mazda to the service desk, gave him a startled glance. Jeremy never actually volunteered to deal with t
he customers, but Nate didn’t need to look so shocked. Always a first time.

  Jeremy wiped his hands, dabbed at the blood on his knuckles, and hoisted himself into his chair, then released the brakes and rolled forward.

  “Here.” Nate handed him the clipboard with the blank job order sheet on it. Jeremy dropped it in his lap. God, she looked terrific, standing in the little pool of sunlight —

  It was raining. She had an umbrella over her head. Jeremy took in a breath. She brought the sun with her. Christ. When had he come down with a case of insanity?

  “Hey, Rilka,” he said and he couldn’t help the stupid grin on his face. “What can I do for you?”

  She gave a broad answering smile so apparently she had forgiven him for being a dumbfuck. Or maybe she had forgotten. “Thought I’d give your shop a try. My usual place couldn’t get me in till next week.”

  “Good news for us,” he said. Careless, nonchalant, though his palms were slick with sweat and the clipboard hid his little secret. She was wearing a snug T-shirt with her jeans and the chilly rain had tightened her nipples and he could see them, oh man, pricking against the cotton of her T-shirt. His mouth went dry. He couldn’t seem to stop staring. He knew he liked her, now he was openly lusting after her. Great. That couldn’t go wrong.

  “I just need an oil change,” she said. “And maybe a glance at the brakes. They started squeaking a couple days ago.”

  “Okay.” He reached for the clipboard to make a note and knocked it to the ground. They both reached for it and as she leaned close he could smell her citrusy scent, and something warm and female beneath, and he could see down her T-shirt. Lots of round softness inside a pink lacy bra.

  He almost fell out of his chair. I am in so much trouble, he thought, accepting the clipboard as she handed it to him.

  • • •

  Rilka looked at the blank sheet of paper on the table. “Resume,” she wrote across the top. Then she added her name and address. There. She was making excellent progress. Now, career objective. She tapped the pen again her teeth, then jotted, Fry cook or call center representative. There. That would show she was flexible. Experience … that was tougher. Five years’ experience helping sadly deluded individuals foster their delusions.

  You could probably go to jail for that. She crossed it out. Maybe she could find a way to spin it. Maybe not.

  She pushed the paper aside and picked up the phone. “Marilyn. I’m having a career crisis.”

  “You’re always having a career crisis. What else is new?”

  “I suck at this, Marilyn. I don’t believe in love or happily ever after or fairy tales.”

  “You don’t suck,” Marilyn said. “You’re just going through a dry spell. A client will hit it off with someone and you’ll feel brilliant and happy that you had a hand in it.”

  “But I don’t believe in what I’m doing,” she wailed. She’d managed to do okay over the years but that had been mostly pure dumb luck. And now she didn’t even have pure dumb luck on her side. It had been six months since she’d had a successful match. Six months! That was like fifteen years in matchmaker time.

  “Do you think I believe in mixing daiquiris?” Marilyn asked. “Do you think I find it fulfilling and rewarding?”

  “No, but you have real work to compensate.”

  “Okay, then. Get a hobby. Or maybe a dog.”

  “You know I don’t like animals.”

  “Then it’ll have to be a hobby,” Marilyn said, not a very helpful response. Maybe she was tired of hearing Rilka complain about the same thing over and over. Rilka was tired of hearing herself do it, too. Maybe she did need a hobby. She tried to imagine what that might be.

  “Or maybe you need a sabbatical,” Marilyn said.

  Rilka straightened in her chair. That sounded better. What if she did her best to get her current clients paired off, and then took some time off? A month, maybe two? She could do good works or maybe learn how to drive a tractor-trailer or cut hair. And then when the sabbatical was over, she’d get her life back.

  “You’re brilliant, Marilyn,” she said warmly and hung up the phone to go look up places where she could take her sabbatical.

  • • •

  The next morning, Rilka woke up with renewed energy. Get ’em off the books, that was her new goal. She set to work with a positive spirit she hadn’t felt in months.

  “His name is Rafael. He’s in senior management at Electra Corp. He’s very busy and wants someone who understands that. I was thinking you might hit it off.”

  “I don’t know,” Julia said. “I’m starting to get really cynical about this whole business.”

  Me, too.

  “It’s just a drink,” Rilka said. Why did she feel like a panderer? The wheedling tone, probably.

  “I don’t do drinks anymore,” Julia said.

  “Oh?”

  “Not good for dancers. I’ll meet him for a smoothie before work. If he’s not into smoothies, he can get a cup of coffee.”

  Three months, she told herself. I am going to stick it out for three months and then it’s sabbatical time, baby.

  “I’ll set it up,” she said, not having to fake the cheerfulness at all this time.

  • • •

  “Tea?” Rilka asked. If I have to serve another cup of tea in this lifetime, I will slit my wrists. Okay, no, she just had to serve tea for three more months and then she would be done.

  “No, thank you,” Natalia said politely, fluffing her painfully blonde hair. She finished applying her bright red lipstick, smacked her lips at the mirror on her silver compact, then snapped the compact closed and tucked it away in her little handbag. The one that matched her little dress and her little shoes and probably her little underwear.

  “So how’d it go?” Rilka asked warily. She hadn’t heard any news reports about James Reston, chairmen of the board of Electra Corporation, dying of a coronary in his mistress’s arms, so that was at least promising. Nor had she gotten an enthusiastic thank-you for bringing joy to an old man’s declining years. So.

  Natalia sighed and made a sad moué. “Reston was very nice. And such a gentleman. And definitely willing to show a girl a good time.” She made another regretful sigh. “But he’s too young.”

  “Too young?” Rilka echoed. “Natalie, he’s sixty-eight. You’re twenty-three. How can he be too young?”

  The other woman shrugged. “Well, at sixty-eight he could have another twenty years. I’d be forty-three! I can’t take the risk.”

  “I see,” Rilka said. Three more months three more months three more months.

  “I knew you’d understand.”

  Chapter 8

  “How’d your date go?” Rilka asked Julia. She had the phone on speaker though it annoyed her when other people did that to her. She moved the curtain aside and peered at the gray day. There’d been a sunny day sometime last week, bookended by gray days. It had been a taunt. Would the rain never end?

  “If we call it a breakfast meeting, it went great. If we call it a date, it was a disaster,” Julia said.

  “So, how’d your breakfast meeting go?” Rilka asked gamely.

  Julia was more than happy to spill all. “He’s one of those men who assumes his career matters more than mine. By saying he wants a woman who understands how important his work is, he means he wants a dutiful wife who won’t complain about his late hours, who will make a beautiful home for him, and will eventually produce three lovely children. That she will be entirely responsible for rearing. Don’t get me started.”

  Rilka blinked. I think I already have.

  “Ah,” she said. “Well. At least that tells me something about him.” It told her she had her work cut out for her.

  “On the other hand,” Julia said, sounding less put out now that she’d gotten that off her chest, “he’s a brilliant businessman.”

  “He struck me as very knowledgeable,” Rilka said cautiously.

  “He is. We both had a good time talking about s
trategic planning and developing long-range vision statements with board buy-in.”

  Rilka stared at the phone. Julia sounded positively buoyant now. The things that excited people. “Sure. Sounds groovy. So at least you had something to talk about.”

  “Yep. We decided to meet for lunch in a couple of weeks, just business. Two corporate types solving problems together, you know?”

  “That’s great,” Rilka said. Unfortunately, she wasn’t in the business of bringing corporate types together for brainstorming sessions. She was pretty sure she’d be as bad at that as she was at matchmaking. Well, maybe if Julia and Rafael got to know each other better, they’d realize they truly had a soul-deep connection. Her clients tended to put too much emphasis on the first date when you could really only judge compatibility after experience. An initial burst of attraction didn’t necessarily lead anywhere, either, but people were easily fooled by that. Look at Duncan. Beautiful man — who wouldn’t be attracted to him? — but who could live with him?

  “So that’s fine,” Julia was saying. “I’m glad we met. But I really — I’m done, okay? This is just too hard on my ego. Too hard on me.”

  Damn. Rilka should have seen that coming. She hated having unhappy clients. Gran used to say you couldn’t make everyone happy but you had to try. That was your job. Even though Rilka wanted to clear the books, this wasn’t how she wanted to do it.

  “We can do something different,” she said. “Don’t give up yet. We’ve hardly started! We can — ”

  “No,” Julia said and Rilka could hear the disillusionment in her voice. So much for the buoyancy. Rilka should’ve quit when she was ahead. “I’m just going to focus on my career and my dance for now. I’m just not going to find Mr. Right at the moment. Maybe never. And that’s okay. Really, Rilka. I’ve got a good life.”

  Okay, that was better than when Julia had come in for her first session. That day she wouldn’t have been able to say, “I’ve got a good life.” So Rilka hadn’t found a match for her but maybe she had helped her get a step closer to happiness. That wasn’t so bad. In fact, that was pretty good. That was success. It wasn’t what anyone was paying her to do, but what the hell.