MAKE ME A MATCH (Running Wild)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  He snapped upright in his chair and pretended to salute. Then he scribbled rapidly in each category, and she could tell he wasn’t treating the questions seriously at all. In a few moments he stood up and handed her the completed form. He put a hand on his midsection and gave an exaggerated formal bow.

  “All finished, Teacher. Now can I go out and play?”

  Oh, how his ego begged to be reduced. She visualized flayed testicles and breathed deeply before she answered. “Clara and I will go over this carefully, and from it we’ll assess your personality type”—BOZO—“and the women who are most likely to be compatible”—BIMBOS.

  “You’ll be contacted with their names and phone numbers, and they’ll also be given your name and number. We ask that you arrange a meeting and a date as soon as possible after that first contact.”

  He nodded. “Got it. Nice seeing you again, Tess.” His eyes did a quick flick up and down, which she might have missed if she wasn’t making determined eye contact. She could do this; she was a professional. In another minute, he’d be gone.

  “You’re looking really fine, by the way.”

  He was out the door before she could begin to figure out a suitably nasty, polite reply to that one.

  Outside, Eric felt like beating his sore, aching head against the brick wall of the building. Why in everything that was holy or fair hadn’t Karen told him that the friend who worked for the matchmaker was Tessa McBride? And, if she were any kind of a sister, she’d have added that her childhood pal had grown up to be a babe.

  You ’re looking really fine, Tessa? Brilliant, Stewart, just bloody brilliant. What happened to adjectives like stunning or gorgeous or even plain old wow?

  And what was with Nice seeing you again? She probably figured he was mocking her. They hadn’t exactly parted friends. He shuddered at the memory. Under the circumstances, it was idiotic of him to say anything of a personal nature to her. Damn his big mouth, anyway.

  He needed a coffee. He needed to forget about Tessa McBride and focus on his original intention, which was to get the girls’ money back, but he just hadn’t expected to find the one woman he didn’t want to see again in this lifetime sitting behind the desk in that jazzy little office with the plants and the billboard covered with wedding invitations.

  If he had known, he’d never have deliberately gone for the heavy grunge look, old jeans, stained shirt, three-day beard, while she was in that silky blue suit thing with the slippery neckline that made it hard to keep his eyes on her face. She’d always been sexy, but god, she was really sexy now that she wasn’t a kid anymore.

  He ducked into a Starbucks.

  “Morning, sir, what’ll it be?”

  “French roast, black.”

  The fleshy woman behind the counter gave him more of a smile than one plain mug warranted. Tessa had been her size back then. She wasn’t exactly skinny now, but there was definitely less of her. Lush, ripe, great boobs. Mind you, she’d had boobs back then, too. He remembered them vividly. His palms got hot just thinking about the weight of them, the taste—

  “Here you go, enjoy, anything else I can get for you?”

  One time machine and a lobotomy. Why had he been such an idiot?

  She had those puffy lips that women paid big money for these days, he’d forgotten that. Her hair was the same, but lots longer, a crazy halo of thick inky curls going halfway down her back. Hair like that looked the same after sex as before.

  Wake up, Stewart. Smell the smoke.

  Tessa’s trouble. She has that vicious, sadistic streak, you remember that. And that bloody stubborn jaw. And she still has the girls’ money.

  Tessa had been right, much as it galled him to admit it: The membership was a gift; he didn’t want to hurt his sisters. Getting Fletcher involved wasn’t a good idea, because he’d laugh his head off to start with. There had to be a way to make Synchronicity give up and practically beg to hand him a refund.

  Damn, things weren’t ever as straightforward as they could be.

  His cell rang; it was Bruno.

  “We got turned down on the financing for the new equipment, Eric. Keller said try again in a few months. You want to go somewhere else? He’s new, the old manager would have given it to us.”

  “Shit. Maybe it had something to do with you and me looking like we got the short end in a long fistfight. He seemed the kind of dude who put a lot of emphasis on appearance.”

  “We can go somewhere else. We’re not married to him.”

  Eric thought it over. “Nope, let’s wait until the red and the black are a little less evenly matched on the month-end statements.” Maybe it wasn’t such bad news. He knew about using the bank’s money, but he hated not being in complete control of his affairs.

  “So how’d it go with the matchmaker?”

  He’d told Bruno what he was planning. He wasn’t about to tell him how it had actually gone. “About the same as the bank.”

  “No go with a refund?”

  “It’s complicated. There’s an outside chance, but I think I’ll have to resort to sabotage, make certain the women I get lined up with go screaming back saying they don’t want to see me again. When enough of them do, it’ll be game over. But I’ve gotta make it seem like I’m really trying.” ‘"Whatever works.” Bruno sounded distracted.

  “Everything okay with you?”

  “Just an argument with Anna, she wants me to sign up for yoga classes. It’s not my thing.”

  “Hang tough. She’ll cave.” Maybe. Anna had a one-track mind. But Eric couldn’t imagine Bruno in cowboy boots and a leotard, either.

  “Yeah, well, good luck with the dating game. Getting out of it, I mean.”

  After he hung up, Eric gave it more thought. It seemed as if it should be possible to discourage women, but after practically raising his sisters, the only thing he knew for sure about the species was that just when you figured you had them figured, they did the opposite of what you expected. It wasn’t going to be a walk in the park.

  For the first time, he felt a little excited about the whole project. It was a challenge, and he was up for it, although the fact that Tessa McBride was involved was a stroke of rotten luck. She’d do everything she could to make things rough on him. What could he do about that?

  He had a second coffee and thought about it. It wasn’t good to have her as an enemy; she held too many cards here. He could give her a call later and suggest they find a way to bury the hatchet. He could say that what happened between them was a long time ago. He could quote Anna, that crap about how unhealthy it was, carrying around old emotional baggage.

  Maybe there was something to that, after all. He’d had heartburn in his chest the whole time he was around her today. Probably an aftereffect of pepper spray.

  He’d also had a major hard-on, what the hell was that about?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  If you leave me, can I come too?

  It was all about computers, Tessa fumed.

  If Clara wasn’t such a mastodon about computers, this whole thing with Eric Stewart couldn’t have happened, because everything would be organized, people would make appointments, she’d have checked the screen and known he was on his way in and bolted out the back door. Except there was no back door.

  With an unlit cigarette clutched between the first two fingers of her right hand and Eric’s questionnaire on the desk in front of her, Tessa forcefully dialed Clara’s number with her left forefinger, and this time her boss answered.

  “Clara, it’s me.” Outraged or not, Tessa didn’t want to dump this whole problem straight into her sick boss’s lap with no warning. She did her best to ease into it slowly. “I called earlier. I spoke to Bernard.”

  “He didn’t say,” Clara said in a monotone, as if it didn’t matter to her one way or the other that Bernard the Beast was withholding messages. And she actually sounded impatient when she added, “What is it, Tessa? Why are you calling me?”

  Maybe because you’re the Boss Lady who al
ways insists on knowing everything that’s going on down here? Tessa looked at the phone as if it were possessed and took a long, dry, hungry drag on the cigarette she’d managed so far not to light.

  Clara always called her dollink. She’d never used this snappy tone before. She’d always treated Tessa as a cherished friend as well as a valued employee. This new attitude was hurtful and confusing and crazy making, as if Tessa really needed one more stressful encounter today.

  It was tough, but she kept her own voice level and sweet. “I called earlier because of some files I can’t locate, I wonder if you accidentally took them home with you?”

  Like in your head?

  “And I need to talk to you about that new client, Eric Stewart? The one whose sisters bought him a membership for his birthday, remember we had a discussion about it?” She let the cigarette dangle from the corner of her mouth. Clara had told her nothing looked as rude and sluttish, and that was exactly how she was feeling.

  The discussion, Clara, when I told you I’d rather not have anything to do with him, that I had old, serious, emotional issues with Eric Stewart, and you asked if he had a criminal record or was a rapist or had AIDS, and when I said no, you said he was your client, I wouldn’t ever have to—

  There was a long pause. “Oh, that gift membership. His sisters came in, didn’t they?”

  “Yes, Karen and Sophie and Anna.” What the heck was going on? Clara never forgot names; she was a walking directory. Tessa was getting really scared here. She searched through her bag and the desk drawers for a match, knowing she’d deliberately thrown them all away. Maybe she could light a tissue in the microwave?

  “Anyway, he came in for his preliminary interview this morning, and I really don’t think you should keep him as a client, Clara. He’s….” she tried to think of an adjective negative enough to describe Eric apart from asshole.

  Finally, she managed to blurt, “He’s belligerent and negative and sarcastic. He doesn’t want to meet anyone. He says he does fine all on his own, probably with barmaids, and he treated the questionnaire like a joke, where it says occupation, he put garbage-man when I happen to know he actually owns a profitable disposal company. Where it says what three things about myself do I really like, he put penis, sex drive and testosterone. Describe the person you think you’d be most successful with in a relationship? His answer was, my best friend, Rocky, but the sex wouldn’t work. And he kept asking how he could get the money his sisters paid refunded. He even tried to threaten me, saying that he’d ask a lawyer about our contract. He doesn’t think it’s entirely legal.”

  “Legal?” At last, Clara’s voice took on some strength. “Of course it’s not legal, it’s more like a handshake. I intended it to be that way. It’s an honorable contract.” Now Clara sounded pissed off, not with Stewart, but with Tessa, which was just grossly unfair. Whatever was going on, Tessa was getting really tired of it.

  “And as far as refunding any money, Tessa, I expect you to do whatever you can to avoid that situation.”

  “I did. I explained that he’d have to talk to you—”

  Clara wasn’t even listening. “We are absolutely not refunding anything, no matter what. The business can’t afford it.”

  Tessa knew her face must look like a cartoon version of someone in shock. As far as she knew, Synchronicity was doing well financially. They were busy, the odd client was actually pleased, once in a while two people they matched up staggered to the altar, and the rest signed up for another twelve months of trial-and-error.

  Tessa had had enough. “Okay, Clara, what’s going on? You’re mad at me, I know there’ve been some complaints, but I’m doing my best, and this file situation is driving me nuts, and we really need to have a talk…”

  A low, anguished wail came over the phone, and Tessa’s mouth fell open. Clara was sobbing, gulping hard, struggling to say something. Clara, who only cried at clients’ weddings, dainty little mock tears that she blotted before they hit her lavender silk blouse. But these tears were coming straight from her gut. Tessa was gripping the phone so hard her hand ached, and she bit the end off the cigarette in her mouth.

  “It’s—it’s Bernard.” Clara blew her nose, loud and wet. “He’s leaving me, after twenty-five years, for—for that Lolita, that child, that assistant chef he hired six months ago, that—that Ruby person. That—little slut, that whore. ”

  Hearing Clara use such words was proof of how far she’d gone over the edge. She was an absolute stickler for ladylike language. She blew her nose again, hard. “Bernard says she’s everything he’s ever wanted in a woman. He says that I’m not interesting anymore, that I don’t pay enough attention to him, that I’m—I’m not interesting or fun in b—” Clara was wailing, but she caught herself. “In—in any way,” she temporized, but Tessa easily filled in the bed blank.

  That Bastard Bernard, Tessa fumed.

  Clara sniffed. “That’s where the money problem comes in, because when he wanted all that new equipment for the catering business last fall I loaned him money from Synchronicity, and he hasn’t paid a cent back. I didn’t get a proper loan agreement, after all, he’s my husband, and now he says I owed it to him because he helped me in the beginning, years back when I was starting the dating service. He did, but it was much less money, and I paid back every cent.” She took an overdue breath and wailed, “But I don’t have any records.”

  Tessa didn’t know the details, but she didn’t have to. She figured she knew enough about Bloody Bernard to know that he was perfectly capable of embezzlement, or theft, or grand larceny, whatever this amounted to. He certainly was capable of screwing outside the marriage bed, she knew that for sure.

  Clara wasn’t finished, either. “And now he’s saying he wants his half of what the house is worth, and I don’t know how I’ll come up with the money to buy him out.” Clara was wearing down, at least she was sounding depressed instead of suicidal. “The amount I’ll owe him means that I’ll need to take out a mortgage. The business is doing fine, but there’s lots of competition, all this ridiculous Internet dating and all the singles clubs.”

  Tessa shook her head and rolled her eyes. This obviously wasn’t the time to say it wouldn’t hurt to install a computer, get with the program.

  Sniffles. “I shouldn’t be unloading all this on you, Tess. But I can’t help it, I’m distraught. At this point I’m just not capable of making decisions. Don’t promise any refunds. I’ll look around for any files I have here and send them over by courier. And I promise I’ll get this sorted out as soon as I can.” Her voice squeaked up on the last word, and Tessa knew Clara was crying again as she hung up.

  Shaking her head at the perfidy of the male species and admitting that chewing a cigarette didn’t quite provide the same effect as smoking it, Tessa put the phone down and went into the bathroom to spit and brush her teeth.

  How much did it cost these days to have someone castrated? Ballsy Bernard just didn’t deserve to live the rest of his life as anything but a eunuch. Maybe she could get a cut rate on two for one and have Eric done at the same time, although a treacherous little voice reminded her what a sinful waste that would be.

  Righteous indignation on Clara’s behalf gave way to despondency when Tessa realized she had the whole Eric Stewart thing back in her own ample lap. It was all very well for Clara to tell her to do her best, but what good would her best do when he was bent on doing his nasty best to screw things up?

  She knew he was. He’d had a devilish, cunning expression on his face as he whipped through the answers on the form. She’d read them the instant he left, and they’d made smoke come out of her ears. A couple might actually have been funny under other circumstances, but she hadn’t been tempted to laugh, anymore than she was laughing about Bernard.

  Her eyes narrowed and her lips curled. She’d made Eric pay before; she could do it again. It just took strategy. In a battle of will and cunning, she could beat his tight narrow butt any old day. All she had to do was find
his weak spots and keep her heart and her body safely out of his reach.

  Maybe the best way to find out all about Eric would be to renew her friendship with Karen. It wouldn’t be sneaky or deceitful, Tessa assured herself, because she really wanted to get to know Karen again. Karen had two little boys, she’d love to meet them. Karen had given her the phone numbers for her work and her house. Tessa dug them out of her handbag.

  She’d love to grow some boys or girls of her own while there was still time. She was only thirty-four. Women were having babies at fifty these days, but she wasn’t a patient woman. Neither did she want to be a single mother. She needed to find her perfect match, and soon.

  The buzzer sounded.

  God damn it to hell. She also had to find a match that lit rather than one that dovetailed with the client’s profiles stacked in front of her, because she was going to die childless unless she had a jolt of nicotine sometime in the near future.

  CHAPTER SIX

  What you see is not always what you get

  At Scissor Happy, smoking in the salon was strictly forbidden, but Karen’s customer, Myrna Bisaglio, could have been deaf and blind for all the attention she paid to Karen’s quietly repeated reminders and the cutesy signs Junella had everywhere.

  Myrna lit up a Camel for the third time, and Karen told her for the third time that this was a no smoking salon, that it was downright dangerous with all the hairspray and chemicals around. Just as she had the other times, Myrna took two hefty drags and blew smoke in Karen’s face before she butted the thing, using the pretty china saucer Karen kept for hairpins.

  “This still isn’t right, dear. I wanted champagne blonde, the color Junella showed me in that book,” Myrna whined in her loud, squeaky voice, squinting at the hair Karen had just carefully dried and combed out. For the second time.