MAKE ME A MATCH (Running Wild)

by Hutchinson, Bobby

  Just sex, Tessa, nothing serious or life threatening; men do this all the time, sex for sensation, get crazy, go mindless, be liberated.

  He mumbled against her nipple, she was beautiful, something like that, how many other breasts had he said that to…..

  Don’t think. Act. She reached down and put him inside her, arching up against him, trying to find the rhythm, losing it, finding it, gone again, stop thinking—

  She opened her eyes and found him looking down at her, blue eyes like a stormy sky, face stripped of all but desire, Eric, dangerous and dark and familiar for so long in her dreams and fantasies.

  Dangerous, dangerous is good…..

  “Now?” He closed his eyes and tipped his head back and whispered it again, like a prayer, Now? Yes. God, yes, because she loved him, yes, yes—

  Loved him? She loved Eric? No, no, that couldn’t be right. What was she thinking? Was that true? It was. Like a kite when the wind suddenly dies, she plummeted down just as he soared high.

  He collapsed and she held him. She was numb with shock.

  “Tess, hell, you didn’t come. I was too quick. Let me—?” He reached a hand to touch her, but she stopped him. Wasted effort. Gone with the wind.

  “Sorry, Tess.” He rolled off her and fell off the sofa. He lay sprawled in a heap on the carpet for a moment and then he sat up and leaned his back against the cushions, stretched out his long, hairy legs, and rested his head on her bare belly. “I guess we need to practice more.”

  That’s all this is to you, you rat, just practice?

  So? He’d never promised her a rose garden. She’d gone ahead and planted one all on her own, and if she was getting stabbed by the thorns, she had nobody to blame but herself.

  “Hey, Tess, you feel like a sandwich? I’ve got roast beef subs in the fridge. I’m starving.”

  She could go home now. She didn’t like his apartment anyhow. That dog was downright eerie. Tomorrow she could find another possible match for herself in the files. She could date the sucker, and try not to swear, and be a lady in word and deed, and be bored out of her mind and dump him and then worry all over again about how she’d ever find someone she could stand long enough to marry before her ovaries packed it in.

  Or she could stay here awhile, practice with Eric, give herself something great to remember when she was a lonely old woman. It was a no-brainer when you came right down to it.

  “I’d love a sub.” For the first time in a week, she’d also love a cigarette, but fortunately she hadn’t brought any. What she had brought was an oversize handbag with spare makeup, lots of fresh underwear, and a nifty little green lyrca dress that rolled up to nothing and would unroll without a crease, ready for work tomorrow.

  She made herself sound plaintive and hard done by. “Then after we eat maybe we could practice until we get this right?”

  There was a silence before he answered, and she started to get nervous. But then he reached for her hand and used his tongue and lips and teeth on the inside of her wrist, sending shudders right through her.

  “Hold that thought.” He got to his feet and padded off to the kitchen, buck naked and more beautiful than any man had a right to be. She was crazy about his body. She put a hand over her eyes and moaned. She was crazy about Eric. She was dead meat.

  Eric stared into the guts of the refrigerator, not seeing the subs, not feeling the frigid air shrinking his naked equipment, reminding himself that he didn’t really like women staying here overnight. Yeah, and there’d also been his resolve about not having sex with her all the time, not letting this turn into another Nema situation.

  He thought about having her beside him in his bed, warm and soft, her hair tickling his nose, her voice going on and on like a lullaby. She was one gabby lady in bed. Why should he like that in her when he’d hated it in other women?

  Besides, he owed her. He must be really out of practice, leaving her high and dry that way. It wasn’t fair to send her home frustrated. It was only this once, one more night. What the hell, rules were made to be broken.

  Tessa made it a rule never to be late, but rules were made to be broken. She raced into the office Friday morning, to find Clara already there, sitting behind her desk with a stack of files in front of her.

  “Clara, you’re back. It’s great to see you. Sorry I’m late; I slept in and then I couldn’t find a place to park.”

  The parking bit was true, but the sleeping wasn’t. She’d been in bed, though, spending an hour confirming the fact that Eric was a genius when it came to oral sex.

  Clara, a stickler for punctuality, didn’t seem at all concerned. She gave Tessa a radiant smile. “No problem, dollink. I brought in these sale documents for you to sign. I thought we could get this settled before the weekend.”

  “Oh. Okay.” That seemed a little premature, Tessa thought. She didn’t think she’d told Clara for sure yet that she was going to buy Synchronicity. Or had she? Too much sex not only made your eyes go funny, it also addled the brain.

  “And I’ve had a call this morning saying what wonderful matches you’ve been making for the clients, Tess. You’re a natural at this, you’re going to make such a success of the business.”

  This was news. “Who called?”

  “Margaret Westwall. She said she’s been out with Alistair Farnsworth four times and she finds him delightful.”

  Well, hot ziggety. Go, Margaret.

  “There is that situation with Kenneth Zebroff. Of course, it won’t affect Synchronicity, but you should be prepared just in case anyone asks.”

  “Kenneth? What situation with Kenneth?”

  “It was in the papers yesterday. His sister-in-law is claiming that he had something to do with his wife’s death, that he poisoned her. They’re exhuming the body. And now the police are looking into the deaths of his first two wives; it doesn’t look good. He’s a pharmacist, he’d know all about poison.”

  Tessa was speechless. Kenneth, the guy she adored, the first client she’d enrolled all by herself. Dear, sweet, thoughtful Kenneth, a murderer?

  “You never really found anyone who dated him more than once or twice, so I wouldn’t worry about any nasty repercussions with the business. These things happen no matter how careful we are.”

  Tessa shuddered. She’d actually thought about introducing Kenneth to her mother. God. Maria could be drinking wine laced with cyanide at this very moment. Horrified, Tessa mumbled, “Has—has anything like this ever happened to you, Clara?” Was she the only one who was gullible?

  “Not exactly, but there’s always little glitches that we can’t anticipate.”

  Clara seemed amazingly unperturbed, and in good spirits. Tessa was wondering how to ask her tactfully how her divorce was coming along when the phone rang, and simultaneously a nervous prospective client arrived for an interview. It was a busy morning. Things finally slowed down just before lunch.

  “Why don’t you take a long lunch hour, Tessa? There’s paperwork here I need to clear away before the sale is final, and you’ve been here on your own the past couple weeks. You deserve a break before you take over. Go and have some fun, dollink.”

  Go, yes. Tessa hurried out into the heat of the summer morning.

  Fun, no. All morning, Tessa hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Kenneth. Sure, innocent until proven guilty, but the police wouldn’t be involved unless there was reasonable doubt. She’d remembered what Olga had said, that there was something about Kenneth that gave her the willies, yet Tessa had trusted him.

  She trusted Clara, too. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to get a second opinion. She remembered the paper with the woman’s name. She’d left it in the pocket of her shorts, and the shorts were on the floor at Eric’s apartment. Maybe he had the number. She dug out her cell phone and called him.

  “Henry has it. I asked him to do some research into businesses like Synchronicity. I’ll put him on.”

  Before she had a chance to be outraged, Henry was on the line.

  F
ifteen minutes later, arm and ear aching, Tessa was sprawled on a bench in a tiny neighborhood park. She had Mary Jo Louie’s number written on her palm, and she also had a total and complete rundown on every matchmaking business in Vancouver, and exactly what things to watch out for if she was buying Synchronicity.

  “Get a good lawyer and don’t do anything fast,” Henry had advised. “People aren’t lined up wanting to buy a business like that. It’s pretty tough to dump, because all you’re really selling is goodwill, whatever equipment there is like phones and computers and fax machines, and a bunch of names.”

  Tessa subtracted the computer and fax part. It didn’t really leave one whole hell of a lot except goodwill, did it? And Clara was in an awful hurry.

  Feeling only a little like a traitor, she punched in the numbers for Mary Jo.

  Half an hour later, she walked into a tiny shop a dozen blocks away and introduced herself to the girl behind the counter. “Mary Jo’s in the back. I’ll get her.”

  Mary Jo was Asian, short, dumpy, with a turned-up nose and a rosebud mouth. She didn’t look like a devious person, but Tessa was beginning to think maybe she wasn’t that good at judging.

  She smiled at Tessa, but there was wariness in her dark eyes. “So you’re working for Synchronicity. You want a coffee?”

  She poured them each one, and when they were seated at one of the three small tables, Mary Jo said, “What do you want to know?”

  The truth shall set you free. “I’m thinking of buying Synchronicity, and I thought it would be helpful to talk to you. You worked there for a while?”

  “Six months.” Mary Jo sipped her coffee and gave Tessa a long, thoughtful look. “Then Clara said Bernard was having an affair, and she couldn’t stand it anymore. He was breaking her heart; she was divorcing him, and did I want to buy the business at rock bottom rates. When I said no, she fired me.”

  Tessa had to swallow several times before she could even croak, “But—but that’s exactly what she just told me.”

  Mary Jo nodded. “Yeah, I figured so. She’s been trying to dump Synchronicity for a couple years. A business like that is hard to sell.”

  “But, her and Bernard,” Tessa stammered, “they’ve been married so long—he’s such a total creep—I’m sure he really is having an affair.”

  Mary Jo shrugged. “He probably is, or maybe Clara is, who knows? They have some sort of agreement, not that Clara doesn’t get her knickers in a knot when Bernard takes advantage of it. And maybe he does the same. Who knows what goes on in a marriage like that?”

  “How do you know all this?” Tessa was beginning to wonder who the hell she could believe.

  “My mother’s a good friend of the woman who cleans Clara’s house. You wouldn’t believe some of the goings-on over there.”

  Actually, she would. Tessa remembered the Christmas party.

  “As for the business, it’s not bad, if it’s how you want to spend your working life. Not at the ridiculous price Clara’s asking, of course. But she does have a reasonable client base. It needs to be upgraded. She’s still in the Dark Ages. No computers. It wasn’t my cup of”—Mary Jo grinned her engaging grin and lifted her cup—“coffee. I couldn’t take the hassle, all the complaining and stuff. I like to bake, so I started this place, coffee, pastries, soup, sandwiches, lunch crowd, mostly take-out. It’s starting to break even, not bad for just a few months.” She eyed Tessa. “This was a shock, huh? Don’t feel bad, Clara’s pretty convincing. She’s not a bad person, just devious.”

  “Yeah.” In spades.

  “How much did she want?”

  Tessa told her. She didn’t want any secrets anymore.

  Mary Jo clucked her tongue. “Highway robbery. You want the business?”

  “I thought I did. I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

  “Think it over, offer her less than half that amount. I happen to know they’ve got big money problems, her and Bernard, live way beyond their means. She’ll probably take it.” She scribbled a name on a napkin and then got to her feet as half a dozen hungry looking people came in. “This is a good lawyer, really knows about business stuff, helped me get started here. Talk to her before you sign anything.”

  Three hours later, Tessa dragged herself into Junk Busters. She’d agreed to pick Eric up after work, but he was going to have to do something about the car thing. She was worn down dropping him off and picking him up. She was worn down, period. The day had taken its toll.

  Henry met her at the door. “Hey, Tessa, you talk to that Mary Jo?”

  Gladys muted the television. “You buying the business?”

  “Don’t use your own money,” Henry said. “Go to the bank, always use the bank’s money, let the business pay the loan.”

  “I’ll do tarot cards for you, see whether timing’s right,” Gladys said.

  Eric came down the hallway, smiling. “Hey, Tess, how did it go with that Louie woman? Did you come to an agreement with Clara?”

  “I got fired.”

  Everyone stopped talking, which was a blessing, because she was about to scream.

  “I told Clara she was asking too much money, and she said she was deeply hurt, that she was giving me a special price because she cared about me. And I told her I didn’t think so, and that I was going to speak to a lawyer about it, and then I told her what I was willing to pay, and she had a screaming fit and fired me.”

  She’d never seen Clara spitting, raving mad before, and she never wanted to again. It wasn’t a pretty sight. She’d actually felt the tiniest bit sorry for Bernard. For half a second.

  “She’ll cool off and come around,” Henry said.

  “She’s bluffing, trying to scare you,” Gladys said.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Eric said, which was exactly the right thing to say. Outside, she handed him the car keys. “You drive.” She’d had enough stress for one day.

  He got behind the wheel. “My place or yours?”

  “Mine.” She couldn’t face those rusty pipes and old car seats and hubcaps, not tonight. “You start looking for a car yet?”

  “One of the guys found this Fifty-two Ford. It’s been sitting in somebody’s garage for years. It’ll take a little work, but it’ll be a honey when I get it fixed.”

  Tessa doubted that. It was probably good that this was a short-term thing, Eric’s fixation on old cars and junk made into couches was driving her crazy, along with the rest of her life.

  “This thing with Clara, you want to talk about it? You want me to get Fletcher on her case? He could sue her for wrongful dismissal or something.”

  “No. I don’t even want to think about it.” She put her head back on the seat and told him the

  whole story, word for word. Then she remembered Kenneth and told him about that, too. “Between Kenneth and Clara, I just don’t know who to trust anymore.”

  He reached a hand over, took hers, and put it on his thigh, covering it with his own. “It’s gonna turn out fine; this is just a little glitch.” He patted the back of her hand, clumsy, comforting. Sexy, really sexy, long fingers, long muscular thighs, long— she realized she’d been waiting and waiting, but he’d never said, You can trust me.

  It hurt like hell, but then what could she expect from him? Maybe he was doing the best he could, and the fact that it wasn’t enough wasn’t his fault. It was hers for expecting more. Time to get over it.

  She said, “On second thought, drive to your place. I’ll drop you and go on home, I think I need to be alone for a while.”

  “But it’s Friday night. I thought we’d go out for dinner. We haven’t been to a really nice place for dinner yet, Tess. And you need company, somebody to talk to. You’ve had one hell of a day.”

  “Thanks, but I have a headache.”

  Stopped at a light, he leaned over, blew a raspberry on her bare thigh and murmured, “I know this great cure for headaches.”

  He knew all the moves, she had to give him that. She also gave him a smile
and shook her head. “I’ll take a rain check.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

  She don’t get the blues—she gives ’em

  Rain check. What the hell was that supposed to mean? Thoroughly out of sorts, Eric slammed his apartment door behind him. He’d been looking forward to spending the evening with Tessa.

  His answering machine was blinking, and he felt better. She’d probably changed her mind already, called him on her cell. He pushed play, and felt deflated, even though it was Karen.

  “Could you give me a call, Eric? I really need to talk to you.”

  He punched out the endless numbers for Mexico. As usual, it took three tries and intervention by an operator before the call finally went through. Sonny answered, in Spanish, and then became cheerfully hearty.

  “Hey, Eric, my man, how you doing?”

  There’d been a time when Eric was very young when he actually thought Sonny wanted an honest answer to that question.

  Now he didn’t even bother to respond. “Is Karen around?”

  “She’s right here. We’re looking at old photos.”

  A pause, and then, “Eric?”

  He relaxed a little. She didn’t sound freaked out. “Hey, sweet pea, how are you?”

  “I’m fine. Well, sort of fine. I haven’t gone nuts again and shaved anybody bald, so that’s a plus. I get worried about the kids, though, Sophie keeps saying they’re being good, but that can’t be true. I know my boys. So I thought I’d get the straight goods out of you.”

  “I haven’t talked to Soph for a couple days, but I’d have heard if anything was wrong.”

  Come to think of it, he should have heard, because the last time he’d talked to her, Soph was frantic. Maybe she had the kids on tranquilizers. Maybe she was taking them herself.

  “Karo, the boys are absolutely fine. Don’t worry about them for a second.” Eric gave her a detailed rundown on the carnival, skipping the parts about getting stuck on the Ferris wheel and being in a car accident.