The Matchmaker

by Kitty Parker

  * * *

  I had never found the Lexington's house to be particularly impressive. Sure, it was big, nearly as big as mine, and richly decorated, but it paled in comparison with my house, that had the riches of Croesus plastered across its façade.

  And I liked it for exactly that reason. My house-never home- was beautiful of course, but it was a cold, arrogant beauty that reflected the inmates' attitudes. Lex's house was inviting and reflective of his own personality-obviously wealthy and well bred, but not stand-offish.

  "Dude," Brock yelled, already trotting up to the door, "Hurry up! We're already late!"

  "So what?" I followed him at a much more dignified pace. Sure enough, I could faintly hear the pounding music and voices from inside. Good. There weren't too many cars here yet, so I would be noticed when I entered, but I wouldn't be the first, something a make a point of. Being the first is tacky and pays the party a tribute none deserve from me.

  We didn't bother to ring the bell; Lex wouldn't be able to hear it. Instead, we strode through the entranceway (same sort of tiling as mine, so of course I made no noise. Brock was only slight louder) and into the rooms where he always held his famous parties, far away from the locked family wing.

  "Hey, guys!" Lex slurred slightly, appearing next to us. I raised an eyebrow skeptically. The party had only started a bit ago-well, an hour ago- and he it was obvious he had already been drinking heavily.

  "Hi Lex!" Brock returned cheerfully. I glanced suspiciously at him. He sounded far too happy to really be having fun. But what could be wrong? It sounded like something had triggered a Rhianna memory, but I couldn't see anything that might. Poor guy, to have been so completely destroyed by one girl-well, two. But he would have his revenge. I was making sure of that.

  Lex pounded us both on the back with massive, drunken strength. Brock, nearly as huge as our host, didn't seem to feel the force of the blow, but I, a few inches shorted and significantly lighter, had to exert all my willpower not to stumble.

  "Glad you guys are here," Lex announced, "Everything's where it always is."

  We thanked him, not that he probably heard us, and allowed him to stumble back to the dancers, where one of the girls (Candy, it looked like) yanked him to her and he complied with a stupid grin covering his face. Me and Brock made our way over to the bar and grabbed one of the beers sitting underneath it as we cased out the scene. Or at least, I cased out the scene. Brock was being even slower than he usually was, an accomplishment I didn't think possible.

  "Who's your prey tonight?" he asked off-handedly in a monotone. I shrugged. The girls here might need a few more drinks in me before they looked attractive enough for me.

  "I don't know," I told him, "Depends on who shows later."

  He nodded at a brunette who had just pranced by, miniskirt and halter so small that they were effectively not there.

  "How about her?" he suggested.

  "Not yet," I disagreed immediately. Honestly, I have some amount of class. Or at least standards. When I was sober.

  "Oh." He obviously wasn't all there, his mind-what there was of it- far, far away, "how about…" he trailed off. I rolled my eyes.

  "What is up with you?" I demanded. He couldn't meet my eyes.

  "Nothing."

  I laughed cruelly, trying to jolt him out of his daze.

  "Never be an actor, you are incapable of lying," I informed him maliciously, glaring at him with me fiercest 'tell me everything' look that I had picked up from me father, "Tell me. Now."

  He met my eyes for the first time all evening, and I noticed-with a hint of guilt- that his grey corneas glowed in contrast with the bright red veins of his bloodshot eyes.

  "I can't stop thinking about what day today is," he confessed, taking a large gulp of beer and setting it down, empty, on the counter. He grabbed a new one before continuing, "I just can't fuck stop!"

  Today? I hadn't thought there was anything special about it, not like Valentine's Day or something. I glanced at my watch for the date. November 7th…

  I nearly winced at my stupidity. Or course. 2 years ago today, Brock had gotten the note that set him up with the so-called love of his life. But honestly, how am I supposed to remember every single Rhianna related date? I'm not the one who's freaking obsessed with her! Still, Brock's forlorn eyes broke even my diamond shell.

  I tossed him another beer and gripped his shoulder in a wordless expression of the sympathy I couldn't afford to express.

  "Come on, man," I coaxed to comfort him in the only way I knew how, "Let's get smashed and forget everything."

  o0O0o0O0o

  "Have you seen Lex?" Candy screamed over the deafening music that had gotten progressively louder as the hours wore on.

  I shrugged, taking a small sip from my 2nd beer of the night-I didn't know why, but despite my words to Brock I didn't feel like drinking tonight. I set the can down and lit up a cigarette, inserting it into my mouth before I answered Candy. My face never shifted from the brooding scowl the pulled girls in as if I were a magnet.

  "Probably passed out somewhere," I guessed, "He was drinking enough to knock out a bear, as per usual. Why?"

  Her face fell slightly, a bit of the excited light going out of her eyes.

  "No reason," she said unconvincingly, "He just, like, promised me another dance and he hasn't yet."

  "You know Lex," I replied idly. She was the only one of the girls who hung around me who was worth anything, but she nowhere near qualified as someone I cared about, like a friend or something, and thus didn't deserve my full attention, "He can't keep away from alcohol. He probably drank so much he forgot."

  "I know, damn him," she pouted and leaned against the bar next to me. She made a visible effort to smile. "Is, like, that other girl here?"

  Sometimes, her ditziness takes even me by surprise. She can act surprisingly sane, on occasion. Still, antecedents are useful things that she seemed to despise.

  "Which one?" I asked. Some girl sidled up to me and pressed herself up against me. I disentangled myself from the girl and pushed her away, avoiding her drunken gaze. Even drunk, that girl wasn't worth the effort.

  "The one you've been, like, hanging out with a lot lately," Candy explained, her only reaction to the momentary distraction a slight furrow of her brow that smoothed out quickly.

  "I haven't been hanging out with anyone unusual lately," I disclaimed, but she shook her head.

  "Yeah you have," she insisted, "that girl who Lex talks to sometimes. I dunno her name. The book girl?"

  As soon as she gave the last epitaph, I realized who she meant. I scowled at what that mean, though.

  "Emma?" I replied incredulously, "Nah, she wouldn't be here. Good thing, too, all she would do is sit there and read or something; she wouldn't fit in here. And I haven't been associating with her that much!"

  Candy giggled (I winced at the sound. I hate giggly girls, that's one thing Emma has going for her-she rarely giggles) and took a long swallow of her drink.

  "Yeah you are," she contradicted with over the top merriment, "You two are like, always arguing."

  "That's not hanging," I corrected her loftily, "I do not hang out with poor girls who have no concept of respect and no consequence."

  She gave me an odd look, but all that probably meant was I had used words too big for her to comprehend.

  "Right," Candy clearly didn't believe me, although I had said nothing that wasn't true. She continued, "I don't know about her not fitting in here, though. She's nice enough.

  I snorted. Emma, nice? Not the one I knew. That one was fucking evil-to me at least. She didn't seem nearly as antagonistic towards Lex.

  "I'm gonna go find Lex," Candy announced, and with a flick of her bright hair, she was gone.

  I looked around at the hordes of drunken teens. Brock was off in a corner drinking to forget, and there was no one else in this entire house I cared remotely about.

  Somehow, I found myself wishing Candy wasn't right about Emma fitting
in here. Emma wasn't a part of this world where I could do nothing to help a heartbroken friend or a drunken one, where all that mattered was money and looks, and there was nothing to do but drink for release. And somehow, that didn't seem nearly as attractive today as it usually did.

  o0O0o0O0o

  I sat up from my place on the floor, where I had apparently dropped off-not from drink, because for some reason I couldn't tonight, but from sheer exhaustion- at probably around 3. The music was off, and no one seemed to be there and awake. Party must be over, I decided as I rolled to my feet. People were passed out all over the floor, but none was moving. Wait, that was wrong. Someone was.

  A slim form was leaning over something on the floor, reaching out to take it.

  "Emma?" I asked, "What the hell are you doing here?"

  Chapter 14

  * * *

  Emma

  * * *

  Saturday afternoon I double-checked Allan's party preparations. It's part of the reason I hate Allan throwing parties; I'm the one who has to deal with everything: provisions, getting the adults to allow it and leave for the night, organizing clean up, trying not to let Allan convince me to smuggle in more drinks, and the like. Allan may say it's his party, but in reality it's mine. Which is a good thing, as any party I throw would be much better than anything he could organize. I don't know how he managed before I showed up.

  After the party preparations, which I invariably forced Allan into, I restocked the mini-fridge in my room with everything I could possibly need: snacks, drinks (non-alcoholic), and some leftover Chinese, just in case. I didn't want to be forced to go out of my room (and adjoining bathroom) by starvation. Or anything else short of a fire. Or perhaps a flood, though I'm on the third floor. Or an earthquake. Or- never mind, I just didn't want to appear at the party until the wee hours of the morning, when everyone was either asleep, gone, or too drunk to notice me.

  At five to 8, I herded Allan out of his room, where he was still primping-sometimes I think he primps more than any girl I've ever known, including Darien's followers- and into the area of the house where he held his parties, the showy areas. I retreated back into the family wing, locking it securely behind me. I returned to my room, locking that door as well for added security- I don't know why anyone would want to break into the family wing, but it can never hurt to be certain. Finally, my usual party night preparations were complete, and just in time. I could hear Allan's jovial voice greeting someone only moments after I entombed myself in my room.

  I threw myself down on my bed, fiddled with a remote until my alternative rock was on just high enough to drown out the hip-hop that made its way through the floors separating me from the party, and grabbed a book from one of the shelves that lined the room.

  I attempted to read it for somewhere around an hour, but after realizing I had read the same page 3 times, it seemed pointless to continue a hopeless case, and I tossed it onto the floor, where it joined the myriads of books that had suffered the same fate since I was last bored enough to reshelf them all.

  I was bored. Very bored. Very, very bored. Glancing at my watch, more out of the need for something to do than from any real desire to discover what time it was, I groaned. It was only 9:30. I had a good 4 hours before I could even begin to consider going downstairs, I knew myself too well to think I'd fall asleep, and it was too late to call Rhi. There was absolutely nothing to do.

  My gaze fell on my closed desk, and I rolled off my bed with a moan. I sat down and tried to work on Matchmaker business, but I couldn't concentrate with the faint sounds of partying emanating from downstairs through my long turned off music.

  I didn't know why it was so hard to ignore the sounds of people tonight. Usually, I would read happily, or work on something or another, until 3ish (if it was quiet by then), when I would go down to make sure no one was dead, or in very bad straits. But this evening something was different. I felt, if I dared to admit it even to myself, lonely in a way I hadn't been since Rhi moved. I had been content in my own company for so long, I didn't know why I wasn't anymore. Maybe it was that lately, with all the communicating- arguing and mocking, to be sure, but still communication- Darien and I were doing, half-remembered memories of having a friend present had been evoked and- screw this, the moment I start even beginning to think of McGavern as a friend of Rhi's standing it's long past time to call her. She can deal with the unholy hour it must be there.

  "Em?" she answered my call on the second ring, not groggily as I'd expected, but hoarsely, as if she had been crying. My initial plans of whining were instantly abandoned.

  "You okay, Rhi?" I asked immediately, leaning against the headboard of my navy 4-poster bed, curtains closed and the phone on speaker beside me. At least with the party going on, it wasn't like anyone was going to be eavesdropping.

  "Do you know what day it is?" she replied, nearly choking on the words. I could hear a rustling, and I was certain she was wiping tears away from her grey eyes. She always insisted (falsely, as everyone but her knew) that she looked like a hag when she cried. And one thing Rhi could never stand was to resemble anything like a hag.

  "What day it is?" I started to inquire, but I cut myself off as realization struck me with all the force of a cannonball, and, snatching the phone up to my ear, "Oh, shit, Rhi, you okay?"

  "I guess," she sniffled, and I guess the tears were starting again, "It's just so hard, you know?"

  No, I didn't know. I didn't know what it was like to have found a match who I was completely compatible with and who I believed myself in love with and then had to leave him behind, hating my memory, for something as stupid as an arranged marriage. I didn't even know what it was like to think myself in love. And I never would deceive myself so, if I had anything to say about it.

  "I would imagine," I said in an attempt to balance truth with sympathy, "But isn't it getting better with time?"

  "A bit," she admitted, "But not much. I mean, everything reminds me of him. Every time I see Baslon, I can't help but compare him with Brock. It's just not fair!" Suddenly, with her usual instantaneous mood swings, her sorrow and regret morphed into fury. "I don't want to fucking marry him! And aren't arranged marriages illegal?" I didn't know, but it was nothing she hadn't asked me a thousand times before. "Why the hell can my parents just drag me into their family castle that I didn't even fucking know about because my dad's damn older brother got himself disowned and suddenly I have a 'family responsibility' to break up with my darling boyfriend and get engaged to a bastard like Baslon! And…"

  I had to move my phone away from my ear so as not to be deafened by her spazzing that broke the sound barrier. But she needed to rant to someone, so I simply put the phone down and resigned myself to a long tirade that I would intersperse with monosyllabic expressions of sympathy. At least it's not boring.

  Finally, she wound down, taking a few deep, shuddering breaths, ad I could hear her anger ebbing back into nostalgic grief.

  "But honestly, Em," she almost whimpered, sounding as lost as any teenager ever was, "I just want to come back. To Brock, to you, to everyone." Well, at least she mentioned me.

  "I know, Rhi," I repeated, hoping I didn't sound as hopelessly helpless as I felt, "But you only have another year until you're of age and can go to college and leave your traitorous family behind."

  "I don't know if they'll let me!" she contradicted, desperation tinting her mournfulness, "How much education do you need to be a trophy wife, after all?"

  "You'll escape," I stated with far more conviction than I had, "And you'll come back and fall into Brock's waiting arms, but he'll drop you and be so horror struck that he did that you'll have to kiss him to make him feel better, and he'll probably drop you again he'll be so awestruck, and then…" I trailed off as my aim succeeded: she started giggling at my image, albeit wetly.

  "I wish," she agreed regretfully. We sat in silence for a moment, as I tried to ignore the faint noises of the party that I could only hear if I strained. Rhi finally
broke the silence. "Why are you calling me this late, anyway?"

  "Allan has a party and I'm bored to pieces," I informed her, shifting restlessly so I was sprawled across the bed, one ear in the phone, the other muffled against the thick blankets. I couldn't hear anything but Rhi.

  "Why don't you go join them?" she suggested as if it would be the easiest thing in the world, "I know Allan would love you to."

  I sighed. Did I need to have to have this argument with everyone I knew? You would think one of them would get the point. Eventually.

  "Because I wouldn't fit in," I informed her with exaggerated patience.

  "No," she disagreed, one of her rare perceptive moods coming onto her at just the wrong time, as usual, "that's not why. You went to those kinds of parties in middle school, and you fit in just fine. Better than fine, the way you told it."

  I bit my lip, rolling over uncomfortably. Damn her for knowing me so well. And for having known me since we were little, and having heard my stories of those parties.

  "Well, yeah," I allowed reluctantly. No point in lying to her when she knows she's right, after all, "But I gave those up."

  "I think that's the real reason you don't want to go downstairs," she mused, "It's not that you think you wouldn't fit in, but that you're afraid you will."

  I sat up, hopping off the bed to pace circles around the room, or a somewhat circular path as I navigated my way between the stacks of cloths and books.

  "What do you mean?" I prevaricated. She was right, of course, as she well knew I knew. If I got lured back into the whirl of action and excitement Darien and Allan lived in, getting out semi-intact wouldn't be as easy the second time, and the first time wasn't easy.

  "You're scared if you hung out with Allan you would get back to all your old habits," she said with all the needless persuasive power she could muster, so as not to spark one of my outraged tirades that I tend to go on when offended. But it was needless; I knew she was right, so I wasn't offended, and there was no point in arguing,