The Matchmaker

by Kitty Parker

  "Sorry, what was that?" my so-called friend inquired with absolutely false innocence; I could just imagine her, sea grey eyes glinting with merry laughter. Rolling my eyes at her, I shook my head experimentally. Nothing moved, thank God. I spat out the rest of the pins before answering her completely unfair question.

  "Fine. I find Darien extremely attractive. Are you happy now?" I snapped, slipping into my dress with a rustle of fabric. Despite my annoyance, I grinned as the slippery fabric slid into place around me, reveling in the awareness of just how good I looked. "That still doesn't make this a date."

  "It means you want it to be," she countered immediately, not missing a beat. I cast my eyes upwards in hopeless disagreement. Could Rhi not get it through her head that I was the Matchmaker, not her, and that there was a reason for that?

  "No it doesn't," I argued, inserting golden strands of metal into my ears and picking out some bangles for my wrists, "We're friends, nothing more. There is no romantic connotation at all. We don't like each other. It's not like that."

  "You can't believe that- not to mention you protested way too much," she retorted. Oh because she was the relationship expert. She had had exactly two boyfriends, and one of them was because of her parents and the other was because of me. She had not a leg to stand on. "Guys and girls can't be just friends."

  "And Darien and I are the exception that proves the rule," I replied with calm whimsy. I would not allow myself to be provoked; according to Darien, I would need all the composure I could get for the reception. "Although that never really made sense to me. Why would a rule need and except-"

  Rhi refused to be put off. "Keep telling yourself." She giggled, and I scowled. "I cannot wait until I come home to actually see this!" Oh yes, that would be simply glorious. Then she could not only mock me in person, but she could also humiliate me in front of people. What more could I ask for?

  "I will keep telling myself that, because I'm right," I insisted, wrinkling my nose at her before I remembered that she couldn't see it. I bet she could sense it, though, and if she couldn't she didn't deserve to be called my best friend. Darien would have known it was there from a mile away.

  "No you're not!" Oh, so that's where she wanted to take it. She was so on.

  "Yes I am!" Ha, take that.

  "Nu uh."

  "Uh huh."

  "Nope."

  "Yeah!"

  "Nope."

  "Yes- are we really doing this?" I mean, we usually managed to keep out arguments above a 5 year old level.

  "If you won't admit that I'm right and you and Darien would make the cutest couple imaginable, than yes." For some reason unimaginable to me, I did consider it. For all of three seconds. And I would never, to my dying day, tell Rhi what I saw.

  "I don't think you could describe Darien as cute," I said thoughtfully, tapping my chin with one finger. Somehow, it just seemed like the wrong adjective. "I mean, it jut doesn't fit. I've heard handsome, and hot, and good-looking, but he's not cute." Then I remembered some of the Matchmaker letters, and thanked God that Rhi was miles away and couldn't see the red flush I could feel rising on my cheeks. "Not usually," I amended, stepping in front of my mirror to examine the final picture. Yes, I would do quite nicely.

  "See! He can be cute, you admitted it!" Rhi crowed, her usual illogical logic working at full speed. It did make sense- if you were Rhi. Sort of like mad people's logic. "You'd just have to bring out his inner cuteness!"

  "Rhi, it doesn't work like that," I admonished, pushing Carl off my bed so I could sit. He, in the inscrutable way of cats everywhere, had been watching me dress with a critical eye that made me feel that much less special, and yet somehow at the same time even prettier, that I could stand up to his mocking gaze. "I highly doubt Darien will ever be a good boyfriend, no matter how 'cute' he magically becomes."

  "Why not?" Try as I might, I couldn't detect any teasing in the innocently curious question. Which meant I owed her an answer, even if it was as obvious as what color the sky was.

  "Ooch, he's got the wanderin' eye, gurlie," I told her in my best awful old Scottish accent, which surprised a laugh out of her and me. "Fit to break a puir gurl's heart, it is."

  "I guess you're right," she giggled, my horrible imitation distracting her long enough for me to regroup my thoughts. Why had I hoped so much that she would deny that? It was true, I knew it was and she knew it was, but…. I didn't know what. "But he could be cured of that, right?"

  "I doubt it," I contradicted, rolling my eyes again. Life wasn't a romance novel; not everyone could be redeemed by a girl and a kiss. Sometimes the bastard's cold, black heart wasn't made of gold, and he would just use the girl and leave. Not that Darien was evil or anything – though he would just leave the girl- and I wasn't planning on kissing him. Again. "And even if it could happen, I'm not the one to do it."

  "Why not?" Rhi countered, quick as a flash. She had always been faster to rise to my defense than I was, though that was more because her ire boiled over quickly, while mine simmered. Still, I had to love her for moments like these; she was my best friend, after all, as ready to defend my back as I was hers.

  "Because I'm no fairy princess," I answered with calm, unequivocal logic that had no bitterness in it, "I'm not you, Rhi. I have issues of my own to deal with; I'm not about to go reform someone else. If Darien wants to be an idiot and mess around, I'm not going to stop him."

  "Em, you do nothing but mess with other people's lives. That's what the Matchmaker does." Rhi laughed, with only a hint of the irony that would have soaked mine. But that was so not true. I only meddled if people needed it; I just often knew better than them what was best for people.

  "A bit quieter, if you please," I returned curtly. And if she didn't notice that I didn't refute her claim, will, it wasn't my fault. "You're on speaker." And while I probably would have heard Allan if he decided to venture near my room -he had all the grace of a hippopotamus- one could never be too careful.

  "People are going to find out eventually. You can't keep it a secret forever," she informed me patiently, almost pleadingly. I didn't have to ask what she was talking about. She had nagged me about this since the Matchmaker was conceived, and her level of success had never changed.

  "Hopefully not for another year," I replied tartly, not at all concerned. I knew quite well that no mystique lasted forever, and I didn't exactly have someone to pass the title on to. She would die a peaceful death when I graduated, unless some enterprising underclassman appeared next year whom I deemed worthy. Which, while not impossible, was extremely unlikely. But I still hoped to make the four years intact. The Matchmaker wouldn't be nearly as effective I she was unmasked; it would be a tribute to my abilities if she survived.

  "Still, Lex and Darien will find out sometime. You're too close for it not to happen. They'll walk into your room or something and then the jig'll be up, and you'll have to tell them." I raised an eyebrow skeptically.

  "Umm… no. No I won't. Darien never needs to know." I could hear pounding footsteps on the stairs outside my door. Too heavy for Mom, too fast for Jack, too careful for Allan- shit. Speak of the devil.

  "But-" I cut off Rhi's protest with a speed just on this side of panicked.

  "Someone's coming. I've got to go. Talk to you after!" I shut the phone before she could respond, just as Darien burst the door open, already talking.

  "Emma, you better be ready because my parents will kill me if I'm late. And I just spent ten minutes trying to convince your mother to let me come up here, and-" Darien stopped talking; I followed his eyes to me.

  I gave a little twirl, exalting in his dumbfounded expression. "So," I asked with a sly, minxish grin, "Do I look alright?"

  I took his continued stunned silence as assent.

  * * *

  Darien

  * * *

  Emma looked amazing. Awesome in every sense of the word. She seemed to have grown at least a few inches (the dress? Heels?) and her eyes glowed huge and brilliant (the
color of the dress? Make-up?). The dainty clasp of fabric around her neck highlighted the long, elegant lines of her neck, revealed by her pinned up hair. The cut of her dress, something even a mere male like me could tell wasn't the latest fashion, emphasized her slim waist and understated curves in a way not even the tank top she had worn at New Year's had. I could gladly look at her forever like this- but she didn't look at all like the barbed, shielded girl I knew. Only the sardonic intelligence sparking in her shining eyes set her apart from the other girls I had taken as arm candy before, but even there she far outstripped every girl I had ever seen. This was someone I could not be ashamed of walking in with.

  I swallowed, trying to find my voice without showing Emma how much she had taken it away. I had perceived Emma as many things before: plain, cute, attractive, sexy, hot- but never before had I seen her look so breathtakingly beautiful.

  "You look fine," I finally managed to choke out, a bit curter than I had intended, because I had to stop my tongue from tripping over itself. Damn it, no other girl had ever affected me like this before! What was so special about this one- other than the fact that she was Emma? But that simple fact made all the difference.

  "I know," she agreed complacently, giving another giddy little spin that made me hope no one noticed that my pants suddenly felt too tight, and hope that she didn't do that too often tonight. But try as I might, I couldn't drag my eyes away from the swirl of fabric around her hips. Maybe this night would be harder than I thought.

  "So," I finally announced, ripping my eyes back up to her face before she could notice where I was staring- though by her smirk, I might have been too late, "Let's go. I can't be late."

  "So you said," she retorted, and a grin flickered across my face. There was the Emma I knew and- the usual Emma, armed and dangerous. And I couldn't help but be relieved. I had a date who was both hot and entertaining. What could be better? "I thought you wanted to avoid this thing," she continued, grabbing a small gold purse with one hand and her phone with the other, "Why are you in such a hurry?"

  Because it'll get my mind off of how stunning you look right now. But of course, I couldn't say that, and the other answer was one I didn't want to give. I mean, whatever they treated me as, the hosts of this thing were still my parents and it was still going to be my company eventually, and I owed it to them and it to at least display myself.

  "Because I want to get it over with," I eventually replied, truthfully if not completely. Emma didn't need to know that I was omitting anything, though judging by her quick, sidelong look she had guessed. But if I had lied, she would have known right away- one of her most annoying traits, except that I was beginning to be able to do the same to her.

  "Fair enough," she shrugged, hurrying me out of her room. Apparently she didn't like people in her room, something I thus made a point of ignoring. Nobody could be as private as her; it simply wasn't allowed.

  Still, I followed her out into the hall, rolling my shoulders uncomfortably beneath the thick material of my dinner jacket. Still new, it didn't fit quite right yet, just to add to my irritation. God, I hated these things- though I didn't object to how good I looked in a suit.

  "Mom, I'm leaving!" Emma shouted into the cavernous, empty entrance hall, so suddenly loud that I clapped my hands over my ears and scowled at her. She either didn't notice or didn't care (I suspected the latter) and swept outside, one long-fingered hand holding her skirt delicately out of the summer dirt.

  "You do know she probably couldn't hear that, right?" I asked, still rubbing my temples. Emma tossed a withering look over her white shoulder that said, quite clearly, that I was an idiot. Used to those looks, I disregarded it.

  "It's just a habit," she explained impatiently, taking her seat in my car with delicate casualness, tucking the long end of her dress in carefully. "You know, you really should lock your car."

  "Why? I was only out of it for ten minutes," I retorted, walking to me side of the car and sitting down with almost as much care as she had. I didn't want to walk into this thing looking like a slob. It was awful enough going in the first place.

  She laughed, a warm chuckle as inviting as it was endearing, cajoling everyone else to laugh even with the hint of cynicism never far from her lips. I stared down at the wheel, willing myself not to smile in return.

  "I knew kids who could be in your car and out of here in a quarter of that time," she told me with a wry grin, as if amazed at how innocent I was. One finger tapped thoughtfully against her chin. "Actually, I probably still could. I might take a little longer, though."

  "You can hotwire a car?" I inquired skeptically, raising a single eyebrow. I knew very well that she hadn't grown up in the manicured lawns and grandiose houses of this neighborhood, but she hadn't lived in the ghetto either. It wasn't like she had run with gangs, or had to steal to survive or anything. That much I knew for sure- basically.

  "Yeah, Dan taught me." I couldn't hear any tremor in her voice when she said Dan's name, or anything different about her tone. Maybe she was finally getting over him, and about time to. I could compete with any guy alive, but it's hard to beat a ghost. "I never actually stole anything, but it was fun to learn. Like picking locks. You never know when stuff like that will come in handy."

  "Why would you ever need to hotwire a car you weren't planning to steal?" I asked, pulling out of the Lexington's driveway. Something occurred to me. "And how did Dan know how to hotwire a car?"

  "For when I forget my keys, obviously," she answered as if it were the most evident thing in the world, conveniently ignoring my second question. "And for when I need to use Allan's car. Or yours, for that matter."

  "So you would just steal my car?" I exclaimed in mock-horror. I had no real worries. She was more careful with material goods than anyone I knew, and if she was fiercely protective of her personal space, she was just as respectful of everyone else's. Unless, of course, she felt like messing with them was for their own good; then she would have no scruples. Even if she was wrong.

  "Of course not!" There was the flash of offense I had been expecting, even if I knew she knew I was joking. Then, with the devious half smile that always made me so intensely curious, "I would ask first and then ignore your answer."

  That got a laugh out of me, and her smile grew full-fledged in response. Which made me laugh harder as a defense against beaming like a besotted kid. When I finally managed to get both impulses under control, as we were pulling into my full driveway,

  "So, are we talking meeting-the-queen manners, or just normal formal, or full snarky overload?" Emma asked, a wicked twist to her lips. I could tell she really, really, really wanted me to say the last one, and I kind of wanted to as well, I had to be honest.

  "A mix of the first two," I scowled, not even the fantasy of letting Emma loose on all those idiots in there brightening my mood now that we were here. "We can insult people and scheme and backstab all we want, but only if we're polite about it to their face."

  To my surprise, an impish gleam came into Emma's eyes as she cocked her head, absorbing the information. I gulped, almost nervously. She would behave. She better.

  "So," she said slowly, as if trying to figure out the clearest way to phrase something that had been obscurely described to her. I prepared myself for some sort of convoluted sentence meant to confuse me into answering what she wanted, and so I was taken aback when she continued fairly simply, "I can be as evil as I want, as long as I'm polite and discreet about it?"

  "Basically, yeah." Her expression turned forebodingly thoughtful as we got out of the car, that vaguely malicious look till in her eyes. I barely spared a moment for the morals of the situation. Those people, my parents included, all deserved to have Emma set upon them. What did I care if she slaughtered them all? Verbally, of course. Not that she would; she liked to pretend that she was evil but I could tell that she did want to make a good impression on these people. After all, if she was rude, it would reflect badly on the Lexington's.

  We walk
ed very slowly up the path to my house, Emma understanding how very little I wanted to go in. But we had to eventually, and so we reached the door and entered, my feet not visibly dragging; mentally, though, every step took an increasing amount of effort.

  It was very different from the last time we had walked into a party together. Then, Emma had been nervous- and with good reason, though I didn't know it then- and I had been coolly confident and vaguely condescending towards her anxiety. The noise had overwhelmed us on New Year's, pounding loud and seductive over the kids' yells. Here, only Emma's calm lead kept me moving, and the gentle murmur of conversation nearly drowned out the faint strains of the string quartet playing in the corner of the large room, not loud enough to induce anyone to dance even if anyone here had been so inclined.

  Emma tilted her head, listening to the music with pursed lips. "The Trout Quartet," she muttered after a moment, with the satisfied nod of someone who plucked a piece of information out of a long-forgotten memory.

  "What?" I wasn't really listening, trying to spot my parents in the crowd. Not that I wanted to see them by any stretch of the imagination, or vice versa, but I had to show that I had made an appearance. Otherwise, I couldn't be certain they would see me, and that was the one time I ever got in trouble.

  "The Trout Quartet, it's what they're playing," she replied; not yet noticing my distraction. Suddenly, and for no apparent reason, I realized the one thing I had yet to warn her about.

  "Shit," I swore under my breath. Emma glanced quickly at me, worry playing over her delicate faces. "Look, Emma, I forgot to tell you. My father, he's-" I stopped. How could I describe someone I didn't know, but knew far too well? There was nothing to say, but I had to say something.

  "Not very personable, I figured," Emma finished for me easily. The thought didn't seem to faze her, but she didn't know what she was talking about. She had never actually met him…yet. "But it's too late for you to fill me in, because they're over there and coming-" her voice dropped to a whisper as my parents approached "-over here."