by Elise Sax
“That is, if you don’t implement my therapy immediately.”
“What do you mean, doomed to fail. Why?” Spencer persisted.
Dr. Tiffany glanced at me and lifted her eyebrows before she returned her focus to Spencer. “The question is, why not. Not why. Doomed. Do I really need to list the reasons?”
I squirmed in my seat and hoped that Spencer wouldn’t ask her to list the reasons because I was sure the reasons would revolve around me. But he didn’t ask. His face had turned red, and he was pursing his lips. The hand that had been holding mine was now tightly clenched in a fist.
I never loved Spencer more than I did at that very minute, realizing that he wanted to punch a woman in the face for saying that our marriage was doomed to fail. It was the most romantic thing he had ever almost done for me.
“Am I right to assume that you’ll agree to the protocol?” Dr. Tiffany asked.
“Uh,” I said.
Dr. Tiffany ignored me and gave Spencer her undivided attention. “Your mother assured me that you would agree to the protocol. Should I tell her that she was wrong?”
On the bright side, Spencer let me pick up pork ribs on the way home, since he had agreed to the protocol, against my wishes. I wanted no part of the protocol. The protocol was nutso. It was loopdy-doo. It was insulting and a royal pain in the ass.
“We’re not actually going to do the protocol,” Spencer assured me.
“Let’s talk about this after I eat the ribs.”
“I mean, I’m not crazy.”
“And potato salad.”
“I just said we would do it to avoid any problems. We want smooth sailing until the wedding. Right?”
“I’m ordering ribs for the dinner and extra for the car ride home,” I said. “Give me your wallet.”
He parked. I took his wallet and went into the store.
On the ride home, I ate a half rack of ribs and a pint of potato salad. If money can’t buy happiness, barbecue sure could. I wasn’t exactly angry at Spencer. I understood the need to pacify annoying family members. Besides, he really loved his mother. And truth be told, I would probably see me as the enemy, too, if Spencer were my son.
Spencer would be hard to give up.
So, I wasn’t angry. I was tired and stressed. The ribs and potato salad went a long way toward sedating me, though. By the time we got home, I felt much better. Spencer parked in the driveway and turned off the motor.
“Just a second,” I said and put my hand on his leg.
He turned toward me. “Okay. Give it to me. Lay on the abuse. I deserve it.”
“I love you.”
“You do?”
“Yes. I love you. I’m sure of it. We’re not doing the protocol. I’m not going to eat beans and salad for dinner. Tell your mother that I’m wonderful. There. I’m glad I got that off my chest. Now, come closer and kiss me.”
“Your face is covered with barbecue sauce.”
“What’s your point?” I asked and grabbed his tie and pulled him in close until I captured his mouth with mine. Our tongues crashed together.
Spencer was a great kisser. Either that, or he had toxic saliva, because every time I kissed him, I got dizzy, and my body heated up to serious fever level. It was like his lips were the plague, but in a good way.
He unhooked my seat belt and dragged me over, lifting me onto his lap. His hands were everywhere, and my body moved to meet him. The kiss went on and on. It occurred to me that the marriage counselor was wonderful because I never loved Spencer more than I did at that very second.
Or it could have been his hand on my breast that made me love him so much. It was a toss-up.
But all good things must come to an end, and even in my fever state, I knew that we couldn’t get down and dirty and naked in the car when Spencer’s parents were ten feet away in the house and could come out any second to see what the ditzy floozy was doing to their perfect son.
I broke the kiss and opened my eyes. Spencer’s eyes were still closed, and the lower half of his face was covered in barbecue sauce.
“Did you fall asleep?” I asked.
“I was just trying to keep the moment going for a little while longer. Sex mixed with barbecue sauce. It was the crossroads of my two favorite things. It was like the Bermuda Triangle of ecstasy.” Spencer opened his eyes. “Pinky, if we bottle this, we’ll be billionaires. Meat and booty. Nothing better than that.”
We wiped our faces clean and walked inside. Grandma and Spencer’s parents were in the kitchen. My grandmother had drafted Lily into setting the table and drafted James into fixing a cabinet door.
“Hello, dolly,” Grandma said, as we walked into the kitchen. “Do you feel better? That was so kind of you to bring extra food. We have lots of beans. Lily added apple cider vinegar to them. Wasn’t that clever? She says that they prevent cancer. That’s so handy, Lily. Nobody likes cancer. James, I love what you did to my cabinet door.”
“It was nothing, Zelda. Just a tight screw.”
“You did it very well,” Zelda said. She had them eating out of the palm of her hand. It was great to have her on my side. It was like LeBron James getting off the bench to help a team in trouble. “But stay away from saws until September,” she told James.
“Excuse me?” he asked.
Spencer slapped his back. “You should probably listen to her, Dad. No saws.” He kissed his mother hello and then excused himself, in order to change his clothes, since he was still wearing what he wore to the christening. So was I, but it was my most respectable outfit, and I figured I should keep it on to give me an edge.
“Hello, Lily,” I said, giving her an awkward hug after I put the food down on the table. “James, how have you been? Did you have a chance to see the town?”
“There was a crazy man who wouldn’t let me walk on the sidewalk because I didn’t have a visa,” she said, looking me up and down, as if she expected me to be naked again. “You look nice,” she told me, not making eye contact.
“Thank you. You do, too.”
“Let’s sit,” Grandma said, sitting. I sat down next to her, and Spencer’s parents sat, too. “Pass the beans, please, Lily, even though I’m not going to get cancer.”
Spencer walked in, wearing sweats, a skin-tight white t-shirt, and no shoes. “I’m starved,” he said.
“How was your day, dear?” Spencer’s mother asked him.
“We saw your counselor. She said we’re a wonderful couple, and we have to do a protocol.”
Lily arched an eyebrow, just like Spencer did twenty times a day. “She said that? Did she use those words? Wonderful?”
“I remember those words,” I said. “Especially protocol. We have to do that.”
“What’s the protocol? Does Gladie have to fill out a questionnaire? Are you going to do a compatibility test? How about financial records?”
Lily was huffing and puffing, running out of breath.
Spencer shook his head. “The doctor is sending over some kind of device we’re supposed to use to help us smooth over conflict. I don’t know what it is. It’s supposed to come with directions. Happy? We went to your doctor. Now, let’s eat.”
“A device?” Spencer’s mother asked. “How can a device help you?”
“It’s 2018,” I explained. “Counselors don’t talk anymore.”
“What about the murder thing? Didn’t she say something about the murder thing?” Lily asked, in a panic about the marriage counselor’s lack of talking.
“Gladie’s over the murder thing.” Spencer stuffed a forkful of food into his mouth to cover up his lie.
“I haven’t seen a dead person in weeks,” I told her. She flinched, and her right eye spasmed. “Cannes is a very nice town. I’m sure we’re done with murders. I probably won’t stumble over another dead person for a long time,” I added to assuage her fears. It didn’t work. Her left eye started to spasm, too. “Probably forever. I mean, what are the odds, right?”
My grandmother touched L
ily’s hand. “Don’t worry about the murders. Gladie has the gift.” Spencer’s mother didn’t look convinced that the gift was a positive. As usual, my grandmother didn’t care about doubters and naysayers. “And as for Gladie and Spencer, they’re perfectly matched. I knew it the first moment I met Spencer. He was made for her, and she was made for him. Like a tea cup and a saucer. They’re going to be married for many years, and I wouldn’t worry about Gladie’s financials. She’s going to be running my matchmaker business, and she’ll have enough money to put her kids through college.”
“I will?” I asked.
“Kids?” Spencer asked.
“Everything in good time,” Grandma told him. “Lily, I’ve been matchmaking my whole life, and I know a love match when I see it. I know best friends when I see them. I’ve never been wrong about a match. Never…”
My grandmother drifted off and stared into space. “Grandma?” I said, concerned. She had recently had a heart episode, and I was worried about her health. “Grandma, are you okay?”
Finally, after a terrifying moment, she blinked and came back to herself. “Bubbeleh, Matilda was a bad match. I let her down. We must help her. We must.”
I put my arm around her. “We will, Grandma. I will. I’ll help Matilda.”
As far as I could tell, Matilda and Rockwell were a normal, happy couple, and there was no need to break them up. But I wasn’t going to argue with my grandmother. I would do anything to alleviate her worry and make her feel better.
“I’m not hungry, dolly,” she said.
“You’re what?” Spencer asked. It was the first time my grandmother had refused a meal since I was born.
“Would you help me up to my room?” she asked me.
I helped her up from her chair and walked with her out of the kitchen. “What did that mean?” I heard Spencer’s mother say in the kitchen, as we walked down the hallway. “So, does she know about married couples or not? What does that mean for you?”
Her voice drifted off, as Grandma and I walked up the stairs. “She’ll come around,” my grandmother whispered to me. “Kill her with kindness. Then, she’ll be yours forever.”
I put my grandmother to bed and sat with her until she fell asleep. I closed her door, gently and went to my bedroom, where Spencer was waiting for me.
“I sent my parents to their hotel,” he told me. “What do you need?”
“Can you give me a lift to my car? I left it at Tea Time. I have to visit one of my grandmother’s old clients.”
“Do you want me to go with you? Is it dangerous?”
“Of course, it’s not dangerous,” I said, telling the truth for once. The life or death thing had passed, and Fanta was found alive. Matilda was just a nosy, bored housewife, but I owed it to my grandmother to double check that she was all right.
“You said that without blinking,” Spencer pointed out. “Either you’re not lying, or you’ve crossed the psycho line.”
“It’s a matchmaking visit. I promise. It’s as safe as staying here and watching Family Guy in bed, like I know you’re going to do. Believe me, nothing’s going to happen at Matilda Dare’s apartment.”
CHAPTER 10
Men are not mind readers. None of them. The Amazing Kreskin? Not a mind reader. There’s not a man on this earth who can read minds. That’s why a woman needs to tell a man that she’s interested. Otherwise, he has no idea. Sure, he can guess, but men are bad at guessing, too. So, tell your matches to speak up! Tell them that it’s not a shanda to say how they feel. Telling a man that they’re interested is the first step to a simcha. It’s the first step to happiness. Because you know what steps are, don’t you, dolly? Steps are about moving forward.
Lesson 86, Matchmaking advice from your
Grandma Zelda
I had a feeling that it was going to be a long night at Matilda’s, so I told Spencer not to wait up. He promised to look in on my grandmother while I was away and make sure she was fine and didn’t need anything.
I knocked softy on Matilda’s door, and she opened it. She had changed her clothes into shorts and a tank top, and her hair was wet. Her apartment was still an oven, but a slightly cooler oven than it had been in the afternoon.
“Oh my God,” she said, welcoming me in. “I’m so glad it’s you. There’s so much going on.”
“There is? That’s sort of why I came.” It wasn’t easy to tell a woman that she married the wrong man, especially because I thought she was perfectly happy with Rockwell. But my grandmother was never wrong about love.
“After you left, Fanta stayed around for a couple hours,” she explained. “She’s never done that before. Usually, she comes for fifteen minutes, tops. She acted strange, like she was relieved to be in my apartment. As soon as she left, I went back to watching her place, and I’ve been doing it ever since. Gladie, there hasn’t been a sign of her husband, Chris. I think we got it all backward. I think Chris was the one who was murdered.”
Matilda turned off the lights in the apartment so we could spy easier. The blinds in Fanta’s bedroom were still closed. The television was on in her living room.
“She’s lying on the couch, but we can’t see her from here,” Matilda explained. “Normally we can see the bedroom and the living room, but there’s a hallway that connects the two and leads to the front door that we can’t see. So, there’s a lot we’re not seeing. But I saw her lie down on the couch, so I know she’s there. No sign of her husband.”
“Holy shitballs,” I breathed. “The husband’s missing.”
A familiar feeling of irresistible nosiness crept up my spine until it took over me.
“Rockwell’s still out on the road, working. He comes back tomorrow. I was going to stake out Fanta’s place from here. You want to stake it out with me?”
Yes, I did.
God help me, I did.
Whatever it said about me, I preferred to spy in order to find out if someone was murdered than to talk about marriage and relationships. My grandmother said that I had the gift, but she was so wrong.
A couple hours later, we were still sitting on the couch in Matilda’s dark living room, spying on Fanta’s apartment. We both had super large plastic cups of Diet Coke and ice and a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos.
“They have nice furniture,” I noted.
“Chris smashes cars. He owns Cannes Smiley Auto Wrecking. There’s a lot of money in car smashing. That’s how come Fanta has that sofa. I looked it up online. Seven thousand dollars. My couch cost six hundred dollars.”
I didn’t have a couch. I didn’t own anything. Then, I remembered that I had all kinds of furniture waiting for me in my new house. “I don’t know how much my couch cost,” I told her. In fact, I didn’t know how much my house cost. I had left the whole thing in Spencer’s hands. He had tried to get me involved, asking my opinion about wainscoting and other things I knew nothing about, but something inside me didn’t believe that the house was mine, let alone the fancy couch.
“You live at Zelda’s house, right? I love that house. I love old things. Her house is so cozy. I feel safe there. Is that crazy?” Matilda asked.
“No, I feel safe there, too. Really safe.” My grandmother’s house was a sprawling Victorian, which was built during the early days of Cannes, soon after gold was discovered in the local mine. The furniture was all ancient. The kitchen was the most modern room of the house, and it was stuck in the 1950s.
“I always wanted to live in an old house with a lot of history in it,” Matilda said. “That way, you’re living with your family and all the families that lived there before you. That’s a real home. Once Rockwell gets a promotion, we’re going to move into a house.”
It was a perfect segue to talk about her marriage. “So, everything’s good between…” I started, but Matilda wasn’t listening. She had bolted up from the couch and put the binoculars up to her face.
“She’s on the move,” Matilda breathed. “What does she have? What is that?”
I lo
oked through my pair of binoculars. Fanta was wearing a green jumpsuit, and she was lifting boxes onto a dolly. “Boxes,” I said. “Is she moving?”
“Those are metal boxes, Gladie. Who has metal boxes? Nobody. Why isn’t she using cardboard boxes? Because cardboard boxes aren’t waterproof. They aren’t goo-proof.”
“Goo-proof,” I repeated. I knew exactly what she meant. Even if Fanta had air conditioning, her poor husband would be gooey by now. Dead people got gooey. I knew that from experience, unfortunately. “Those are small boxes,” I said.
“Holy shitballs. The bitch cut him up,” Matilda breathed.
“The bitch cut him up,” I repeated. I put my binoculars down. “Wait a second. Wait a second. We’re jumping to conclusions. We don’t know there’s a cut up husband in those boxes.”
Matilda pointed. “Look.”
I looked through my binoculars, again. Fanta was carrying an empty box into the bedroom. “There you go,” Matilda said. “She’s going back in for some more body parts.”
With Fanta in the bedroom, we couldn’t see any action, so we sat back on the couch and ate some more Cheetos. “What’s our plan?” Matilda asked me. “We need to stop her before she hides the evidence. We need to tie her up and force her to tell the truth. Right?”
“Yes. That sounds like a good plan.” But somehow, I couldn’t let Spencer’s mother find out anything about it. If she heard about me being involved in another murder, she would never let me marry her son. Or at the very least, she would make my life even more miserable. “But we’ll do it quietly. How can we do it quietly?”
“I could stuff a kitchen towel in her mouth.”
Suddenly, Matilda’s front door opened, and we jumped a mile in the air. Matilda threw her binoculars at the intruder, like she was pitching at the World Series. With amazing accuracy, she hit him square in the gut. He grunted, loudly, and went down like a sack of potatoes.
I turned on the light, and Matilda ran to see who her victim was.
“Rockwell? What are you doing here?” she asked. “I mean, are you okay?”
