A Match Made on Madison (The Matchmaker Chronicles)

by Dee Davis

  “Would you mind?”

  “Honey, that’s what I’m here for.” He headed into the kitchen and grabbed the phone. All the better for me not to hear.

  “I take it you’ve already seen these,” I said, as Cybil grabbed the carafe off the table and refilled my cup.

  “Yeah. First thing this morning. I wanted to assess the damage before I came over.”

  “So what do you think?”

  “Well, I’ve got to say that even to me, it looks a lot like Douglas is enjoying himself.”

  “Oh, please. He was drunk.”

  “I know. I’m just telling you what it looks like.” She smiled and reached over to pat my hand. “You’ve got to admit it’s a bit funny. You and Douglas Larson.”

  “It most certainly is not,” I snapped, surprised at the strength of my anger. “This picture could very well mark the end of my days as a matchmaker. I mean, look at this one.” I pulled out a paper at random. “ ‘Matchmaker Lights His Fire.’ ”

  “Well, it is a bit inflammatory.” She waited a beat, but I didn’t even smile. “Look, I know this is serious. But you’ve got to find a way to get through it. The truth is that if anyone stops to consider it for a moment, they’ll see that it reeks of a setup. I mean, it’s only a snapshot. And most people are capable of recognizing bullshit when they see it. Have you talked to Douglas or Maris yet?”

  “I haven’t even been awake an hour.” I sounded defensive, but hell, it wasn’t a good day.

  And to emphasize the point, the phone rang again, but only once. Anderson was clearly on the job.

  “People were calling me, too,” Cybil said.

  “Friend or foe?” The latter of course was more likely, gloating being the national pastime for our circle.

  “Neither, really,” she sighed. “Mainly it was the voyeuristic type.”

  “Wonderful. The vultures circle. Did Althea call?”

  “No,” she said, looking down at her hands.

  “Cybil. I know that look.” The phone rang again in the background, but neither of us reacted. “Spill it.”

  She sighed. “Fine. She called. But it wasn’t to gloat. She just wanted to know what the real story was. And if you were okay.”

  “So why didn’t she call me?”

  “She was afraid that it would be rubbing salt in the wound.”

  “I suppose there’s something to that. You swear she didn’t sound pleased?”

  “Vanessa, you know better than that. Althea is competitive, but she’s also your friend.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling cornered. I really wanted to win the bet. And now, I’m afraid I haven’t a chance in hell.”

  “Well, at this point I think the bet should be the last of your concerns.”

  “I disagree. I think it’s even more important now. If I could get Mark on board, it would prove to everyone that I’m still in the game.”

  “It isn’t a game, Vanessa. You’re talking about people’s lives.”

  “I didn’t mean to sound crass. It’s just that I feel like I’ve lost control. And I guess I’m looking for a way to get it back.”

  “Well, that’s understandable.” The phone rang again, this time it stopped almost before it could complete the first ring. “So how did things go with Grayson last night?”

  “Actually, they went pretty well. He’s different from how I pictured him, somehow.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know if I can put it into words, but he’s just more real. Does that make any sense?” The minute it was out of my mouth I realized how stupid it sounded. But Cybil was pretty good at reading between the lines.

  “You like him.”

  “Yeah, I do. And I guess that surprises me.”

  “Don’t you have to like someone to find them a match?”

  “No. I mean I don’t think I could do it if they were mean, or a bad person, or something, but I don’t think my liking them per se has anything at all to do with finding a match. I just have to be able to read their personality. Figure out what it is they really want.”

  “Sounds impossible.”

  “It does.” I laughed. “But you know as well as I do that I seem to have a knack for it.”

  There was a long pause, and I almost thought she was going to disagree with me, but instead she asked about Mark. “Did you tell him about me?”

  “Not in so many words. I mean I talked about you a lot. And I also told him I had someone in mind for him, but Maris called before I had the chance to connect the dots.”

  “That’s probably just as well,” she said, staring down into her coffee cup. “I mean I’ve been having second thoughts.”

  “You’re just nervous.”

  “No. I think maybe it’s more than that. I mean I just broke up with Stephen; it seems too soon to be jumping into something else.”

  “It’s just a date, Cybil.”

  “With big expectations.”

  “No. I swear. None at all. I admit that in the beginning when I thought of you it was because of the bet. But I also meant what I said. I’d never set you up with someone I didn’t think was right for you. And the more I get to know Mark, the more certain I am that he’s perfect for you.”

  “Well, I’m not nearly as confident.”

  “That’s understandable. But you do think he’s interesting, right?”

  “From what I know,” she admitted with a shrug.

  “And you think he’s good-looking.”

  “You have to be crazy not to think that.” She was smiling now.

  “So all I’m asking you to do is give it a chance. Go out with the guy. And if I’m right, everything else will follow.”

  “And if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not.” I snorted, not even certain I believed it myself. “But if by some miracle I am, then you just chalk it up as a one-off and that’s the end of it.”

  “Really? No pressure?”

  “None at all. I swear. Honest to God, Cybil, I wouldn’t be suggesting this if I didn’t truly believe the two of you suit.”

  “Now you sound like a matchmaker. Who uses the word ‘suit’?”

  “Okay,” I said. “How about ‘I think he’ll blow your socks off.’ Is that better?”

  “Well, it’s certainly more appealing,” she said with a laugh. “Anyway, it’s still a long shot, right? I mean he hasn’t agreed to anything.”

  “No. He hasn’t.” Reality came crashing in like the ladies who lunch at a Bergdorf’s end-of-the-year sale. “And after he sees the photograph, he probably won’t. I’m surprised Althea wasn’t crowing.”

  “Well, the truth is that it isn’t just a strike against you, it’s a strike against the profession, and that includes Althea.”

  “Are you trying to make me feel worse?”

  “No. Just assuring you that at least with regard to the bet, Althea isn’t going to benefit from today’s journalistic debacle.”

  “Funny, I think that actually makes me feel better,” I sighed. “I’m a rotten person.”

  “No, you’re not, sweetie. You’re just human.”

  “Well, that’s six calls,” Anderson said, putting the cordless back in its cradle. “Two from so-called friends, one from your mother, and three from reporters requesting the inside scoop.”

  “What did you tell them?” I asked, feeling slightly sick.

  “Well, since I figured ‘fuck off’ wasn’t an option, I told your friends that you were working, your mother that you’d call her later, and the press, ‘no comment.’”

  “Well done,” Cybil said. “I think maybe you missed your calling. You should be in PR.”

  “Oh, please,” Anderson laughed. “Anyone can answer a phone.”

  “Better you than me,” I said. “I’m not sure I could have handled any of them. Especially my mother.”

  “She was just worried about you,” Anderson said, reaching for the Times. Thank God there was one paper that wasn’t interested in the
misadventures of Vanessa Carlson.

  “I know,” I sighed. “But as much as I hate making a fool of myself, I hate doing it in front of my mother even more. I want her to be proud of me, not saying ‘I told you so.’ She’s never approved of my business.”

  “I think it’s more your attitude about relationships she disapproves of,” Cybil said.

  “Well, there’s the pot calling the kettle black. She’s spent the last ten years trying to fix me up with every single male within her social orbit.”

  “She’s a mom,” Anderson said. “It’s in the job description.”

  “Shouldn’t you be at work?” I snapped. I mean, after all he was supposed to be taking my side.

  “I told them I’d be in late.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter.” I sounded petulant, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been taking care of myself for a long time. “Besides, Cybil’s here.”

  The two of them exchanged a glance. The poor-dear-she’s-not-thinking-straight kind of look. “Well, two friends are better than one,” Anderson said, his tone brooking no argument. “And so I’ll go in after you get your bearings.”

  Okay, in case you’re thinking I’m a total twit, I know how lucky I am to have friends like Cybil and Anderson. I even know how lucky I am to have my mother on my side—more or less. What I hate is the fact that I need them so damn much. You know? I just want to stand on my own two feet. Take control of my life.

  Waldo twined around my ankles, reminding me that I couldn’t even control my cat.

  “Thanks, guys,” I said, pushing back from the table. I grabbed the carafe and headed for the kitchen to make more coffee. It was shaping up to be a two-pot kind of day. Behind me, the phone rang again, and I could hear Anderson telling whoever it was that I wasn’t home and then repeating the words “no comment.”

  Maybe I should have Starbucks pump the stuff directly into the apartment. If David Letterman could do it, so could I. By the time I’d managed to fill the machine with coffee and start it running, the phone had rung another three times. Anderson was more than a friend, he was a godsend.

  I was headed back for the living room when I noticed that the front door was ajar.

  “How long has this door been open?” I asked, a tenor of panic seeping into my voice.

  Cybil shook her head and Anderson frowned as he hung up the phone. “I’ve no idea. Does it matter?”

  “Waldo,” I said, in answer to the question, and Cybil whispered the only words that could possibly make my day worse.

  “He’s gotten out.”

  “Waldo,” we all yelled simultaneously.

  “He was just here,” I said, wondering if the ankle rub had been his way of saying good-bye. He wasn’t generally an affectionate cat. Damn it all to hell.

  “Waldo.” The name echoed through the apartment as we began to search frantically for my lady-loving cat. I checked in all of his favorite places, even under the bed behind my sweater box, which required a contortion worthy of Cirque du Soleil. No luck.

  “He’s not here.” I surfaced from under the bed just as Anderson emerged from my closet.

  “Not here either.”

  Cybil arrived in the doorway, panting. “I checked the spare room, he’s not there either. And I even looked behind the desk.”

  “He’s gone.” I sat on the bed and tried to figure out what to do next. Not that I accomplished a lot, my head was too busy presenting a picture of Mrs. M. in a black pointed hat turning Waldo into a flying monkey. “Just because he’s out doesn’t mean he’s with Arabella.”

  Anderson didn’t have time to comment. The doorbell and phone rang simultaneously. Stupidly, I sat frozen on the bed. Neither option appealed. Maybe if I just sat there all day, the ringing would stop. Anderson took his cue from me and sat next to me on the bed.

  Cybil stood frozen in the doorway. The cacophony of ringing continued for at least three beats with no one moving.

  Anderson came to his senses first. “I’ll take the phone,” he said, avoiding eye contact. He might be a brave man, but even he wasn’t ready to face the possibility that Mrs. M. was at the door. “Fine,” Cybil said. “I’ll get the door.”

  “No,” I said, surprising them both. “I’ll get the door.”

  I sucked in a breath and pushed off the bed. Cybil jumped out of the way as I stalked down the hallway, trying to emulate a confidence I did not feel. Rounding the corner, I crossed the living room and, with a small prayer for help, pulled open the door.

  “Maris? What are you doing here?” Probably imagining all the ways she’d like to torture me.

  “I thought you might need a friendly face.” Well, color me surprised. She’d shown a brave face last night, but in truth I’d still fully expected her to do an about-face the minute she saw the photo. “Two of them, actually.” She moved aside to show a somewhat recalcitrant Douglas standing beside her.

  “Come in.” I gestured to the living room where Anderson and Cybil were standing looking just this side of dumbfounded. “We’ve just been trying to find Waldo.”

  “Waldo?” Maris asked.

  “My cat. I’m afraid he’s a cross between Valentino and Houdini.”

  “Sounds like trouble,” she said, giving Douglas a little push. The two of them walked over to the sofa and sat side by side. I followed suit, sitting in the chair across from them.

  “I seem to attract it like lint on black pants.” I smiled, not entirely sure what to expect next. The tension was palpable. But at least they were together. I’d take victory where I could get it.

  “Why don’t I get everyone some coffee?” Cybil said, heading to the kitchen without waiting for a response. Chicken.

  “I’ll help,” Anderson said. Make that two chickens.

  Maris, Douglas, and I sat awkwardly for a moment. And then I ventured into the potentially shark-infested waters. I mean, someone had to do it.

  “So how are you feeling, Douglas?”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. Maybe recalcitrant had been the wrong word. Maris reached over to cover his hand with hers, and suddenly I felt hope blossoming like a perfectly aged brandy.

  Douglas grimaced but still managed to smile. “I feel like someone drove a Fresh Direct truck through my head. But I guess it’s better than I deserve.” He paused for a moment and then turning his fingers over, he laced them with Maris’s. “Look, Vanessa, I owe you an apology. It’s my fault you’re getting all the bad publicity. If I hadn’t kissed you, none of this would have happened.”

  It was the absolute truth, and I had every right to be angry. But I wasn’t. I understood how difficult it had been for him to apologize. Maybe Douglas and I had more in common than I’d thought. “It’s all right. You weren’t thinking straight.”

  “That’s a polite understatement.” His smile was more genuine. “I was scared shitless, and because of that I got smashed.”

  “With good reason,” I said.

  “Well, if it hadn’t been for you, I shudder to think of what would have happened.”

  “You’d have come to your senses on your own. I just pushed things along a little,” I assured him.

  “See,” Maris said. “I told you she’d understand.” She beamed at me as if I’d just given her a present.

  “So the two of you are okay?”

  “What you’re asking is whether she forgave me?” Douglas said, the lilt in his voice giving it away before he had the chance to put it in words. But I wanted to hear it anyway.

  “So?” I prompted.

  “Suffice it to say that the wedding is on again,” Maris said, smiling over at Douglas. Score one for the good guys.

  “I’m glad,” I said. “You two deserve happiness.”

  “Well, we wouldn’t have it if it hadn’t been for you,” Douglas said.

  “Tell her the rest,” Maris urged.

  “Well,” Douglas said, his face more animated than I’d ever seen it. Clearly, making up with Maris had done him a world o
f good. “My agent called this morning. And apparently there’s been all kinds of renewed interest in my books because of the photograph. He even got a call from Today. Can you imagine ? I might be interviewed by Matt Lauer.”

  Funny, the networks hadn’t been calling me. I guess luck depended upon which side of the kiss you landed. Mine being the should-have-seen-it-coming side.

  “So in a backhanded kind of way,” Maris was saying, “it’s the best thing that could have happened. And it’s all because of you.”

  “Well, I’m just glad it all worked out.” And despite the fact that my life was falling apart all around me, I really meant it. Maris and Douglas made a good pair.

  “Seriously, Vanessa. We owe you.”

  I was mumbling something about how it was all part of the job when, thankfully, Anderson and Cybil arrived with the coffee tray.

  “What would you like?” Cybil asked. “I’ve got leaded and unleaded.”

  Maris shook her head. “We can’t stay. We’ve got loads of things to do.” They both stood up. “We just wanted you to know that we’re in your corner.”

  Tears sprang to my eyes as I stood up, too. Maris gave me a hug. And Douglas started to follow suit, stopped, turning bright red, and then with a nod and a nudge from Maris, moved forward again to give me an awkward embrace. I don’t know if it was the tension, the hug, or the general ridiculousness of the entire situation, but suddenly everyone was laughing, and for the first time since I’d woken up, I had a feeling that maybe somehow everything would be okay.

  I walked them to the door and was turning around with a self-satisfied sigh, when the phone started ringing again. I winced.

  “Come on,” Cybil said, abandoning her coffee tray and taking my arm. “Let’s get out of here. You need a break. And I know just the place to take you.”

  “What about Waldo?” I shot a look at Anderson, not sure what I should do.

  “No worries. I’ll find the cat,” he said. I started to protest, but he shook his head. “I can handle Mrs. M. if it comes to that. I won’t let her haul Waldo away. I promise. Just get out of here.”

  “But I’m not dressed to go out,” I protested, looking down at my jeans. Granted, the jeans were Diesel and my T-shirt was Juicy Couture, but despite the labels, the ensemble was hardly trendsetting.