Today, she wore a Forth & Towne silk polka-dot dress, an Anne Klein bangle watch, suede lace-up sandals, and a haggard expression.
“Tough day?”
“Tough fifteen minutes.” She motioned to the storage closet, aka interview room A. “DED’s newest client and definitely the most challenging.”
I followed her gaze. “Did he pay cash?”
“Is that all you think about?” When I smiled, she shook her head. “Of course, that’s all you think about.” She handed me several bills and checks paper-clipped together. “He paid cash, along with two other new clients. The other three wrote checks.”
“Five newbies?”
“Actually, we’ll have six. You have an appointment this evening with a”—she hit a key on her computer and brought up today’s schedule—“Mia van Horowitz. Local business owner who doesn’t have much time to date. Said she wants the super-deluxe package, so I scheduled her with you.” She turned and retrieved a stack of messages. “Also, your mother called about this weekend, Nina One called about this weekend, someone named Mr. Lowe called about a private matter, your mother called again, and someone named Carmen called to confirm an afternoon appoinment.” She paused and shifted her gaze to the screen. “I couldn’t find her on your schedule.”
“Actually, she’s not an official client. I’m hooking her up with a friend totally out of the goodness of my own heart.” I so wasn’t going to involve Evie in the fight for my life, even if I did have the sudden urge to spill my guts to someone and share my angst. There was no reason to start some drama when everything was going to work out.
Carmen was perfect. Vinnie and his mother would love her. She would love him (hopefully). Perfect.
She arched an eyebrow. “Since when do you hook up anybody for free?”
“I gave you a free profile,” I pointed out.
“Because we only had one other person in our database at the time—you—and you needed every entry you could get.” She eyeballed me. “What’s really going on?”
“Nothing.” I was not going to cave. No matter how much she stared at me. “He’s a friend of a friend of a friend and he’s lonely. You know I’m a sucker for lonely.”
“You’re also a sucker for cold, hard cash.”
“Maybe he doesn’t have any. Maybe he works at a low-paying job helping poor people at a shelter or something and he can’t afford our services. Maybe I’m being benevolent, despite my affection for cash.”
“Does he?”
“Does he what?”
“Work at a low-paying job? Because last time I looked, wiseguys raked in a pretty hefty amount of money.”
“He’s fallen on hard times—wait a second. Did you just say wiseguy?”
She nodded. “Wiseguy, as in a mafia-loving, spaghetti-eating bulldog who pops people for a living.” It was my turn to arch an eyebrow, and she shrugged. “My dad used to have a couple of them who worked special assignments for him. Daddy would get pissed if someone fudged on an investment, and Guido and Lou would pay the fudger a little visit. They either came back with the money, or a few bloody fingers. So why is this guy after you? What did you do?”
“Nothing. He saw me on Manhattan’s Most Wanted, he needs a date for his mother’s birthday party, and so I’m stuck with the job.” Which was, for the most part, the truth. Minus a few details—such as Vinnie being the biggest SOB in Jersey who liked to play dentist to the rich and fanged.
“You could call the police and tell them you’re being threatened. They’ll keep an eye on you.”
“They’re busy. They can’t watch me 24/7.” I shook my head. “It would piss Vinnie off and I’ve gotten attached to all of my fingers.” I stiffened and summoned my courage. “Besides, there’s no reason to bring the cops in at this point because I’ve already found him someone.”
“Carmen?”
“Bingo.” I took the stack of messages and mail that she handed me and shifted my attention to the closed door of room A. “Tell me about the last fifteen minutes.”
She took a long gulp of her latte as if drawing strength. “You know me. I firmly believe there’s someone for everyone—except my bastard of an ex who deserves to rot in hell all by his lonesome. But otherwise, we all have that perfect someone out there somewhere.”
Have I mentioned that Evie and I were identical twins in a past life?
“Except in this case,” she went on. She took another sip and then wrinkled her nose. “This guy is something else.”
“Unattractive?”
“Obnoxious.” She handed over his profile. “Do you know what he listed under ‘Special Talents’? Farting the national anthem. Not only did he write it down, but he actually demonstrated. I don’t think we’ll ever get the smell out.”
“At least he’s not shy.”
“Duh. He propositioned me eight times already. Very graphically. Complete with hand gestures. I swear, if I have to go in there one more time, I’m going to give him a few gestures of my own.”
“Never fear, Lil is here.” Armed and ready to save the singles of the world from the cold, dark, bottomless pit of loneliness. (Did I mention I gulped down a Rockstar while waiting in line at the Starbucks?) “I’m sure DED’s latest and greatest has some redeeming quality that can make him attractive to the opposite sex.” I scanned the first page.
Favorite movie? Saw I-IV.
Favorite music? Anything by Marilyn Manson.
Favorite actor? Howard Stern.
Favorite pastime? Jacking off.
Okay, maybe not.
I shook my head. “So he’s got a few hang-ups? If he were perfect, he wouldn’t need us.” Atta girl. It was all about being optimistic and confident. At least that’s what I’d been telling myself since I’d crawled out of bed that evening, after a sleepless night worrying about Vinnie and my possible death and dismemberment.
“I’m sure we can find something,” I went on. “Maybe he likes to cook. Or maybe he’s an animal lover.”
“Funny you should mention that. Page three details a very interesting threesome with a duck and a pig. Exactly,” Evie added when I made a face. “I’m telling you—lost cause.”
“There has to be at least one appealing trait.”
“I’d settle for a trait that doesn’t make him a prime candidate for Riker’s Island.”
Me, too.
I was just about to flip to the second page to see what I could come up with when my attention snagged on the name scribbled at the top.
Earl Hubert Stanley.
Recognition struck and my already frantic brain cells started to buzz. My mind raced back to the previous night and the church.
“The janitor?”
“He’s a janitor?” Evie grabbed the profile and flipped to the personal info section. “Great. Now we’re really screwed. Nobody in Manhattan wants to date a vulgar, socially deranged, serial-killer obsessed, sexually deviant janitor.” She shrugged. “Then again, I just described my last four boyfriends, so what do I know?”
I scanned the profile for any mention of a dear departed Emmaline or Dolly Parton or even a measly Hungry-Man. Nothing.
Because it’s not him.
This was New York City. Out of several million people, there had to be more than just one Earl Hubert Stanley. Unfortunately, the slimiest of them all had waltzed into my matchmaking service.
I knew it.
At the same time, my vamp senses had kicked into overdrive and I had this strange tickling in the pit of my stomach. A reaction that told me something was off.
Handing the profile back to Evie, I turned and was about to step toward room A—to have a little look-see myself—when the door behind me swished open. A blast of hot summer air rushed at me as Carmen Gianno walked in.
I forgot all about my gut feeling in favor of saving my ass. “Carmen!” I reached her in a nanosecond, my hand extended, my smile firmly in place. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’ve already got the most perfect dating prospects lined up.”
“But I haven’t even filled out a profile.”
“A mere formality. It’s obvious you’re a smart, sophisticated, attractive woman—the ideal of any and every man in the Dead End Dating database. I’ve already got several choice picks just for you.”
“You do?” she asked.
“We do?” Evie joined in.
“You bet.” I flashed Evie a please-play-along-and-beef-up-the-DED-reputation-if-you-value-your-life glance. “We have the biggest selection of prime bachelors in the city.”
“We do?” Evie repeated herself. Another glare and she stiffened. “I mean, of course we do.” She nodded profusely. “Biggest selection of Grade-A beefcake in the Big Apple. In the state, too, for that matter. Maybe even the country.”
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say the entire country.” Okay, so maybe I would. “More like the entire continent. We have a vast database of men from all over the world.” All’s fair in love and the fight for one’s afterlife.
“That’s great, but if I do this, I would really like someone local. I had a long-distance relationship with a guy I met on MySpace once. It didn’t last. He was from California.”
“Too far away?”
“That, and too many lies. His profile said he was six foot three with black hair and green eyes and an engineering degree. He was really four foot eleven, bald, with glasses.”
“What about the engineering degree?”
“He still had that, which was why I kept up the e-mail relationship. But a job loses its importance when you can’t see eye to eye on anything. Especially when you see eye to chest.”
“I met this guy on-line once,” Evie chimed in, “who said he was a professional wrestler. He was, only it turned out he wasn’t a member of the WWF. Instead he did transvestite pool wrestling at county fairs. He was actually a pretty decent catch—good-looking, nice, funny—but I just couldn’t see myself spending my free time watching my boyfriend roll around in a bustier with another guy in a bustier.”
“I hear ya.” I nodded. “The good ones are always transvestite pool wrestlers. Except here at Dead End Dating,” I rushed on.
Carmen didn’t look convinced. “I’m actually feeling a little nervous about this. I don’t know if it’s such a good idea. I wouldn’t want to get stuck with another weirdo.”
“You won’t find any weirdos here, that’s for sure.”
At that moment, I heard a frantic pop, pop, pop that bore an odd resemblance to the opening beats of “America the Beautiful.” My attention shifted to interview room A.
“What was that?” Carmen’s gaze followed mine.
“Hot water heater,” I blurted. “It’s been acting up lately. Isn’t that right, Evie?” I motioned with my eyes. “Why don’t you go see if you can do something to take care of the noise? Bop it with a wrench or something.”
“Why don’t you bop it while I get Miss Gianno, here, started on her profile.” Evie smiled innocently and reached for the paperwork.
“Actually”—I snatched the sheets from her hand—“I’ve already made some notes online. All I need is to ask her a few questions and we’ll be all set.” I smiled at Carmen. “I know you’re busy and I didn’t want to waste any time on the preliminaries.” I winked. “It’s all about getting to the good stuff.” I shifted the sweet smile to Evie. “There’s no need to make her go back over the same old information when I already know most of what I need to.” My fingers need you, I mouthed when Evie didn’t look any more willing.
“Fine.” She finally shrugged. “I’ll bop the stupid hot water heater.” She retrieved a bottle of Lysol from under her desk and pushed to her feet.
“Let’s go into my office.” I motioned Carmen forward.
“Oops.” Evie’s voice drew me back around in time to see her, hand paused on the doorknob of room A. “I forgot to tell you. Your mom’s holding on line one.”
I watched Carmen disappear into my office and threw a frantic “Tell her I’ll call her back” over my shoulder.
“Sorry.” She smiled and held up the can. “Busy.”
“Please—” I started, but she hauled open the door and was quickly swallowed up by a cloud of thick, smelly air.
My stomach dropped to my ankles.
I know, I know.
I’m a denizen of the darkness. A ruthless, bloodthirsty creature of the night. I could so do my own dirty work, including telling my mother I would call her back at my convenience.
But Jacqueline Marchette hadn’t worked her way up the corporate ladder at Guilt, Inc. by being the most understanding woman.
“I don’t mind waiting if you need to get that.” Carmen indicated the phone and the frantically blinking red light.
I gathered my courage, snatched up the phone, and blurted in the most Evie-like voice, “Lil Marchette is indisposed at the moment. You’ll have to call back.” Plunk. “Now.” I opened up a new file on my computer, keyed in Carmen’s name, and shifted my attention back to her. “Let’s talk about what you’re looking for in a man.” I sent up a silent prayer for ruthless and mother-whipped.
“Well”—she seemed to think—“I’d really like someone I can connect with on all levels.”
I smiled and typed Vinnie under the must-have section. “When you say all levels, what exactly are you referring to? Do you want someone you can relate to physically? Emotionally? Morally?”
“Yes, yes and yes. I want an attractive man who’s nice and sweet.”
“And Italian?”
“Italian would be good.”
My smile widened as my fingers flew across the keyboard. Balducci.
“I want someone who’s compassionate, too.”
“When you say compassionate, you’re referring to a man who’s considerate, yes? A man who, say, cares about other people? Like, for instance, his mother?”
“Of course.”
I keyed in mother-loving Italian.
“But he shouldn’t care about her more than me. I don’t want a mama’s boy.”
I keyed in you are so screwed.
I abandoned the computer screen and reached for a blank profile. “I think I get what you’re looking for. Why don’t you just fill out the personal info on this first page—address, date of birth, that sort of thing—and I’ll play around with what I’ve already got and see what I can come up with.”
Carmen turned her attention to the profile and I turned my attention to the computer screen. I did a quick check on compassionate men in my database. Twenty-three came up as listing that quality as one of their biggest attributes.
Vinnie, obviously, wasn’t one of them.
I ignored the professional inside of me that whispered I was going against all tried-and-true methods (and the big-mouthed romantic that screamed what a selfish bitch I was), pasted on my biggest smile, and declared, “Here we go. The perfect man.”
“Really?” Hope blossomed in her eyes and I squelched a niggle of guilt.
I mean, really, who was I to say at this point that Vinnie wasn’t the perfect man? Sure, all evidence pointed to the contrary. But love was blind. And maybe, if I was extremely lucky, deaf and dumb as well.
Vinnie might very well turn out to be the star of Carmen’s hottest fantasy. Her soul mate. Her be-all and end-all when it came to the opposite sex. He would be eternally grateful to me and I would never have to worry about being an SOB target ever again.
I held tight to the slim possibility and smiled. “How would you like to meet him later tonight?”
Nine
I spent the next half hour giving Carmen a few dating dos and don’ts and battling my own conscience.
I know, right?
Super vamps didn’t usually get caught in the sticky details of right versus wrong. We’re creatures of greed and lust and instant gratification. What can I say? I was cursed at birth. I kept picturing Little Red Riding Hood (or in Carmen’s case, Little Blond Riding Hood with natural boobs and a wholesome spirit) getting dismembered by the Big Bad SOB.
All thanks to moi.
At the same time, there was always a chance (however teeny tiny) that they could fall madly, passionately in love. And who was I to stand in the way of true love? As a matchmaker, I’d pledged my afterlife to helping lost lonely souls find their One and Only (for a fee, of course, but that’s beside the point). I would never be able to sleep during the day if I deprived even one individual—vamp, human or Other—at a chance at happily-ever-after.
Besides, Vinnie was a Sniper of Otherworldly Beings, meaning his handiwork was limited to Others, and so I felt certain that Carmen wasn’t in any physical danger.
I made a mental note to look up the SOB handbook online—dontcha just love the Internet?—just to make sure there was a little rule in there about the non-dismemberment of humans. In the meantime, I fished a can of Mace from my bottom drawer (Evie had bought us both cans of the stuff after watching an America’s Most Wanted episode that featured a serial rapist from Manhattan) and handed it to Carmen.
“What’s this for?”
“Some businesses give out matchbooks, we give out Mace. Just in case someone grabs you in an alley, or a cab driver turns out to be a crazed kidnapper, or Mr. Right morphs into Mr. Slice-and-Dice. Not that any of that is going to happen,” I rushed on. “It’s strictly a promo item.”
She eyed the silver can. “But there’s no DED written anywhere on here.”
“True, but it’s the thought that counts. When you whip that baby out, you’ll think about how much DED cares about you.”
That, or what a lunatic I was.
While Carmen gave me an odd look and pocketed the Mace, I made a reservation at Pollo Loco, the hottest, trendiest, busiest restaurant in SoHo. The plan? For Carmen to meet Vinnie in an hour for drinks and appetizers and, hopefully, some major fireworks when she looked at him and he looked at her and…well, you know.
I crossed my fingers, gave Carmen cab fare and a reassuring smile, and watched her leave. After sending up a silent prayer to the BVU (Big Vamp Upstairs), I walked into the outer office to beg Evie’s forgiveness for sticking her with Earl.
Just One Bite Page 6