by Terry Segan
Knowing he and Carney had been friends complicated things for me.
As much as I wanted to push my sweet man for more information, I knew by the tired creases around his eyes he was spent for the evening. His story had us sitting on the porch well past dinner time. Telling me the truth about the Frenchman took its toll. The rest would have to hold off until this evening when he came back here for dinner. I asked him to come earlier, but he said he needed to investigate a few things. Again, I didn’t push. I knew he would tell me when he was ready.
My mind refused to shut down as I skated through the mundane chores of laundry and cleaning the house. Taking a teacup from the cupboard, I dropped a bag into it, leaving the string hanging over the side. As I sat it on the kitchen table, the gears in my head kept spinning. I knew we needed to stop. I also knew we hadn’t completed our quota of thirty couples. Three more to go. What if we don’t finish? Had Carney quit before fulfilling his quota? Was that why he’d turned against us?
The ringing of the doorbell dragged me out of the turmoil in my mind. It suddenly hit me Dede was coming for a photo session. Time had escaped me. Despite offering to confirm, she didn’t leave a return number. I would have called and canceled the session or at least postponed it. After hearing both messages yesterday, I had hit delete without thinking and erased her number from the memory.
Opening the door, I was glad I hadn’t canceled. Dede stood on the porch with a huge smile on her face. “Hi, Sami! I hope this is a good time?”
Doing my best to shake off the current worries, I replied, “Of course, it is! I’m so glad you decided to come over.”
I stood back while opening the door wider for her to come in. She had the same reaction most people did walking into my house for the first time—wide-eyed, trying to take in everything at once. I lived in a large, Victorian-style home and did my best to furnish it that way to a point. A mix of both modern and old-style furnishings blended well together.
“Did you have any trouble finding me?” I asked.
“Not at all. I checked out your website like you suggested, and the directions were easy as pie. This place is amazing! Did you furnish it yourself or hire a decorator?” I could see the awe in her eyes.
“Actually, it’s always a work in progress. I’ve been decorating it for the last 35 years,” I laughed. “Never seems to be finished.” I viewed my place with new eyes, trying to see it as this young woman might. Sometimes it took someone else to wake you up and put a different angle on things.
Dede wore blue jeans and a pink t-shirt. Her long black hair, which had been flowing wildly when I last saw her, was tamed into a long braid resting down her back. While not a heavy woman, she was a little plump, yet carried it with ease. What really struck me was the absolute glow in her gray eyes. She had a thirst for life.
The whistle of the kettle let me know it had reached boiling. “I was about to have a cup of tea. Would you like one before we get started?”
“That sounds delightful. My mom and I used to enjoy a cup of Earl Grey together.”
“What a coincidence. That’s my favorite.”
Dede smiled and followed me to the kitchen. I grabbed another cup and dropped a bag of Earl Grey into it. While I poured the hot water, she said, “I already feel at home here.”
“Then my work is more than half done. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”
“Very much so, thank you!” She cast her eyes downward, “Honestly, I don’t have many friends.”
“A beautiful and outgoing woman like yourself? I find that hard to believe.”
Raising her chin back up, she said, “Thank you. It’s just that I prefer the solitude of my studio to company most times. Don’t get me wrong; I love spending time with friends. Most women have so much drama or babble incessantly, that I get bored. That’s kinda snobbish, isn’t it?”
“Not at all. I prefer well-grounded people to flighty ones myself.”
Dede smiled appreciatively. I guessed she didn’t come across many people that embraced her candor. In a comfortable silence we dunked our tea bags up and down to extract the flavor.
With my hands wrapped around my cup, I asked, “So what do you like to do with your free time? I know you said you worked as a manager in a florist shop. Is that your passion?”
“Flowers? No, but I do like creating artistic bouquets. It’s the closest I come to my real passion—sculpting and pottery. I love working with clay. Actually, I’m quite good at it! Just not in a position to open my own shop and haven’t found a job even close to using my skills.”
“That truly is a talent. What’s holding you back from opening your own place?”
“Well, Sami, I’m not independently wealthy.”
We both laughed.
“It does take a bit of saving. I had to do that with this place.”
“Then you understand what I mean,” she said.
“Absolutely. Starting your own business is quite risky, but it can also be very rewarding when you’re able to make a living of it. You’ll get there.”
“I believe I will,” Dede replied.
After a few moments, I ventured into the line of questioning to evaluate her as a Betrothed. “So, tell me, Dede, what is it you want out of your life? It’s obvious your artwork is important to you. What else?”
She stared into her teacup, as if for guidance. Slowly she looked up at me, with her eyes almost watering. “Family,” she said. “I want to start a family if ever I could find the right man—one that understands my passion for creating as well as being a mother. I’ve always thought I would be a great mom.”
There it was. The reason why I’d been drawn to Dede down on the beach. She craved a way to continue with her craft while living life as a wife and mother. It was within my power to help her with that. Would I be able to do that successfully without hindrance?
“Dede,” I proceeded cautiously. This was always the critical moment I dreaded—running the risk of having a potential Betrothed bolt away screaming. “What would you say if I could give you what you wanted?”
She hesitated a moment, then responded, “I would say I’m confused—but intrigued. What are you talking about? Do you have a nephew you want to set me up with?”
I loved her candor. “Something like that. Want to know more?” I left that thought dangling.
Dede raised her teacup to her lips and took a long sip. Holding the cup, she looked at me then set it back down on the table. “Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me more.”
That simple statement conveyed skepticism and hope. I pressed, like usual, when trying to persuade a potential Betrothed to have an open mind. It didn't seem I would have too far to push with this one.
When the tea was done and the dirty cups put in the sink, I said, “Let’s take a stroll through my studio. There are a couple of things I’d like to show you.”
Chapter 6
Dede followed me down the hall to my studio. Once inside, she stopped to examine the portraits of couples lining the walls. “These people look very happy. Are they customers of yours?”
“Yes, in a way.”
She glanced at me with her brows arched in an inquisitive look.
“Actually, the women were.”
“It’s usually the women that like this sort of stuff. The men just go along with it.”
“Well,” I hesitated, “not always. I’d say the women were customers because I knew them better than the men. Most times I didn't really meet the men, but they were part of this.”
“Okay, is it me, or have you started talking in riddles? You’re beginning to sound like a fortune cookie with vague suggestions. Give it to me straight, Sami.”
I decided she would either take what I said at face value or leave. Either way, the opportunity was hers to embrace or walk away. “I appreciate your directness. So, I’ll treat you with the same respect. I’m a Photographer.” Dede opened her mouth to reply, but I put up my hand. “Yes, you already know that. But you don’t. I have a
special job. Not just to take pictures, but to help match women with men who are looking for the same thing. I guess you could say I’m a match-maker.”
“You mean like a Yenta?” she laughed.
“In a way. But I’m not Jewish.” Now we both giggled. “I do help couples to meet, and there is a man I think would be a good match for you, if you’re interested. His portrait is over here.”
She followed me across the room to a line-up of three portraits. I pointed to one of a man with long blond hair pulled back in a pony-tail and dressed in a light blue denim shirt and jeans. The top three buttons were undone revealing a silver necklace in the shape of a blazing sun with a turquoise stone set in the center. He looked to be about forty years old.
Pointing at his open shirt, Dede said, “That’s a beautiful necklace he’s wearing. Turquoise is my favorite. And his eyes. They have a very caring look to them. What’s his name?”
I was sure she hadn’t missed his good looks. One of the first comments she made were about his eyes. I’ve always believed you could tell a lot about a person by that one facial feature. It made me more confident in this match.
“His name is Milton Freeman.”
“Milton.” She mulled the name over. “He strikes me as someone who would never shorten it to Milty or Milt.”
Once more she jibed with him perfectly. When Jimmy interviewed the man, one of the questions he asked Milton was if he went by a nick name. His response had been “never.”
“No,” I responded. “Like you, he’s an artist—a painter. He recreates extraordinary desert landscapes.”
“Does he live in Southern California?”
“No, he’s close to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Milton has a large plot of land in the desert. I guess you could say he lives on a homestead. His studio is a huge barn-type structure. He takes inspiration from the land around him, capturing numerous slopes and buttes on canvas.”
Dede inhaled deeply, focused on the image. “I can easily picture a paint brush in his hand. The deep tan on his face tells me he’s spent quite a bit of time outside.” She stepped closer to the frame and put her hand up to the portrait. Stopping just short of touching it, she turned to me, “May I?”
“Of course, dear. It’s a picture. It’s not fragile.”
Turning back to the portrait, she touched Milton’s arm then traced down it. With her fingertips poised against his knuckle, she closed her eyes, as if willing his hand to come to life.
Opening her eyes and taking a step back Dede said, “Sorry. I was just…” Her face flushed lightly as if embarrassed.
“Never be afraid to follow your instincts. You were imagining the possibilities. I do that quite often myself.”
I had to help this woman realize her dreams. It was worth the risk. This match, without a doubt, had to happen.
“Would you like to meet him?”
“Yes, I believe I would,” she said, never taking her eyes off the portrait. “Is he in town?”
“Tell you what. Come back here tomorrow, say about 10:00, and we’ll go from there.”
Giving me a sideways look, she said, “You didn’t really answer my question.”
“Oh, but I did. Now don’t get all fancied up or anything. Come just as you are, and I believe you will be quite pleased.”
“If I’m going to meet Milton, I wouldn’t dream of dressing any other way. I believe we accomplished the goal of this meeting, didn’t we?”
I nodded.
“Thank you, Sami.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll walk you out.”
Down the hall and out the door, the smile never left Dede’s face. Even though I didn’t explain much of the meeting process, I knew we’d covered enough.
As I retraced my steps down the hallway, I glanced into my office. The answering machine sat innocently on the desk. While no blinking light indicated a message, the one from last night replayed in my mind. Carney’s words haunted me. It wasn’t only what he said but the menacing tone in his voice, the way he spoke my name and Jimmy’s.
Several hours remained before Jimmy returned. With so much to talk about, I knew it would be an emotional evening. My stomach churned as I braced for the night’s conversation.
For right now I forced myself to dwell on happy thoughts of Dede and Milton. Their potential meeting felt right, and I knew it would be a success. At least I hoped it would be.
Chapter 7
“Mmmmm, that smells delicious!” Jimmy said as he came into the kitchen. “One of my favorites and a bottle of Zin. Thank you, sweetie.”
As I put the finishing touches on a pot of jambalaya, he rewarded me with a kiss on the cheek.
“I thought we could use a break. Open the wine; dinner is almost done.”
Throughout the meal, we avoided talking about the problems. We didn't talk much at all, just enjoyed each other’s company. Jimmy suggested a walk after savoring his last sip of wine.
Hand in hand we sauntered down the hill to the strand that ran along the beach. I braced myself to bring up the subject. Anxiety pulsed through me.
I squeezed his hand. “What do you think happened to turn Carney against you? Or into what he is now?”
A few moments elapsed before Jimmy answered. “He broke the rules. He used the slides for personal gain.”
“How?” I asked, stopping to turn towards him.
With the slightest of tugs on Jimmy’s part, we began walking again. “He used it to secure his Photographer.”
That seemed odd. The way he phrased it. “What do you mean by secure? Did he send her back in time, so they would meet in an earlier year? That doesn’t seem like a misuse of the slides. How is it any different than us sending Betrotheds back in time to meet their mates?”
“It’s the way he went about it.”
“What do you mean?”
“He traveled back. Carney went through time for April. That was her name.”
“So, you’ve met her?”
“Yes. Carney and I were still friends. Actually, the three of us became quite close.” As we strolled, the waves lapping against the sand echoed softly in the background. I noticed a soft smile on Jimmy’s face. “I have many happy memories of that time.”
“Tell me about her.”
“There’s so much to tell. April was an amazing woman. Such a beautiful soul. You rarely find that in people.” Stopping and facing me, he leaned down and placed a tender kiss on my lips. “A soul as beautiful as yours.”
Despite our years together, he could still take my breath away. I felt a blush rise on my cheeks. “Are they still together?”
His smile slipped away. In a flat voice, he said, “No. She’s dead.” Still holding my hand, Jimmy turned back to the path to continue our walk.
Such a powerful memory had to be the key to everything. Maybe Jimmy tried to make things right, yet it remained beyond his reach.
“What does all this have to do with Carney’s misusing the slides? Was April supposed to be a Betrothed?”
“No. For all I know, she should never have been part of the process. It happened about a year after we each secured our box of slides in New York City. Carney went to the Golden Dragon, while I retrieved mine from the Purple Lotus. Our respective shop owners explained how to go back in time and interview the pre-chosen Suitors. We were told there was no rush to find a Photographer until we got to know all thirty. Without getting a sense of each man first, we were advised that we should hold off on making matches.”
“You didn’t meet me until four years later,” I interjected. “By then your interviews had been finished for over a year.”
He spoke as if in a fog—his thoughts far away. “I know.”
“So, Carney met April a year after the two of you began? He didn’t waste much time. Were his interviews complete?”
“No. He wasn’t even a third of the way through them. Carney and I shared an apartment in San Francisco. I was going to law school and working as a waiter. Carney worked in a men’s clo
thing store while studying for a psychology degree.”
Their sharing an apartment hit me hard. I should be over his hiding the great friendship between the two men. Still, every time I learned a new nugget of information, it felt like a punch to the stomach.
Jimmy sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry—more secrets. I’m asking for your patience.”
“I know. I’m trying,” I said, looking out at the ocean.
“The memory of their meeting is so clear in my mind. Carney and I were out at one of those trendy bars in downtown San Francisco called Liquid Stylings. April came in alone and sat down at the bar. With a smile and a nod, the bartender placed a glass of red wine in front of her. April looked to be about twenty-five, with blond hair and pale skin. We moved right in and began talking to her. Both of us found the young lady attractive, yet she acted like she didn’t notice or care.”
Jimmy’s lips curved up. I could see he had been quite smitten with April. It must have been a hard blow when she chose Carney over him.
“So, she chose Carney.”
Jimmy raked a free hand through his hair again. “Not exactly. You see, while we all hit it off, she and the bartender, Tony, were engaged. That’s why she sat alone at the bar.”
“She broke her engagement to be with Carney?” I continued to guess.
The smile flitted away again. “No. We sat at that bar talking with her. She was intriguing to listen to. She attended classes in archeology at the local college. Not to become an archeologist, but because it fascinated her. When Tony got off at midnight, he joined us for a round before the two of them left. They were very much in love.”
A smile came to my face as I knew that emotion quite well.
“On the nights he worked, she came to the bar after her shift ended at the cosmetics counter in Macy’s. Carney convinced them to tell us how they met. It seemed odd to me as he was never sentimental. I figured he wanted to prolong the evening and keep her talking. Turns out she had gone into the bar six months prior with a date. April and the man got into an argument because he accused her of flirting with other men. He didn’t understand her friendly, outgoing nature. When Tony suggested the man lighten up, he responded by telling Tony to mind his own business. April told her date not to talk to people that way. Her date raised his hand to smack her across the face. Tony dove across the bar and knocked him over. After a few blows were exchanged, the man stormed out and said Tony could keep the whore.”