Make Me a Match

by Diana Holquist

  She felt so empty, she was sure she’d float away.

  She turned and walked back down the street. She searched the signs: Live Girls, Girls, Girls XXX, Peep Shows 50 cents, Manny’s Adult Emporium.

  Then, there it was: a small sign with a red pulsing neon arrow pointing down a row of steep stairs—“Joe’s Pub.” Joe’s Pub and Boobarama, it should have read. Next to it was another sign, handscrawled in black marker: “Finn Concord Five, 11:00 P.M., five dollars.”

  Her stomach heaved. It was eleven-thirty.

  An obese man at the top of the staircase barked at her, “You gonna block my action, lady?”

  “Me? What? No. Sorry.” She hurried away. She couldn’t go down there alone, and Finn wouldn’t show up for at least twenty more minutes. What was she going to do? Every stinking bar, every sleazy guy, every booze-soaked mark from her past, came back to her in a rush. This was just the kind of place that she and Amy had ended up after they left Jane and their dad. Sure, they had never been strippers or dancers; Amy’s power protected them from that fate. But still, they had to seek out their desperate prey on streets like this.

  She felt a chill down her back. The ghosts of the past were swirling around her. She had to sit down.

  “Come, sit with me, dear,” a voice beckoned her.

  She spun around. An old woman dressed in gypsy’s rags looked at her. Rather, the woman turned her face to her, but her eyes were so clouded, they were almost entirely white. Each muted pupil roamed in a different direction. The woman stood in the doorway of a storefront that was decorated in red velvet and Christmas lights. “Fortunes Revealed,” a sign blinked in half burnt-out orange letters—Fortunes _eveal__.

  “Oh, no, I’m okay.” Cecelia backed away from the woman. She could just make out the faint shadow of a pupil under the woman’s cataracts.

  “Don’t worry, dear-y. I won’t take your money. Just sit down. I’ll get you a glass of water until you feel better.”

  The woman was lying. She’d do everything in her power to take Cecelia’s money. But a seat and a glass of water sounded good. She nodded and let the old woman lead her into the storefront parlor.

  The blind leading the blind.

  “There, there. You sit. I get you water.” The old woman felt for her chair behind her. She sat down heavily, then clapped her hands. A bored teenage girl appeared wearing headphones. The old woman said something in a language Cecelia didn’t recognize, and the teenager slumped away.

  The woman regarded Cecelia with first one eye, then with the other, moving her head to make them rotate. “You are making a big decision. Those are hard. It’s best to sit. Go about things slowly.”

  Something about this woman soothed her. “Are you blind?”

  “Only my eyes.”

  Cecelia laughed out loud. “I’m the opposite.” How had she misjudged Jack so badly? How had she let Amy crawl back into her life?

  “Oh, no. You are beginning to see. You have taken off your ring. You’ve given up a lot. That is good. Your journey has begun.”

  Cecelia looked down at her hand. The room was so dark, even she couldn’t see tan lines from the missing jewelry. She searched the woman for her trick. Was there a microphone in her ear? A spy feeding her information?

  The teenager reappeared with a glass of ice water in an enormous goblet. Cecelia gulped it down.

  “You’ve taken the biggest step already. You’ve let go of some of the things standing in the way.”

  “In the way of what?”

  “True Love, of course.”

  Cecelia fell back in her chair. “Oh, for God’s sake, there’s more to life than love,” she muttered.

  “He’s coming for you.”

  “Who?”

  “How odd—he’s to be underground. Is he dead?”

  “Finn put you up to this, didn’t he?”

  “Who is Finn?”

  “You tell me.”

  The woman laughed. “You have to follow your passion.”

  Cecelia pulled a twenty out of her wallet and put it on the table. The woman’s eyes rolled deliriously in opposite directions, but her hand darted out to grab the money, like a tiny animal (with excellent eyesight) snatching its dinner.

  “Is the new Finn I’m about to meet The One?” Cecelia felt her insides shift. It couldn’t be—and yet, there it was: the truth she had been avoiding ever since Jack had left her: she wasn’t here to be punished for her bad karma. I am here to get a piece of True Love too. Sure, she had promised herself to never care. Convinced herself that she didn’t deserve it. But now with Jack gone, she wanted it. Just for a while. If he could have it, so could she. One little nibble of love, and then she’d go back to her responsible life.

  That wasn’t so dangerous. Was it?

  That wasn’t so greedy. Right?

  After all, she wasn’t like her mom, or her dad, or any of the others who had let themselves become consumed by love. She could handle a little bit and not become a junkie. One taste of The One. She’d open herself to him for a moment, feel the rush, then get her life back on track.

  The fortune-teller’s eyes wandered.

  “Well?” Cecelia asked. “Is he The One?”

  Suddenly both of the woman’s eyes focused on Cecelia. “The One? My dear, don’t be ridiculous. Nothing is predetermined. The future is entirely up to you.”

  Finn stared at the cardboard sign in horror. He had asked Cecelia to come to the sleaziest street in Baltimore. Why hadn’t Trudy warned him?

  Right, she had warned him. Over and over. Don’t do it!

  A little more information would have helped, though.

  Joe’s Pub sounded okay. Like a place with a roaring fire and brats and kraut. Now he saw that naked lap dancers might be more like it. Why hadn’t the ad read “strip joint”? He looked up and down the street. Cecelia was nowhere in sight.

  Every sign on the street was neon, flashing, and insistent: “XXX, Bare Naked,” “Peep! Peep! Peep!” Every sign, of course, but one: “Finn Concord Five, 11:00 P.M., five dollars.”

  He studied the sign in a state of abject terror. The Finn Concord Five had to be a band, right? What else could they be? He looked up and down the revolting street. Hell, in a hole like this, they could be naked contortionist midgets for all he knew.

  He tried his cell phone. But Cecelia’s number rang and rang until her automated message service picked up. He clicked the phone shut. What could he say? Forget it? He knew she couldn’t forget a Finn Concord.

  Plus, he wanted to see her again.

  Okay. Calm down. Maybe this was okay. After all, she couldn’t believe that a midget contortionist was her One True Love. Another Finn Concord was about to be eliminated from the running.

  This new Finn, whoever he was, was going to make him look awfully good.

  But what if she believed that this Finn Concord was The One? That would mean Cecelia would leave that rat-bastard Jack. She’d never have to know the guy was cheating on her. She’d be the one doing the running off. Jack, she’d say, this is Finn. He’s short but he’s flexible . . .

  He could save her from so much hurt.

  And lose her at the same time.

  He watched a mob of drunken college students stumble by. He looked at his watch. It was almost three minutes past the time she should have shown up. Maybe she was inside already. Maybe she had come early and he missed her. He looked up and down the street. No Cecelia.

  Oh, hell. Was she sitting in this crap-hole alone?

  He hurried down the steps. He had to get her out of here.

  Chapter 23

  Could she possibly get any lower? Cecelia watched Finn Concord gyrate on the tiny, backroom stage for a rowdy crowd of drunk college students. He wailed something that sounded like “baby you my llama.” Cecelia tried not to listen too closely. Every so often, he’d grab an obliging fan’s beer and slosh it in its plastic cup all over himself and the stage. Then he’d chug what was left of it to the hoots and cheers of the
crowd.

  Suddenly he spit beer out all over the audience and yelled, “I only drink Bud, assholes!”

  Just weeks ago, I was sipping red wine at my engagement party.

  She needed a drink. She went to the bar and ordered a beer, trying not to meet anyone’s eye. It was almost midnight. Finn should be here any minute.

  She finished the beer.

  Maybe he was waiting outside. She had come in early. She turned back to her beer and the naked pole dancers.

  “What’s a nice girl like you doing in a joint like this?” Finn slid onto the empty stool next to hers.

  “I have no idea,” she said. Liquid relief spread through her veins at the sound of his voice.

  Finn watched the man on the stage. “Maybe this is just his stage persona,” Finn tried. He moved close to her, shielding her from the rowdy crowd. “He’s probably very nice in person.”

  The deafening music was popping the bubbles in her beer. They watched the Finn on stage gyrate.

  “Or not. Let’s get out of here. Big mistake,” Finn said. He took her arm.

  Cecelia shook her arm free. Was he kidding? She stared at him in disbelief. She wasn’t leaving. In fact, she had given the manager of the band—a lanky woman with blue hair—a note for Finn. It read, “I need to meet you. Please find the woman in the gray sweatshirt at the bar. It’s urgent.”

  “Cecelia. When I called you, I didn’t know this place was—” He nodded to the half-naked pole dancers.

  “Well, the musical entertainment more than makes up for it.” She winced at the chaotic music. The band reached a deafening crescendo, then fell silent. After a beat, the silence was filled with raucous applause.

  He shouldn’t have called Cecelia. Finn saw that now. She believed in the worst when it came to True Love, so of course she believed that the low-life jerk on the stage was her destiny. He should have known that she’d think that. Maybe he had only been thinking of himself when he called her. He’d wanted to see her so badly.

  No, he had decided that this was the right thing to do. Of course, that was before he had known he was inviting her to sleazeball alley. Nice second date, Finny. Anyway, it was too late. It was done.

  The applause died out and the audience rushed the bar.

  Cecelia’s eyes followed the sweaty lead singer as he greeted a bevy of rabid fans with elaborate hand slaps and head butts. “Finn Two,” Finn had taken to calling the straggly musician—if musician wasn’t too optimistic a word for the soaked, drunk man-child. Finn Two couldn’t have been a day over twenty-five. Finn wished the guy would pull a shirt over his spindly, protruding ribs.

  Finn Two began arguing with the bartender for free drinks. He gave the bartender the finger, turned, and checked out the scene.

  Finn watched in amazement as Cecelia signaled him over with a determined nod of her chin and wave of her graceful hand.

  To Finn’s astonishment, Finn Two sauntered toward them, looking for all the world like a child Mick Jagger. Finn felt the urge to throw himself between them. But what if the guy was her True Love? Who was he to stand in the way of fate?

  Oh, hell, he refused to believe in that nonsense.

  Finn Two licked his lips. “Hey,” he said to Cecelia. “Didja like the show?”

  He didn’t seem to notice Finn, which was remarkable, because Finn was sure he was foaming at the mouth, his teeth bared. What had made him think he could handle seeing Cecelia again? As if he were a selfless monk, calling her to introduce her to another Finn Concord.

  “Like it? Ah, right, sure. It was very—” Cecelia paused.

  “Entertaining,” Finn supplied, trying to ease her distress. He had to shake off the urge to gather her up in his arms, kiss her despondent lips back to life, then pull out a sword and slice this guy’s head off. Was that why he really called her? Because he knew deep down Cecelia’s True Love couldn’t be a guy in a band?

  Oh, hell, he had to get a hold of himself. Not only was she engaged, but he was leaving town just as soon as his construction gig with Max was done. His crazy thoughts of maybe staying around awhile longer—for Maya of course—had ended abruptly the day after the gala. Maya had suddenly turned moody and weepy, and wanted to leave on the first train. Trudy had tried everything to cheer her up, even took her to play duckpin bowling yesterday, some ridiculous game he didn’t understand that seemed to exist only in dark rooms in peculiar cities like Baltimore. But even that didn’t help. She was despondent and wouldn’t tell Finn why.

  “Come here often?” Finn Two asked Cecelia, ignoring Finn.

  Cecelia stared at the gyrating, bored dancers. “All the time.”

  “So that’s an interesting name for your band,” Finn said. He rolled up the sleeves on his shirt, baring his tanned muscles. He hit his fist into his palm. Just testing, buddy.

  Finn Two looked at him like he had a raging skin disease. “Why? There’s five of us. ‘Finn Concord Seven’ might have been interesting. Everyone wondering where the other two had gone.” He laughed a snickering, grunting, drunken laugh.

  “Probably passed out from a heroine overdose in the gutter,” Finn mumbled. He turned to Cecelia. There was something so desperate about her tonight, but Finn couldn’t put his finger on it.

  “So, are you two from a record label, or what?” Finn Two asked.

  Cecelia giggled nervously.

  Good God. Did she just giggle? Finn stared at her, amazed. Cecelia was actually considering this punk. She was flirting with him. What was wrong with her? Right, she believed her flaky sister. That was how this all came to be. “We’re not from a record label,” Finn said.

  Finn Two leaned in close to Cecelia. “Oh. Then you have something else in mind?” He regarded Finn suspiciously. “Threesies?”

  Finn and Cecelia were both so shocked, they couldn’t speak. Finn took a step forward, an animal rage rising in him. He wanted to skin the asshole alive. Wring his scrawny neck. He’d give them the Finn Concord Four and a half. Finn Two backed off, but Cecelia’s eyes were blank; her shoulders slumped.

  Then Finn looked down at her finger and saw that her ring was gone.

  What had she said when he met her in her office with his picnic basket? Left hand. Ring finger. Yep, it was gone. Had she left Jack? Had she found out about Camille? Is the engagement off?

  He positioned himself between Finn Two and Cecelia. He towered over them both. “Thanks for coming over, but I see now it won’t work out. So scram. She’s with me.”

  “I am?” Cecelia asked, surprised.

  “Yes.” He put his arm around her. “You are. And we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  Chapter 24

  Finn Two shrugged and wandered back to the stage.

  “C’mon,” said Finn.

  Cecelia blinked up at him.

  A rush of repressed feeling swamped Finn. “Where’s your ring?” he growled. Then he cleared his throat. He tried to look distracted, as if his every fiber didn’t hang on her answer.

  “Jack left.” Her voice was flat, as if she were telling a stranger the time.

  I’ll have to buy that putz a beer. Finn cleared his throat again. “You told him about Amy?” His body had gone haywire as every ounce of restraint flowed out of him like water, leaving him a dried husk, ready to ignite at the slightest spark.

  “Amy told him the name of his One True Love.” She threw her head back and downed what was left of her beer. She looked to the stage and sighed.

  The second set had started, but it sounded pretty much like the first. He had to get her out of this dive. But first, he had to make her realize that she deserved better. “Jack is not your True Love and that man,” he said, glancing over his shoulder with distaste, “is not fit to be the True Love of an ape.” Finn grabbed her arms and gave her a gentle shake.

  She straightened and moved away. He had to get a hold of himself.

  “How do I know that? He might be,” she said slowly. “That’s what scares me.”

  Finn s
ucked in his cheeks, resisting the urge to scoop her up and carry her off. He couldn’t be expected to restrain himself when she was being such an idiot. “That Name bull—” He stopped at the alarmed look on her face. He took a deep breath and tried slowly. “How could you believe Amy over the reality of how you feel about me? I mean, how you feel about that guy? Tell the truth—he makes you want to puke.”

  “True Love doesn’t always give you what you expect.”

  “Expect!” He was furious with her. How could she be such an idiot? Didn’t she see that there was something between them? Didn’t she see that guy was a moron who didn’t deserve to touch her shoe? She wanted what she didn’t expect? Well, he could give her that. Without warning, he took her arm. He turned her to him and kissed her. Soundly. Roundly. Warmly.

  She tensed and pushed away. Then, slowly, relaxed. She melted under his pressure. Softened. Her lips parted, and he tasted her deeply, drawing her in.

  He cupped his hand under her head, deepening his hold on her. Her hair was silk under his rough fingertips. She was moving toward him, through him. He held her, just held her, his lips pressed to hers while the incredible rightness of her poured through him. To move was too much. To kiss was too much.

  Then, all at once, it wasn’t nearly enough. He ran his hand down her back and she shuddered under his touch. He pulled her to him by the small of her back and she came willingly. He bit at her ear, her neck. My God, this woman. He had been a fool. He was never going to let her go again.

  She responded to his touch, his kiss, with her entire body. Her mouth opened to his, her hands ran through his hair, the length of her pushed against him, urgent and demanding.

  “Cecelia.” He moaned her name.

  She pulled back and they looked at each other, Finn struggling to overcome his shock at the power of what had just occurred. Amazingly, life still went on around them, continued outside of her lips, her hand.

  Well, most of it did.

  They heard a thud, then a groan. Finn Two had passed out facedown on the stage. His band, now the Finn Concord Four, played on without him.

  “Well.”