I looked around at her cozy house. Three aprons—one big and two miniature—were hanging in the kitchen, next to a tray of what looked like homemade muffins. A giant stuffed giraffe with chewed-on ears and a plastic doll were sitting at the dining room table, the remnants of a happy little tea party on the table before them.
“I’m sure May told you about our sliding scale,” I said briskly, holding up my notebook so she couldn’t see the page I was staring at was blank. “I see here we can offer you a rate of twelve hundred dollars instead of our usual fifteen hundred.”
“Really?” Jane said, her eyes widening. “But that’s wonderful!”
So I’d have to give up my commission to help Jane. If a single-mom schoolteacher with a cheating ex didn’t deserve happiness, who did?
“Tell me about your ex-husband,” I said. “Then I’ll know what kind of guy not to set you up with.”
Jane wrinkled her adorable little nose. “How can I sum up Kyle? Let me put it this way. I spent a semester in college abroad, and I remember the French had a saying that went something like this: There’s always one who kisses the cheek, and one who lifts their cheek to be kissed.”
She grinned wryly. “My husband was the cheek lifter.”
“Got it,” I said. “So we need to find someone to kiss your cheek.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said. “And he has to love kids. They come first.”
She looked down at herself. “There’s peanut butter on my knee. I drive an old minivan. And my dress-up clothes are overalls. Do you seriously think you’re going to find a guy who wants a schoolteacher with lunch smeared across her leg?”
I looked at Jane sitting there with worry in her eyes, and a wave of protectiveness washed over me. How dare her ex-husband make her feel undeserving? How dare he take away the hope in her eyes? What a jerk he must have been.
“Hey, Jane?” I said.
She looked up from trying to scrape the dried peanut butter off her overalls.
“Who said anything about just one guy?” I asked.
Jane stared at me for a moment, then broke into a grin so huge that her eyes nearly disappeared.
“You’re a matchmaker?” Matt asked. “Seriously?”
“Sort of,” I mumbled, cradling the phone against my shoulder and pouring myself some Red Zinger. The stuff was addictive.
“You went to this woman’s house, signed her up for a dating service, and then you picked a guy to go out with her?” Matt said. “When do we get to the ‘sort of’ part?”
“Well, when you put it that way,” I said, carrying the tea to my room.
“I’ve always been a stickler for logic,” Matt said. “Oh, wait, no—that’s you.”
“Stop picking on me,” I said. “I’m going through a midlife crisis.”
“What about the ad agency?” Matt asked. “Are you still going back for the interview?”
“Of course,” I said.
“Then you’re not having a midlife crisis,” Matt said. “If you were having a midlife crisis, you’d chuck it all and become a matchmaker and take up bungee jumping.”
“You know I hate heights,” I said.
“That’s the point of a midlife crisis,” Matt said. “You do stuff that’s completely out of character. If a midlife crisis just made you eat more fiber and read Tolstoy, who would bother having one?”
“Did I tell you I’m babysitting for the woman I set up?” I said. “She never goes out, so she doesn’t have anyone to leave the kids with. I think I’m more nervous than she is about her date.”
“Who’d you set her up with?” he asked.
“At first I was thinking another teacher—you know, someone who loves kids and shares the same interests. But then I found a file for this guy named Toby. He’d filled out a questionnaire, and it was kind of dry. He’s a doctor. Podiatrist, actually,” I said, curling my legs up under me on the bed and taking a sip of tea. “I know, I know, fallen arches aren’t sexy, and Jane’s so energetic that I wasn’t sure about him at first. I was going to put his questionnaire back in the pile, but then I turned the page. And I saw that he’d doodled these little intertwined hearts all along the margin of the second page. It was so sweet.”
“Interesting,” Matt said.
“It’s a gamble, but I just have this sense about him,” I said. “He seems really kind. Jane needs kindness. So I called him, and we talked for an hour. He’s a great guy. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll find someone else for her. And him, too.”
“What’s May like?” Matt asked.
“She’s wonderful,” I said. “The stuff she’s been through with her ex-husband—I mean, what a jerk. But she’s so positive. She makes you feel good just by being around her.”
“Um-hmn,” Matt said.
“I mean, can you imagine me working with her? She sets her own hours and she interviews clients with a dog on her lap and when I went by to tell her about my meeting with Jane, she was just waking up from a nap,” I said. “Ridiculous. It’s a completely insane way to run a company.”
“Um-hmn,” Matt said.
“We’d drive each other crazy,” I said. “Who doesn’t use computers? She actually has her clients fill out forms by hand. They’ve all got ring marks from her teacups. Oh, and sometimes when she laughs really hard, she snorts.”
“Um-hmn,” Matt said.
“Don’t make your shrink noises at me,” I said.
“Mnmh,” he said, then swallowed. “I’m eating.”
“Anything good?” I asked.
“Butterball turkey,” he said. “The client sent us a freezer full. First I had to look at turkeys for a month, now I’m eating them. I’m going to boycott Thanksgiving.”
“Matt?” I said. “I don’t think I’m going back to Givens for my second interview.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I thought so.”
“What do you mean?” I shouted. “I just said that. I didn’t really mean it!”
“Lindsey,” he said gently but urgently. “Jump.”
“I don’t want to,” I said, squeezing my eyes shut.
“You can do it,” he said. “You just spent zero seconds talking about the ad agency and an hour telling me about May.”
“You’re wildly exaggerating,” I said. “Bordering on pathological lying. You should really see someone about that.”
“Stop changing the subject,” he said. “You can always go back to an agency later. Consider this a sabbatical.”
“When am I going to get another opportunity like this?” I wailed. “Givens will never want to see me again if I blow her off. And if I keep flaking out like this, I’ll have to move every three weeks. I’ll run out of cities and have to start applying for jobs in Europe. And I hate kippers.”
“Don’t forget escargot,” Matt said. “They’re nasty, too.”
“What am I doing?” I asked. I fell back onto my bed and put my hand over my forehead. “I’m not sure how, but I know this is all your fault.”
“You’re scared. But it’s going to be okay,” he said. “Lindsey? I don’t mean this to come across wrong, but I’m proud of you.”
Then me—me, who never, ever used to cry—lay there with tears streaming down my cheeks, feeling like something inside of me that had hardened into rock long ago was breaking up into little pieces and being washed away.
“It’s going to be okay,” Matt soothed me as I clung to the phone like it was a lifeline. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Seventeen
WHEN A CUSTOMER BANGED on the convenience store’s bathroom door, I nearly stabbed myself in the eye with my mascara wand.
“Just a minute!” I called, swiping on my final coat. I still hadn’t gotten up the nerve to let my family see me in my new clothes, so I’d found another place to change. This restroom was clean and the lighting was good, plus there was a hook for my clothes. All that and an endless supply of Hershey’s bars and Laffy Taffy—I could practically live here.
; “She’s usually in there awhile,” I heard the cashier say.
“How often does she come in here?” the woman asked incredulously.
“Every day for the past two weeks,” the cashier said. “It’s the darndest thing. It’s like one girl goes in and another comes out.”
“Well, I have to go,” the customer said. “I’ve given birth to five children! When you’ve had that many children, you can’t hang around waiting for a bathroom. Do you catch my drift?”
“No, ma’am,” said the teenage clerk meekly.
“Unless you have a mop, you’d better let me in there!” the customer threatened, banging on the door again.
I quickly gathered up my makeup, shoved my navy blue suit into a garment bag, and opened the door.
“Sorry,” I said as she rushed by, shooting me a dirty look.
“I like that shirt almost as much as the red dress,” the cashier said, eyeing my light green halter top with approval. I’d paired it with my skinny jeans and new chunky Marni heels with the buckles on the fronts, and I’d used a straightening iron to make my hair fall in gleaming sheets to my shoulders.
“Thanks!” I said, darting out the door and jumping into my parents’ old station wagon. I was going to be late to meet Jacob Weinstein, thirty-four, who’d moved to town a few months ago and was ready to start dating.
For the past two weeks, ever since I’d officially been hired by Blind Dates, I’d gotten a whole new kind of education, one that didn’t have anything to do with product differentiation or target demographics or branding. I’d learned about people. I’d learned about their fears and desires. I’d learned the secrets they held close, hidden from colleagues and acquaintances and family members.
I’d also learned that looking into the files of a dating service can break your heart. What people yearn for, more than anything else, is a connection with each other. They want someone to raise a family with. They want someone to hold hands with. They want someone to take care of them when they’re sick, and to still love them when they’re old and wrinkly. Incidentally, if these services can be performed by a person who looks like Heidi Klum or has the bank account of Donald Trump, so much the better.
I’d spent hours curled up on May’s couch, reading through the stacks of files. What I’d discovered is that during every wedding and baby shower and birthday party—every life event, really, both major and minor—there are people clustered on the sidelines, in the shadows just beyond the spotlight, outwardly celebrating but inwardly wondering what they’ve done wrong, why they’ve ended up alone while the rest of the world seems to have paired off, and if they’re always going to be this lonely.
May was good at drawing people out. I read about a widower who told May he bought cans of tuna fish for his lunch one at time, just so he could go into the grocery store every day and experience human contact during his brief chat with the cashier at checkout. I glimpsed the secret of a woman who’d been obese as a teenager and still saw herself as fat and unlovable in the mirror, even though she exercised every day and was now a healthy size. I learned about the anguish a man suffered when his fiancée literally left him at the altar. The maid of honor had come up and whispered the news in his ear while he stood there in his tuxedo, waiting for his bride to walk down the aisle.
Had there always been this many lonely people in the world? I wondered, marveling at the stacks of folders surrounding me.
“We do more than just fix people up,” May had told me on my second day. “We listen to them; in fact, listening is probably the most important skill you’ll bring to this job. We find out what went wrong in their past relationships, and we work with them to make sure they get out of any bad patterns they may be in. We help people discover what kind of partner they really want. We’re more than matchmakers; we’re therapists and best friends and sometimes even drill sergeants.”
“Really?” I’d said.
“Sure, for people who have totally unrealistic expectations,” May had replied. “If a fifty-year-old guy comes in here wanting to be set up with a nineteen-year-old Playboy bunny, we have to do a little ass kicking, find out what’s really going on with him and why he’s having such a crisis of confidence that he needs arm candy to prove to the world that he’s important and desirable. And if that doesn’t work, we tell him to go find a mail-order bride and we show him the door. There aren’t a lot of clients we turn down, but you’ll have to be prepared to do it now and then. We have an informal no-jerks-allowed policy.”
I’d nodded, loving the way May was already using the word we, like I was her full partner.
“On the flip side, a lot of the clients we see are facing a crisis of confidence,” May said. “So build them up a bit. Give them a compliment or two, but only if it’s sincere.”
Now, as I walked into a restaurant-bar called Parker’s and looked around for my client, I remembered what May had told me—that listening was the most important part of my job. “Everyone has a story,” she’d said. It was time to find out what Jacob’s was.
He was sitting in a booth against the far wall. He was a nice-looking, dark-haired guy who was on the short side. The sleeves of his shirt were pushed up to reveal strong-looking forearms. His file told me he was a mortgage banker who enjoyed skiing, traveling, and cooking ethnic food.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” Jacob confessed right after we’d introduced ourselves. His shoe was drumming a rat-a-tat-tat against the floor.
“Relax,” I told him as I sat down across from him. “We’re just going to have a conversation, then I’m going to find a really lucky woman who gets to go out with you.”
He smiled, revealing an endearingly crooked front tooth, and I knew I’d said the right thing. Funny, but there was no sign of the shyness that usually plagued me in social situations. Maybe it was because the voices in my head, the ones that told me I’d never be as pretty and desirable as Alex, had lost some of their power now that I knew how many other people had harsh voices inside their heads, too. Maybe my new clothes and makeup helped as well; I was still playing a part, still acting outside of myself, in some ways.
“Anything to drink, hon?” the waitress asked, motioning to the drink menu.
“What are you having?” I asked Jacob.
“A martini,” he said. “Mine’s plain, but I heard they make good chocolate ones here.”
“Perfect,” I said.
The waitress walked away, and Jacob leaned back against the cushioned padding of the booth.
“I’m kind of embarrassed,” he said. “I still can’t believe I’m doing this.”
“I know,” I said. “It’s horrifying. I mean, having a plain martini when there’s chocolate available.”
Jacob smiled, a bigger smile this time.
“Listen, I think you’re brave,” I told him. “You’re going after what you want.”
“I guess you could look at it that way,” he said.
“So tell me about you. You cook and you love to travel?” I said, crossing my legs and leaning closer to him. “Clearly you’d be the perfect man, if it weren’t for that plain martini flaw.”
Was I flirting with my client? But Jacob seemed to need it; he was so anxious.
“Maybe I could change, for the right woman,” he said, smiling again. His foot had stopped tapping, I noticed.
“Tell me who would be the right woman for you,” I said. “What qualities are important to you?”
“I love good food, so she can’t be the kind of woman who picks at a salad and says she’s full, then sneaks home and wolfs down a bag of Chips Ahoy!” Jacob said.
I laughed, and he seemed emboldened. “And I love to travel, so agoraphobics are out, too.”
Jacob was cute, funny, and nice. My chocolate martini was perfection. And I was getting paid for this?
“What else?” I said lightly. “Tell me about your last girlfriend.”
“Sue?” Jacob said. “Mmm . . . how should I put this?”
&nbs
p; “As bluntly as possible,” I joked. “I need to know all the details if I’m going to pick the right woman for you.”
Jacob sighed. He started to say something, stopped, then blurted out, “Everything made her cry. And I mean everything. At first it was one of the things that made me fall in love with her. I thought she was so sensitive. I brought her a rose on our first date, and she cried. One of her friends announced she was pregnant with twins, and Sue cried. Then I realized she never stopped crying.”
“Sappy commercials?” I asked. Jacob nodded.
“Sunsets and sad movies, too . . . Then one day her parents came to visit and we picked them up at the airport. And I somehow ended up crushed between Sue and her mom, and the two of them were wailing away—I mean, wailing—and I looked over at the dad, and he was just pulling tissues out of his pockets with this resigned expression. And I started to laugh. I couldn’t help it; the harder they cried, the more I laughed. And of course her mom thought I was laughing at her, and, well . . . things just went downhill from there.”
“What happened when you broke up?” I asked.
“Sue didn’t shed a single tear,” Jacob said.
I looked at him, and we both burst into laughter.
“So no criers,” I said, pretending to scribble it down. “Check. What else?”
“And, um, it would be kind of nice if the woman you picked . . .” Jacob’s voice trailed off.
I stayed quiet; May had said that letting silence linger could be a powerful tool in getting clients to open up.
“If she just . . .” Jacob cleared his throat.
I knew Jacob was too good to be true. Here’s the part where he’d say he wanted someone who would let him wear her false eyelashes, or go to Star Trek conventions every weekend.
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