Madelyn stepped back into the apartment with a bundle of bags in her arms and snapped at the boys, “Alex! Emilio! Get over here and help me.”
The boys scrambled over to her like two crabs on a deck.
Madelyn followed Holly down the hallway with the boys in tow. For some reason, they felt the need to touch everything with their grimy, sticky little hands as they walked by. Holly was none too pleased.
When they reached their intended destination, Holly switched on a light to reveal a beautifully decorated bedroom. A king-sized four-poster bed was the centerpiece of the room, draped with a silver and gray bedspread and a multitude of fluffy white throw pillows.
Madelyn’s jaw dropped at the sight of the 200-square-foot room. “Wow! Girl, your whole place is so nice.”
“Thank you. I’m kind of partial to it myself.”
“This is the kind of home I dream about.” Madelyn fell onto the bed, and the boys followed suit. “Thank you so much for letting us stay here. It means a lot to me.”
Holly shrugged as though it was no big deal. “Hey, that’s what friends are for, right?”
“Mom, can we go to sleep now?” Emilio asked, yawning as if his vicious attacks on his brother had worn him out.
“Yes. Now—hush.”
“If you need any blankets, towels, or sheets, there are some in the cabinet out in the hallway,” Holly said with a yawn of her own. “It’s late, and it’s been a long day for me. I think I’m going to head off to bed now, if you don’t mind.”
“Wait,” Madelyn said, pulling a card and a bag of salt and vinegar chips from her overnight bag. “Happy Valentine’s day, girl.”
Taken by surprise, Holly responded, “Oh, wow. You remembered my favorite snack. Thanks, Maddie.”
“It’s just a little something. I know it’s not much. Remember how we used to take walks back in the day, talk about silly stuff and eat these along the way?”
“Ah, yes. The good old days,” Holly said, waving the bag at her in gratitude.
“Did Matthew take you somewhere special tonight? You must tell me all about it.”
“Mom! Come on! We’re tired. Can you stop talking now?” Alex whined, already curled up like a question mark on top of the bed.
“I said hush!” Madelyn retorted as she turned back to Holly.
“I’d really rather not get into that anymore tonight.”
“Uh-oh. Did something… happen?”
“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” Holly said. “You all sleep well.”
“I have to get up early and drive all the way back to Orange County, so I will need rest too.”
Once Holly was back in her bedroom, she opened the card Madelyn had given her. The front displayed a little white poodle eating a heart-shaped dog treat. Madelyn had written a note inside the card: Dear Hols, your a good person. I’m proud to call you my friend. Happy Valentines day. Love, Madelyn. p.s. let your cautious be your guide.
Her “cautious”? Didn’t she mean let your conscience be your guide?
Sometimes, Madelyn’s misuse of the English language was absolutely perfect, and honestly, the card was the best gift she’d gotten all day.
***
When Holly walked through her office door the next morning, the despondent faces of her two assistants, Emma Berg and Chris Lopez, took her by surprise.
Six-months after her mother’s death, Holly had realized how nearly impossible it was going to be to run the company by herself. How her grandmother and mother had managed everything on their own was beyond Holly’s understanding. Clients were sometimes so overly demanding that it made her head spin. Holly had no choice but to put an ad out for an intern who would be willing to do grunt work for minimum wage. The daily activities for the entry-level job included: making coffee runs, hunting for new millionairesses around town, picking up lunch, and making phone calls. Holly didn’t want someone who was polished. What she’d been looking for was somebody who was edgy, fresh out of college with a fire in their belly—a person not yet molded or jaded by the work force.
One afternoon, USC graduate, Emma Berg, had walked into the office. She had pink and purple streaked hair and a slew of tattoos on her arms. Darlene would have surely shooed her out the door, but Holly had taken an instant liking to Emma’s mellow, yet take-charge personality. The girl had a degree in marketing and wanted a job where she could start from the bottom and work her way up. Holly ended up hiring her just because she seemed so sincere and dependable.
Out of the blue, Emma had asked if Holly would be willing to hire another intern, her boyfriend, Chris Lopez. Truthfully, Holly didn’t really need three bodies in the office, especially two who were romantically involved when that could only lead to trouble. While she wasn’t too keen on the idea of another intern, Holly didn’t object to meeting the guy. Strangely enough, Emma and Chris were like a match made in heaven, physically and mentally. Chris, who donned a shaved head, goatee, piercings, and tats, was a bit tougher than Emma, but he could definitely hold his own and get the job done.
“So, what’s up with you two?” Holly asked as she thumbed through the mail on Chris’s desk. “Why the grim faces?”
“I don’t know. What’s up with you?” Emma asked.
Holly ignored Emma’s comment. “Chris, what’s the schedule look like today?”
Chris opened up the calendar on his computer and took a quick glance. “At eleven-thirty, Gillian Booth is coming in for a follow-up on her date last night.”
“Yeah. I’m interested to know how that went,” Holly said, recollecting the string of unpleasant events that had transpired that evening. She could only hope Gillian had fared much better than she had.
“And then of course, at two, you have a recruiting session for Jodi Hall and Wendy Tran’s mixer tomorrow,” Chris added. “By the way, ever since you started that blog, we’ve been getting a ton of hits on the website.”
“Good. That’s the point.” After opening up a package that contained a male headshot, Holly handed it over to Chris. “Call this guy and see if he can come in for an interview today. He might be good for the mixer tomorrow.”
“So how did your date go last night?” Emma asked.
Holly eyed Emma suspiciously. “Why are you so eager to know?”
“We’re just… curious,” Chris said.
“Okay, guys. Cut the crap. What is it that I don’t know here?”
Chris peered over at Emma, as though seeking permission to speak. “We know.”
“Who told you?” Holly hadn’t been ready to let the cat out of the bag, but obviously, somebody had already done her the favor.
“Todd. He called this morning,” Emma mentioned.
“Damn it! That homo can’t keep his mouth shut.”
“We’re really sorry, Holly.” Chris followed Holly’s gaze before offering a sympathetic glance. “What happened? We totally thought you were going to come back with a ring on that finger.”
Holly’s body stiffened noticeably and she suddenly felt like she wanted to cry. “Apparently, Matthew is incapable of handling my womanliness or my choice of career.”
“What? You’ve been dating him almost five-years, and he suddenly has a problem with your career?” Chris asked in disbelief. “And he chose to break it off with you on Valentine’s Day? That’s insane. Who would do something like that?”
“A douche-bag like Matthew, that’s who,” Emma chimed in, shaking her head in disapproval.
“What a bastard,” Chris added after a beat.
“Okay, look. I really can’t talk about this right now. It still hurts.”
“Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?” Emma asked.
“No. All I know is that my life is one big epic fail.”
Chris got up from his seat and rubbed Holly’s shoulders in attempt to ease some of her tension. “You’re not any kind of failure, Holly—least of all an epic one. I know it stings now, but you’ll get through this. It’s just a bump in the road
.”
Holly shook off the melancholy that clung to her like dust to dry land. “Chris, when you get a chance, I need you to make some calls for Maryanne Hartley’s mixer next week. I need the best men you can find.”
“On it,” he replied.
“I’ll be on the phone with Gregory Fisher, finding out how Gillian’s date went,” Holly said.
Many would presume that a matchmaker whose clients spent thousands of dollars a year on services would aspire to dwell in a luxurious office suite, but not Holly. She preferred to keep it simple and conduct business in a large, loft-style office. Everything was out in the open, with the exception of her desk space, which was partitioned off by a cubicle wall. Holly’s intention was to see and hear everything that went on around her.
The office walls were painted turquoise and large bay windows bowed over the city streets. In Holly’s mind, there was no better place to work her magic —and sometimes, magic was what it took.
***
“Hey, Gillian is here,” Emma announced.
“Send her on over,” Holly said, none too happy to see Gillian after Gregory’s remarks about their rendezvous.
In strutted Gillian, wearing a coral-colored, low-cut mini dress, so tight that it traced her curves all the way up to her neckline. Her thick black hair was perfectly straightened, and she carried an alligator-skin handbag on her shoulder. A strong floral fragrance permeated the air as she got closer to Holly’s desk. Her face had the texture of leather and was stretched to the limit. Clearly, she’d made some Beverly Hills plastic surgeon very wealthy over the years. Like most of the aging population in southern California, Gillian aspired to appear twenty-five forever…and it showed.
“Hey, Holly,” Gillian chirped, unaware that she was in hot water.
“Hello, Gillian. Have a seat,” Holly said, taking off her eyeglasses. “So… I talked to Gregory a couple hours ago.”
Gillian sat with one leg over the other, nervously wobbling her left foot up and down. “Oh? What’s he up to?”
“He told me that he likes you, but there is something he doesn’t understand.” Holly sat back and crossed her arms like an angry schoolteacher.
“Hmm. And what’s that?” Gillian asked, as if she couldn’t possibly fathom anyone having any complaints about her.
“Gregory says that when he asked you out again, you couldn’t give him a straight answer.”
“Right. Well, uh,…here’s the thing.” Gillian took a deep breath and steadied herself. “He was a real gentleman and we had a great time, but––”
“But what?”
“He just… wasn’t my type.”
“A rich, successful investment banker is not your type? How is that possible?” Holly asked, raising her tone.
“Well, honestly—I’m looking for someone a wee bit younger.”
Holly slapped her hand down on the desk like a gavel with the intention of jarring Gillian back into reality. “Oh, please! Get over it, will you? He already looks ten years younger than he is, Gillian. What do you expect for a woman your age?”
Holly’s harsh demeanor had Gillian shuddering like an electrical current had just shot up her spine. “What do you want me to say? Holly, you sent me some old, lisping, boring man who—”
“Let me tell you something, sweetheart,” Holly said, cutting her client off. “In case you haven’t already noticed, you’re not twenty-two anymore. The only thing twenty-something guys want from you is your money—certainly not your wrinkly old ass!”
Chris stepped in and cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt. I, uh, have a Madelyn on the phone for you.”
“Excuse me. I have to take this,” Holly said to Gillian as she picked up the phone.
Gillian, shocked and speechless, just stared at her.
“Hey, girl! Can I ask you a huge favor?” Madelyn asked as she drove down Newport Beach, in search of the next rental sign. “I haven‘t found no place yet. I’m really trying hard, but nothing. Do you think we can stay just one more night?”
“Sure—whatever. Can we talk about this later? I’m in the middle of a meeting.” Holly slammed the phone down and regained her composure. “So, Gillian, as I was saying—I can fix you up with a man in his twenties if you want. It’s your money, after all—or you can let me be your cupid. I will continue to seek out the right guy for you so I can find you the husband of your dreams. It’s your choice.”
“Um…” Gillian thought long and hard, as though the question was a matter of life and death. “I really do prefer younger men.”
Fed up, Holly announced, “Okay, if that’s the way you want it, I’ll have some surfer boy in here this afternoon that will be happy to live off of you like a sponge. There are a million of them wandering around the beaches. You just saved me a lot of blood and sweat, but don’t come crying to me when it doesn’t work out. You can go now.” She shooed Gillian away. “I’ll call you when I find one.”
Gillian left feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of her.
“I swear, I just want to strangle some of these women,” Holly yelled to Emma from across the room. “They just don’t get it.”
In the middle of Holly’s frustration, her cell phone vibrated. “Hey, Dad. What’s up?”
“Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Um, I’m okay. Why do you ask?”
“I heard about your break-up. Todd called.”
“He told you too?!”
“Yeah. I’m sorry, honey. I know you two were together for a long time and that you loved him a lot,” he consoled. “On that happy note, want to hear my latest joke?”
“Not particularly.”
Holly’s father had always been the one to lighten up a dire situation with his clever one-liners. Sometimes it was a huge relief to have a father who was a stand-up comedian. It had been thirty-two long years since Timothy Sparks had started his stand-up career when he took the stage at an amateur open mike night in Burbank. Not surprisingly, with all the competition in the industry, he still hadn’t made it to the big time yet. Comedians had to go through hell and back to land the smallest of gigs, but Holly’s father had never been too hard up for fame. Making people laugh and being well known around Los Angeles was good enough for him.
Tim had been performing at a comedy club in Beverly Hills the night he’d met Darlene Simpson. She had found him so utterly hilarious that she simply had to meet him, and the moment their eyes met, sparks flew. Holly’s mother had had just one basic requirement for a potential husband: He had to be able to make her laugh. Timothy Sparks had passed her expectations in that department, and he’d continued to make his wife smile and giggle until the moment she passed away. Sadly, Tim lost his passion for comedic relief after she died. For a short period of time, Holly felt that she had not only lost her mother, but her father as well.
A year after her mother’s death, Holly introduced her father to Gale Richmond, a woman who ultimately helped Tim pick up the pieces of his shattered heart.
“So, Gale and I went to Judi’s Deli in Beverly Hills for lunch today. I got you your favorite—mac and cheese and half a corned beef sandwich, just the way you like it. Thought it might cheer you up if my jokes didn’t do the trick.”
Holly was actually in the mood for something fatty and hearty. “Thanks Dad. I think I’ll skip comedy hour and take you up on that sandwich.”
“We’re in the area. Want me to drop it off at your place?”
“Yeah. That sounds great.”
“Holly,” Chris said, looking unsure of himself. “Becky Wilkinson is here.”
“What!” Holly said, rolling her eyes. “I told that woman never to come back.”
“I know, but she’s begging to talk to you.”
It was difficult to turn away clients when it came to money, no matter how malevolent they were. “Becky is such a waste of my time, but I guess I’ll see what the hell she wants.”
Becky was another divorced millionairess who thought
she was God’s gift to men and believed herself to be the next Angelina Jolie. In reality, she was nothing more than a but-her-face—everything but her face. Like Gillian, but so much worse. Becky had made several plastic surgeons very wealthy, and she should have owned stock in Botox and tanning beds. She tended to walk around with a chronic bewildered, expression on her face, like a deer caught in the headlights. The woman could barely lift an eyebrow.
A few months ago, Holly had set Becky up with a television producer named Brad Cunningham. Brad’s looks were comparable to the Sean Connery of the early nineties— distinguished, attractive and refined. However, Becky refused to date anyone over forty. Her ignorant mentality somewhat irked Holly. Becky was pushing forty-five herself, so Holly didn’t understand what gave her the right to be so judgmental and demanding. Brad had just turned forty, so he was right on the cusp of Becky’s unrealistic requirements. Holly had introduced the two of them before their first date. When the actual date happened, Becky took one look at Brad and completely changed her mind about the whole situation. She told Holly she didn’t want to go through with it because she thought Brad looked old enough to be her father. Becky ended up ditching the poor guy right there at the restaurant, humiliating him and angering Holly to the point of being livid. After hearing about Becky’s little stunt, Holly read her the Riot Act the next day. Becky retaliated by lashing out and calling Holly a “know-it-all bitch” and a “scam artist” right there in front of the whole office. Becky also accused her of taking people’s money in exchange for nothing. Flabbergasted by the woman’s way-out-of-line behavior, Holly had ordered the self-righteous wench never to set foot in her office again. Nevertheless, here she was—once again.
Becky stood over Holly’s desk. “Hi,” she said cautiously, as though waiting for Holly to rip her a new one.
The ultra-thin woman wore a pale blue sweater and a lemon-colored skirt that clung closely to her body.
“What can I do you for, Becky?” Holly asked in a slightly cold manner.
Becky pulled out a chair and took a seat. “I came to see you because I want to be set up on another date.”
The Experiment Page 3