Ms. Match Meets a Millionaire

by Pamela DuMond

  “They’re both sitting on bar stools. Which is the short one?”

  “The chick with the sparkly top. She looks at you like she’s hungry.”

  “I think she actually is hungry. She hasn’t touched a burger even though she keeps staring at them.”

  “She’s staring at you. She’s craving a different kind of meat—if you know what I mean.”

  I stood up. “I’m hitting the head and going home.”

  “Stop living in the past, Ethan.”

  “I like the past.” I walked away from the table down the hallway and pushed open the bathroom door.

  Chapter 11

  Harper

  *

  I caught the “L” train back home after my run with Sophia. I fed Romeo, showered, changed, and headed back north to meet the Mr. Cupid crew at a Double D Burgers and Brewery Rush Street joint. Now we sat at a high-top tucked into the front corner of the bar. A few games were being played out on the flat screen TVs hung high on the walls. Platters of mini-burgers, fries, and tall pilsner glasses of beer covered our table.

  Giles grabbed a handful of fries. “How’s it coming with the mafia princess?” he asked.

  “Don’t call Sophia that. She’s a great girl. Quite the catch, really.” I tipped back a glass of pale ale.

  “I can’t believe she didn’t like any of the guys you matched her with,” Sarah said. “Did you get a better idea of who or what she might be looking for?”

  “What about Jake Brewer?” Giles asked.

  “No,” I said. “Jake’s sweet, but he’s not her type.”

  “He’s my type.” Sarah chugged her beer. “Pick me! Pick me!”

  “Another round, yes?” Giles lifted his hand in the air. “Waitress!”

  I slid my glass back and forth on the table between my hands. “I think Sophia wants a guy who’s funny, hot, and a wordsmith. Maybe a writer or an actor. But for some reason she’s got a push/pull with these kinds of men.”

  Laugher pealed from a table in the corner. I turned and spotted a guy getting up from his stool. I could only see the back of him but he was very tall, with a broad back. He had dark brown hair with a hint of a wave. It was Hot Waiter.

  My Ethan.

  Not working tonight, obviously. Out on the town with some friends.

  Chills flooded my arms, making their way up my neck, then did a 180 and zipped down my spine. I was tempted to wave, holler “Hey!” and race over there. But all I could do was stare. My tongue was heavy and useless in my mouth.

  “Are you dreaming about Christmas, Harper?” Giles asked.

  “No,” Sarah said. “She’s dreaming about the tall drink of water in the far corner of the bar. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t he the guy who spilled scotch on you at the Biltenhouse wedding?”

  “Yeah,” I said, not turning away, my fingers drumming the table of their own accord.

  Giles craned his neck. “Meow. He’s smoking. Go over and say something to him. I insist.”

  “I can’t move. I’m paralyzed.”

  Giles grabbed my arm and shook it. “If you don’t, I will. I’ll tell him a gorgeous virgin has cast her beautiful eyes on him.”

  “Huh? That ship sailed a while ago.”

  “All our ships have sailed. We could join forces and be an armada. He’d be a fool not to come back to our table and take his chances at winning the maiden’s heart.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Or maybe he bats for my team?”

  “No!” I slapped his hand away. “He’s mine.”

  At that moment, Ethan stood up and walked down the hallway toward the bathroom. As he passed the bar, a pretty, twenty-something brunette, swiveled her head so fast in his direction, her hair swished over her shoulders like a model in a shampoo commercial. She high-fived the girl sitting next to her, smoothed her micro-mini down her thighs, and tossed back her drink. Then she walked down the hall, to the bathroom and followed him inside. She shut the door firmly behind her and closed it definitively.

  My heart plummeted into my stomach.

  “Damn, that was fast,” Giles said.

  I reached inside my wallet, pulled out a couple of bills and slapped them on the table. “I’m out.”

  Sarah squeezed my hand. “I’m sorry, Harper.”

  “It might not be what you think it is,” Giles said. “She could be his sister.”

  “Because sisters wearing mini-skirts follow their brothers into bathrooms?”

  “Okay that was a stretch.”

  I shrugged on my coat. “Love you all. See you Monday. Got places to go and people to see.” I walked out of the place, my head down, feeling like I’d lost something that technically wasn’t mine to lose.

  Chapter 12

  Ethan

  *

  I zipped up, turned, and came face-to-face with a chick in the bathroom.

  She and I were the only ones in the small facility. She had one hand on her hip and her skirt skimmed her thighs. Her cleavage was practically popping out of her low-cut top. “Happy holidays,” she said with a toothy smile.

  I am not one to judge. Been there, done that, tapped it.

  “Happy holidays to you too,” I said, moving to walk around her.

  But she leaned back against the door, blocking my exit. “Ethan, it’s me.”

  “Right,” I said, racking my brain for her name, silently counting how many drinks I’d had tonight. Not that many. “Hello… you.”

  “Barbara,” she said. “From the Halloween party at Chet and Amanda’s place.”

  “Of course. A night I’ll never forget.”

  She licked her lips. “So much fun.”

  “Best party of the year.”

  “You were dressed as a ‘Ghostbuster’ and carried a proton gun.”

  “Hah. That was funny. And you were the… pretty princess?”

  “I was the sexy cop.”

  And now I remembered all the misbehaving that had played out in a bathroom on the third floor of Chet and Amanda’s DePaul neighborhood brick townhouse.

  She undid two buttons, revealing a lacy bra. She squeezed her arms together next to her chest and thrust her boobs toward me, like a bonus prize inside the cereal box. “You never called me,” she said, pulling my face close to hers. She jammed her lips against mine, sticking her tongue inside my mouth.

  I should have been turned on.

  I should have been getting ready for a quickie in a semi-public place.

  I couldn’t have been less interested.

  I pulled away from her. “Barbara, I was just on my way out. Why don’t we catch up some other time?”

  “Since when have you been tired when it comes to fooling around?”

  “Since right now.” I unlocked the bathroom door and squeezed out, leaving her with a surprised look on her face.

  I walked back to the table and grabbed my jacket. “Happy holidays, all. I’ve got an early day.”

  “Old man,” Daniel said. “I’ll text you if things get interesting.”

  I held up my phone and powered it off. “Off grid. Nothing’s interesting tonight.”

  Chapter 13

  Harper

  *

  I stood outside watching the Rush Street bar hoppers pass me by. It was 10:30 p.m. Too late to pretend I’d never gone out. Too old to cry. Too sober to wipe the memory of the brunette in the CFMPs following Ethan into the bathroom. My phone buzzed. I picked up, looking down for a matchmaking dilemma, or a message from mom.

  It was Sean.

  Sean: Yacht Club Christmas party. Miss U Harper. Coming home for holidays?

  Ugh. I thought I’d blocked him. Oh right—that was on Instagram. Crap. Note to self: block Sean on everything. I was not going home yet. If I was lucky I would never go home again. I’d get mom and Callie to visit me here in Chicago. They’d done that once about six months ago.

  Now I walked for blocks in the cold city streets, not sure what to do or where to go. Thoughts swirled through my head, but they turned back to Etha
n. I was so bummed some other girl got to be with him. Got to stare up into his beautiful eyes. Talk with him. Hear the sound of his voice. Did he flirt with her too? Probably. He was probably one of those sexy actor guys who flirted with everyone.

  But then I remembered how Ethan had looked in the cramped elevator at The Rosseaux, his soft, gray cotton T-shirt clinging to the planes of his muscular chest. The warmth that had emanated from his hand when he’d pulled off my hat and run his fingers through my hair. The shivers that had raced up and down the backs of my arms and how my breath had caught in my throat when I’d thought—no—had been convinced he was going to kiss me. But he hadn’t.

  Get real, Harper. It’s not like we’d even been on a date. We’d shared two sexy, sweet, chance encounters. He had every right to bang some random girl wherever and whenever.

  Speaking of The Rosseaux, it loomed in front of me. Okay—technically it didn’t loom because it was gorgeous. Rather, it beckoned like a best friend you hadn’t talked to in a bit, or an auntie who loved you no matter what. I wasn’t going to run into Ethan there tonight. He was too busy with the bimbo in the bathroom. What would it hurt to stop in and use the spa? A quick steam and a refreshing shower might cheer me up.

  I turned and walked back to the hotel—bent not broken.

  Chapter 14

  Ethan

  *

  Three years ago

  *

  How was it possible that five months ago I was a man whore?

  Happily spending late nights in college dive bars seducing girls that I doubted got half of my jokes, but who enthusiastically slept with me because they were drawn to my physicality, decent face, and for those in the know—my sizeable bank account.

  But now I was completely happy with one woman. Zoey Clark.

  How was that possible?

  Six weeks after Zoey promised to save me from the goat and gave me a second chance, we were a couple. The new college year kicked off and we adapted to our schedules. Zoey was getting her master’s in Developmental Ed at U of W. She planned on working with special needs kids like Peter someday, helping them learn motor skills and improve verbal and communication abilities.

  I was lucky that my family had enough money to allow me to attend post-grad without toiling at a part-time job. Zoey, on the other hand, waitressed at Suze’s Steak House three nights a week in Middleton, a suburb of Madison.

  After two months of dating we’d already fallen into a routine. She’d cook two nights and I’d reciprocate. We’d order in on Friday and go out on Saturday. On Sundays we blocked out time for dinner with her family. If we survived that drama, we’d take Peter out on excursions: Pixar movies, small town fairs, and autumn festivals.

  Acceptance letters from law schools began arriving: Stanford, University of Chicago, Duke, Harvard. Zoey would clap her hands every time I’d open an envelope and pull out another acceptance letter. She’d snatch the papers from my hands, race to the opposite side of her apartment and stand on a step stool. Then she’d wave one arm in the air dramatically and read the letter back to me like she was on Broadway.

  At the end of each performance she’d finish with, “And this, Ethan Rosseaux, is yet another chapter in the story that ends with your Happily Ever After!” She’d jump up off the stool and jog around the small apartment in a victory lap. She’d raise her arms over her head like Sylvester Stallone, and hum the theme from “Rocky.” Then she’d high five me, and I’d sling her over my shoulder and carry her, giggling, into the bedroom.

  Afterward, we’d sit outside on the wooden porch sipping beers and enjoy the rest of Indian Summer and the colors that turned from green to yellow to orange. The occasional animal would forage in the brush surrounding the woods on the far side of the property. My life was perfect. Our life together was a miracle. I wanted to introduce Zoey to my family.

  I brought Zoey to Chicago the weekend my family came to town to celebrate Marte’s 80th birthday. We stayed in our own suite at the Rosseaux. Grandma’s actual birthday party was held on an elegant party yacht cruising up and down Lake Michigan.

  We dined at five star restaurants, attended the symphony, and hit some hot clubs. My skin was on fire. My heart was bursting out of my chest. It felt like after all these years of waiting, life had finally opened up for me like a bump on the horizon of one of those flat Midwestern states.

  A thought wormed its way into my brain. Unlike my parents, I realized I could embrace being a Rosseaux. Maybe I wouldn’t have to hide in an RV moving from state to state in order to escape the spotlight. Maybe I could fall in love and live a big life being exactly who I was: a Rosseaux.

  Chapter 15

  Harper

  *

  I’d lucked out and run into the Rosseaux ladies again. Apparently, Friday night at the spa was a regular gig for them. This time we weren’t relaxing in the steam room, but soaking in the mineral waters section. The room had a small, cold dipping pool, a larger mineral bath with steam wafting off the water’s surface, and a smaller round tub with a metal handrail sloping down its steps. We occupied the last, and with the exception of a few stray women in the locker room, once again we had the place to ourselves.

  “Ladies!” Beverly lifted her red plastic cup high above the bubbling mineral waters. “In honor of the holidays—whichever one you celebrate I don’t care—I made Snowflake cocktails: vanilla rum, peppermint schnapps, and a pinch of Baileys. Cheers!”

  We lifted our cups, toasted, and sipped.

  “Yummy!” Luisa said, slurping the drink. “No calories, right?”

  “Better,” Beverly said. “Negative calories.”

  “I thought we were ignoring calories this holiday,” Mrs. D said. She was wearing a red shower cap emblazoned with green Christmas trees.

  “What are calories?” I asked.

  “Harper, the eye gel totally worked on you,” Luisa said. “You look completely refreshed. I almost didn’t recognize you when you walked into the place. How come you never called me this week?”

  “Super busy at work.”

  “This drink is delicious, Beverly,” Mrs. R. said. “I don’t remember schnapps tasting this good.”

  “I think you’re picking up on the Bailey’s,” Beverly said. “Much tastier than the peppermint.”

  “Aha. I knew it had a different kick to it. How was everyone’s week?” she asked. “Beverly, you share. Work first, then personal.”

  Beverly crinkled her nose. “I pulled that condescending jerk from the Maintenance department for my Secret Santa. I hate his politics and the stench of his cheap cologne. It’s too musky—like something a pimply fifteen-year-old with a few in-grown facial hairs should be wearing. I have no idea what to get that oily man.”

  “Cotton wipes,” Luisa said. “Real Fresh Organic astringent cotton wipes in lavender or chamomile are on sale until the end of this month.”

  “Sold,” she said and tossed back her drink. “On a personal note, I get to see my grandson for the holidays. Jamie’s coming back from Iraq after his deployment and he’s passing through Chicago.”

  “That’s wonderful, Beverly,” Mrs. R. said.

  “That’s great,” I said. “How long was he over there?”

  “A solid year this time. Second deployment.” She poured herself a drink from a stainless thermos. “Can I refresh anyone’s glass?”

  Luisa extended her cup. “Yes, please.”

  I leaned back in the soothing waters, letting the tub’s jets pummel my lower back. I smiled in spite of myself. I could get used to this. So what if the guy I crushed on for two weeks ended up banging some girl at a burger joint? Maybe that would work out for him.

  Maybe she was a producer and would cast him in a movie.

  A porn movie.

  A stupid low-budget porn movie with crappy music, saggy couches, and beds with satin sheets where people who weren’t Italian said, ‘Ciao’ to each other. The actresses would have no idea how to act, and instead would toss their teased hair arou
nd as much as their overly theatrical come hither looks. The title would be something like: ‘The Well-Hung Christmas Stocking’ or ‘Dingle Dangle All the Way’.

  Maybe late some night when I was sad and lonely I’d stumble across it on my fave streaming network, and see what I’d be missing because I’d never slept with Ethan. And then I’d remember the good old days when for two weeks I’d had a smile on my face from a short, sweet, mythical relationship with the hot waiter who wanted to be an actor.

  “And how was your week, Harper?” Mrs. R. asked.

  I slurped my drink. “Matchmaking’s a dirty job. That said, I made a bit of progress for a few clients of mine. On a personal note, I’m officially unlucky at love.”

  “Oh, no!” Luisa said. “Pour her another drink, pronto, Beverly.”

  Beverly topped me off. “Screw him or her if they can’t figure it out,” she said.

  “Him,” I said. “And I think someone already beat me to that.”

  “You’re a bona fide matchmaker.” Mrs. R. regarded me with a different gleam in her eye. “Any successful matches?”.

  “John and Lesley Biltenhouse,” I said, sipping my drink.

  “Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “I’m impressed.”

  “I was working at the hotel’s beauty parlor that Saturday when some guests came in to get their makeup and hair done for the wedding,” Luisa said. “They tipped twenty percent.”

  “I supervised Housekeeping that weekend,” Beverly said. “A lot of people came in from out of town for that event. They tipped my crew well.”

  Uh-oh. Both Beverly and Luisa worked at the Rosseaux, which would explain the late night spa gatherings with booze and eye masks. But they also might know Ethan, and I didn’t have it in my heart to get into explanations tonight. I needed to relax.

  “This man. Did you like him?” Mrs. R. asked.

  “I did. The little I knew of him. I liked him a lot, really.”

  “Maybe it’s not over,” Mrs. R. said. “Maybe it’s just a bump in the road.” She pushed herself up. I could almost hear her bones creaking. She ran her hands, back and forth, through the water as if to steady herself, then made her way slowly to the stairs. She was so little, her red shower cap was not that far above the water’s surface.