An Ex to Grind (9 page)

I nearly died as I watched them. Where were my priorities? Why hadn't I left my apartment the second Dan had shown up with Buster? He was the one who was always late, not me. Where was my head? Up my ass, apparently.

I paced back and forth outside the door, trying to decide if I should go in and face the music or let the meeting proceed without me. I had to at least put in an appearance, I decided. I couldn't just slink away and pretend they weren't all wondering where I was.

I gulped some air, let it out, and opened the door. Everybody turned.

"Hi. Hi. So sorry," I said, sweeping into the room and walking directly over to Jed. "Family emergency. Couldn't be helped. Please forgive me."

He cupped his ear. "Say it again?"

"I had a family emergency! Please forgive me!" I shouted, feeling like a fool and a fraud.

While Bernie shot me a less-than-thrilled look—he knew there was no family emergency because he also knew I had no family—I debated whether I should have just shown up wearing the coffee-stained blouse instead of changing clothes. The blouse would have been easier to explain.

"Of course I forgive you," Jed bellowed at me, much to everybody's relief. "I'm a Christian."

"I appreciate that," I said, figuring it wasn't the best time to tell him I was half-Jewish.

"Why don't you pull up a chair, Melanie?" Bernie suggested from between pursed lips. His expression made it clear that he was less forgiving. "We're almost finished here, but you might as well listen in."

"My pleasure," I said as I sat between him and Steffi, to whom I mouthed a silent thank-you.

When the meeting was over and everyone had left, I took Bernie aside and apologized profusely for being late.

"The divorce is getting off to a bumpy start," I told him. Well, why not be honest. Yes, he'd fired Roberta Chapman for losing it after her divorce. But I wanted to prove to him that I was dealing with my problems, not flipping out about them the way she did.

"You and Dan have been apart for over a year," he said, scratching his red goatee. "Shouldn't you have adjusted to the separation by now?"

"Yes, yes," I said. "But it's not the separation that needs adjusting to. It's that I'm paying Dan spousal support and it's causing me a lot of aggravation."

He nodded as if he understood, even though he was single and had never paid an ex-spouse anything. "What are you doing about the situation?"

"Doing?" I asked.

"I'm behind you, Mel. You know that. You're important to this company, and one missed meeting isn't the end of the world. But…"

"But what?" I thought of Roberta Chapman again and how quickly she'd fallen out of favor with Bernie. Despite his words of assurance, I felt a sudden shudder of fear.

"If the spousal support is creating a distraction, then you'd better get yourself some professional help," said my boss.

So. In the end, I was only following orders by calling Desiree to assist me. You can see that, can't you?

"Desiree Klein Heart Hunting. This is Taylor speaking," announced a voice with the seriousness of a suicide hotline operator. Very professional. And heart hunting instead of head hunting. Clever marketing gimmick.

"Hi, Taylor," I said. "I'd like to make an appointment with Ms. Klein as soon as possible." I was speaking softly, so no one lurking outside my office would hear me. I had closed the door and made sure that Steffi was out to lunch before I called. Despite my decision to move forward with the plan to hire Desiree, I wasn't entirely proud of it.

"You're a first-time client?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "I was referred by Louise and Leonard Chester."

______

"Oh, cool. One of Desiree's many success stories," she said, the serious tone giving way to a girlish enthusiasm. "When would you like to come in?"

"Preferably early in the morning or at the end of the day. I have a busy schedule."

"How's Wednesday morning at eight-thirty?" she offered.

"Perfect," I said.

She asked me for my name, address, and phone number, then told me where they were located. "You'll need to bring the five-thousand-dollar fee with you," she added.

"Already? Doesn't Desiree have to do anything to earn it first?" I was still very queasy about spending so much money, but Weezie had reminded me how much I'd be saving if things worked out.

"We refund it if she doesn't make a match for you."

I started to explain that I wasn't looking for a match for me but decided to save the speech for her boss, since the situation was fairly complicated.

"You'll also need to bring a recent photo," she said, "as well as a one-page biography detailing your educational, financial, and marital histories; an essay of any length describing your hopes, dreams, desires, and dating patterns; and a complete medical history, including a list of current medications, particularly anti-depressants or antipsychotics, and any sexually transmitted diseases. If you've had herpes or genital warts, for example, you'll need an accompanying note from your doctor indicating the date of your last outbreak."

Gee, did she want to know about the regularity of my periods too?

"Melanie?" she said. "Did you get all that down?"

"Yes," I said. "It's just that—"

"You're a little embarrassed about the STD query?"

"No, it's not—"

"Because you shouldn't be. It's just part of the background check, and if you've been sexually active, you've probably had something, right?"

"Right. But I—"

"Oh, I know. You don't think you'll be able to pull all the info together in two days. Because of that busy schedule you mentioned."

"Exactly." This was crazy. I was crazy.

"Not to worry. Everyone feels overwhelmed by the paperwork, but it'll be easier than you think. And it's all for your benefit, don't forget. The more Desiree knows about you, the easier it'll be for her to find you your special someone."

Nope. This wasn't such a hot idea. I would find another way to deal with Dan, a way that didn't involve special someones. "Oh, gosh. I just remembered I have a meeting Wednesday morning so I won't be able to make it," I said.

Taylor giggled. "Everybody does that too."

"Does what?"

"Try to chicken out. It's normal." She took a breath. "The consultation will last about an hour, so plan accordingly. And when you start getting butterflies, keep telling yourself that Desiree is all about bringing you a lifetime of happiness. She really is a magician when it comes to putting people together."

It was that last line that roped me back in. If Desiree Klein could put Dan together with a woman for ninety days, she'd be bringing me a lifetime of happiness all right. I just had to fill her in on the game plan and hope like hell she was a sports fan.

Her Office was off the living room of her apartment, a glitzy affair on Fifth Avenue with a spectacular view of Central Park. Its message to all visitors was: "You can never have enough gold." There were gold silk draperies and gold-leaf mirrors, and wood tables inlaid with—what else?—gold. There was also a zebra skin rug and a grand piano and a gilded cage in which a parrot rested on a swing chirping a ribald Eminem lyric. Well, Nards had warned me that Desiree was a character. As I sat in the chair opposite her desk and waited, I noticed that the only reading material available were articles about her.

"Hey there," she said, waddling into her office, an overdose of sickly sweet perfume wafting after her. She was in her fifties and plump as well as short—a dumpling, except for her chin, which was pointy in the manner of, say, Maria Shriver. She was wearing a purple caftan and matching fuzzy slippers with little pom-poms on them and a long, platinum blond wig with bangs. Oh, and there was jewelry—rings, bracelets, earrings, a necklace. Surely enough gold to ransom a kidnap victim. Yes, I remembered her from the wedding now. I just hadn't made the connection between the woman I'd assumed was one of Weezie's wacky aunts and this person, who appeared to have a thriving business.

She approached my chair and shook my hand. "Melanie?" she said in heavy New York-ese. It came out "Malanay."

"Yes, and you must be Desiree," I said.

"It's really Donna," she said in a conspiratorial, between-us-girls whisper. "I changed it when I got into this heart-hunting gig. Desiree works better for people, you know what I mean?"

A character and a hustler?

"So. You brought the info?" she asked.

"Yes." I handed her the folder containing all the goodies her assistant had asked for.

"Is the check in here?" she said.

"It's paper-clipped to my cover letter," I said.

"Bee-uteeful." She sat behind her desk, the folder in front of her. "Not that I'm about money, you understand. I'm about
love
."

Yes, I'm afraid she pronounced it "luv." I took a quick look around the room, making a mental note of my evacuation route. What the hell was I doing there?

"I hear you're a friend of Louise and Leonard's," she said.

I nodded, squirming in my seat. I would make my apologies and scram. It probably wouldn't be the first time one of her first-timers did that. "Louise and I met at Pierce, Shelley and Steinberg."

"Class acts, Louise and Leonard," she said. "They capped off a good year for me. I think I married over fifty clients."

"Fifty?" I said, amazed. It seemed as if there were hardly any weddings anymore, unless you counted the civil unions in Sunday's
New York Times
Styles section.

"You got it," she said. "But I've had hundreds of couples get married in the fifteen years I've been a heart hunter. Without any divorces, knock on wood." She knocked on the side of her head.

"You must be very adept at what you do," I said. Well? Maybe matchmaking was a talent, just like ice-skating, and Desiree had it. I reconsidered my initial impulse to bolt.

"I'm the best," she said without a hint of modesty. "And not a single complaint from the Better Business Bureau, which is unusual for a matchmaking service. There are plenty of shady organizations out there, taking people's money and then pairing them with ex-cons. I'm strictly on the up-and-up. I don't pull any shenanigans."

"What's the secret of your success as a matchmaker?" I said, deciding I'd stick around after all and see if it made sense to pull my own shenanigans.

"Part of it is that finding matches for people is my passion." She pressed her hands together in the prayer position. "I consider what I do a mission from God."

"That's very spiritual," I said.

"And my background checks contribute to my success," she said, returning to earth. "I prescreen my clients so that there are no surprises." She patted the folder on her desk, the one that would be full of surprises.

"And I make a special effort to recruit men," she said.

"Why men?"

"Because they're in short supply, compared to all the available women on the prowl. If there's an eligible bachelor out there, I'll bag him."

I smiled. I had an eligible bachelor she could bag. He didn't have a job, but he wasn't an ex-con.

"Oh, and there's one other reason I'm successful," she said. "I understand what makes a good relationship."