The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (2 page)

That Bordeaux is sounding better every second.

“I think you should heed my advice, mademoiselle.”

Ugh. Not her again. The chaos in the small room is starting to get to me. With Lucy bawling in one ear and Madame Antoinette yapping in my other, I’m desperate to just get the hell out. I push Luce through the beaded door and down the corridor. She’s so devastated she can barely walk. Her three-inch Prada pumps aren’t helping, either.

The psychic is close on our heels, and she’s still shouting warnings about me using my powers for good and not for selfish gain, blah, blah, blah. Where did Lucy find this quack, anyhow?

Finally, we spill onto the sidewalk into the blaring sunlight. It was darker in there than I’d realized and I have to squint to see. I walk Lucy toward the street and look left and right in desperate search of a taxi stand. There’s none in sight. I shudder at the thought of taking the Metro. But it’s either that or walk, and these Christian Louboutins aren’t going to get me very far.

“Come on, Lucy,” I say, dragging her away from Madame Antoinette’s. “A hot shower and some good wine will make you feel much better.”

Lucy only nods. The tears are still flowing freely down her cheeks, and we’re getting odd looks from the passersby. Great. Just what I want. To draw attention to ourselves in this seedy part of town.

After walking for what seems like forever in a random direction, it’s clear we’re getting farther and farther away from civilization. The storefronts are getting shabbier, and most are closed for business. And despite the fact it’s close to rush hour, there are very few people out and about. I don’t want to admit that I’m lost. It wouldn’t do any good anyway. It’s not like Lucy is in a state of mind to help us get out of this area. Deciding I have no other choice, I stop the nicest looking man I see.

“Pardon,” I say in my best French accent. “
Ou est le Metro
?”

The man starts rambling to me in French, far too fast for my high school French education to be of any help. Thankfully, he’s gesturing, too. I catch a few words I recognize, and by the time he’s done, I’m pretty sure I know where we’re heading.

“
Merci
!” I yell as we take off in the direction he’d pointed.

We walk a few more blocks until we reach the street I was sure he’d said to take a right onto. My toes are already starting to blister and the pads of my feet are burning. These shoes were definitely not made for walking. I look right and my stomach sinks. Oh, my God.

“CanCan,” Lucy says in her teary, little girl voice. “We don’t have to walk up that, do we?”

I want to cry right along with her. San Francisco has nothing on this hill. But the good news is that it’s way more populated here. We must be in some kind of tourist-y area. You’d think that would mean taxis, but there still aren’t any to be found.

I grab Lucy’s arm and give her a tug. We fall into the fold of the masses that are heading up the hill and begin to climb. Within seconds, my legs are burning, and I’m cursing Christian Louboutin’s name all the way. Who gave permission for men to design women’s shoes, anyhow? I’d like to see him walk up this monster hill in these four-inchers.

“My feet hurt,” Lucy whines, much to my annoyance.

“I’m not having a picnic here, either,” I say and immediately regret my tone.

Lucy sniffles. “You don’t have to be so mean. I just found out my soul mate’s been cheating on me!”

I want to roll my eyes and tell her that if he’s cheating on her, he’s probably not actually her soul mate, but I know that won’t help. “I’m sorry, Luce. Listen, we’ll be back at the hotel soon and then we can sort all this out. Maybe it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Okay,” she says, her voice small. And then, out of nowhere, she begins to wail like a banshee. “But it’s not just a misunderstanding! He cheated on me!”

She’s stopped walking now, and we’re creating a scene in the middle of the busy sidewalk. I never knew people could rubberneck while walking, but apparently they can.

“Luce,” I say in a hushed voice as if I’m talking to a toddler. “Listen to me. You have to pull yourself together, okay? We just need to get back to the hotel and then you can cry and scream and throw things ‘till your heart’s content. Okay, Lucy?”

She nods and opens her tear-filled eyes. Damn it, I’m going to kill Steve for doing this to her. What a jerk.

I look back up the hill. We’re not even halfway. I’m not sure my feet will make it, and I’m pretty sure they’re bleeding underneath the leopard print pony hair. But we have no choice. Still no cabs to be found.

Another five minutes of walking vertically up the hill and we finally make it to the top.

“Oh, thank God!” I’m panting hard. My quads are burning. And I’m more than ready to trade these damned heels for the fluffy slippers at Georges V.

“Where’s the Metro?” Lucy asks, looking around the area. Trees cover us overhead and before us is a staircase that’s so long, I’m certain it leads straight to hell.

“Pardon!” I grab a woman’s arm and she shoots me one of the most intimidating looks I’ve ever received. Huh. I’ll have to practice that one in the mirror. As an executive I’ll need a really intimidating glare. “
Le Metro, s’il vous plait
?”

She rolls her eyes as if I’m the greatest nuisance to ever enter her life and then points down the staircase. As she moves on, I squint to try and see what’s at the bottom. It looks more like a subway station for ants from this vantage point, but I can just make out the sign that says “Metropolitan.”

“All right.” I grab Lucy’s arm again. “Let’s go.”

We begin the descent down the long flight of stairs with the hundreds of other people, and I can only hope they aren’t all going to the Metro. Much to my dismay, they are. All of them. I feel like I’m in a swarm of bees tunneling into the hive. It’s absolute chaos when we finally reach the bottom of the stairs in the station.

Already, I’m dreading this experience. I’ve been to Paris a hundred times, and this is the first time I’ve been subjected to a subway ride. It’s no small feat figuring out how to purchase our rides and getting the still-distraught Lucy through the turnstile.

Once we’re on the platform waiting for the train, Lucy looks around as though she’s just waking up from a deep sleep. “Where are we?” she asks, clearly perplexed by the foreign environment.

“What do you mean where are we? Good grief, Luce, haven’t you been with me for the last thirty excruciating minutes?”

“Not really. I’m kind of devastated over here.”

I nod. “I know.” I put my arm around her and give her a half hug. It’s in this inopportune moment, while we’re stuffed like sardines onto a French subway platform, that I realize how badly I need to pee. Crap. How often do Metro trains come? And how long is the ride back to the hotel? It could be five minutes or it could be an hour. I’ve never been underground, but I do know it took about twenty minutes by car to get to Madame Antoinette’s. Surely it’ll take longer to get home by train. Can I hold it?

I close my eyes and try to distract myself with thoughts of work. Tomorrow’s my big presentation to Le Roi and, in all honesty, I probably should not have taken the afternoon off to come with Lucy to see the psychic. What was I thinking? I should have talked her out of it like a good friend and gone over my presentation like a good employee. Then I wouldn’t be in this blasted predicament.

I pull out my phone, hoping something on there will distract me. I don’t have service, but I do have about a hundred missed calls from my mom and three messages from my boss. Oh, God. I’m not nearly as worried about the calls from my boss as I am the ones from my mom. Why did she call so many times? Is it Dad? Oh, my God! What if he’s sick? Or worse! Or maybe it’s about my sister. I told her not to go to Cabo with that guy, but did she listen? Of course not! No one ever listens to me, which is why I’m standing in a stupid Metro station instead of drinking wine in my deluxe suite at Georges V.

I’m dancing from foot to foot now and clenching my vaginal muscles so hard I could probably crack a walnut. But nothing is helping. The sensation is just getting worse. And worse.

The woman next to us pulls out her water bottle, and I almost let go right then and there. She swishes the water around, takes a drink. More swishing. I’m going to lose it.

“Luce, I have to find a bathroom,” I say in a rush.

“What?” She turns to me in alarm. “We’re in a subway station.”

“I know, but I can’t hold it.” Desperate, I turn to a somewhat friendly looking stranger beside us. “
Est ce qu’il y a un toilette ici
?” I have no idea if that was right, but it’s the best I can do under the circumstances.

The man points toward the exit and rambles something I’m too crazed to even try to understand. But it doesn’t matter. It appears there is a bathroom, so I push through the crowd and take off in search of it. I hear Luce’s heels clicking behind me as I make my way back through the station, the same way we came, keeping an eye out for anything that looks like it could be a bathroom. By the time we get back to the top where the turnstiles are, I’m still searching. But there’s nothing. And now I’m certain the man was trying to tell me the bathrooms were outside. Damn it!

I glance behind me. Luce is still there; we’re both fighting the mobs of people who are trying to get to the trains.

“I have to go up!” I yell back to her.

“But we already paid!”

How can she worry about money at a time like this? Or at all, for that matter? The shoes we’re wearing would pay most people’s mortgages. For several months. A piddly subway fare was hardly of any concern.

I race through the turnstile and up the stairs—not easy to do when everyone else is coming down. I barely even notice the excruciating pain in my feet anymore. All I care about is that little booth that stands about 200 feet from me now. By this time, I’m pretty sure my vagina could win a weight lifting contest.

I feel like William Wallace as I battle my way there, and finally, it’s before me. I breathe a sigh of relief as I tug on the door, only to discover it’s locked. Oh, my God. This can’t be happening.

Okay, deep breaths. It wants me to insert money. That’s all. No problem. “Change, Luce! Do you have any change?”

Poor miserable Lucy hobbles up to me, her tear-streaked face looking mutinous. “No,” she says.

She’s no good to me. I have to get into that bathroom, but where can I get change? I look around and see a newspaper vendor across the street. I’ll get change there. I’m about to step off the curb when I hear the blessed sound of the door opening behind me. I spin around, frantic.

“Hold the door!” I yell. The perplexed woman holds it open, but is rambling on in French as she does. “I know,” I say, assuming she’s upset that I’m trying to get in without paying. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have any money.
Je n’ai pas
…money!”

I run past her into the little stall and try to shut the door, but the woman hangs on to it.

“Let go!” I yell.

She yells something back in French and tugs the door open a little more. I tug it toward me. She tugs it toward her. I’m seriously going to pee all over her. With one final superhuman yank, I pull the door shut. It slams and locks. I hike up my skirt and pull down my panties. I squat over the toilet and then a whirring sound begins. I look up, wondering what it is, but I don’t have to wait to find out.

“Ahhhhhhh!” I’m screaming bloody murder as a thousand jets of soapy water hit me. I want to keep it off my face, but there’s nowhere to turn that the jets can’t find me.

Luce is pounding on the door. “Candace! Candace, what’s wrong? Oh, my God! Candace, are you alive?”

Thirty seconds later, it’s all over. The bathroom is wet, but quiet. I’m dripping from head to toe. Outside, I hear Lucy bawling and begging for help because her best friend was just attacked by the bathroom. I realize that in the chaos, I peed down my legs, all over my Christian Louboutins. I know I should care, but I’m just so relieved. And since the rest of me is drenched, I’m pretty sure no one will notice.

Carefully, and with as much dignity as I can muster, I replace my panties, pull my skirt down and open the door.

“Oh, my God! Candace, you’re alive!” Luce comes running and throws her arms around my neck. “Why are you wet?”

I close my eyes and sigh. “Self cleaning toilets.” I want to cry, but I can’t. Instead, I burst into laughter as I spy a taxi stand about a hundred paces away.

Two

Georges V is one of the most incredible hotels in the entire world, and I’ve always appreciated how amazing it is. But I’ve seriously never been so happy to see it as I am right now.  The lobby beckons me from the other side of the glass doors, with its shiny marble floor and intricate moldings. And the distinguished guests are milling about in their designer clothes. There’s even a couple sipping champagne as they chat near one of the lovely flower arrangements. I hate to walk through looking like a sea monster of the deep, but my feet hurt too much to try to find the staff entrance.

I hobble through the doors. Oh, God. My feet hurt so much. The blistering is even worse now that they’re wet. I’m terrified to take my shoes off for fear of what I’ll find there. I expect it’ll be a bloody mess.

The doorman gives me an odd look, but thankfully says nothing. Probably because Lucy is with me and she still appears somewhat human. I’m certain if I tried to walk in on my own, they’d toss me out on my ass. I wouldn’t blame them one bit. If I saw me walking through Georges V, I would probably alert the authorities to the homeless woman trying to infiltrate the 5-star hotel.

The elevator ride up to the room is embarrassing, to say the least. An American bride decked out in a Vera Wang dress along with her groom get on, accompanied by their entire bridal party. I’m trying desperately not to get too close to any of them, but it’s pretty much impossible. A girl in a black bridesmaid dress bumps against me and turns around with a disgusted look on her face.

I’m tempted to reach out and smack her—I mean seriously, she has no idea what I’ve been through today—but the elevator dings. Saved by the bell. She’s lucky.

My room is five doors down, but it seems like a million miles away right now. I’m not sure I can make it. But then I glance at Luce. She’s not crying anymore, she just looks really, really sad. My heart aches for her.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” I say as I reach my door. Lucy’s room is the next one over. “See you in twenty?”

She nods and disappears into her room. I open my door and nearly collapse to the ground in gratitude. The first thing I have to do is get these damn shoes off. And then I’m going to burn them.

I hobble down the little corridor and plop onto the bench at the foot of the bed. Okay, I have to prepare myself for what I’m about to see. I know it’s not going to be pretty.

I gingerly remove the right shoe, starting with the heel and ending with the toes. Four of the five are now dripping blood onto the lovely white carpet. It looks like a podiatric massacre, and the other one isn’t any better. The worst part is that I’m giving a huge presentation in the morning and I can’t imagine having to put another pair of heels on. It’s going to be torture. But at least I have tonight to kick back and relax.

Once I’ve made it to the bathroom, I turn the water on and get into the luxurious shower. God, it feels so good. Much better than the one I had in the port-a-potty outside the Metro station. As much as I want to stay in here forever, I know Lucy needs me. So I rush through the shampoo and conditioner and full-body soap-down, wincing as the soap runs into the open wounds on my feet.

Lucy knocks on the door just as I’m getting out of the shower. “Just a sec!” I call, wondering if I can even be heard through the bathroom door and down the hallway.

I wrap the towel around me and run to the door. My phone is sitting on the little table in the corridor and I see that it’s lit up with my mom’s name again. Great. I have to take it.

“Hey, Mom,” I say. “Is everything okay?”

“Candy, where have you been? I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day!”

Seeing as it’s only one o’clock in the afternoon where she is, it hardly constitutes as ‘all day.’ “Yeah, I know. Sorry. I meant to call you back, but…everyone’s okay, right?”

Lucy knocks again. Crap. “Coming!”

“Yes, of course, darling. I just have something important I need to talk to you about.”

“You called me a hundred times. It must be pretty important.” Another knock. “But listen, Mom, someone’s knocking, and I’ve had a really long day. Can I call you tomorrow after my meeting?”

“Candace,” she says, and I’m taken aback by her use of my full name. I stopped using Candy years ago, but my parents still insist on calling me that. It’s a rare occasion that my mom uses Candace. “This is really important. You
have
to call me back, okay?”

“Of course!” I say, and I have to admit I’m a little offended.

“You don’t have the best track record, darling. But you can’t blow me off this time.”

“Mom, I get it.” Geez! Did she not hear me when I said there was someone was knocking? “I gotta go!”

I hang up and run to the door, trying to keep the towel securely around me. But it’s made of really soft material that doesn’t stay up all that well.

“Sorry, Luce,” I say. Only it’s not Lucy standing in the hallway. It’s my boss. “Celia! What are you doing here? I thought you were in New York.”

“I was,” she says, pushing her way into the room. “But I decided to join you here in Paris, thinking you might need some help with the presentation tomorrow.”

My pride prickles at the fact she’s flown last minute to Paris because she doesn’t think I’m capable of landing this deal on my own. But I swallow it down and reply in cordial tones. “That’s very kind of you, Celia, but I’m pretty sure I can handle it.”

“Oh, really?” She spins around, looking more severe than I’ve ever seen her. And that’s saying something, since her jet-black hair is always slicked into a tight bun and her lips have never so much as quirked upwards into anything resembling a smile. “I’m not so sure about that.”

I blink, perplexed. “What are you talking about? I’ve been working on this for months. I’ve never been so ready for anything in my life.”

“And that’s why you took the day off to go to gallivanting around the city?”

Gallivanting?
“I didn’t take the day off, I—”

She’s standing at the bar where my bottle of Bordeaux awaits, eyeing it with interest. I’ve always liked Celia, but if she so much as touches that bottle, I swear I might bite her hand off.

“Just the afternoon,” I finish. “Look, Celia, I’m ready for this, and I don’t need your help.”

She turns abruptly to face me. “Your promotion depends on this presentation, Candace. No deal, no promotion.”

Oh, God. I was feeling confident a minute ago. Now I’m not so sure. I really want that promotion. God knows I’ve put in the work and paid my dues over the last several years. If I got it, I would be the youngest executive ever at Bell North. This is my dream, everything I’ve been working toward. Only I had no idea my future rested entirely on tomorrow’s presentation. Talk about putting on the pressure.

But I can’t let on that I’m nervous, so I smile and say, “Oh, Celia, you’re so silly!” My laugh is faker than fake, but I need to convince her I can do this. “I’m
ready
. That promotion is as good as mine.”

Celia takes a deep breath and gives me a shrewd half smile. “All righty then. If you’re confident—”

“I am!”

“Good. Now, here are the latest numbers from Le Roi. You’ll want to look these over tonight and make sure you’ve got the best possible deal for them.” She procures a manila envelope from her Prada briefcase and holds it out to me.

I’m confused. “I thought I had the latest numbers,” I say. “The presentation is all set and ready to go.”

“Well, these came in this morning. I would have given them to you, but…” She drops her glasses to her nose and raises her eyebrows. “I couldn’t find you.”

If Lucy hadn’t just discovered her boyfriend was cheating on her, I would kill her.

As it stands, I have a whole night of work ahead of me, re-crunching numbers and re-doing about a thousand PowerPoint slides. But I can’t let on that I’m shaken by this news, so I paste on a smile and grab the folder from Celia. “No problem,” I say and then step aside in an obvious gesture for her to leave. “Better get to work.”

She steps past me and heads for the door. “I’ll meet you at Le Bar at one tomorrow afternoon. We should know what they thought of your presentation by then. Make it count, Candace!”

The door slams behind her. “Make it count, Candace,” I repeat, mocking her. If I didn’t have so much respect for Celia, I would want to punch her in the face.

There’s another knock at the door and I realize I’m still in my towel. I grab the robe on the back of one of the tufted chairs and tie it around me as I run to let Lucy in. Her blonde hair is wet and she’s in a pair of Victoria’s Secret pajamas. I know they’re Victoria’s Secret because I have the same set of pink striped flannel PJs.

“Hey,” she says as she brushes past me. “Are we ordering room service?”

I sigh. I hate to break this news to her. “Actually…there’s a change in plans.” She looks up at me with bloodshot eyes. Clearly she’s been crying some more. “Celia stopped by. I have to redo all the numbers for tomorrow’s presentation.”

“No!” Luce is outraged. “But you already worked so hard to get the original numbers. How can she do this to you?”

I’m tempted to tell her that I would have had it done by now if I hadn’t gone to Madame Antoinette’s with her, but I don’t want to make her feel worse than she already does. “She just got them herself.”

Lucy stares begrudgingly at the folder I’m still holding in my hands. “Do you want some help?”

“Thanks, but it’s okay. I know you have your own work to do for Celia.”

“Not that I’m going to be able to get anything done tonight,” she says. “God, Steve is
such
a dick.”

“I know. I’m so sorry, Luce.”

She stifles a sob. “It’s okay.”

God, I’m such a bad friend. I hate letting Lucy down—it makes my stomach hurt. But what am I supposed to do? If I don’t nail this, I’ll lose my chance at the promotion. “All right,” I say as I follow Lucy back to the door. “Goodnight.”

The door closes and I’m tempted to open it again and say, “Screw Celia!” But I can’t. This job everything to me, my whole life. Lucy and I can hash out the whole Steve thing tomorrow. Once I’ve had my one o’clock rehash with Celia, I’ll be done with work and devote the rest of the day to Lucy.

Feeling better about my situation, I race back to the desk and plop down, ready to work. But then again, I could probably use some wine to get me through the night. I’ve been dreaming about that Bordeaux all day, I should at least have a glass or two.

I quickly pop the cork and pour a hefty portion into a wine glass.

“Okay, now I’m ready.”

As I look over the numbers, I get increasingly more frustrated. The numbers are ridiculously close. Mere dollars apart. I can’t believe I have to change everything for a few dollars difference.

I take a gulp of wine. And another. I need to be completely desensitized to get through this night. Otherwise, I might do something I regret.

~*~

Oh, God. Where am I? I must be in the hospital because I’ve definitely been hit by a truck. I blink. The sun is so bright. Am I outside? That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I be asleep outside?

I raise my head and realize there’s something stuck to it. A piece of paper. As I reach to remove it, I knock something over. It’s a glass. Of wine. Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. I fell asleep?
I fell asleep!

I pick up the papers before the wine gets to them and then reach frantically for my phone. Dead. Crap! I rush to the bedside and nearly collapse with a heart attack when I see the time.

8:45 glares back at me, mocking. Oh, my God. I’ll never make it. Not in a million years. The cab ride alone is fifteen minutes and I’m not even dressed. I never dried my hair last night, so I’m sure I look like a frizzy version of Medusa.

Even so, I know I have to try. My career depends on this. My
life
depends on this. I
have
to make it.

I devote thirty seconds to each task. Teeth bushing. Makeup application. Hair. Clothes. Finally, I stuff all the papers Celia gave me back in their manila envelope and toss them into my briefcase along with my laptop.

There’s a sinking in my stomach when I realize I never finished re-doing the numbers. I’m actually not sure I even got started.

Oh, God. I’m screwed.

The last thing I have to do is put on my shoes and I’m dreading it with every ounce of my being. But I don’t have much of a choice. I open the closet where my shoes are laid out, side by side. Every one of them expensive, designer and horribly uncomfortable. I decide the Ferragamo loafer pumps are the best bet, even though they aren’t the best choice for this suit.

As I slide my feet into the right shoe, I’m accosted with pain. Oh, my God. I can’t do this. I don’t think I can make it to the elevator, let alone stand for more than an hour to deliver a presentation.

I bite my bottom lip to redirect the pain as I run down my list of options:

1) Grin and bear it (not really an option at all, because, seriously, it hurts)

2) Tell Celia I’ve had a family emergency and I have to fly back to the states ASAP, and then hide out in my room until the hotel assures me she’s checked out