Five
Ian waltzed into the newsroom carrying a deliciously greasy box o’ fried chicken and potato wedges. He beelined to Pete’s desk whilst biting into a come hither drumstick.
“Pete-ay!”
Pete looked up from his computer monitors and frowned at the sight and smell of saturated fat.
“Hungry?” Ian asked.
Pete shook his head. “I don’t eat fried foods anymore, not since I started weight-lifting.”
“Boo weight-lifting,” Ian replied gazing lovingly at his half-eaten drumstick. “Yay, double-battered chicken deep-fried in a vat of grease.”
Pete grimaced.
“I got your text message…” Ian said, pulling up a chair and taking a seat. “So how’d it go with the newlyweds?”
“Well, I’ve got good news and good news.”
Ian grinned. “Now we’re talking.”
“So Bobby wasn’t home when I went by for an interview, but Jamie was. She was super nice. She makes this cherry limeade from scratch that tastes just like Cherry 7-Up but like, you know, healthier.”
Ian gritted his teeth. That was one of the annoying things about working with newbie reporters; they had yet to grasp the wisdom of getting to the point.
“So, right off the bat,” Pete continued, “Jamie confirmed her matchmaker’s name is Chloe Daniels…”
“Yes!” Ian exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air.
“So I asked her a bunch of questions about Chloe… how they met, what’s she’s like, what she looks like… and that’s when she showed me this, their online wedding album. She gave me full access.”
Pete turned one of his computer monitors 180-degrees to face Ian. “This is Chloe Daniels.”
Ian’s mouth froze, mid-chew, as he stared at a photo of Jamie and Bobby, in their wedding attire, standing behind Yankees home plate with their arms around a lovely young woman with luminous hair falling in soft waves about her face, her eyes warm, her smile angelic.
“I know her…” Ian said without thinking.
“You do?”
“Well, not know her, know her. But I’ve seen her before,” he replied, raking his brain for an answer as to when, where and how their paths had crossed.
Pete proceeded to say something or other about his interview with Jamie, but Ian was completely lost in thought.
Suddenly, he snapped his greasy fingers. “F. Scott Harrington!”
Pete cocked his head. “Who?”
“An old frat brother of mine. He got married last year and she was at the reception.”
He knew this for a fact because he had definitely noticed her that day; more than once.
Though he was at the wedding with his then-girlfriend, Meaghan – the woman he loved and planned to spend the rest of his life with – his gaze had been repeatedly drawn to the lady in the canary yellow sundress, whose smile was as bright and energetic as the flared and flirty hem of her dress, which bobbed and swayed with her every laugh, her every step.
His curiosity had been piqued. Yet, he was a man in love and planning to propose. Men like that did not leave their girlfriend’s side to talk to another pretty woman at length… not if they did not want to sleep next to a cold shoulder for days or weeks on end.
“This F. Scott guy, you think she was his matchmaker, too?” Pete asked.
Ian nodded. “Yeah. I remember Harrington gave this special toast, thanking her for bringing true love into his life. He called her his very own Cupid in knock-off clothing.”
“O-kay.”
“He’s a fashion designer. And a bit of a penny pincher. I can’t believe he got bamboozled into paying for a matchmaker. When he made that toast, I thought she was just a mutual friend who set them up, not a charlatan for hire.”
Now, knowing what the lady in the canary yellow sundress did for a living, Ian surmised he had been drawn to her simply because that was her modus operandi – to project an air of mystery and romanticism that caused people to gravitate to her, like a moth to a flame. If he had not been there with Meaghan, there was a good chance he and his wallet would have fallen into her orbit by evening’s end.
“But wait, there’s more!” Pete said, channeling a late nite TV commercial and commanding Ian’s attention once more. “Luckily, Jamie still has Chloe’s numbers stored in her phone. Turns out one of them is a business landline based in a home office so…”
Ian’s eyes twinkled with anticipation. “You’ve got an address?”
Pete smiled with the smugness of the Cheshire cat. “I’ve got an address.”
“Hot damn, Pete! Nice work.”
“So what’s next?”
“Well, first, I’m taking you to Finnegan’s for a much deserved drink. Then, I’m going to do something I haven’t done in a long time…”
“What’s that?”
A sly grin spread across Ian’s lips. “I’m going undercover.”
Two weeks later, Ian sat by the window of a juice bar tucked in the corner of a yuppie gym. In his ear was a Bluetooth headset through which he was having a quiet conversation with… well, with no one, actually.
He was using a mobile app he had paid a techie friend of his to develop, via which an automated voice would talk whenever he stopped talking, to simulate an actual conversation. This gave him the cover he needed to sit and stare out of a window for minutes or hours on end.
He had been trailing the elusive Ms. Daniels at a safe distance for two weeks, and anticipated that she and her roommate, Jenna, would be arriving soon for their weekly yoga class.
For the most part, Chloe’s life was sporadic – largely comprised of meeting with an array of clients in different parts of the city. Trailing someone like that in the Big Apple was damn near impossible. He had lost her in cabs and crowds more times than he could count. But her one constant, it seemed, was yoga Thursday with her roommate.
So Ian had deduced this was the best place and most opportune time for their paths to cross… seemingly by happenstance.
Deep in thought, he had stopped talking and the automated voice began to wax poetic about the wisdom of Cicero. “In the words of Cicero, ‘love is the attempt to form a friendship inspired by beauty…’” the voice recited, just as Chloe and Jenna appeared on the opposite street corner, wielding designer yoga mats on their shoulders.
Ian sprang into action. He grabbed his smoothie from the counter just as his target began to cross the street.
“Alright, thanks man. Talk to you later,” he said, ending his fake phone call.
Then he made his way to the gym’s front atrium. Chloe and Jenna sailed through the front door, engaged in light-hearted banter and, just as their paths were about to cross, Ian stopped and stared at Chloe, as though she was a puzzle he suddenly needed to solve.
The puzzle of, I know you from somewhere…
Like clockwork, Chloe’s gaze locked with his and, for a brief moment, he completely forgot what he was supposed to be doing. Instead, he was suddenly reminded that, at the wedding, it was not just her kilowatt smile that drew people into her orbit, but also the happy-go-lucky optimism that seemed to radiate from her very core.
But the knowledge that no one in New York City was ever truly that happy… or go-lucky… blinked Ian back to reality.
“Hi, I apologize for staring,” he said. “I just feel like I know you from somewhere.”
“Sure you do,” Jenna replied in sing-song, fairly certain he had just used the laziest pick-up line in the book.
Ian snapped his fingers. “F. Scott Harrington. Were you at his wedding last year?”
Chloe’s eyes brightened. “I was! Denver and Harrington, how are they doing?”
“They’re good. They have a surrogate baby on the way.”
“Oh my goodness! Good for them!” she replied, gracing him with that kilowatt smile of hers, as if she was genuinely thrilled by the news. But then again, of course she would be. Harrington’s bundle of joy would be an added notch on her matchmaking belt; another success story she could share with prospective clients to get their name and credit card on the dotted line.
“During the reception, I asked them how they met and they both pointed at you. You’re a matchmaker, right?”
“I am.”
“Are you taking on new clients, by chance?”
“Oh, I…” she said, hesitating.
“As a matter of fact, she is,” Jenna interjected. Then she reached for Chloe’s yoga mat. “While the two of you talk shop, I’m going to make sure we get our spot by the window.”
“Thanks,” Chloe said to her roommate before turning her full attention to Ian. “I’m Chloe, by the way” she said, extending her hand in greeting.
“Ian,” he replied, without thinking, as they shook hands.
He mentally kicked himself. The last thing he had planned to use was his real name. In fact, two nights before, he had jotted a list of undercover names he could use and had even zeroed in on one. But all of those names flew out the window the moment her skin touched his.
“Nice to meet you, Ian. Well, you should know I’m not like any of the matchmakers you read about or see on TV. I only work with people who are ready to settle down, who are really truly looking for their soulmate.”
“Oh, I’m ready,” Ian said. Then, for added effect, he dropped his voice a few octaves and added a dramatic tinge of sad frustration. “I’ve been ready for a while.”
He could feel Chloe studying him. “Why do you think you need a matchmaker?” she asked.
Why did he get the distinct feeling she was interviewing him, looking for reasons not to take him on as a client? That was definitely something he had not anticipated. Perhaps this was her way of adhering to the laws of supply and demand. The harder something was to come by, the more people wanted it… and the more they were willing to pay to have it.
Ian’s thoughts circled back to her question: Why do you think you need a matchmaker?
“Honestly, I need you because I think every woman I date is The One until we break up. I figure this time around, I should get some expert guidance. Not to be melodramatic, but you’re kinda my last hope.”
Chloe chuckled. “I highly doubt that.”
“No seriously, I haven’t been able to connect with anyone since…”
He racked his brain for the just-right words to say, an earnest lie that would get him past the velvet rope and onto her exclusive client list. He knew he needed to strike a deep, emotional chord with her. Unfortunately, the only thing that came to mind was the painful truth.
“My ex,” he began, his eyes downcast, “I thought she was the one till she dumped me via email right before the holidays.”
“Oh, no.”
“One minute we’re discussing marriage and the next, I get a Dear John email that she’s fallen for someone else and they’re going to shoot a film in Nepal.”
“That’s horrible. How long had you been together?”
“Two years.”
“I’m so sorry that happened to you, Ian.”
Ian blinked the pain and the heartbreak away and returned to the task at hand.
“You know, I look at Harrington and Denver, at how happy they are, and I’m like, I want that,” he said, going in for the emotional kill. “I want to fall in love again, but with the right person this time. You know?”
Chloe nodded. “I do.”
“So is that a yes?”
Chloe smiled. “It’s a yes.”
“Thank you, baby Jesus,” Ian said dramatically, gazing up at the heavens.
Chloe laughed.
“So what happens next?” he asked.
She fished in her bag and pulled out a business card. “Well, first, send me an email and I’ll send you an orientation packet. It includes an in-depth questionnaire so I can get to know you better.”
“Okay,” he replied, taking her business card and tucking it into his wallet.
“What do you, Ian?”
“For a living?”
She nodded.
“Oh, um… I’m a…”
This was something he had not – but definitely should have – figured out ahead of time. Gunderson was right; he was off his game.
Damn Meaghan and her Dear John email.
He knew he did not have the luxury of time to come up with a just-right occupation on the fly, otherwise he would look suspicious. Instead, he had to settle for the first and only word that came to mind.
“I’m an architect,” he replied.
Chloe’s eyes alighted with interest. “Really? What kind?”
“Commercial.”
“How cool! Okay, so, after you complete the questionnaire, we can schedule a time next week or the next for me to shadow you at work.”
Shit.
“At work? How come?”
“Because in some cases, a person crosses paths with their soulmate every day not knowing it. It could be a friend of a friend, or a neighbor, co-worker, or a stranger who stands next to you every day on the subway…”
“Wait, so… you’re saying that you’re able to tell whether a neighbor or co-worker of mine is my soulmate?”
“In a sense, yes,” she replied.
On reflex, Ian’s eyes flooded with skepticism. So this was her shtick. A shtick that had fooled Brad Maylis, Jamie and Bobby, Denver and Harrington and dozens of others. She did not market herself as being just a matchmaker. Oh no, she was some sort of magical, hyper-evolved being who could pluck your soulmate from the masses, like a pebble floating in the great blue sea.
“Have you ever been wrong?” he asked.
Chloe smiled serenely. “No. I have not.”
There it was again, that magnetic optimism of hers. Boy was she good. He was beginning to empathize with all those who had fallen under her spell.
“Okay, um, I’ll check my calendar and send you a few dates that work.”
“Perfect. I look forward to working with you, Ian.”
“And I, you,” he replied, feigning the hope-laden smile of someone who was truly looking forward to finding their soulmate.
Ian continued on to the front doors and once he was safely outside, he yanked out his cell and speed dialed Fitz.
“Hey, listen, I need a favor… a huge favor.”
Chloe weaved her way through a maze of yoga mats over to where Jenna had set up theirs. Jenna sat cross-legged on her mat, typing up a work email on her phone.
“So…” she said, glancing up at Chloe. “Did you take him on as a client?”
Chloe kneeled on her mat. “I did.”
“Well that’s too bad. ‘Cus he’s hot. What’s his name?
“Ian.”
“And what does he do?”
“He’s an architect.”
“Really? That means he’s smart and good with his hands. Yep, he definitely would’ve been a solid contender for Mr. Right Now.”
Chloe shook her head. “Just the other day you were going on and on about Alexander.”
“Hey, I’m still Team Alexander. But he’s out of town right now. Plus, who says you have to limit yourself to just one Mr. Right Now.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“This sexy architect guy remembers you from a wedding that happened like a year ago. Which means you definitely left an impression on him.”
“Yes, a professional impression.”
“Yeah, no. That’s not how the male brain works.”
Chloe chuckled. “Ah, so now you’re an expert on how men think?”
“Yep,” Jenna replied with a twinkle in her eye. “My PhD in men’s studies is in the mail as we speak.”
“That’s awesome, I can’t wait to see it!” Chloe said, cheekily.
Jenna bent forward, stretching her torso over her legs as she wrapped both hands around the soles of her feet.
“Well, unfortunately, there’s no turning back now, you’ve already taken him on as a client.”
“Yes,” Chloe said with a smile. “And I’m very much looking forward to helping him find his Mrs. Right!”