Chapter Twelve

It’s one a.m. Crying, I pull out the storage container in the linen closet, the one with all my medical textbooks, and Leon Drucelli’s medical file, which I’ve kept a copy of. Through my tears, I relive my mistake. I go all judge and jury on myself until I mutter the word, “Guilty.”

Chris doesn’t leave me to wallow in my self-pity and my incrimination. Instead, he brings me tissues, hugs me, and replenishes my water supply so I avoid dehydration. When I close the textbooks and file everything back into the storage container, Chris sighs.

“We have a number, Melinda,” he says, using my full name. He never uses my full name. “When our number ticks over, that’s it. It was you standing by his bed when it happened, sure, but it could have been anybody else, and still, the result would have been the same. His number ticked over; his time on Earth was done. His purpose for being here was served. You can lock yourself into eternal damnation until your number arrives, or you can grow some lady balls and do what you’re supposed to be doing: saving the lives of those whose numbers aren’t up yet, who need you here to help them. You’re wasting your ability. You’re not providing the service you were meant to, and for the love of God, will you seriously get some counselling so you can see I’m right?”

I stumble backwards with the storage container in hand. I glare at Chris in a way I’ve never done before. His words sting. I swivel on my bunny footed onesie and return my nightmare to the cupboard, then close the door.

For the next thirty minutes, we sit in silence, then, as if nothing has happened at all, Chris picks up my laptop and says, “Let’s see who’s getting all hot and heavy over you on the dating site. You don’t get to give up, Mindy. Not on this.”

I don’t. Maybe if I’d tried harder with Leon, things would have been different.

Now I need to try hard with me. We laugh, we poke fun, and we search through pages and pages of people, who are just like me, living in a cyberspace world of dating. Until a large pop-up covers the site and claims my attention.

 

Are you looking for YOUR Perfect Catch? We can help you. Click ‘yes’ below for your chance to find the one you’ve been searching for. He’s right here.

 

I look at Chris, whose eyes are wide and filled with excitement.

“What is this?” I say.

He shrugs. “I don’t know, but click yes.”

I do.

The site loads a new page. A man and woman posed in the most sensual of ways fills my vision. Their lips are parted from one another a fraction, a kiss imminent. A very eye-catching opening image. Above this sexy photo, it says, Would you like to submit your profile for the upcoming show Perfect Catch? If so, click the ‘submit’ button below.

“This has to be spam, right?”

“I know how to clean your device if it is. I want to see. Open, open.” Chris bounces on the spot.

“Me too.” I click submit.

 

Grey Stone Productions is seeking three ladies to join three selected male counterparts on our new show, Perfect Catch. We’re looking for ladies between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five who are single and ready to find the love of their life.

Click ‘more’ to learn about the show.

 

“Do it. Do it now,” Chris says, all deep-throated and manly, a tone I’ve never heard come out of his mouth in the entire time I’ve known him.

“Okay already.” I click the ‘learn more’ button.

 

Welcome!

Our computer system has the details of three gentlemen suitors already logged. They’ve answered a series of random questions, as will you. (See the ‘questions’ button at the bottom of the page for entry.) Once all answers are submitted, our scientific computer analysis program, the Love Catcher, will pair these gentlemen with their perfect catch. Submissions will be closing tonight, so make sure to enter now.

 

“Do it,” Chris encourages.

“I’m not going on a television show. Have you lost your marbles?”

“Do it,” he says again.

“No.”

“Do it,” Chris demands.

“Why?”

“Because maybe your directionally unmotivated soul mate is waiting for you on this show.”

“You’re all unicorns, rainbows, and fucking bunny onesies, aren’t you?”

“What have you got to lose?”

“My dignity. My sanity. I can barely speak to the opposite sex, let alone do it on a television show.”

“There you go, putting limitations on yourself again.”

“No, I’m not. I’m a go-getter in life.”

“Says who?”

“Me.”

“Prove it.”

“Fine,” I snap, scrolling past the next five paragraphs of information until I find the questionnaire link. “Here goes wasted time.”

Chris doesn’t reply.

 

Full Name: Melinda Renee Grant

Date of Birth: October 2nd, 1988

Email address: [email protected]

Occupation:

 

“What do I put? I can’t put receptionist at an escort agency now, can I?”

“Type doctor. It’s what I did on your dating profile. It’s not a lie. You’re still licensed.”

“Okay.”

I type doctor.

 

Are you single? Yes

Are you a virgin? No

Are you currently employed? Yes

Your highest level of Education: A doctorate in medicine.

Postcode: 3195

Are you religious? No

(If yes, please supply the further information below.)

Do you have any children? No

How many siblings do you have? Male or female? One. Female.

Are you parents married, divorced, living together, widowed, or deceased? Married.

Were you born in Australia? Yes.

Is there any medical reason you could not complete physical challenges or stay on a tropical island for three weeks? No.

 

You’re now entering a series of random questions. The answers to these selected questions are relevant regarding the systematic programming we’re using to create a perfect match.

Please note: There are no right or wrong answers. You need to complete each question with full honesty and to the best of your ability. Relax. Put your feet up and complete the remainder of our questionnaire. Don’t forget to hit the ‘submit’ button when you reach the end, and write down the identification number which will appear on your screen.

 

What’s your favourite colour? Yellow.

What’s your favourite scent?

 

“Favourite scent?” I search for Chris’s reaction. “Can I put coffee?”

“It said to be honest, and you sure love the smell of coffee.”

I type coffee in the vacant spot.

 

If you had to choose a number between one and ten, what would you choose? Six.

 

“Six?” Chris’s eyes connect with mine.

“I’ve always loved the number six.”

“Fair enough. Continue. Mine’s three, by the way.”

“I know.” I smile before reading the next question.

 

Beer, wine, spirits, cocktails, or I don’t drink? Cocktails

Bus, plane, train, or car? Plane

Sweet, sour, or savoury? Sweet

Beach or meadows? Beach

Hot or cold? Cold

Dress, skirt, or pants and top? Dress

Flats or stilettos? Flats

Rain or sunshine? Rain

Snow or sand? Sand

Outdoors or indoors? Indoors

Reading or television? Reading

Cursive or bold text? Cursive

Cruises or destination vacations? Destination vacations

Dark or light? Light

Casual or formal settings and attire? Casual

Businessman or labourer? Labourer

 

“Really? I would have thought businessman.”

“I get that, but there’s something about a man who gets his hands dirty ...”

“Not my cuppa tea, but to each their own.”

“You like them clean-shaven, rich, and with expensive taste.”

“Girl, you know me so well.”

“I do.”

“Keep going.”

“Okay.”

 

Maths, English, science, or art? English

Hot-air balloons or speedboats? Hot-air balloons

Circus or Carnival? Carnival

Hair up or down? Down

Shave or wax? Shave

Tea or coffee? Coffee

G-string or briefs? Briefs

Vampire or werewolf? Vampire

Dice or cards? Cards

Rivers or lakes? Lakes

Grass or carpet? Grass

House or apartment? House

Car or motorbike? Car

Fine dining or barbecue? Barbecue

Café or Restaurant? Café

 

After another three pages and fifty thousand pointless questions later, I upload the photograph Chris used for my dating profile and hover the mouse over the ‘submit’ button. Chris’s eyes connect with mine.

“Press submit,” he whispers.

The mouse stays pointed over the big green button. My stomach roils like an ocean wave. My heart races like I’m running a marathon. My hands shake.

“You’re a go-getter, remember?” Chris says.

Click!

Congratulations, and thank you for entering to be a contestant on Perfect Catch. You’ll receive either an acceptance or denial email, or a phone call, in the next twenty-four hours. If accepted, you’ll be given a location and a day and time to appear in our studio. Good luck, and we hope your ideal guy is one of the stars already selected for the show.

Make sure you’ve read our terms and conditions.

Your entry number is 2,000,004.

 

“What the hell have I just done?”

“Lived. You just lived in the fast lane, Mindy. Twenty-four hours.” Chris claps his hands together. “We’ll know in twenty-four hours.”

I drop my head and swallow hard to avoid throwing up. Melinda Grant on a television show? No freaking way. Talk about a disaster waiting to happen.