Cupid's Christmas (5 page)

F
or the next three weeks Lindsay spent every waking hour searching for a job. At the end of that time the only thing she had was a notepad of scratched off listings—and the knowledge that her resume was pitifully inadequate and her qualifications limited. She’d come to New York with thoughts of becoming a journalist, and then one day a novelist, but she’d done none of that.

Instead she’d taken a job at a magazine where there was no reporting, there was only making coffee and answering phones. Several times she’d asked to write an article, but a bulbous-nosed editor peered across the rim of his glasses and said, “Sweetie, we only use professional stuff.” After six months of rejections she’d moved on to become an Administrative Assistant to one of the many vice presidents at a marine insurance firm. There she had little to do but answer an occasional telephone call and make up lies about her boss being tied up at a meeting. Her boss, a man who often returned from lunch smelling of whiskey, was eventually fired, and Lindsay’s job disappeared. From there she’d gone to the Big Book Barn, and well, you already know how that ended.

When for five days straight there were no new job listings, Lindsay grew frantic and began telephoning her friends. Amanda said she knew of no openings in her store or anywhere else. “But Amanda, you work for Saks,” Lindsay said, “Don’t they hire extra help for the holidays?”

“Those temps were hired a month ago,” Amanda replied, “the training class is over.”

“Training? I don’t need training. I’ve worked in retail for three years. I know how to work with customers. I’m ready to…”

“Oh Saks would never hire anyone who hasn’t gone through our training program. I mean, it is
Saks Fifth Avenue
…”

Lindsay suddenly found herself disliking her best friend. After an abrupt goodbye, she hung up the telephone.

Her next call was to Sara. Hopefully she’d had better luck in finding a job and could suggest something. First Lindsay dialed Sara’s home number, but a recording answered and said the number had been disconnected.  She then called Sara’s cell. It rang three times and when Sara answered it was in an almost bubbly voice. “Hey there girlfriend,” she said.

Taken aback, Lindsay stuttered for a moment then asked, “Is this Sara? Sara McClusky?”

“Of course it’s me,” Sara laughed.

The loud music, the laughter in her voice, this simply wasn’t the Sara that Lindsay knew. “Are you at a party?” she asked.

“Indeed I am,” Sara shouted. “This is definitely a par-tee.”

“Sara? Are you okay? Is there anything…”

“Everything’s fine.” Sara laughed, “I’m at my sister’s in Tampa.”

“Florida?”

“That’s where Tampa is.”

 “You left New York? What about work?”

She laughed again, this time it was more of a chuckle. “In case you’ve forgotten, I didn’t have a job…remember? You quit for both of us.”

“But, I thought you’d find…” The truth was Lindsay didn’t know what she thought.

Sara stepped away from the music, found a quiet spot, and then they talked.

Lindsay told her of the trouble she’d had finding a job and apologized again for having dragged Sara from the Big Book Barn. “I’d no idea it was this hard to find a job…” she sighed.

Sara reassured Lindsay that she had no second thoughts about leaving as they had. “It was the best thing that could have happened,” she said, “The truth is I had no life in New York. I was a guppy swimming with sharks. The best I could ever hope for was to avoid being eaten alive.”

“I never really saw it that way,” Lindsay said.

“Neither did I. But once I got past the no-job thing, I learned to move on, get some fun out of life.”

“Move on?” Lindsay echoed.

“Yeah, can you believe it’s me saying this?”

Lindsay had to admit it was hard to believe.

“It’s like I learned to breathe all over again,” Sara said. She then went on to tell about how she’d found a great job hostessing at a beachfront restaurant.

When they hung up, Lindsay sat there wishing she too had a sister in Florida.

I guess by now you’ve surmised trouble is on the horizon. Lindsay isn’t the only one at risk. Unless I do something to change the course of events, Eleanor and John will be torn apart. And yes, Lindsay will never find her perfect match. 

That evening, long after most people had eaten dinner and cleared the dishes from the table, I watched Lindsay walk three blocks to the Golden Dragon, buy a pint of pork fried rice and carry it home. She dumped the rice into a bowl, flicked on the television and plopped down on the sofa. From where Lindsay sat, she could view the apartment in its entirety, except for the bathroom. To her left an archway into a kitchen barely big enough to turn around, to the right a bedroom alcove—not a real bedroom, just an alcove large enough for a bed and a very small dresser.

Lindsay sat there thinking back on all that had happened. Piece by piece she was losing herself and everything she loved. First it was her Mom, then Phillip, then the apartment, then her job, now even Sara was gone.

She thought about Sara and the happiness that bubbled through her voice. She pictured blue skies and palm trees waving in the breeze. And for a brief moment she even pictured a handsome life guard with a toasted body and hair the color of a noonday sun.

As she emptied the bowl she thought about the bedroom she’d slept in growing up—it was nearly as large as the apartment. She thought about the dining room, with its mahogany table and chairs filled with Mom, Dad, Aunt Lorraine and Uncle Frank. As she thought about those things it seemed that both she and the apartment were growing smaller and smaller.

When she went to bed that night, I could tell a loneliness bigger than any Lindsay had ever known had settled into her heart. She pulled the blankets over her head and began to cry.

Cupid’s Gremlins

A
t one time this was a simple job—arrange for two humans to meet on a stroll through the park, or at a party, even at work—but with every century it becomes increasingly more complex. Now, not only do I have to deal with cross-country relocations, I’m plagued with online dating sites. The idea of a computer doing my job is virtually laughable. I can look ahead a thousand centuries and promise you that long after computers are obsolete, I will still be arranging perfect matches. Granted, the computer has its uses, as you will soon see, but finding love is not one of them.

With most humans I can predict what they’ll do, but Lindsay is totally unpredictable. No one understands human hearts better than me, and I can assure you, it’s much too soon for that girl to find love. This leaves me in what might be called a pickle. I can’t give Lindsay a new match nor can I allow her to interfere with John and Eleanor, so I’ve created a distraction—not all that difficult because humans are extremely gullible and quite easily distracted. Watch what happens...

L
indsay woke with a strange feeling and a buzzing in her ears. It seemed as though she was hearing something and yet not hearing it. Twice she cleaned her ears with a cotton swab then resorted to using an ear wax cleansing oil. Still it continued.

She booted up the computer and googled Jobs, Jobs, Jobs, but the strangest thing happened—she got a car rental site. She exited the site and tried again. The next time she was rerouted to a genealogy site, one that promised to find lost and forgotten family members. She again clicked ‘exit file’ and tried retyping JobsJobsJobs.com in the search bar. Again she landed on the genealogy site.

Still thinking of her conversation with Sara, she changed course and typed Visit Florida into the search bar. Seconds later it appeared—the same picture she’d been imagining. A bluer than blue ocean, a long stretch of sandy beach, palm trees so tall they overreached the edge of the picture. Lindsay sighed…if only… While she was still gazing at the screen, the beach transformed itself into a river with a man who was holding up the giant bass he’d caught. That scene dissolved into one of a middle age couple sitting at an outdoor table with glasses of red wine and tropical flowers.
Discover the Florida in you!
was scrawled across the screen. Suddenly Lindsay had an overwhelming urge to go.  I could be there in two days, she thought. I could probably stay with Sara. I’ve got enough savings to last a month, maybe two, by then I could find a job and… Without waiting, she double clicked on
get more information
.

There were a few seconds of hesitation then a page appeared that read
Welcome to Small Paws, the place where love starts
. The page was bordered with images of dogs, small cute dogs—a cuddly-looking Shih Tzu, a long-haired Maltese, and a Pomeranian with a poof of hair and a tiny nose. “Awww, how cute,” Lindsay sighed, and without knowing what pushed her hand to do so, she clicked on one of the pictures.

The face of the Shih Tzu instantly stretched across the screen. In the lower right hand corner was a block of copy. ‘I’m a nine year old boy who needs a home,’ it read. ‘I do best with older adults who have lots of love and can spend all day with me…’ it went on to say that he was completely housebroken but not good with small children.

“All day?” Lindsay sighed. “I can’t… I’ve got to get a job.”

She moved on to click the Pomeranian and the picture grew larger, but before she could read the copy, the photo was replaced by one of a shaggy-looking puppy standing on small square of what was part grass and part dirt, Although she’d never known dogs to have an expression, this one looked forlorn.  Beneath the photo was a single line of copy, it read—
I’m waiting for you
. This picture had no button to click for more information. It said nothing more about the dog. There was no logline about the breed, or what kind of home was right, no designation as to whether it was male or female.

“What the…” Lindsay double-clicked on the picture. It disappeared and the Pomeranian came into view. ‘I’m a sweet little girl who is three years old,’ it read…the copy went on to tell the dog’s story and provide a link where the viewer could fill out an adoption application.

Lindsay hit the back arrow. The picture of the Shih Tzu reappeared. “Where’s that other dog,” she grumbled and moved her cursor to the forward arrow. The Small Paws home screen appeared again. “What the heck is going on here…” One by one she went through every picture on the website, that sad-eyed dog was nowhere to be found and the buzzing in her ears seemed to be getting louder. It wasn’t just a buzz, it was far away voices, voices too small to be understood or distinguished. Lindsay could swear she heard a dog barking, but since the apartment building had a strict no pet policy, that was impossible.

For the past fifteen years Lindsay had not once thought of having a dog. When Honey, a Golden Retriever, who for ten years tagged along behind her, died, she gave up all such thoughts. Several times her mother suggested they visit the pet shop and look at puppies, but Lindsay refused. No dog could ever replace Honey, she said, and she stood firm on that answer.

But after less than an hour on the Small Paws website, Lindsay knew—she not only wanted a dog, she
had to have
a dog. And not just a dog, it had to be that pitiful looking puppy. She was going to have to give up the apartment anyway, so she’d find a place that allowed dogs. All she had to do now was find that dog. She exited the site and tried again. After she’d entered SmallPaws.com into the search bar, the home screen reappeared. She again went through the entire site, dog by dog, sometimes double-clicking, sometimes a single click, but not once did she see the picture she was looking for.

When the telephone jangled, Lindsay answered with an air of frustration, “Hello…”

“Hi honey, how are you?” her father said.

“Not so great,” she answered absently.

“What’s the problem?”

“What isn’t?” Although she had far greater concerns, she zeroed in on the problem at hand.  “This darn computer is acting up and…” in the middle of her words, her throat closed up.

“If you need a new computer,” John said, “I could—”