It's Got to Be Perfect: the memoirs of a modern-day matchmaker (18 page)

‘Yes, you insisted that fancy dress would help your cause, citing the widespread press coverage secured by Fathers For Justice.’

‘Why didn’t someone stop me?’

‘I tried. But you were having none of it. Of course, you were thrown out, but not before threatening to sue the bouncer for infringement of your civil liberties, pleading the fifth amendment.’

‘What?’

‘Yes and despite the fact that you were quoting some incomprehensible American TV law, he actually looked quite intimidated at one point. That was until you tripped over and vomited in the gutter.’

I laughed. ‘So did you leave with me?’

‘Not exactly.’ She took a bite of sausage. ‘I was thrown out too.’

‘Because of me?’

‘Not quite.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘For what then?’

‘An altercation.’

‘A what?’

‘I hit someone.’

‘Who?’

‘The pilot.’

‘Caro’s boyfriend?’

She nodded.

‘You hit him?’

‘It was more of a tap over the head. With the Moet.’

‘You
bottled
Caro’s boyfriend?’

She shook her head. ‘The glass was thick, it didn’t smash. Just a heavy clunk, really. He deserved it.’

Once we’d cleared our plates, I checked my watch and took a final glug of coffee.

‘I’ve got to head off now,’ I said, grabbing my bag. ‘I’m meeting Mia and Mandi.’

She looked disappointed. ‘On a Saturday?’

‘Yep, clients to match.’

‘Well, don’t worry about matching me,’ she said, tightening her ponytail. ‘I think I need some time to work things out.’

I stood up from the table. ‘I’ll call you tomorrow for a chat, anyway.’

‘Thanks,’ she said and I walked away. ‘Oh, and good luck tonight,’ she shouted after me.

I stopped and checked the contents of my bag. Inside was make-up, mini GHDs and a dress, which on reflection, seemed more cabaret than canapé. However, it would have to do.

When I arrived at the club, I found Mia and Mandi sitting at opposite ends of a table in the bar. Mandi, grinning widely, was sporting
Charlie’s Angels
flicks and a fuscia pink dress. Her pink notepad and pen were placed neatly in front of her. Mia, wearing tight black trousers and a crisp white shirt, had a cigarette dangling from her glossy red lips. As usual, she was blatantly disregarding the smoking ban.

‘You look awful’ Mia said before taking a drag and then stubbing it out in her coffee cup.

I slumped in the chair.

Mandi waved at Steve. ‘Stevie Wevie. We have a hangover situation.’

‘Stevie Wevie?’ Mia mimicked with a droll smile.

Steve arrived with a coffee and a glass of water, quicker than the speed of light. ‘There you go Ellie.’

Ellie? He’d never called me that before, usually “gorgeous” or “sweet cheeks” but never my name. I looked up to thank him, but he was staring at Mandi with a dopey smile fixed on his face.

‘Okay girls, we have a lot of work to get through,’ I said.

Mandi produced a giant pink lever-arch file from her Mary Poppins bag. She sat up straight and smoothed down her dress.

‘Right,’ Mandi said, ‘I‘ve collated feedback from each of the event attendees and I’ve written a report.’

She handed out personalised copies. Mine had glittery butterfly stickers fluttering along the page borders.

‘Someone has a lot of time on their hands,’ Mia scoffed, picking at the sparkly hearts adorning hers.

‘As you can see, from a total of three hundred attendees, there were twenty-three couples that got together. That means fifty-six out of three-hundred people met someone they liked; an average hit rate of nineteen percent. Which isn’t bad. But, of course, the best outcome would be actual long-term relationships rather than just first dates, so I will present updated results every month hereafter. As you can see in the latter part of the report, I have taken feedback from all attendees regarding measures we could take to increase the hit rate. I’ve listed areas for improvement on the final ten pages.’

She pointed proudly to various charts and tables.

I raised my eyebrows and leafed through her report.

‘Wow, Mandi, this is excellent. Obviously we don’t yet have the funds to build an online networking platform similar to Facebook, number twenty-four on your suggestions for improvement but there are some brilliant ideas here.’

‘Ahem.’ Mia coughed several times until she had mine and Mandi’s full attention, then she lifted a freshly lit cigarette to her mouth and inhaled deeply, careful not to smear her lipstick.

‘That’s all great, Mandi. But what about the revenue and profits? We are a business after all.’ With that, she whipped out a folder of her own. ‘This is the P and L for the event. That’s Profit and Loss, if you don’t know.’ She looked pointedly at Mandi. ‘As you can see, in the column entitled variable costs, the biggest expenditure was decorations: £1254 on red sashes, £3200 on chaise lounges and £1456 on
cushions.’

Already having performed rough calculations in my head, I knew we’d gone way over budget, but it was partly my fault. Leaving Mandi unsupervised to arrange a party was like sending a dog to the butchers and expecting him to buy only one sausage.

‘How did we spend £1456 on cushions? Is that even possible?’ Mia asked no one in particular.

Mandi slumped in her seat. Just moments ago, she’d been like an excited schoolgirl rushing home with a painting for mummy, only for it to be snatched away from her and thrown in a puddle by her mean sister.

‘The lady said the more cushions I hired, then the cheaper each one would be.’

Mia rolled her eyes. ‘Look, if we’re working together, then the money you spend is money I can’t earn. Get it? And in case there is any confusion, I am here to make money.’

‘Right,’ I interrupted, deciding the best solution to this debate was to change the subject. ‘Here are your clients, Mia.’

I pulled a folder of carefully selected profiles from my bag and handed them to her, feeling as though I were handing my children over to a strict nanny. She flicked through quickly and nodded as she turned the pages, as though she had the solution for each one within seconds.

She paused on the last profile. ‘A gynaecologist called Dick Stud?’

‘Don’t tease him about his name, he’s quite sensitive about it.’

‘So what’s his problem? Your notes say that he’s offensive to women.’

‘Oh no, nothing really, he’s a great guy once you get to know him. He’s just a bit, you know, inappropriate sometimes. I’ve tried but I don’t seem to be getting through to him.’

‘On it,’ Mia said, a look of determination in her eyes. ‘I’ll whip him into shape.’

‘Don’t say that to him though,’ I said. ‘You’ll just be inviting trouble.’

She smirked.

‘And you, Mandi?’ I turned to her. ‘Any feedback I should be aware of?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Yes, yes yes. I’ve been dying to tell you. It’s so exciting!’

‘Go on then,’ Mia said.

‘William and Mitzi. They’re totally in love. Since the party, they’ve literally been inseparable. I know it’s only been two days but I’m really excited for them. This weekend they’re going to Paris. How romantic. How exciting! I really have high hopes for those two. I already said that, didn’t I? Isn’t it great though? I’m so happy for them. They met at the ball and now they’re in love. It’s like a fairy tale.’

‘What boy meets girl at a party? Call Spielberg now,’ Mia said, stubbing out her cigarette.

Mandi’s smile faded and she looked back down at her notes. ‘But that Nate, you know, the actor?’ She mouthed the words as though saying them aloud in a public place might breach the data protection act. ‘I’m a bit stuck with him. Every match I send him he rejects. Not tall enough, too tall, not blonde enough, too blonde. What shall I do?’

‘Keep trying,’ I said.

Her bottom lip curled. ‘Can’t I try to get in touch with Rebecca, his ex? I really think he still loves her. Remember. You promised I could help them if I got the job. Remember?’

‘Have you spoken to him about it?’

‘Yes.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said no.’

‘Well then, we can’t go against his wishes.’

Mandi scrunched up her tiny nose and twitched it like a rabbit. ‘Hmmm. Okay.’

‘Anything else?’ I asked, following a casual glance at my watch.

‘Yes, yes, yes!’ Mandi began, springing back to life. ‘Now for the really exciting news.’ She clasped her hands together and flashed her perfect teeth. ‘Harriet and Jeremy!’

‘Did you speak to them?’ I asked.

‘Yes, sorry Ellie, I didn’t mean to encroach on your clients, but Harriet called me. She said she called you first, but some security guard at Spearmint Rhino answered the phone, so she assumed she had the wrong number. Anyway she told me all about what had happened with Jeremy and –’

‘Have they worked things out?’ I asked.

‘Yes.’ She wriggled in her seat. ‘Yes they did, I’ve been bursting to tell you. It’s so romantic.’

‘So, what happened?’

‘Well, to give you the short version—’

‘Yes please,’ Mia said, looking as though she’d lost the will to live.

‘Jeremy was so determined to win Harriet back, guess what he did?’

‘Jumped out of a plane with a box of chocolates?’ Mia suggested.

‘No, try again,’ Mandi replied.

‘Chopped off his ear?’

‘Ew, no. Who would do that? Anyway, you’ll never guess. So I’m going to tell you. He only turned up on her doorstep with his guitar. And, then, serenaded her with the most beautiful song. He’d composed it all by himself. Isn’t that the most romantic thing ever?’

Mia put two fingers in her mouth and pretended to gag.

‘Harriet said it was so heartfelt. Although, she did mention that the dog humping Jeremy’s leg throughout the performance, might have killed the moment a little.’ Mandi rummaged in her bag. ‘Anyway, here it is. I wrote it down.’

Mia rolled her eyes.

She smoothed out a crumpled piece of paper and stood up, lifting her arm in the air as though she were about to perform a soliloquy at the Shakepeare’s Globe.

‘Harriet, Harriet, I love you so

Harriet, Harriet, I can’t let you go

Can’t let you walk out of my li-ife

I want to marry you and be your wi-ife’

‘No. Be
my
wife. You’ve written it down wrong,’ Mia said, eyes rolling continuously now, like a dazed cartoon character.

‘Oh yes, that didn’t make sense, did it? Mandi said, sitting back down. ‘Anyway how wonderful is that? They’re getting married. Our first wedding!’

She clapped loudly and looked around the room as though she expected everyone to join in. But Mia and I just sat there staring blankly at her.

‘I’ll give it a week,’ Mia said, lighting another cigarette.

The meeting finished shortly afterwards. Mandi was eager to leave in order to help Harriet with wedding plans and Mia was already flicking through the list of clients awaiting her instruction.

After they’d left, I sat staring ahead, thinking about Jeremy and Harriet. I wondered whether I should intervene to make sure they weren’t acting too hastily or whether I should just leave them to it. Was the role of a soon-to-be-internationally-renowned matchmaker simply to cast the arrow and then move on?

A timid voice interrupted my thoughts. ‘Hello Ellie.’

I looked up at the expectant face peering down at me. ‘Oh, hi Joanna, please take a seat. How are you?’

‘Good. Thanks for agreeing to see me.’ Her body landed in the chair like a heavy bag of shopping. ‘I’m sure you have better things to be doing on a Saturday night.’

‘I have a date actually. In an hour.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I can come back another time.’ She stood up to leave.

‘No, no. no. It’s not a problem. In fact, it’s a great distraction from first date nerves.’

She smiled. ‘Well, it’s good to know the matchmaker is as human as the rest of us.’

I laughed. ‘Oh, you don’t know the half of it.’

She sat on her hands and shuffled from side to side. ‘So, the reason I wanted to meet up, as I said on the phone, was because I haven’t had a date yet and I’m wondering why not.’

There was an uncomfortable delay between her question and my answer. In my mind, I was swinging between a Mandi and a Mia response. Mandi would have undoubtedly explained that Mr Right was out there waiting for her and that she should be patient and never give up hope. Mia, on the other hand, would have most likely rolled her eyes and given her a frank deconstruction of the current singles market.

I hoped to settle somewhere between the two. ‘Do you remember the men you pointed out at the ball?’

‘Yes. I do.’

‘And did you see the girls there?’

‘Not really, maybe a few.’

‘What did you think of them?’

She looked baffled. ‘I was mainly looking at the men.’

‘What I’m trying to say is that the girls were stunning.’

She frowned.

‘That’s your competition. The girls after the same men are unbelievably gorgeous.’

Her gaze dropped. ‘But it’s not all about looks, is it?’

‘It’s not. But many of those girls are intelligent and interesting too, just the same as you. And younger.’

Her smile faded.

‘As I see it, you have one of two choices.’

She raised her eyebrows.

‘Either you compromise on your criteria or you …’ I paused to consider how to say it ‘… make more of an effort with your appearance.’

Her shocked expression led me to think that perhaps my time for consideration could have been longer. ‘I’ve never had complaints from men before.’

I sighed, imagining a world where men told women the truth: “It’s not you, it’s me” might become “yes, it is you. You have a long bottom and your voice sounds like fingernails down a blackboard”. Perhaps that would be better. With such rules in place, we could readily inform men that they smelled of pickled onions and had a furry neck.

‘Okay, so imagine you want the dream career. What would you do about it?’

‘What relevance does this have?’

‘You wouldn’t just turn up at an interview, in your old jeans, no preparation, and say you should just take me as I am because I’ve never had any complaints before.’