Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Leave Nothing to Chance
LORNA
Lorna smiled up at her med spa nurse. Yes, she was a matchmaker.
She could not think of a more foolhardy plan than leaving your love life up to fate. Since when could anyone count on serendipity? The universe has a plan? No. Love is too important to leave to the unpredictable idea that kismet actually works in our favor.
Sure, the idea was romantic, but in today’s world, love took a little more planning.
Such was the life of a matchmaker.
Emily Dickinson once wrote that ‘the heart wants what the heart wants.’
While this may be true for lovelorn poets from the 1800s and certain characters in a Woody Allen movie, it is also true, in these modern times, that the heart is a fickle, unreliable instrument, easily distracted by dating apps, indecisive and impulsive.
To rely on nothing more than the heart meant dashed hopes and misread signs.
Might as well rely on moon goddess magic.
The head, on the other hand, was worse. The head could very easily fuck with the yearnings of the heart by dispensing logic, reason, and ruthless rationale.
This explained why the head might coerce one to bring home a dull yet stable data analyst for Thanksgiving instead of a deep and sensitive artist living in a grimy, rat-infested loft downtown for whom the heart yearned.
Love was forever a relentless battle between the head and the heart, where the head could force the heart to snuff out even the brightest spark, turning it to a shiny, hard stone.
Or the heart could lead a would-be lover to madness, ruin, and an unhealthy addiction to drama.
Literature was littered with shattered hearts and tortured minds.
Hamlet’s Ophelia, Wuthering Heights’ Heathcliff, Emma Bovary. Cautionary tales, all.
So, she had learned time and again to trust her gut.
Her gut was never wrong.
Which was what Lorna Gray was thinking above the eager voice of her med spa nurse as she prattled on about her best assets, as her décolletage was riding high in a pushup bra impressively defying gravity.
For the most part, when Lorna told people what she did for a living, she experienced a combination of awe and curiosity, followed quickly by a sales pitch.
Her med spa nurse was no different and had unfortunately launched into a lengthy list of her attributes that included pickle ball (good God), and a regular rotation of juice cleanses and making her own pottery that she sold at the local farmers market, all while Lorna half listened and turned her attention to the slightly older woman sitting next to her who had raised an eyebrow and let slip the slyest of smiles.
Lorna recognized an ally or an adversary, and she waited to introduce herself as soon as her med spa nurse exhausted her list of plusses.
“So, what do you think? Could I be one of your prospects?”
Lorna studied her med spa nurse, whose frozen, immovable face had a pleasant symmetry to it but way too much filler.
She noted a mild desire to please, the hint of a kind soul, and although appearance clearly mattered to her, she also picked up a subtle optimism at her core.
In this world, that was truly something.
Lorna sighed deeply. “I don’t think so,” she said, which engendered another arch of the eavesdropping matriarch’s eyebrow.
While Lorna was in the business of love, she would never pass up a chance to genuinely bring two perfectly matched people together.
Even if she didn’t make a dime from it. Sometimes it was a higher calling.
Not a single muscle moved on the nurse’s face except her overplumped lips, which she tried very hard to turn stiffly down into a frown.
“No, dear, it’s not that. It’s just that I have a hunch that a certain systems engineer I know named Warren who loves volleyball and Japanese food might be just what you’re looking for.”
The med spa nurse, whose face remained impassive said, “Really?” Only her tone giving away her excitement as Lorna smiled warmly and added, “I’ll have my assistant Oritte arrange it. Just be glad Warren and I both have an incurable addiction to the carnitas sandwiches at Boccato’s Deli.”
The nurse took her card, pale pink, luxuriously thick, featuring a graphic of a heart-shaped dining table with six chairs around it that read Dinner for Six: Modern Matchmaking.
“I’m going to put this card in my purse.” The med spa nurse cradled it as if it were a precious stone and scampered toward the back.
Lorna turned to the woman sitting next to her. “They’ll have a bun in the oven before the holiday fireworks next year, mark my words.”
The older woman next to her turned in her direction, raised one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows, and leveled her gaze. “Impressive. Meet, married, and pregnant by next year? You’re that good, then?”
“Indeed,” Lorna acknowledged. “Although I’m putting a modern twist on it this time around. Same soft skills, but a whole new way of bringing people together. It’s called Dinner for Six.” Lorna deftly whipped out her calling card. “A curated group blind date.”
“Forgive me for making assumptions,” the woman started and at once Lorna could tell she had the hint of an accent, from the Midwest maybe, now smothered by the accent of affluence where everything sounded slightly British, “but I assume you have rather discerning judgment when it comes to whom you set up on these dinners?” the woman asked as her eyes darted toward the med spa nurse.
Lorna leaned in and said, “We try to be discerning, of course. But the truth is, I’ve learned that when it comes to love, what people think they want and what they really want are rarely the same thing.”
“Whatever do you mean?”
“People generally have wish lists. Which is good, it’s important to know what you want.
But somehow the wishes turn into demands and mandatories, most of which are usually audacious.
Money, height, weight, professional degrees, second homes …
Wimbledon tickets. They think it comes down to numbers.
Which explains why online dating sites are a hellscape of unmet needs, loneliness, and rage.
It also explains why 40 percent of adults are unpartnered.
We have forgotten how to appreciate how beautifully flawed humans can be, and sometimes it’s the flaws that make it real. ”
The woman tapped her chin as if thinking and said, “And you have figured out a way to cut through all that bullshit?”
Bullshit cutter was a new one, but she liked it. Though Lorna knew a lot more than that. “Let’s just say, I help single people see things differently. About themselves and about others.”
The older woman regarded Lorna for a long moment, her sharp eyes critically assessing her and the idea she was selling.
One eyebrow raised with suspicion until something seemed to click for the matriarch, then it lowered its position to rest alongside its perfectly tweezed partner.
“My name is Elaine Cromwell Frisco,” she said in a stately tone, “and I have a daughter, Jamie, who is in want of a husband. Even if she doesn’t know it yet. ”
It wasn’t exactly motherly love vibes emanating from Elaine Cromwell Frisco, which intrigued her. Lorna offered, “I’m always willing to meet a new single prospect. Give her my card.”
“Oh no, that won’t do. Jamie would sooner be caught dead than follow any of my excellent advice.
No, what I’m suggesting is more of a happenstance meeting, so your services feel delivered to her organically.
She’s more apt to say yes to this idea if she thinks that fate, serendipity, providence, whatever,” Elaine raised both her hands to the sky as if conjuring Cupid herself, “brought this meeting between you two together. If she gets a whiff of my plotting, she’ll crawl back inside her beach bungalow and never come out again.
” Elaine then flashed a picture of her daughter.
“She’s forty-one, bit of an introvert, possible chardonnay problem, but women with less have gotten themselves married, so it shouldn’t be that hard. ”
Lorna peered into Elaine’s phone and saw a naturally pretty fortysomething who needed a glow-up but was otherwise very attractive. She wondered if Jamie had a romantic malfunction somewhere in that head of hers. Mommy issues obviously, but what else?
“She needs some work, but we don’t have time for that,” Elaine admitted.
“I see,” Lorna said. She was fascinated by Elaine’s thinly veiled contempt for her own daughter. She posed a question. “What does your daughter do for work?”
Elaine hesitated at first. “She is a career coach for C-suite executives.” She was rubbing her forefingers together and staring into the middle distance.
Lorna waited for her to go on, knowing there was more coming.
“I hesitate to say this, but she also used to be a forensic psychologist for the LAPD. She’s extremely intuitive, which means she might smell this orchestration from a mile away. And against my advice, she rescues dogs. Just in case you need more color.”
That’s what Lorna was waiting for. “She sounds like a great candidate.” Lorna paused before smiling warmly. “I’m game. How do you suggest we set up this trap, er, I mean, moment of destiny?”
“I hacked into her phone. I have her calendar, plus I follow her on Life 360.”
“Does she know that?” Lorna asked, trying to hide her surprise.
Elaine scoffed. “Of course not.” She stared into her phone and mumbled, “Children can’t possibly know what’s good for them. That’s why mothers exist.”
Lorna watched as Elaine Cromwell Frisco stalked her own daughter. She leaned over in a conspiratorial manner and said, “What would the world look like if we all had mothers like you?”
It sounded like a compliment. But it wasn’t.