Simply Sex

THE PLACE WAS way too pink, Cole Sullivan thought uneasily as he sat in a plush chair waiting for Jane Falls. He’d chosen Personal Touch for its pragmatic approach—fingerprint and credit checks and a computerized personality inventory—but her rose-filled, doily-decorated office made him feel foolish, instead of practical. Hiring a matchmaker was like hiring a headhunter. He was saving time, pre-screening for compatibility, just as he would in the search for a new law firm. Marriages were partnerships, after all.

Who was he kidding? This was no business decision. He was lonely. There was something of the treadmill to his life, a hollow ring to his days that he figured marriage would fix. That was practical, right? So he was practical and foolish. He guessed he belonged in this Pepto-Bismol fairyland, after all.

He sensed movement behind him and turned to find a woman walking—no, floating—his way. Glenda the Good Witch, minus the bobbing bubble, tiara and wand.

He had a fleeting fear that, in a syrupy voice, she’d command him to click his ruby wingtips together three times, except she held a no-nonsense clipboard and wore a serious expression. “Janie Falls,” she said, reaching to shake his hand, her voice direct and syrup-free. “I’m happy to meet you in person, Cole.”

“Likewise.” Her handshake was as solid as her voice. She was pretty, with wavy blond hair that hung down her back, but not his type, really, even if it were ethical to date one’s matchmaker.

She glanced at her clipboard. “I see we have your Check Mate profile already in our database.”

“Yes.” He’d appreciated the after-hours convenience of taking the inventory online. It asked him to evaluate his temperament, conformity level, career ambition, affection needs and attitudes toward religion and finances—all issues Jane claimed were predictors of compatibility. Made sense.

“So, today we do your interview and your Close-Up. Have a seat.” She gestured at the red velvet chair where he’d been sitting, then went to sit behind her desk.

The video he dreaded. He patted his pocket to be sure his prepared remarks were there. He was short on time, so maybe he could skip the interview. “The profile was pretty comprehensive. Could we just do the video?”

“The face-to-face provides subtle details, Cole, so that my intuition kicks in. I find that’s how I make the best matches.”

“I never argue with success.” She claimed over a thousand clients and something like an eighty-percent match-up rate, convincing him to choose her service over several others. If more personal information brought the right woman into his life, he’d read his childhood diary to her. If he had one.

“So, tell me about your most recent relationship.”

“It’s been a while,” he said, feeling himself go red.

“Was it serious?”

“No. Casual.” Sheila had been irritated that they spent most of their brief hours together in bed. She liked the bed part, but wanted more time. Which he didn’t have. “Because of my schedule.” He’d hated disappointing her. And Cathy before her, who’d pick a fight if he didn’t call her every day. In the end, he’d given up dating altogether. He couldn’t stand the pressure.

“Have you ever been serious with a woman?”

“Not until now. In college everyone was casual. And I worked a lot. To help my parents and pay my way through law school.”

“Tell me about your parents’ relationship.”

“They’ve always been very close.”

“And is that what you want? What your parents have?”

“Absolutely. They’re devoted to each other. To their careers, too. They’re both high school teachers.”

“But you went into law?”

“Yes. I enjoy the law. The puzzles, the complexity.” He’d chosen challenging work. His parents had pounded into him the need to use his intellect in whatever career he chose. “I enjoy helping clients. Meeting their needs.”

“You work very hard.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, I do.” Be the best, never quit. His life blood.

“Tell me more about why that is.”

He fiddled with the crease of his slacks, feeling sweat trickle inside his shirt. He wasn’t much into self-analysis. But he babbled on about the prestige of his job, the satisfaction of hard work well done.

“And the money?” she prodded.

“Money matters, sure.” He’d worked all his life—through high school, college and night law school. Those low-skill jobs had showed him how easy it was to lose economic ground and end up living hand-to-mouth like many of his co-workers were forced to. He had a way out and he vowed to make the most of it. He appreciated his good fortune more than his trust-funded colleagues, who’d gone straight from college to law school and never felt the pinch of poverty.

Even his parents, with master’s degrees and thirty years of teaching experience, struggled to make ends meet. He never wanted that. In fact, he intended to make their lives easier as soon as he was in a stronger position at the firm.

Janie listened closely, writing an occasional note, honing in on him with her gaze, working him over with her intuition. God, he wanted this finished. He ran his finger under his collar.

“What about outside interests? What are your passions?”

Hell. He couldn’t say work again. “I used to play baseball for a parks and rec league. I rode with a bicycle club. Also, photography. I won some prizes.”

“But that’s not recent?”

“I’m on a partner track.”

“Sure,” she said, but she pursed her lips in mild disapproval.

“I went skiing two weeks ago,” he blurted, though it was for the firm and he’d mostly schmoozed with clients or worked in his room. He’d only managed one ski run.

“What leisure activities will you share with the woman in your life?”

“I thought we’d eat out, go to movies, plays, all that.” That sounded lame. “Maybe hike?”

“Relationships take time, Cole,” she said gently. “If you’re not in a good place with your career…”

“I’m prepared to budget the time.” Benjamin, Langford and Tuttleman could spare a few of the sixty hours a week he gave them so that he could advance the greater good—their mutual future.

“Dates are not billable hours.”

“I realize that.” Not billable, but an investment in his career, all the same. A settled life with an appropriate wife would edge him into the partner slot over his competitors—two notorious womanizers. Which was why he was subjecting himself to a critique from this steel-eyed fairy.

That and the empty echo in his life.

“And I’m shifting my priorities. In fact, I’ll be taking care of my neighbor’s dog for a few weeks. I see it as practice in accommodating another being into my life.”

“That’s something,” she said. He felt her rooting for him, like a dear friend or a sister, and that touched him.

“I’ll make it work, Jane. I promise.”

“Tell me what you hope for in a relationship.”

“A partner. Someone to share my life.” He pictured Sunday mornings in bed reading interesting tidbits to each other from the New York Times before he headed to the office to put in a few hours.

She’d be okay with him leaving, of course, since she’d have her own plans. He’d bring home takeout or she’d cook. He would cook, too, when time allowed. The best marriages were egalitarian.