Cupid's Christmas Page 8

  Both John and Eleanor were eying her strangely. “What’s going on here?” her father asked. “Is there something you’re not telling—”

  “There’s nothing to tell! I’d just like to adopt this little dog and I thought since it’s your house, I ought to at least ask before I do it.”

  Eleanor reached across and patted John’s hand, “Honey, I think having a dog would be good for Lindsay. If this Beagle is the one she wants then—”

  “It’s not a Beagle. It’s a Maltese, or Bichon maybe.”

  Eleanor and John looked at the advertisement for a second time. “It looks like a Beagle,” they said in unison.

  Lindsay pulled back the newspaper, “How can a Beagle be long and shaggy?” she said, but when she looked at the ad, her jaw went slack. “This is the wrong ad,” she said, and began leafing through the other pages. There were no other Heavenly Acres ads in the Weekend Section. “It must have been in another section.” Lindsay turned back to the living room muttering something that went unheard…at least unheard by human ears.

  She searched every section of the paper, including the comic pages and real estate listings—the ad she’d seen was nowhere to be found. For a good hour, Lindsay sat there looking at the same pages over and over again. Finally, she came to the conclusion that she had somehow developed a strange new ability to see things and remember things that never were. It was, she decided, an extrasensory perception of both past and future. The high school incidents she’d shared with Traci were definitely from the past, but this dog had to be from the future, and Lindsay had a feeling he was an important part of her future. She had to find that dog!

  Monday morning Lindsay called the Baby Boutique first. “Sorry honey,” the woman said, “…that job was filled two weeks ago.”

  “But, I just saw this ad yesterday,” Lindsay replied.

  “Yeah,” the woman sighed, “running it for a month was cheaper than two weeks. We’re still getting calls and I’m thinking all this aggravation wasn’t worth the difference.”

  Lindsay hung up and dialed the number for the copywriter job.

  A woman answered, “Good morning, Genius Advertising.”

  “Good morning,” Lindsay replied. “I’m calling about the copywriter position listed in yesterday’s newspaper.”

  “Mister Morrissey is handling that,” the woman said, “hold on please…”

  Lindsay waited for what seemed like an interminable amount of time until finally a gruff voice said, “Morrissey.”

  He did not sound one bit friendly, which made Lindsay nervous right off the bat. “Um,” she stuttered, “I’m interested in the copywriter position you advertised.”

  She’d barely finished speaking when he shot back, “You got any experience?”

  Glancing at her new resume, Lindsay answered, “Yes.” The word came out weaker than she’d hoped for, but at least it was a yes.

  “Well…”

  “Well?

  “Go ahead,” he said, “…give me a rundown of your experience.”

  “Oh.” Not expecting this turn of events, Lindsay paused for a moment then began picking words off the resume. “I worked at Gift Industry News,” she said, “and I was responsible for the development and organization of editorial content, proofreading…” as Lindsay read the words, her confidence seemed to grow. It became fatter and bolder than it had ever been before. “…and at Seaworthy Insurance, I wrote the documentation for coverage of fishing yachts…” She continued on for almost two minutes and after she’d used up all the words on her new resume, she tossed in the fact that she’d gotten a Bachelor’s Degree in Communication from Rutgers.

  “Rutgers alum, huh?” Morrissey said, his voice now had a considerably more friendly sound, “I’m Rutgers too.” He went on to say, that to his way of thinking, the football lineup for the coming season meant several sure wins.

  “I think so too,” Lindsay replied, even though she hadn’t read a word about the Rutgers football team in over four years.

  Morrissey mentioned the names of two players he figured for a lot of promise, and then he asked Lindsay if she could come in at two o’clock for an interview.

  “Yes sir,” she answered, “Yes sir, Mister Morrissey. I’ll be there…”

  When she hung up the telephone, Lindsay spent twenty minutes on the Rutgers website researching the past four years of football performance and then spent another ten minutes looking at stats for the basketball team in case Morrissey happened to be a fan of that sport also. When the stats of one season began to collide with stats of another, she turned off the computer and got dressed. Lindsay wore her good navy blue suit. It was wool and a bit warm for the day, but definitely more business-like than anything else she owned. She left the house at five minutes after eleven, but didn’t go directly to the Genius Advertising office—instead she drove to Heavenly Acres Animal Rescue Center.

  “I’d like to look into adopting a dog,” Lindsay told the woman behind the counter then she went on to describe the dog she was looking for. Growing more uncertain as to what she’d seen or not seen, Lindsay hedged her words and mentioned that she thought she’d seen this particular dog in the Sunday newspaper advertisement.

  “Oh,” the woman smiled, “that dog is still here.” She led Lindsay into a back room with rows of cages. “This is him,” the woman said pointing to a Beagle.

  Lindsay sighed, “That’s a Beagle. I’m not looking for a Beagle.” She went on to again describe the dog, small, scraggly, sad eyes.

  The woman shook her head, “Can’t say I recall having such a dog,” she said, “but we’ve got nineteen cats, one of them is a Himalayan with the prettiest face I’ve ever seen. You think you might want a cat?”

  Lindsay answered no and explained that she was looking for one particular dog. She again described the dog and gave the woman her telephone number in case such a dog should show up.

  If you were to ask Lindsay why she wanted only that one particular dog, she’d be unable to tell you—that’s the beauty of what I do. I make love unexplainable. Humans fall in love with someone and claim it’s because of a special smile, or the crinkle around their lover’s eyes, but the truth is they’re clueless about the magic that brings such thoughts. The only one who knows the secret of pairing up lovers is me—well, me and The Boss, He knows everything.

  At ten minutes before two, Lindsay pulled into the Cherry Hill parking lot in front of the address Morrissey had given her. It was an office park and every building was surrounded by several others that appeared identical. She crossed the lot, double checked the building number then walked into the lobby. One glance at the directory told her that Genius Advertising was the only tenant on the second floor. She stepped into the elevator and pressed two. When the door opened, she sank into a burgundy carpet that was so soft it was like walking on a cloud. In the center of the room a receptionist who looked to be Eleanor’s age sat behind the mahogany desk. “Are you here for an interview?” the woman asked.

  “Yes ma’am,” Lindsay nodded.

  Handing a clipboard across the desk, the woman said, “Fill out the application. Mister Morrissey will be with you shortly.”

  Shortly turned out to be nearly a half hour and during that time a young woman carrying a portfolio came out, crossed the reception room and disappeared down the elevator. Minutes after she left, a round red-faced man walked out, “Lindsay Gray?” he asked.

  She stood, extended her hand, shook his, and then followed him through a maze of cubicles to where his office was located.

  Once seated in front of his desk, Lindsay proudly handed over her new resume. “Thank you for seeing me sir,” she said. “I appreciate the opportunity Mister Morrissey.”

  Without looking up from the resume he’d begun to read, he replied, “Just Morrissey, no mister, no sir.” After almost five minutes of what to Lindsay felt like the silence of rejection, he looked up. “Good resume,” he said. “Nice that you went to Rutgers. Good School.” He went on
to explain that the Agency had three new clients coming on board as of January fifteenth, and the position wouldn’t be funded until the first of next year.

  “So if you are the candidate selected for the job, you wouldn’t start until January third,” he said, “would you be okay with that?”

  “Yes…” Lindsay started to say sir, but caught herself in the nick of time. “Yes, I would,” she answered.

  Morrissey went on to explain the copywriter hired would be working on two of the new accounts—a dog food manufacturer and a dinnerware company—but he couldn’t as yet divulge the names. Although she’d never given dinnerware a second thought, she claimed to be interested in both and told how she was currently in the process of adopting a rescue dog. “Good,” Morrissey said. “That’s good.” He scribbled something in the margin of her resume then stood. “I’ve got several other candidates to see,” he said, but I’ll get back to you within the next two weeks.

  When Lindsay left the building, she sat in her car for almost ten minutes before she switched the ignition on. She was weighing the pros and cons of her interview. He seemed to like her that was a plus. She’d gone to Rutgers; that was another plus. He’d liked her resume and that was definitely a plus. The possibility that he might call some of the companies and ask if she’d done those things was a very big minus, as was the fact that he was seeing other candidates.

  Lindsay drove home with uncertainty riding on her shoulders.

  Cupid…A Change of Plans

  The day after Lindsay’s interview, she took to carrying her cell phone around in her pocket, it went to the bathroom with her, it sat on the dinner table and although there was not even the slightest chance Jack Morrissey would call in the middle of the night, she slept with it held in her hand. She did that for seven days, then on the eighth day, she mistakenly left it on the breakfast table when she went upstairs to brush her teeth.

  When the phone rang, Eleanor looked at it and hesitated. Her relationship with Lindsay was tenuous at best, so she had to wonder which would be the lesser of evils—answering the phone could be viewed as an invasion of privacy, yet she knew Lindsay had been nervously awaiting the call. The phone rang a second time—maybe she could grab the phone, run up the stairs and hand it to Lindsay before it stopped ringing—probably not. The arthritis in her knee forced her to take the stairs one at a time—slowly. The phone rang a third time. It was now or never, she had to make a decision and she had to make it fast. On the fourth ring Eleanor nervously lifted the phone from the table, pressed her finger to the call icon and said “hello.”

  “Lindsay Gray?” the caller asked.

  “No,” she answered, “but hold on and I’ll get Lindsay.”

  With the phone in her hand, Eleanor climbed the stairs as fast as her knee would allow and then rapped on the bathroom door. Lindsay knew who it was by the soft tap-tap-tap. When her father rapped on the door it was a loud knuckle knock, Eleanor’s was soft like a kitten scratching to come in. “I’m busy,” Lindsay garbled through a mouthful of toothpaste.

  “Your phone rang and I thought you might be waiting for this call…” Eleanor said.

  Lindsay’s hands dropped to her pockets, she felt for the cell phone, but it wasn’t there. Spitting a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink and not bothering to rinse, Lindsay opened the door and snatched the phone from Eleanor’s hand.

  “This is Lindsay Gray,” she said in a somewhat gritty voice.

  “Morrissey here.” Using an efficiency of words, Jack Morrissey went on to tell Lindsay she had gotten the job. He said nothing about checking her references, but did mention that one of Rutgers’ new recruits had pulled a tendon. “Out for at least a month,” he said. He went on to explain that Lindsay was to report to the Personnel Department to fill out the insurance forms at nine o’clock on January third. After that he said goodbye, wished her a Merry Christmas and hung up.

  When the line snapped off, Lindsay, ignoring the toothpaste grit stuck to her lips kissed Eleanor’s cheek. “I got it,” she sang out, “I got the job, I got the job!” She grabbed onto Eleanor’s hands and danced her around until she remembered she wasn’t all that fond of the woman. Lindsay stopped suddenly and said, “I’m sorry. I guess hearing that I’d got the job made me so excited…”

  “That’s quite all right,” Eleanor smiled, “I rather enjoyed it myself.” The arthritic knee that had been troubling her for almost two weeks seemed somehow better.

  That evening Lindsay’s new job was the main topic of conversation at the dinner table. When she spoke of it her eyes twinkled. She told of the plush carpet, the numerous cubicles, the art decorating the walls—it seemed that nothing in the Genius Advertising office had missed Lindsay’s notice. “The only thing is,” she sighed, “I don’t start until January third, so I’ve three whole months to hang around and do nothing.”

  “Consider it a vacation,” John said, “Call your high school buddies, go to the mall, hang out and have some fun.”

  “I’ve already called everybody I know,” Lindsay sighed. “Donna Bobbs moved to Ohio, and she left without even saying goodbye—can you believe it? It’s not just Donna, it’s everybody. All those friends I had,” she reminisced sadly, “…they’ve all gotten married or moved away. How can such a thing be possible?”

  “It happens,” John shrugged, “but it should be easy enough to find new friends. Just get out and start going to the gym, there’s plenty of young people there. I’m sure you’ll meet—”

  Not waiting for him to finish the thought, she interrupted, “I don’t go to the gym anymore,” she said sadly. She didn’t mention how she feared the gym was a place where she’d meet another man like Phillip.

  “I don’t know if this would be of any interest,” Eleanor said, “…but do you think you would consider a temporary job?”

  “Sure,” Lindsay answered.

  “My nephew’s receptionist is out on maternity leave. I spoke with him last week and he mentioned that he needed someone to fill her spot.”

  “You think he’d consider me?”

  “I’m sure he would, if he hasn’t already hired someone.”

  “Wow,” Lindsay said. “That would be awesome.”

  “I’ll call and find out,” Eleanor offered.

  “Awesome,” Lindsay repeated. For the first time since she’d known the woman, Lindsay looked straight into Eleanor’s face and smiled.

  The fact that Lindsay had actually smiled at her spurred Eleanor on, and in the middle of her pork chop she got up and made the call. When Eleanor returned to the table she was smiling. “He said to stop by anytime tomorrow.”

  “Awesome!” Lindsay repeated for the third time. She then asked what type of business it was, although the answer really didn’t matter—it was only for a few months and a job was a job.

  “Matthew’s a Veterinarian.”

  “He works with dogs?”

  Eleanor nodded, “Dogs, cats, horses, all kinds of animals. He’s got one customer who comes in with a black pot-bellied pig. Can you imagine—”

  “Does he have rescue dogs?” Lindsay called to mind a picture of the dog she’d been looking for.

  “Rescue dogs?” Eleanor questioned.

  “Homeless dogs, dogs up for adoption.”

  Eleanor wrinkled her nose and thought for a minute then she shook her head, “I don’t think so, he mostly treats sick animals. I can’t say whether or not he does adoptions.”

  Lindsay settled back in her chair. “I’ve got a good feeling about this,” she said.

  Eleanor couldn’t help but notice how the smile on John’s face was nearly the same as the one on Lindsay’s.

  I can honestly say this is the first glimmer of hope I’ve seen in the Eleanor-Lindsay relationship. Oddly enough this turn of events was not of my making, but looking at the future, I can see it might be advantageous.

  You, like most humans, probably think every person has a single perfect match—not so. Unlike Life Management events, p
erfect matches are something I control and if circumstances change I’m open to suggestion. A job change often means a new match pool, so if I see a better alternative, I’ll go with it. Of course I’ve got to get The Boss’s okay, but He pretty much knows what’s gonna happen before I think to ask. Since Lindsay hasn’t picked up on any of the matches I’ve offered, her love life is in a holding pattern.

  Eleanor and John are another story. They’re already committed. There is no potential of a different match for either of them, so before I give Lindsay the go-ahead on anything, I’ve got to take care of them. They don’t know it yet, but there are a lot of problems ahead. Right now Eleanor thinks Lindsay is the major stumbling block, but she’s wrong. Ray is.

  The night Eleanor told him about her relationship with John, he was like a wild man. Eleanor chalked it up to Ray having his father’s hot-headedness, but it’s a whole lot more. That young man is a pot ready to boil over. I saw what was in his heart at that Labor Day cookout and, let me tell you, it was ugly.

  I was hoping when Ray saw the Gray’s house, he’d realize John doesn’t need his mother’s money. Regretfully, that was not the case. Every now and then, I come across a human with a mind so closed up that not even I can look inside. Ted Bundy was like that. And on occasion, Eleanor’s son can be the same way. All along I’ve believed with Ray there was hope, but that hope is looking slimmer and slimmer. I’ve got to find a way to get inside Ray’s head and change his way of thinking. If I don’t, Eleanor and John are in a very precarious position. Young or old, no couple can withstand the weight of such family pressures.

  Three weeks from now, Ray is going to have a knock-down-drag-out argument with his mother and he’ll tell her that if she marries John, she’s as good as dead to him. I can’t let that happen. Parent-child love is not really my responsibility, but if I’m to save this match I have to do something.