It's Got to Be Perfect: the memoirs of a modern-day matchmaker (2 page)

‘Men enjoy a suspender,’ she said, thrusting a pair of white stockings into my hands. ‘Now pop those on and then come out and give us a twirl.’

By this point, the champagne was wearing off, and I wasn’t entirely enthused by the idea of parading around the stand in some kind of porno-bride ensemble.

Just as I fastened the last suspender-belt clasp, Rosemary poked her head around the curtain.

‘Divine,’ she said, then ripped the curtain back and dragged me out. She turned to Cordelia. ‘Doesn’t she look simply divine?’

Cordelia stepped back with a smirk. The rest of the crowd milling around the stand parted as Rosemary shoved me in front of an enormous swivel mirror. My eyes widened. Staring back at me – absent only the backcombed hair and lace fingerless gloves – was Madonna circa 1980s.

Rosemary lunged forward and yanked up the straps. ‘The balconette works wonders. Doesn’t it? Especially when there’s a bit of droop.’

Cordelia was still smirking.

When I’d eventually extracted myself from Rosemary’s grasp, I retreated back into the changing room. Just as I was about to close the curtain, I noticed Rosemary twirling my old bra in the air.

‘Of course we’d be happy to dispose of this.’ She turned her nose up then lobbed it in the bin. ‘You can wear your new pieces home. Maybe give the groom-to-be a little teaser?’ Then she winked.

After I’d managed to pull my jeans on over the suspender belt, and loosened the bra straps so that my cleavage was no longer directly under my chin, Cordelia and I decided it might be a sensible time to go home. Albeit via the champagne bar.

By the time the taxi-driver deposited me back at the mansion block, I realised I had acquired several more bags of shopping and an inability to coordinate my limbs. Although I wasn’t fully aware of my acquisitions and couldn’t quite account for the past four hours, I had a vague recollection of visiting a stand that specialised in “honeymoon pleasure enhancers” and a rather disturbing memory of a small man dressed in purple. Also, when I climbed out the taxi, I noticed some white netting in my field of vision, which I took as confirmation that I had purchased a veil.

Once inside the building, it took me a while to open Robert’s door. It had only been a week since he had given me keys. I hadn’t yet mastered the complicated mortice lock and bolt combination. An undertaking which was further inhibited by my inability to focus on the actual door, let alone the keys. When I finally entered the flat, I heard Robert moving around the bedroom. With Rosemary’s suggestion that I give the groom a “teaser” playing through my mind, I dumped my bags. I pulled off my t-shirt and readjusted my basque. Then I tried to wiggle out of my jeans, but they got stuck around my ankles so I bent down to pull them over my shoes. However, the veil kept falling in my face so I couldn’t quite see what I was doing. I heard footsteps behind me and I jumped back up, flung my veil over my shoulder and leaned against the wall adopting my most seductive pose.

Robert regarded me for a moment, one hand down his tracksuit bottoms and the other holding a mug of tea.

‘Are you all right?’ he said.

I ran my hands over the basque and mustered a breathy voice.

‘It’s so hot in here.’ I then stuck out my chest, remembering to emphasise the one on the left. ‘Want to help me out of this?’

He frowned, looked at the jeans around my ankles and then cocked his head. ‘Are you drunk?’

I twirled my hair. ‘If I am, it might be your lucky night.’

He grinned. ‘As much as I’d love to take advantage of a Madonna clone bound at the ankles by skinny jeans, I have to work. The Edmundson deal is closing next week. Is that a veil?’

I huffed. In one strenuous tug, I released the jeans from my ankles.

‘Yes, it is a veil. I went to The Wedding Show if you remember. To plan our wedding.’ I threw my jeans to the floor. ‘The wedding which you have seemingly ranked somewhere between an old man’s recreational sport and …’ I glared at him, noticing his hand still down his tracksuit bottoms, ‘… and wanking.’

‘Wanking? You think that’s what I’ve been doing all night?’

I nodded, realising my argument had taken a surprising turn, but unwilling to back down.

He slammed his mug down on the sideboard. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

My hands were on my hips. ‘Am I?’

‘Look, if I don’t close this deal then I don’t get a bonus. How else do you propose we fund your masters in Anthology?’

I let out a theatrical laugh. ‘It’s Anth-ro-pology.’

He sighed. ‘Whatever. Some pointless social science is hardly going to save the economy.’

‘Oh, and you are? How exactly? By wanking us out of the recession?’ I barged past him and marched into his office. ‘Let’s see, shall we?’ I grabbed the mouse and clicked on the “History” tab. ‘Which will it be? Recession busting multimillion dollar deal or …’

I scanned the listed sites –
Latino Lesbos. Money-shot milfs. Bushy beavers
– and my stomach tightened.

‘Bushy beavers?’ I shouted. ‘Yeah, that’s certain to whack the FTSE index up a couple of points.
’

He rolled his eyes.

I read on:
Jiz on Jugs. Sluttycumbuckets.

He tried to snatch the mouse from me, but I wrestled it away from him. The next link I clicked on took me to a site called Adult Friend Finder, which had his “log-in” box autofilled. Just as I began scanning his messages, Robert dived under the desk and yanked out the plug.

He jumped back up, the cord dangling in his hand.

‘What’s the big deal?’ he said, in a condescending tone. ‘All men look at porn.’

I narrowed my eyes. ‘No, they don’t.’

He smirked. ‘Oh come on, I’m hardly single-handedly funding a hundred billion dollar industry.’

‘Double-handedly, then?’

He sighed.

I slumped back in the chair and glanced down at the princess-cut diamond on my finger. ‘You’re supposed to love me more than anything, more than anyone.’

He dropped the cord to the ground and smiled. ‘I do.’

I looked up. ‘Forsaking all others?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Of course.’

I glared at him.

His smile faded. ‘What?’

‘My professor says the human brain has the inability to distinguish between imagined and real sexual encounters. So technically you’re being unfaithful.’

He huffed. ‘I don’t know why you’re studying that shit.’

I scowled. ‘What would you rather I do instead? Masturbate on webcam while sucking a lollipop?’

Robert shook his head. ‘You’re being very immature.’

I turned back towards the computer. ‘And what about these girls you’ve been emailing? “Juicy Lucy” and “Shaven Haven” on that shag-buddy website.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s all harmless.’

‘So it wouldn’t bother you if I was logging on to
monstrouswillies.com
every chance I got.’

He smirked. ‘Yeah, like mine’s not big enough.’

‘It’s not loyal enough.’

He sighed. ‘Look, there isn’t a man alive who doesn’t look at porn. It’s normal. And you just need to get over it.’

‘And the strip clubs?’

‘Client entertainment. We’ve been through this.’

I huffed and then folded my arms.

He leaned forward, resting his hands on my shoulders. ‘You’re the one I want. You’re the one I love. I’m marrying you …’ He pointed at the screen ‘… not them.’

I stood up and pushed past him.

He grabbed my hand and pulled me back. ‘Ellie, sweetheart. Come to bed. Please.’

I brushed him off. ‘Nope. It’s just you and your virtual harem tonight.’

With that, I flounced off to the spare room.

Chapter Two

The next morning I woke to the sound of hammering on the door. I opened one eye and saw a flash of netting on the side table. Then I hauled myself up and out of bed. The hammering continued. Concerned I was about to be the unfortunate subject of a botched drug raid, I grabbed Robert’s gown and dragged myself to the front door.

The moment I unhooked the latch, a small man with coiffed hair barged into the hallway. He smoothed down his slim-fit purple suit and glared at me.

‘Fastidio Weddings has a zero tolerance on tardiness,’ he said in a quasi Italian accent, while waving a piece of paper in my face. ‘Clause twelve on the agreement you signed. The bride must honour appointments.’ He pointed at his watch. ‘Fastidio time equals Fastidio money.’

I stood still, staring at his luminous white teeth and thick eyebrows.

Suddenly I noticed Cordelia trudging up the stairs, sweat beading on her forehead. He swung round to face her. ‘Chop chop, maid of honour, we have work to do.’ Then he leaned over the banister. ‘And you too, chief bridesmaid,’ he shouted down the stairwell.

‘Caro?’ I said, just as I noticed her scaling the staircase behind Cordelia.

He clapped his hands.

‘And the groom?’ He turned on his heel and began to patrol the corridor, swerving his neck into each room as he passed. ‘Groom? Groom?’ He clapped his hands again as though summoning an errant pet.

Robert appeared from the bathroom, towel round his waist, face half-covered in shaving foam.

He looked at the man in purple and then at me. ‘Who the hell is this?’

‘Filippo Fastidio. Chief wedding architect.’ He stepped forward and thrust his purple business card into Robert’s hand.

Robert studied it with a frown. ‘Wedding architect?’

‘Must I educate everyone?’ Filippo’s arms began flailing around like those of a deranged thespian. ‘A wedding is art. It is a creation, a beautiful design, is it not? Roberto.’

After we had all been ushered into the lounge for an emergency briefing, Filippo shuffled up next to Robert on the sofa, then opened a padded purple folder.

‘Right. Now your bride has selected the diamond package.’

‘I have?’

‘Yes.’ He thrust a purple envelope into Robert’s hands. ‘That is the receipt for the first instalment. Your bride was prudent enough to take advantage of the complementary upgrade offered at the show yesterday.’

‘Upgrade?’

‘Yes.’ Filippo’s chest puffed out. ‘To include the pioneering Fastidio virtual wedding software package.’

Robert shifted in his seat, struggling for words, but before he could even open his mouth, Filippo silenced him with a hand gesture.

‘You can afford it,’ Filippo said, flicking through his notebook. ‘Our routine background checks showed a healthy balance in your offshore account.’

Suddenly the doorbell rang and Filippo jumped to his feet. ‘Excellent. Edwina is here.’ Then he rushed off to open the door.

Robert looked at me. I looked at Cordelia. Cordelia looked at Caro. Caro held up her phone.

‘I got a text last night,’ she said, then read from the screen: ‘Eleanor Maureen Rigby and Robert Titus Hoffman request your presence for Stage One in the Fastidio wedding experience, 7am tomorrow at the Hoffman residence. Please be prompt.’ She scrolled through her phone. ‘Then a second text straight afterwards: Fastido Weddings Inc reserves the right to levy supplementary charges for late arrivals.’

Cordelia rubbed her head and then handed me her phone. ‘I got one too. Precisely how much champagne did we drink yesterday?’

I shook my head in bewilderment, then offered Robert an apologetic smile. Before I could read Robert’s reciprocal expression, Filippo burst in the room with a tiny woman whose face was entirely eclipsed by the bundle of bridal accessories she was carrying. Filippo who was trailing an oversized clothes rail behind him, stopped abruptly and began clinking hangers.

‘The CB’s quite hefty up top …’ he said to Edwina while pointing at Caro’s chest. ‘Might cause a few problems if you were thinking halter.’

Then Filippo turned to me and looked me up and down. ‘The bride needs a full skirt, bandeau top, sweetheart neckline. Size twelve?’

‘Eight,’ I said, although now I was beginning to wonder.

Then he lurched forward, pulled open the dressing gown that I was wearing and noted the basque.

‘Excellent. She’s already been to see Rosemary.’

While Filippo began typing furiously on his laptop, Edwina fitted Cordelia and Caro for something called the Cappuccino Cornucopia range. Then she moved on to Robert and I, draping various shades of fabric against our faces. Somewhere between Havana Horizon and Dandelion Daze she stood back, looking as though all her worldly belongings had just been lost to a house fire.

‘Filippo. We have a problem,’ she said.

Filippo snapped shut his laptop and leapt to his feet.

‘She’s spring and he’s winter.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s never going to work.’

Robert snatched the fabric from her and examined it.

‘This is absurd,’ he said, tossing it onto the sofa.

Filippo rushed over to Robert, held down his arms and stared into his eyes.

‘Blue. With flecks of green,’ he said, then stepped back and ran his fingers through Robert’s hair. ‘A sizeable amount of grey too, he’ll carry spring.’

Robert knocked him out the way and headed towards the drinks cabinet. Filippo sprang backwards and following a rather flamboyant arm flail, blocked Robert’s path.

‘Uh, uh.’ Filippo wagged his finger. ‘Clause fifteen. No alcohol consumption during the preliminary phases of the wedding construction.’

Robert glared at him for a moment, then poured himself a whiskey. When Filippo had scuttled off, mumbling something about additional fees for breach of the contract, I sidled up to Robert, grabbed the glass and took a sip. He smiled and slipped his arm around my waist.

‘You owe me Mrs Hoffman,’ he whispered in my ear. ‘Big time.’

I smiled. Despite our argument the night before, I could never stay angry at Robert. I leaned my head on his shoulder and looked up into his eyes. I’d never noticed the flecks of green before.

Filippo jumped towards us and prised us apart. ‘No fornication until phase four. Clause nineteen.’ Then his phone buzzed and he bounced in the air.

‘Excellent,’ he said with a clap. ‘The rest of the team are on their way.’

Several hours later, after we had been introduced to the photographer, videographer, cake maker, hair stylist, confetti blower hire company and endured an hour-long interview with Robert’s family priest, Filippo clapped his hands.