Mr.
Thomas laughed boisterously. “Did I ever tell you about that lemonade stand?”
“No,”
Latesha said with a warm smile.
“You
were maybe eight and it was a hot summer’s day. Your mother, God bless her
soul, wasn’t sick then and she helped you make a pitcher of lemonade. Well, you
sat there for an hour and didn’t sell so much as a single glass, even though
all kinds of people were stopping. Your mother and I couldn’t understand it, so
we finally went out. Mrs. Hill explained that you were asking one million
dollars per drink and wouldn’t take a penny less.”
Latesha
burst out laughing, her face vibrant in the afternoon sun. She spontaneously
kissed her father on the forehead. “I love you, Dad.”
“I
love you too, honey.”
After
they finished eating, Latesha glanced at the clock and saw it was ten minutes
past six. She collected the dishes, put them to soak and started making tea
biscuits. Suddenly the phone rang. Her eyes opened wide as she grabbed a
notepad and pen. “My first client!” she exclaimed, glancing at her father and
visualizing the handsome white man.
“Oh,
Lord,” he said, “I have a feeling this is going to get complicated.”
Chapter Two
“Hello,”
Latesha said, her heart pounding. She knew from the beginning that it was him,
the white man with the gorgeous eyes and disarming smile. And she would be
talking to this white man, this strange and exotic creature, right in front of
her father. “Forevermore Matchmaking Service,” she noted in a professional
tone.
“Hello,”
said the male voice she instantly recognized.
“Hello,”
answered Latesha, her voice cracking. She was not quite sure of what procedure
to follow, even though she supposedly had been in business for years. She sat
on the little bench her grandfather had made after the Great War. “How can I
help you?”
“I’d
like to try your service,” the man said awkwardly. “Is this a good time?”
“Yes,
I just came on shift and our whole staff is here to serve you.” She glanced at
her father, who was picking his teeth, and Oprah as she lounged on the back of
the couch.
“I’ve
been neglecting my social life,” Peter admitted.
“May
I have your name, please?”
“Peter
Elsworth.”
“Hello,
Peter.”
“Hello,”
he answered, still nervous. “It’s Latesha, isn’t it?”
“Yes,
Latesha.” She could clearly see his face in her mind. “Could you tell me how
you found out about the Forevermore Matchmaking Service?”
“I
saw a poster at the university. It was near the Student Union Building.”
“Are
you a student?”
“I’m
an electrician.”
“I
see.” Latesha looked into her father’s eyes, took a deep breath, and then made
her pitch. “Well, sir, for a flat fee of one hundred dollars, we will match you
with a potential soul mate.”
Mr.
Thomas smirked.
Latesha
ignored him. “That’s if you’re ready for a life-altering experience.”
“I’d
settle for pleasant company,” Peter said with a chuckle. He paused for several
seconds. “I’ve never called a professional matchmaker before.”
“No
worry, Peter. You’re in good hands.” She leaned back and felt remarkably at
ease all of a sudden. “However, our company is in the process of a major
renovation, so for the next little while, I’ll be using my home address. Is
that all right?”
“Yes.”
“Have
you got a pen and paper?” Latesha asked in a businesslike voice.
“Yes.
Go ahead.”
“Send
a check or money order for one hundred dollars to Latesha Thomas at 14
Beechwood Road.” She gave him the rest of her information. “The day I get your
payment, I’ll call you back.”
“What
happens in the meantime?”
Latesha
suddenly noticed her father scowling and preparing to speak. “Can you hold,
Peter?”
“Sure.”
Latesha
covered the receiver and lifted her eyebrows as she looked at her father.
“Why
did you use our address?” he asked with great alarm.
She
waved him off. “Dad, don’t worry about it. It’s one phone call. We’ll never
hear from this guy again.”
Mr.
Thomas sighed with exasperation and shook his head.
Latesha
stood up and carried the phone to her room, speaking into it as she closed the
door. “Hi, Peter, are you still there?”
“Yes,
Latesha.”
For
some unknown reason, she liked it when he said her name. “Right now,” Latesha
explained, clearing her throat, “I’ll develop your profile in our
supercomputer. We’ll look at thousands of possible matches, then narrow them
down. From there a specially trained relationship expert will pick out a
perfect date for you. Still interested?”
“Interested
and impressed.”
Latesha
sat on her bed, put her back against the headboard, and stretched out her legs.
“Give me a description of yourself and your interests.”
“I
just turned twenty-six,” he said. “I’m healthy and have a steady job.” He
paused. “I don’t know what else to say.”
Latesha’s
mind went blank for a moment. “Do you have any pets?” she asked, glancing at
Oprah, now sitting on her windowsill.
“A
goldfish called Dr. Phil.”
Latesha
laughed.
Peter
laughed, too. “The way I see it, Dr. Phil is known for giving great advice.
Since my goldfish has yet to steer me wrong, I decided to name him Dr. Phil,
even though I’m not sure if he’s actually a Phil or a Phyllis.”
“I
have a cat named Oprah,” Latesha told him.
“Really?”
he asked with surprise. “That’s funny.”
“I’ve
had her for five years.”
“Dr.
Phil has only been working for me these past two months.”
“I
hope you pay him well.”
“All
the food he can eat.”
Latesha
resisted, but she could not help being charmed by the white man. “So, you’re an
electrician?”
“Yes.”
“What
is your educational background, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“I
got my electrical papers last year,” he explained, “and I worked in
construction every summer since I was sixteen. I learned carpentry, plumbing,
dry walling.”
“Now
I’m impressed,” Latesha said. “A jack-of-all-trades.”
“And
a master of none,” he joked.
She
laughed. “Any other education?”
“I
have a university degree.”
“Really?”
she asked with great interest. “What was your major?”
“English.”
“Wow,”
Latesha said in great surprise. “I’m studying English, too.”
“What
year are you in?”
“My
sixth. I hope to earn my teaching degree this year.”
“Congratulations,”
he responded with genuine enthusiasm.
“What
about you?” she asked. “How far did you get?”
“I
took my Masters,” he told her.
“A
Masters degree in English and you’re working as an electrician?”
“I
may try teaching somewhere in the future, but I always wanted to work in a
trade. When I build my house, I hope to do almost everything by myself.”
Latesha
nibbled on her pen. “You’re an interesting person,” she said.
“Thank
you,” Peter replied. “What a nice thing to say.” He paused. “Maybe we could get
together sometime and talk about Shakespeare.”
There
was an awkward silence.
“We
have thousands of clients who are black, Asian and Latino,” Latesha continued
in a reserved way. “Are you interested in anybody, or only women of a certain
race?”
“I
never thought about it before,” Peter said, “but it makes no difference to me.”
“Are
you sure?”
“Very sure.”
“Have
you ever dated anyone but a white woman?” she asked, keenly interested in his
reply without admitting it to herself.
“I’ve
dated only white women,” Peter admitted.
“I
see,” she replied shortly.
“But
that hasn’t been by design,” Peter clarified. “Not at all.”
“Really?”
she responded.
“I’ve
dated very few women to be perfectly honest, but I can honestly say race was
never a factor. All right? Can you note that on your files?”
“I’ll
note that,” she said.
“Please
tell me your marital status?”
“Single,”
Peter said. “Never married.”
“Do
you live alone?”
“Yes,
except for Dr. Phil.”
“Do
you have your own vehicle?”
“I
drive an old truck, but it never lets me down.”
“I
hate to be crass,” Latesha said, “but how would you describe your looks?”
“Average,”
he responded immediately.
Modest,
Latesha thought as she pictured the handsome man. “That’s refreshing,” she said
out loud.
“Excuse
me?”
“Most
clients exaggerate their attractiveness. You’d swear half of them should be in
the movies. Not too many say they’re average-looking. Got to give you kudos for
that, Peter.”
“Just
being truthful.”
“Tell
me more,” Latesha urged, tremendously enjoying their interaction. “What are
your interests?”
“I
like the outdoors, love sports. I enjoy movies, the beach, hanging out with
friends.” He paused for a moment. “I like staying home a lot, too, and watching
television. What about you? What do you like to do?”
Latesha
again put on her business face. “Once I receive the funds, I’ll call you the
very same day with a match. Is that acceptable?”
“Sure.
I’ll put the check in the mail this evening.”
They
spoke for another ten minutes in a general way and Latesha was shocked at how
fluidly they conversed. There was a natural rapport and ease that she had never
before experienced with any other man. Though she refused to acknowledge it,
speaking with him was fun. It made her feel like a little girl without a care
in the world.
“Good
night, Peter.”
“Good
night, Latesha.”
After
she hung up, she returned the phone to the living room where her father was
shaking his head. “This isn’t right,” he said.
“Why
not?” she returned, shrugging. “I’ll find the guy a date, he’ll have a great
time, and we’ll make a few dollars. Everybody’s happy. What could possibly go
wrong?”
“That’s
what the captain of the Titanic said.”
“The
Titanic sunk on her maiden voyage,” Latesha noted, handing him one of her
posters, “but the Forevermore Matchmaking Service has been around for
twenty-four years.”
Her
father read the advertisement and shook his head. “Million dollar lemonade,” he
muttered, wheeling down the hall and into his room.
Though
she felt guilty, Latesha decided to match Peter with the very first woman who
called. As she made her tea biscuits, she was painfully conscious of the phone
and couldn’t help wondering who would win a date with that delightful man. But
by seven, much to her dismay, no one else rang. Once her biscuits cooled, she
knocked on her father’s door and asked him to babysit the phone.
“Just
take a message and tell them I’ll call right back,” she instructed before
taking the biscuits to Mrs. Hill. Twenty minutes after leaving, she returned,
breathing hard from a spirited run. “Anyone call?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“Hmm,”
Latesha mumbled, feeling deflated.
She
sat at the table with Oprah on her lap and made a grocery list. At nine o’clock
she glanced awkwardly at her father. “What if no one else calls?” she asked.
“I
think I see an iceberg,” he replied, flicking to a baseball game.
Latesha
went to bed and in her mind continually replayed her conversation with Peter.
He seemed like such a nice guy, and his check was in the mail. Now she needed a
female, any female, to provide him with a date.
As
requested in her ad, no one called on the weekend, but Latesha grew concerned
when she received no calls Monday evening either. But the next afternoon
Peter’s check arrived along with a letter for Mr. Thomas from the insurance
company.
“I
won’t cash it yet,” Latesha said, looking at the check and biting her lip.
“I
don’t think you should cash it at all.”
“Mrs.
Henry fired me,” Latesha suddenly blurted out.
“Oh,
no,” Mr. Thomas returned with a groan. “Why would she do that?”
“Her
son was apparently starting to like me.”
He
shook his head. “Do you have any money left at all?”
“Enough
in the bank to almost cover my tuition for next semester, but practically
nothing for food and transportation now. I’m maxed out on student loans.” She
looked dejected. “I might have to quit school, Dad.”
“No!”
he exclaimed so forcefully that it almost made her jump. “We’ll live without
insurance and we’ll cut back, but you’re getting your degree. It’ll work out.”
It was obvious by his expression that he didn’t believe that himself. “Somehow
it’ll work out.”
Latesha
did her chores and went to bed. The next morning she purposely avoided the
subject of money, kissed her father goodbye, then walked down the road, taking
a moment to accept Mrs. Hill’s warm thanks for the tea biscuits.
The
transit bus stopped and Latesha sat in the front seat, lost in thought. Before
she knew it, she was at the university and heading toward the student lounge.
It was already crowded with the morning crew, but she found a table near the
back. She sat down and started plotting her next move as a matchmaker. A moment
later she overheard three nearby women conversing.
“In
bars, guys are only out for one thing,” one of them said. “At church they’re
all married or living with their mothers, and here I meet only women.”
A
friend shrugged. “What can we do? If we make the first move, they think we’re
desperate or aggressive, but if you sit by the phone, you sit forever.”
“It’s
not fair,” added the third.
Latesha
waited for a break in the conversation before leaning into their field of view.
“Have you ever heard of the Forevermore Matchmaking Service?” she asked.
“No,”
they said simultaneously.
“I
hear it’s got all the hottest men,” Latesha boasted.
“Hot
men?” asked a six-foot buxom blond in an unnaturally husky voice. She looked
like the masthead of a Viking ship. “I’ll take one for lunch and two for
dessert.”
“I
haven’t heard about it,” said the thin brunette with a pained look, as if
speaking caused her great distress. “What exactly are they saying?”
“All
my girlfriends are talking about it,” Latesha claimed, trying to drum up
enthusiasm. “Apparently they have tons of hot guys on file. They say it’s
awesome.”
“Hot
guys?” queried the third friend, a sharp-eyed redhead who wore a pants suit.
“Truckloads!”
Latesha assured her.
“How
much does it cost?” asked the redhead.
“Apparently
there’s a special,” Latesha said. “For the next little while it’s free to
women.”
“What
would we have to do?” inquired the brunette.
“Tell
you what. Give me your names and phone numbers. I’ll find the ad, call in your
information, and they may get back to you.”