A Match Made on Madison (The Matchmaker Chronicles) (18 page)

It was still early by Manhattan time, and the bar was relatively empty—one table filled with noisy tourists, and an additional two or three occupied by the over-forty set settling in for a cheerful night channeling Julie Andrews.

“I’m doomed,” I said, staring down into my bourbon. Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures. Or at least generous ones.

“Well, you’re not in a good position, I’ll grant you that,” Richard said, “but it might not be as bad as you think. Maybe it was just a tourist. Or maybe no one will buy the shot.”

I glared at him over the rim of my glass. “It was definitely paparazzi. And while I may not be A-list, I’m turning into B with a bullet, thanks to the damn bet.”

“I was just trying to be supportive,” Richard said, with a shrug.

“Thanks. But right now I need unvarnished truth.”

“All right. You’re screwed.” He shrugged and took a sip of his Irish whiskey. Bushmills Black Bush. With Richard, even drinking was about the best of the best.

“Okay, maybe I meant slightly varnished truth?” I sighed, drained my drink, and tipped my head at the bartender for another. “So what am I going to do?”

“Damage control. Have you told Maris?”

“I’ve called her cell and her home number, but she’s not answering.”

“But you left a message?”

“Can’t. She doesn’t believe in voice mail.” When she’d agreed to work with me, I’d asked her to get a machine, but she’d flatly refused. Little did I know that I’d be the one who desperately needed the damn thing. “I even went by there. But no luck. She’s obviously out for the night.”

“Maybe she went over to Douglas’s?”

“I thought of that. But no go. He’s at home sleeping it off. I checked.”

“Well, you’ll track her down before morning.”

“And when I do?”

“You tell her the truth. That Douglas was drunk and appreciative. She’ll understand.”

“Maybe if it stayed a private matter. But if that picture hits the papers, she’s going to land in the middle of a personal PR nightmare.”

Okay, I know what you’re thinking. But honest to God, this is Manhattan and we move in a very small social circle at the end of the day. This is the kind of thing that provides years of cocktail party fodder. No one appreciates that kind of attention, but people like Maris avoid it like the plague. Black mark on the family name and all that. I couldn’t have planned something more damaging.

And Douglas—well, suffice it to say, the university wasn’t going to be keen on him having his picture in the tabloids. Not to mention the man himself. I mean, he didn’t even have his photograph on the jacket of his books. To call him private is an understatement.

Of course, on the other side of the coin, if he valued his privacy so bloody much he shouldn’t have gotten drunk and kissed me in the first place. Never mind the fact that it was on a public street. This wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t. I couldn’t possibly have seen it coming.

But that didn’t change the fact that it had happened, and now, thanks to photo jerk, there was a very real possibility that the business I’d worked so hard to build was going to be killed quite literally with a kiss.

“Oh God,” I said, sinking my head into my hands. “I’m dead.”

“No, you’re not,” Richard said, loyal to a fault. Bless him.

“What about a lawsuit?” I asked, reaching for something— anything—that might save my ass. “Anything to be gained there? I mean, it wasn’t my fault. The man was drunk. If the tabloids claim differently, don’t I have a case?”

“Possibly,” Richard shrugged. “But it takes time and money to win. And after the dust settles, all you’ll warrant is a single paragraph buried in the sports section. By then the damage has already been done. Better to figure out how to spin it.”

“I was caught on film kissing a client’s fiancé. There is no way to spin it.”

“Everything can be spun. The truth is that he was thanking you for helping him out with his concern over getting married.”

“Sounds good, but the real truth is that he was so drunk he didn’t know what he was doing.”

“Vanessa, when a man kisses a woman, he knows what he’s doing, I don’t care what state he’s in.”

“How would you know that?”

“Because I’m a man.”

“A gay man.”

“All right I should have said that when a man kisses anyone, it’s because he wants to. It’s part of the genes, hetero or homo. Got it?”

“So now you’re telling me that Douglas has a thing for me?” The idea was horrifying. He was a client. And he was engaged to marry someone else. Someone I quite liked.

“In some way, yes.” He held up a hand to stop my protests. “But it doesn’t mean he’s ready to chuck Maris. Only that he, in some way, is attracted to you.”

“You’re supposed to be making it better.”

“Look. He was drinking.”

“Heavily.”

“So everything was exaggerated. I’m sure he truly meant to thank you. It’s just that he chose an inopportune moment to show it.”

“He’s got the hots for our girl, if you ask me.” Anderson slid onto the barstool next to Richard, his eyes dancing. “I wouldn’t have thought Douglas capable of it.” I’d left an SOS on Anderson's machine at work. Obviously he’d gotten it. “So when’s the wedding?”

“That’s not funny. Unless you’re talking about Maris and Douglas. In which case, thanks to the sleazeball with a Nikon, maybe never.”

“Surely she’s been around enough to realize that almost nothing in the tabloids is based on reality.” Anderson waved down the bartender and ordered a cabernet.

“She hasn’t been anywhere, Anderson. That’s the problem. And even if it isn’t real, a picture is worth a thousand words, true or not.”

“So what’s the worst that can happen?” Richard asked.

“Maris will dump Douglas before he has the chance to un-dump her. She’ll hate me, and my career as a matchmaker will be over before it even has a chance to begin.”

“Or people will be lining up to sign on with the notorious Vanessa Carlson,” Anderson laughed.

“By people, I’m assuming you mean crazies. This isn’t funny.”

“I know, sweetie, but this too shall pass. The press has the attention span of a two-year-old.”

“You’re right, but it’s the five-second span that has me worried.”

“Maybe you should be more worried about Douglas.” Anderson was grinning again.

“Stop it.”

“Sorry.” He actually managed to look contrite.

“Look. This is serious. There’s got to be something we can do. You said I should spin it.” I looked over at Richard. “How?”

“Well, you could fight fire with fire. Call
Page Six
and just tell them your side of it.”

“But then if they haven’t got the picture, I’ve added fuel to a fire that wasn’t lit.”

“Can you do that?” Anderson asked. I frowned. Usually I found his wit amusing, but at the moment, nothing was funny.

“You know that I mean,” I snapped, and was immediately sorry. Anderson hadn’t done anything except ride to my rescue. Again. “Sorry. I’m just worried.”

“I know. And I understand why. But trust me, even if it’s bad, it won’t be as awful as you’re imagining.”

“I just feel so helpless. And I hate that. I need to do something. Take action.” Okay, I was all girded up with no place to go. “So what do I do?”

“Well, I think the most important thing is to make sure Maris isn’t blindsided. So talking to her tonight is important. Second, if you can pull it off, you need to be sure that the two of them get back together. If the press figures out there’s trouble in paradise, it will only add to the innuendo. And third, I meant what I said. You need to talk to Page Six and tell your side of the story. But hopefully if you’ve handled the happy couple, then you can spin it, so that it’s all about a grateful client.”

“Maybe I could just get Cybil to run something?”

“Where is she anyway?” Anderson asked. “I’d have thought you’d want her in on the powwow.”

“She’s at a board meeting. The New York Women’s Foundation. I’ll fill her in later.”

“She’ll love this,” Richard said. “But you can’t use her.  You’re too close. People know that. And they’ll suspect her of slanting things your way. Not good for either of you.”

“You’re right.” I sighed, wishing I could just turn the clock back before Maris’s call. “I don’t suppose there’s any way you all could pull strings and make this go away?”

“I haven’t any left to pull,” Richard said, with a shake of his head. I shot a hopeful look at Anderson, even though I was pretty sure he’d already used all his allotment of fairy godmother dust.

“Sorry. I’m afraid I called in all my markers when I helped you with Grayson.” Anderson managed somehow to look apologetic and amused all at the same time.

“Grayson.” My heart fluttered to my feet. “Oh, my God, I forgot all about him.” I glanced at my watch. It was ten to nine. He had said a late dinner. But I couldn’t imagine meeting with him now. I had more pressing fires to put out.

“What’s to forget?” Anderson asked. “The last I heard you’d hit a dead end. Are you holding out on us?”

“No. Well, sort of. I’m sorry. I’ve been a bit preoccupied with the Maris-Douglas situation.”

“So spill it. Have you talked to him?” Richard asked, sizing me up like a star witness about to be deposed.

I nodded numbly, my stomach dropping down to join my heart. “He called to ask me to lunch, but I said no.”

“You turned him down?” Anderson asked. “Have you lost your mind?”

“I had clients in crisis. Paying clients, I might add.”

“Well, I admire your work ethic, but maybe if you’d said yes, you wouldn’t be in this situation.”

“Thanks. That really makes things better.” Sometimes Anderson was just too damn honest. Of course, he was also probably right. But it was like telling a hit-and-run victim that if they’d turned left instead of right they probably wouldn’t be in the hospital right now.

‘"I'm just saying—”

I waved him quiet. “He did say something about a late dinner.

“So what are you doing here?” Richard scowled. “This is your chance.”

“Right. And then in the morning the photo runs and he, along with the rest of my client list, will never talk to me again.”

“Well, if you wait for tomorrow and the picture runs, then it’s a sure thing. But right now you still have a shot at working your magic, and then maybe the photograph won’t mean that much.”

“I was kissing a client.” I felt like I was talking in Swahili.

“Yes, but there were extenuating circumstances. And Grayson, of all people, will understand.”

“So you think I should tell him?” My heart exited altogether, leaving my stomach alone and threatening revolt.

“Preemptive strike. At least if he’s interested. And I can’t imagine he’d ask to meet with you if he wasn’t. Doesn’t make sense.”

“But what about Douglas and Maris?” I really did care about them. Besides, meeting with Mark Grayson under any circumstances was nerve-wracking, but in my present state, the idea was positively frightening.

“You’ve already said that Maris is out,” Richard reminded me. “And Douglas is sleeping it off. So there’s nothing you can do right now anyway.”

“I can head for St. Patrick’s and pray.”

“Never a bad choice.” Anderson smiled, his eyes full of sympathy. “But in this case, I think Richard is right. You need to follow through with Grayson. As to telling him about the photo, I’d wait to see how it goes. If he is ready to take the plunge, then you probably owe it to him to prepare him, otherwise, it’s up to you.”

“I should probably warn my other clients, too.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Richard said, “but really, I think you’re overestimating the influence one picture will have.”

“You haven’t seen the picture.”

“Neither have you,” Richard said.

Anderson reached over to pat my shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Anticipation is the worst, really. Tomorrow, when you know how bad it is, you can start putting out fires. Tonight, I think you should call Grayson. He’s not the type to ask more than once.”

“Well, technically he’s already asked twice.” Anderson and Richard glared simultaneously. “I said technically. And you’re right, he won’t call again.” I sighed and pulled out my cell phone, feeling a hell of a lot like a lamb being led to slaughter.

Just to postpone the moment, I called Maris again, but got no answer. Maybe she was with Douglas. One could only hope. Richard was right—if they made up tonight it would certainly make tomorrow’s news go down easier. But I’d done everything I could to ward off disaster. And in all honesty it wasn’t my fault. I had been trying to help. Surely Maris would understand that. It’s not like Douglas wouldn’t back me up.

At least I hoped so. Thanks to Richard and Anderson, I couldn’t get rid of the ugly notion that somehow Douglas harbored feelings for me. The idea was ludicrous. I’d never given him the slightest encouragement, and in truth I couldn’t believe he’d find me attractive. We had nothing in common except the company we kept. And the fact that I liked his novels.

Besides, he loved Maris. He’d asked her to marry him.

And unasked her, the little demon in my head reminded me.

“It’s usually better if you dial first,” Richard said.

“I’m just trying to think of what to say.” I was stalling, trying to find my courage.

“You tell him you’re free for dinner,” Anderson said. “Honestly, Vanessa, if I didn’t know better I’d think you had a thing for Mark Grayson.”

“I don’t even know him.” The idea was as ludicrous as the possibility of Douglas Larson having the hots for me. “And even if I did, he isn’t my type.”

“Anderson was just kidding.” Richard raised a hand, ever the peacemaker. “Weren’t you?” He shot Anderson a censorious look.

“Of course I was,” Anderson nodded, emphatically. Too much so. I didn’t buy it for an instant.

“I’m not in love with anyone. And no one is in love with me.” I said it a bit too loud, and it seemed as if everyone in the bar paused to give me a pitying look. “And as far as I’m concerned that’s a good thing,” I whispered, frowning at the room in general.

“We just want you to be happy,” Anderson said.

“I am happy.” How in the hell had the conversation turned to me and my love life, or lack thereof? “Although come tomorrow, I may feel differently when that photograph comes out. I called you two here to help me, not to try and fix me up with my own clients.”