“Oh, sweetheart. Give your parents a break. We’re not fixing you up with Malcolm.” Mom winks at Dad. “We thought it would be nice for you to have a dinner partner.” She licks her finger and wipes at something under my eye.
What is it that compels moms to do that? It isn’t like their spit contains miracle properties. If there is something under my eye, it will take a cotton ball and extra strength makeup remover to get rid of it. To my mother’s horror, I’m a low maintenance girl. I apply industrial strength mascara first thing in the morning and that’s it. I’m good to go all day.
I swat at her hand. “Let’s go.” I pick up the little black clutch from the entry table and walk out the door. The faster I get this over with, the better. It used to be a monthly thing. Mom and Dad would find some reason for me to attend one of their many social events, and each time they conveniently set me up with one of their friends’ single sons.
At twenty-five, I don’t consider myself on the shelf. Lots of women wait to settle down and have children. The issue is, my parents are late bloomers themselves, and at fifty-seven, their
grandparent clock is ticking so loud. It doesn’t matter that my biological clock hasn’t been wound yet. They are ready to bounce babies on their knees, and as their only child I have the only eligible womb.
There was a false start two years ago when Anthony Bale the fourth proposed. That relationship crashed and burned the first time we got intimate. That was the day his other girlfriend barged in before he could take my virginity.
“You’ll love Malcolm.” Mom slides into the limousine and I follow. It doesn’t take Dad more than a second to open the decanter and pour himself a scotch. He hates these social events almost as much as I do, but this one pulls in a fortune for his non-profit. The proceeds will go to keep the arts in underprivileged schools.
We come from old money and the family motto is, with big money comes big responsibility. Give more than you take, and be humble. As a Leclerc, working is optional. Philanthropy is not.
“Tell me about Malcolm.” It is always easier to cave in to Mom’s interference then fight it. Tonight will unfold like all others. She will parade me around the event like a prize heifer at the fair, and if Malcolm is like the other men my parents introduce me to, he’ll want a gazelle not a fattened calf.
I’ll spend a couple of hours with Malcolm at dinner. I’ll smile and do my best to charm him, but by the end of the evening we’ll go our separate ways.
“So you see, he’s perfect for you.” The entire conversation passes without my participation. How did I get so lucky?
Inside I roll my eyes. Outside I smile. “He sounds great.” I pull at my skirt. Maybe that extra pastry this afternoon wasn’t such a good idea, but I have a thing for fresh croissants, and when they’re filled with chocolate, I can’t resist.
The car pulls up to the curb, and the driver lets us out. For a winter day, it’s warm, but that’s the norm in Los Angeles. While people across the United States are shivering in sub-zero temperatures, half of the state of California is in shorts and T-shirts. I wipe at the bead of sweat that forms on my brow and think about hot chocolate and snow.
“Stand up tall, Madison. You look like you’re marching to your death. I’m not putting a noose around your neck. I’m trying to put a ring on your finger. Now smile.” So much for her statement about not trying to fix me up.
I walk into the ballroom behind my parents with a smile as bright as the high beams on Dad’s Porsche.
At the first opportunity, I leave my parents to socialize, and go in a different direction. The only thing fun about fundraisers is buying the goods. I make it a point to purchase something at each event. Last year I purchased a cruise and anonymously gave it to a less fortunate family.
Tables full of prizes line the walls of the room. This will keep me busy all evening. I am rounding the second table when Mom finds me. Next to her is Malcolm. In all honesty, he is surprisingly handsome. I don’t generally go for the gingers, but his hair is more blond than red, and his smile is electrifying.
Everyone has a type and mine is definitely tall, dark and delicious, but Malcolm is easy on the eyes.
“You must be Malcolm.” I offer him my hand and a smile. My parents spent a fortune on orthodontics and this is as good a time as any to show off their investment.
“It’s nice to meet you, Madison.”
Mom pushes us together and squeals with delight. “You two kids have fun.” She turns and leaves as if her job is complete, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t helicopter around us.
Malcolm and I stare at my mom’s retreating figure. “You can call me Maddy. All my friends do.” I have a feeling Malcolm and I are going to be good friends.
“Well, Maddy, how many of these fix ups do you need to attend each month?” He lifts my hand and places it on his arm. “This is my fifth.” He sounds more entertained than irritated.
“Five? You’re certainly holding up well. Let’s just keep smiling. We’d hate to crush their dreams in the first five minutes. Besides, how do you know I’m not the one?” I brush my fingers over a beautiful blown glass vase that is up for auction. The color starts black at the bottom and fades to clear at the top.
“I’m sure you’re a great girl, and you’re quite beautiful, but you’re not my type.” He picks up a pen and hovers his hand over the bid sheet.
“You’ve only just met me, how do you know?” Lord, I’ve been with this guy for less than a minute and he is already retreating.
He leans in and whispers in my ear. “You have a vagina.” He writes five hundred dollars on the sheet.
“It’s worth far more than that.” I take the pen and cross out his bid and replace it with a bid of fifteen hundred.
“So are you. I’ve just told you I’m gay, and you didn’t run in the other direction.” He pulls my arm and guides me down the table.
I burst out in laughter. Out of the corner of my eye I see my mom smile. Sadly, she’ll be heartbroken again.