It's Got to Be Perfect: the memoirs of a modern-day matchmaker (15 page)

That evening, as the moon shone down like a spotlight in the sky, I stepped out of the taxi and onto the red carpet. Mandi, as though having been set the task of finding a castle to house all the princesses in the world, had selected the Hurlingham Club as the venue for our Masquerade ball.

The cool air sent shivers down my spine as I lifted up the hem of my silver dress and then climbed the stone staircase, making my way into the grand entrance hall.

When I walked through the arched doorway, I felt like I’d stepped into Mandi’s fairy tale. Palm trees, glistening with tiny lights lined the vast corridor that led to a twenty-foot atrium, which was lit up like a desert sky. Against the backdrop of red velvet and gold gilt, Mandi, wearing a fulllength white satin gown, rushed over with an excited totter. Her soft blonde curls tumbled over her shoulders. An enormous white sparkling mask adorned her face. Tonight she was Masquerade Barbie.

‘I’m so glad you’re here. Isn’t this amazing?’ She twirled around on the spot. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I asked the props company to add these to the order.’ She pointed proudly at the deep red satin sashes that hung from the ceilings. ‘And a few other extras.’ Elaborate candles, plush-looking cushions piled on velvet chaise longues and – wait – weren’t they
marble
statues?

‘What about our budget?’ My dazed head grappled with the sums.

‘I know. It was a bit extravagant, but our clients deserve it, don’t they? Don’t you think? It looks so amazing. I’m so excited for them. And besides, we can’t put a price on romance, can we?’

‘I thought that’s exactly what you did.’ A sharp tone interjected and we both turned around. ‘Put a price on romance, I thought that’s what this business was all about.’ A tall and slim woman was standing behind us. Mandi looked at her, then at me and then back at her.

‘I’m Mia. Which one of you is Ellie?’

‘I am.’ I stepped forward and held out my hand.

With her tanned skin, mane of mahogany hair and slinky black dress, Mia looked like the wicked yet beautiful queen come to tempt Mandi with an apple. She locked onto me with her dark, almost black eyes as we took a seat on one of the overdressed sofas.

‘I hope this is a serious business and not just a couple of silly girls matchmaking,’ she said after she pulled bejewelled cushion out from under her, and studied it with curiosity.

‘Yes, of course,’ I replied.

‘Good. Because that’s why I’m here. I think we could build this into an incredibly successful business.’

‘This isn’t Wall Street,’ I laughed. ‘It’s a dating agency. But I admire your spirit.’

‘The dating industry is currently worth in excess of one hundred million in the UK alone. Globally over two billion. Projected to be over four billion in five years’ time.’

I stared at her for a moment, wondering if somehow we’d been transported to an episode of
Dragon’s Den
.

‘That’s great. But is it okay if I ask you a few questions first?’

‘Sure.’

I pulled a notepad and pen from my bag. ‘So,’ I began, feeling a little disconcerted by the intensity of her stare. ‘What appealed to you about the role?’

She laughed. ‘I’m not going to pretend that I’ve always wanted to be a matchmaker, that it’s my dream profession, or that I think love conquers all. I’d be a liar.’

Mandi wedged herself between us on the sofa and glared at her. ‘So what do you think love is then, Mia?’

Mia turned to Mandi. ‘It varies with context, but generally speaking, I believe that romantic love is a social construct, a cultural concept engineered to control and manipulate society. Francois de La Rochefoucauld said that some people wouldn’t have fallen in love if they had not heard there was such a thing, but, in my opinion, no one would have fallen in love if they hadn’t been taught to expect eternal fulfillment upon meeting their soulmate. It’s a bit like Islamic fundamentalists believing they’ll get seventy-two virgins if they strap explosives to their chest and jump on the Northern Line.’

Mandi’s mouth opened and her eyes widened, as though we were debating the tooth fairy’s very existence.

‘You can’t be a matchmaker if you don’t believe in love. That’s like being, I don’t know, a musician who’s deaf. It just wouldn’t work.’

Mia rolled her eyes. ‘Ever heard of Beethoven?’

Mandi clasped her hands together. ‘Oh, I love that movie.’

Mia rolled her eyes again and pulled a cigarette out of her bag. ‘Mind if I smoke?’ she asked, having already lit it. ‘Being a realist –’

‘Pessimist,’ Mandi muttered.

‘Being a realist, I see love for what it is, which means I can help people on a practical level. Help them put a strategy in place for finding a partner. Despite the challenges.’

‘What do you think the challenges are?’ I asked.

‘We all say we’re too busy. It’s too hard to meet people. That’s just a cover. The real issue is our expectations. The truth is we don’t deserve to be happy. We aren’t entitled to love. We have to earn it and fight to keep it. And even then most of the time it shits all over us.’

She inhaled deeply and puffed out the smoke in perfect concentric circles. Mandi started wheezing.

‘And from what authority do you speak?’ I asked, realising that my inner Shakespearian actor had made a reappearance.

Unfazed by my random change of tone, she looked up at the ceiling and then back at me. ‘My father was a Russian diplomat and my mother an Italian prostitute, I learned more about relationships from their fuck-ups than I ever did from my PhD in Psychology. Any more questions?’

Mandi leaned forward. ‘Have you ever broken a penis?’

‘No,’ she said, stubbing out her cigarette on the floor. ‘But I would have liked to.’

I stood up with a smile and shook her hand. ‘Welcome to the team.’

Mandi’s wheezing escalated. She swallowed hard and then with watering eyes and a red face, retrieved a pink glitter mask from her bag and offered it to Mia.

‘This is for you,’ she said.

Mia turned her nose up, as though she had been handed a snotty tissue. ‘I brought my own, thanks.’

She pulled a black feathered mask from her bag.

After they’d flown off in different directions, like the white and the black swan, I heard the throb of Buddha Bar music filtering through the atrium. It merged with the excited chatter of the guests as they funnelled through the corridor.

Having dismissed my mask as “too boring”, Mandi had replaced it with something that resembled a stuffed flamingo, the weight of which kept dragging it down my nose. Each time I pushed it back up, it slipped down again, but if I tipped my head back, I could just about see through the pink plumage.

I felt a tap on the mask. ‘Is Ellie under there?’

I pulled it off and saw Jeremy looking back at me. He was wearing a black dinner jacket and a white shirt and his hair was swept back from his face. I half-expected him to leap behind a pillar and start shooting Russian spies.

He looked down at my mask. ‘Wow, that’s a bit carnival.’

I laughed. ‘I think it might actually be a recycled carnival float. I’m half expecting to see little Brazilian people jumping up and down on it.’

He laughed, but his eyes didn’t crease.

‘So, how are you?’

‘I’m okay.’ He looked down at the floor. ‘I got here early to have a quick chat. Do you have time?’

Glancing around the room, I saw Mandi introducing guests and Mia studying what looked like a price list at the bar.

I looked back at Jeremy. ‘Sure. What’s up?’

He blinked a few times and then looked back down at the floor. ‘Harriet and I split up.’

A tear tracked down his cheek.

I offered him the mask. ‘You can have this if you want?’

He laughed. ‘I’d rather be seen bawling my eyes out in public than wear
that
.’

I led him to a chaise longue. After moving the many cushions aside, we sat down. Jeremy frowned as he tossed a red velvet bolster with gold tassels to the floor. ‘I love her, Ellie.’

‘I know,’ I said. ‘What happened?’

His fist clenched. ‘Her father.’

I frowned.

‘We went to stay with her family last weekend. At their country “estate”.’ He made silly inverted comma hand gestures around the word.

‘And what were they like?’

‘Her Mum was lovely. Quiet but nice. But her dad. What a wanker. He treated me like I was some sort of backwards kid Harriet had brought home to show the family.’

I tried not to smile. It seemed inappropriate.

‘And every time I spoke, he interrupted me or disagreed with what I had said.’

‘The dads are always hard to win over. You must know that. Harriet is his little princess.’

‘Yeah, well, I wasn’t going to be treated like that.’

‘No.’

‘And then there was an incident with one of his gun dogs and a confit of duck. Which I got the blame for.’

I laughed.

‘After that, he suggested I might be more comfortable eating in the parlour with the dogs. Pompous twat. Who does he think he is? And who the fuck says “parlour”?’

I raised my eyebrows.

‘Anyway, now he’s forbidden her to see me. He said a big-eared farm boy wasn’t good enough for his daughter.’

I frowned. ‘Your ears aren’t big.’

He laughed. ‘It’s a saying.’

‘Oh, right.’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Anyway, I’m sure Harriet’s smart enough not to take her father’s views as fact.’

‘Apparently not,’ he said, brushing a strand of hair off his forehead. I noticed a shadow on his knuckles.

‘You didn’t hit him, did you?’ I asked.

‘Not the father. The brother.’ He rubbed his knuckles. ‘A younger, more stupid version.’

I sighed, though inwardly experiencing a strange kind of admiration.

‘You should see him though: two black eyes and a broken nose. Us farm boys can pack a punch, you know.’

I shook my head. ‘Not exactly the sort of impression you’re supposed to leave on the potential in-laws.’

‘They started it,’ he said, his face breaking into a smile. ‘Posh twats.’

I leaned forward and patted his arm ‘Let me speak to Harriet and…’

‘Is that
Barbie
?’ Jeremy interrupted.

I looked up to see Mandi swishing towards us.

‘You must be Jeremy,’ she gushed, grabbing his hand. ‘There are a million girls asking to be introduced to you. Come and mingle!’

He shrugged his shoulders, ‘I’m only here as a wing man.’ He waved for his friend to come over.

When a dark-haired version of Jeremy came into focus, I realised it was Mike from the champagne bar. When Mandi noticed him, she looked as though she were about to spontaneously combust.

‘Quick, quick.’ she squealed, before leading them towards a huddle of blondes.

Only moments earlier when the venue had been empty, the polished floorboards had seemed like a lake at dawn: vast, still, expectant. But in the short time I’d been talking to Jeremy, over three-hundred pairs of shoes were now bearing down on them, leaving scuffs and indents as they trampled towards the bar, where champagne flowed like water from a spring. Long dresses swung and shimmered. Black suits met blacker masks. Skin glowed, jewels glittered, eyes locked and bodies followed.

William languished on a chaise longue, his arm draped around a delicate-looking Japanese girl. Shorn of the rucksack and nervous disposition, he looked almost like he belonged amongst the illuminati. Mia and I looked on, sipping champagne.

‘What do you make of that then?’ I asked after I’d given her the full story.

‘Well once you’ve had your cock broken, what’s the worst that can happen?’ she said, her face deadpan.

I smirked.

‘People fear what they don’t know and women were an unknown entity to him. But after Cassandra – that was her name right?’

‘Yes.’

‘After she broke his cock –’

I winced. ‘Stop saying cock. Call it something else.’

‘Okay after she broke his
penis,
and he survived and the world didn’t end, he probably realised that he had been worrying for nothing.’ Her dark eyes glistened.

Mandi bounced towards us. For a moment, the white of her dress almost blinded me.

‘Look at William and Mitzi! That’s Mitzi.’ She pointed. ‘The one next to William. She’s Japanese. A jewellery designer – from Japan she’s called Mitzi. I introduced them. Look, he’s holding her hand. This is so exciting. I’m so excited.’

William and Mitzi looked over. Mitzi waved and Mandi clapped.

‘She plays tennis and everything.’

‘And everything?’ Mia asked, her eyebrows raised.

‘They were
made
for each other! Don’t you think? I’ve matched so many people tonight. I love this job. Come on Mia, let’s go match. It’s so much fun.’

‘No thanks, not really my style.’

Mandi wagged her finger at Mia. ‘If you’re going to be a matchmaker, then you’re going to have to match people.’

Mia pulled down her mask, as though Mandi might be contagious. ‘I’ll work my own way, thank you.’

After Mandi had flounced off, I felt a prod on my arm and then turned to see a woman with a deeply furrowed brow and accusing eyes.

‘Ellie?’ she asked.

‘Yes’ I replied, removing my mask.

‘There are no canapés left.’ She waved the party invitation in my face. ‘The invitation states canapés included. Look. Cana – ’

‘Excuse me,’ Mia interrupted, swiping the invitation out of her hand. ‘She
can
read.’ Mia turned back to me. Don’t worry Ellie, I’ll deal with this.’

Mia turned back to face the woman. ‘Sorry, what was your name?’

‘Sharon, I’m a friend of Joanna’s.’

‘Listen, Sharon. You are correct, the invitation does indeed state that canapés are included, but as you’ll notice here …’ She pointed at the card ‘… it also states that the event started at 7pm. It is now 10pm. Adopting a commonsense approach, one would assume that the canapés would have been offered at the beginning of the event.’

Sharon put her hand up to dispute, but Mia continued.

‘However, as a gesture of goodwill and considering that you …’ Mia looked her up and down, her gaze lingering on Sharon’s wider-than-average girth ‘… look so
hungry
, we will offer you a burger on the house. And a big plate of fries. Looks like you might want some of those as well. Is that satisfactory?’