Matchpoint Read Free

chest, at about mid-thigh. Two little gold flower earrings adorned her ears, and her face was painted with thick layers of foundation and blush, her eyes draped in lavender—to match her sweater, I guessed.
    “Maybe you have a police sergeant for me, too,” she said.
    “At least a sergeant,” I said, trying to sound positive.
    “Do you have pictures to show me so, you know, I can choose?”
    We took a seat at her desk. “I thought I would first get to know you better, see what you’re interested in,” I said, taking out a notepad and a pen.
    “Well, I’m looking for a man. Someone who appreciates me. And I’m losing weight! I have been drinking Chinese diet tea, and I’ve lost four pounds. These pants were tight on me last week. Usually I have a metabolism like sludge.”
    I nodded. Maybe there was something to Bird’s diet tea. I promised myself to brew a cup when I got home. I hadgotten soft since I moved in with my grandma. A woman could refuse only so many chili cheese fries before she caved.
    “Where the hell are the brownies? Did you eat all the brownies?”
    Belinda’s office was invaded by a woman in a tight miniskirt and camisole. There was something off about her face, as if I was seeing her through an altered Hollywood camera lens.
    “I am on a diet, Holly. Of course I didn’t eat the brownies,” Belinda said, clearly upset by the woman.
    “Yeah, right,” she sneered. Her lips were curved up unnaturally like the Joker’s, pulling at her taut skin. Everything about her was tight. Her body defied gravity like it was made of wax. I caught myself staring and looked away quickly, pretending to go over my notes about Belinda’s desires in a mate.
    “Here they are,” Holly announced, pulling a Tupperware container filled with brownies from a drawer. She took a big bite of one and tossed the container on the desk, unconcerned about resealing it and unconcerned about apologizing to Belinda. I disliked her instantly.
    “That was Holly the hygienist,” Belinda told me the moment Holly left the room. “She had fat from her ass put into her boobs, and she had Phil the plumber stick her with industrial Botox so her face never changes expression.”
    I realized my mouth was open, and I snapped it closed. “Her face has been that way for four years,” Belinda continued. “When she won Sunday night bingo, her face stayed the same. Ditto the day a patient had a heart attack and died in her chair when she was flossing him. She’s a class A whore, too. I don’t want to tell tales, but she likes them young.”
    She said “young” in a conspiratorial whisper that made me lean forward to hear more. But Belinda strayed fromthe topic. “She doesn’t need Chinese tea, that’s for sure. She’s got a metabolism like a hummingbird. She must eat ten times her weight. Of course, that’s only about ten pounds.” She found this uproariously funny and burst into hysterics. I had to slap her on the back for her to catch her breath.
    When she came around, she described what she was looking for in a man, which sounded eerily similar to George Clooney. “How long do you think it will take?” she asked.
    “Well, we can’t rush these things. Love, I mean.” It was the wrong thing to say. Belinda looked at me like I had told her Santa Claus didn’t exist. “Give me a week to look through my files,” I amended. “I’m sure Mr. Right is in there.”
    What was I saying? I didn’t have files. Grandma had stacks of index cards I could pilfer and look through, but otherwise, I had no clue who to fix Belinda up with.
    “Now, who do we have here? Hey, pretty lady, here for a checkup?”
    I jumped three feet in the air. Dr. Simon Dulur stood in the doorway, a shiny dental instrument in his hand, pointing at me with it. The instrument was metal and long with a sharp hooked end. My eyes swirled in their sockets, and I saw stars.
    “Whoa, we got a fainter! We got a fainter! Code Six!” Dr. Dulur waved his hands