The Matchmaker's Medium Read Free Page A

he was still using hand motions and mouthing words to get my attention.
    “But I could squeeze you in tomorrow afternoon.”
    Jamal finally stopped, slumping down into himself with relief. I had to give him credit; the guy was hilarious when he wasn’t trying.
    “Fantastic! I knew it would be soon.”
    “So, I’ll see you tomorrow around, say, 1 p.m.?”
    “Great. See you then!”
    I ended the call and put the cell phone in my purse.
    “What is wrong with you?” I asked.
    “What do you mean?” he responded, doing his best impression of super-innocent.
    “I mee-eaan why didn’t you just say whatever it was you wanted to say? I’m the only one who can hear you, for crying out loud.”
    He chuckled, a deep, slow chuckle that made my stomach feel strange.
    “Baby girl, I think sometimes I start to forget I’m—you know.”
    We sat there in silence, the AC blasting my hair in a million directions and not affecting him at all.
    “Yeah. Well, that was a stupid call. So why were you losing your mind?”
    He looked out the window, at his hands resting on his knees, over at me.
    “Just think you should take this gig. That’s all.”
    Yeah, right. Jamal never talked about any of my clients unless there was something in it for him. Each time he helped another ghost—or spirit, or whatever people like to call them nowadays—he earned some kind of ‘brownie points’. After he helped enough of them, he told me he would get a kind of promotion. Honestly, I didn’t really understand it at all, but he was pretty serious about it. I thought it was kind of sweet.
    “All right, all right, she’s coming tomorrow afternoon, so just drop it, okay?”
    “I’m hip to the groove, baby!” he put his hand up for a high-five. I just stared at him.
    “Oh, right,” he slowly lowered his hand, shaking his head, “guess it’s time for me to make like a tree and….”
    The next time I blinked, he was gone.
    “Good night, Jamal.” I shifted the car into reverse, turned the volume knob on my stereo up to almost full blast, and pulled out of the parking lot with Earth, Wind, and Firepounding in my ears.

 
     
    Chapter Three
     
     
    “How’s it hangin’?”
    I looked up from staring into my orange-colored beer, and saw the juiciest, shiniest, pink and pouty lips I had ever seen on a guy, surrounded by a perfectly-trimmed goatee. And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, he smiled. Perfect, white, beautiful teeth between those lips.
    God help me, I thought, suddenly feeling a little too desperate and a lot too drunk.
    “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, looking at all the empty chairs next to me. “Did your friends leave you here all by yourself? Or are they just late?”
    Finally, I found my voice, “Neither.”
    Motioning to the chairs, he asked, “Mind if I sit here?”
    I snorted in disgust, “Be my guest. No one else will.”
    He took a few minutes to sit, readjusting his shiny suit coat, taking off his hat and carefully placing it on the table. I used that time to grab a few cocktail napkins and wipe my face off. Sure, I was on the short road to divorce now, but I didn’t have to look like a total loser-mess in the process.
    “So, if no one left you here, and you’re not waiting for anyone, why are you sitting alone?
    I shrugged, decided now would be the perfect time to get totally blotto, and starting guzzling my orange beer.
    “Hey, hey, slow down, there,” he said, reaching across the table and gently pulling the huge beer mug out of my hand.
    “Sorry,” I said, swiping the back of my hand across my mouth.
    “Uh-oh,” he said, pointing to the stack of napkins. “You got a little bit of something right about—here.” He pointed at his own face, making a big circle around his mouth area.
    Oh, god, I forgot about my makeup! I thought, about five seconds too late. I had decided this year I should dress like a witch, so there was a bunch of green makeup all over my face, and black lipstick on