The Matchmaker

Chapter 11

After an awkwardly polite handshake and hug, the First Lady gives Zander a meaningful hard stare, "if he does anything stupid don't hesitate to tattle on him Catherine."

"Um, you have my word?" I warble out questioningly. Did she honestly think that I would reach out to her and dish on her son's abnormal and bothersome behaviour? If I want Zander to remain as a client then I'd have to tread on a thin line between appeasing him and his parents. It's obvious from the snippets of their conversation that Zander's, 'predicament,' as the President frames, is more complicated than anyone lets on. Usually, C&C clients are selected and actions conspired upon the wishes of the parents but in Zander's case, it looks like we'd be dealing with him directly.

"Ma! Stop threatening her, jeez."

Raising a thinly waxed eyebrow at her son, she proceeds to hand me a business card. Well isn't this just my luck? I bet the old geezers in politics and even Randy lurking somewhere upstairs, are dying to know the First Lady's number, and here's little me with her cellphone number.

Suddenly, the thought of phoning her does cross my mind but for matchmaking reasons – I could just tell her that I was the real Matchmaker, offering a deal to solve Zander's relationship issues. But that could go two ways: the first outcome, could have her screaming and yelling at me for not being honest with her son who's so keen and desperate to find me; the second outcome, could have her pleased at the thought of quietly resolving things with his fiancée. 

Sighing lightly, I decide to go against it. Zander's family situation seems already complicated as is. I didn't need to drag him down into more disgrace by getting involved without him knowing.

Without having an inkling to my thoughts, Mrs. Nolan waves goodbye and leaves. The pool room suddenly becomes eerily silent, the chloric water illuminating pale blue. I could feel Zander's gaze boring holes through the top of my head. Our height difference is noticeable, believe me, it makes me feel all the more uncomfortable, like an insect standing next to a tower. Despite this, there's this nagging feeling centred within the pit of my stomach that he wouldn't do anything to harm me. Especially, not right after his mom just left.

Finding a sliver of courage, I look up to see him shift slightly before rubbing the back of his neck, "whatever happened today, just pretend like you didn't see anything."

"Why?" I blurt out, the words flying out of my mouth before I even have a chance to stop – this is probably another reason why I am so socially deranged. I probably offend people without meaning to because this mouth of mine, which remains mute on most occasions, yet has a habit of blurting out stupidity.

His eyebrows rise in surprise before his face hardens, green eyes turning cold, "your right, why should you? The tabloids would have a field day. You could easily make a nice fortune selling a story."

Blinking dumbly like a mule, I remain quiet. The urge to slap him across the face is so tempting, but a wave of compassion washes over me. He must deal with backstabbing acquaintances and friends all the time, being the son or daughter of a politician must be brutal. A simpleminded citizen like myself can't even comprehend everything that occurs in their lives, but that doesn't mean I don't have an inkling of empathy.

The world is just polluted by emotionless opportunists, wearing sheep's skin but shedding that skin once the opportunity arises; they show their wolfish intentions then.

I still haven't said anything as my mind wanders into more philosophical realms and Zander takes my silence as confirmation of 'selling his story.'

"I can see it now, you'd tell them that the President's son is a no good player who has the most dysfunctional family, a strict, unrelenting father and a mother who still treats her grown son as – "