Cupid's Christmas (Serendipity #3)(7)
The next morning, I found her bathrobe lying on the floor. After hanging in the same spot for over a year, it had fallen from the hook. I took that as a sign and finally called the woman from Mustard Seed.
Last year I ran into Eleanor and couldn’t help remembering what good times we’d had some thirty years ago. One thing led to another and now, for the first time in almost nine years, I am truly happy. At one time I thought I’d never find anyone as special as Bethany, but Eleanor has her own kind of special. It’s the kind of special that has made me very happy, and I think it’s gonna make Lindsay happy too.
Cupid…Trouble Starts
Women like Lindsay make me appreciate the Eleanors of this world even more. Based on something that’s akin to a child’s imagination, Lindsay has created a set-in-stone image of what her ideal man will look like. Humans—they’re an impossible race! Some of them search for love the way they’d search for a suit, by size, color and cut…Lindsay is precisely that type!
Now that she’s got an image of her perfect mate, she’s begun to study the face of every male she passes. She eyes them on her walk to work, she scrutinizes them when they walk into the bookstore, and yesterday evening she checked out two gay men who were folding their laundry in the basement of her apartment building.
This foolishness continued day after day and by the end of the week she’d looked into more than a thousand faces. Not one had been right. Friday evening she returned home weary and disappointed.
Walker greeted her with an apprehensive smile. “Got a registered letter for you,” he shuffled through the pile of envelopes and handed one to her. It was from The Chelsea Building Management Company.
“Oh no,” Lindsay sighed, “Don’t tell me they’re raising the rent again…”
Walker shook his head, “Worse,” he grumbled.
“Worse?” Using her fingernail, she pried open the flap and began to read. “They’re kidding, right?”
Walker shook his head again, “Afraid not. Everybody in the building got the same letter. Ain’t nobody happy.”
“But is this even legal? Can they just decide to go condo without any input from the residents? Without a vote of some sort?”
“They own the building, so I guess they can do as they see fit.”
“It isn’t fair,” Lindsay moaned, “I don’t have this kind of money.”
“Few do,” Walker echoed soulfully, “Very few.” He was thinking of his daughter Emily.
Upstairs in her apartment, Lindsay reread the letter three times. Each time the words remained the same—no renewal of the lease blah, blah, blah condominium conversion to be effective December 1, 2011. Blah, blah, blah the purchase cost for your apartment (3A) is $265,000. 00 blah, blah, blah…the deadline date for declaration of intent to purchase is November 1, 2011.
“I can’t believe this,” she sighed and flopped down on the sofa.
A ring of gloom circled Lindsay and settled on her shoulders as she sat there counting up her losses. First Phillip and now her apartment. Lindsay imagined herself at the bottom of a well with no way to climb out. Buying the apartment was out of the question, she had barely enough money to plunk down a security deposit and pay for a mover.
With a swell of sorrow rising in her throat, she telephoned Amanda and tearfully reread the letter.
“I know, it stinks,” Amanda sympathized. “Chris got one also.”
“Chris?”
“Christopher Roberts he lives in your building.”
“That’s the Chris you’ve been dating?”
“Remember I met him the night you broke up with Phillip? I asked if you’d mind…”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember. I just didn’t realize he was the Chris you’ve been dating.”
“It’s three months today. We’re going to Antonio’s to celebrate.”
“Antonio’s…” Lindsay repeated. “Nice place.” I could hear the melancholy in her voice, but apparently Amanda didn’t because she chattered on and on about how wonderful Chris was.
When Lindsay hung up the telephone, she sat there for almost ten minutes trying to recall exactly what Christopher looked like. They’d had four dates, nice dates. She remembered the way he’d held her arm as they crossed the street, how he’d brought flowers on their second date, how at the restaurant he’d waited until she was seated before he sat. Slowly it dawned on her that Christopher was most likely a man with principles. How sad, she thought, that she hadn’t then understood the importance of principles.
A picture of Christopher finally came to mind and she compared it to the image she’d been carrying around. Luckily there were certain differences. He was a tad on the short side, and although his hair was light brown, it was definitely too long. And there was that thing about wearing loafers with no socks—her father would never do that. With a sigh of relief Lindsay let go of the tension that had been building. For a moment she thought perhaps she’d met her ideal man and somehow failed to recognize him.
Anyway, she reasoned, Christopher wasn’t Christopher anymore. He was now Chris, Amanda’s Chris.
I warned you this was going to happen, and it’s only the start of things to come. I’ve already explained, I can’t override Life Management events. That department has the last word on almost everything. They decide who wins and who loses, who stays and who goes. Unfortunately, a number of their decisions have fouled up my best matches. One flick of a finger from Life Management and a person’s life changes forever. It saddens me, but I can’t stop it from happening. All I can do is help people pick up the broken pieces and fall in love again.