A Tangled Web
Or, Doctor Love, Make Me a Match
Stanley Richmond and Mimi Clark weren't the only odd couple to find each other back in those early days after the bombs. People all over town and the surrounding countryside were discovering love in the strangest of places, most notably the former Cyberjolt Café. Romance was a cottage industry and Kenchy Dhuwalia gained quite the reputation as a maker of matches.
It was a crisp fall day a few months before the arrival of the Lisinski Six when Jake Green, having failed the previous evening at both convincing their mother that they should 'join forces' and at making it through dinner with his own mother and stepfather without giving himself a headache from clenching his teeth for two hours straight, found himself standing outside Dr. Love's Outpatient Plastic Surgery Centre, Dating Service, and Juice Bar. He wasn't looking for plastic surgery (his sisters-in-law had convinced him that his few permanent scars earned at the hands of Major Beck and his goons were rakish and gave him a certain outlaw quality) or a date, just a sympathetic ear. With Mary out at the Green Commune and Bailey's shuttered, there wasn't a watering hole in town any longer and Jake had taken to hanging out at Dr. Love's where he enjoyed both the Razz-Apple Surprise and commiserating about life with Kenchy.
"Outta my way!" Emily Sullivan screeched, almost taking Jake out as she flung the door open, heedless of his presence on the other side. She paused for a second, hands on hips, glaring. "You, you, you!" she shrieked, shoving past him. "You jerk!"
"Morning Emily," he replied neutrally after her retreating form. Emily's only response was a hand gesture that left no doubt as to her feelings toward Jake. "Always a pleasure," he muttered to himself, entering the storefront. "See I'm still in the doghouse," he greeted Kenchy, letting the door swing shut behind him.
According to the official tally kept by Mrs. Crenshaw, the elementary school secretary, Jake and Emily had broken up fifty three times in twenty one years, though Jake maintained that the number was more like forty eight while Emily claimed sixty one. Whatever the true statistic, there was a general consensus that their last break up - be it number forty eight, fifty three or sixty one - was final. Emily wasn't of a mind to forgive Jake for disappearing for three weeks without running it by her first or for (as it was rumoured) proposing marriage to her best friend, especially having last asked her to marry him approximately eighteen hours before break up number forty two (thirty four by his count, thirty seven by Mrs. Crenshaw's) and Jake, though he didn't say much publicly, seemed to have enough drama in his life, what with openly despising his mother's new husband and being refused approximately every other week by Jericho's favourite mother-to-be.
"I don't think it's you..." Kenchy informed his friend, a puzzled frown marring his features. The doctor was standing next to giant black marker board which had formerly advertised the Cyberjolt's specials and now bore mostly illegible notes about the romantic matches he was currently shepherding, circles, arrows and question marks connecting the currently uncoupled. There was a red mark on his right cheek that was shaped suspiciously like Emily's hand. "We were discussing sports..." Kenchy continued, dazed, "And then she hit me."
"Sports?" Jake questioned, his forehead wrinkling. He was pretty sure he knew all of Emily's buttons, but he wouldn't have counted that as one of them.
"She came in and I said 'good morning'," Kenchy recounted. "She was in a good mood, laughing. She gave me a kiss on the cheek, squeezed - uh, squeezed my arm," he admitted, shooting Jake an embarrassed look.
"We're broken up," Jake reminded, "And we're not getting back together. If you're interested...." He paused for a moment, considering his words. "Well, all I can say is good luck."
Kenchy allowed a distracted nod, still staring out the glass door after Emily, now out of sight. "Yeah, well, I suppose I need it, huh?" He shook his head to clear it, rubbing his injured cheek. He glanced at Jake. "I could try and find you -"
"I'm not lookin' for a date," Jake barked, cutting him off.
"I just mean, if things don't work out with ... you know...with, uh, Miss...." Kenchy trailed off, clearing his throat nervously. He knew from previous experience that this was a sore subject with his friend. "Well, anyway," he declared forcing a chipper note. "The offer stands. Free of charge, even."
Jake's jaw clenched automatically. "I'm not lookin' for a date," he repeated. "And, if you're thinkin' of dating Emily, just be careful," he advised, blatantly changing the subject. "My advice: avoid actual conversation, though I didn't know sports was such a touchy subject. Used to just be the weather, politics, religion, grades, music and Keanu Reeves." Kenchy's eyebrows rose. "Don't ask," Jake grumbled.
"She brought it up!" Kenchy complained, for once easily diverted from his newfound calling as a yenta. He shrugged helplessly. "She - she squeezed my arm, made a comment about my - my athletic build and asked if I played soccer or cricket. I admitted that I'd played badminton as a teenager and she completely changed! Like someone threw a switch! Slapped me and stormed out!"
"I - I really don't know what to tell you," Jake replied. "Uh, you got any of that Razz-Apple Surprise?"
"Sure, coming right up," Kenchy agreed, moving around behind the café's counter.
Meanwhile, Jake wandered over to the marker board, attracted by the riot of fluorescent scribblings. "So, business is good?" he asked, cocking his head toward the board. "You seem to be hard at work."
"Business is okay," Kenchy agreed, walking toward Jake, a glass of juice in each hand, "But that's just one client. Real tough nut to crack," he admitted, handing Jake a glass and then taking a sip from his own.
"One client?" Jake repeated, gawking at the board.
"Well, one client and twenty, twenty five potential matches," Kenchy conceded, staring at his detailed diagram. "He's rejected them all."
"Who is it?" Jake asked, for once curious about something not related to Gray Anderson or Heather Lisinski.
"Bill. Deputy Bill," Kenchy muttered, completely ignoring (I must point out) matchmaker/client privilege. I must also point out that I was neither a willing nor a paying client. Rather, Kenchy had gotten it into his head to do me a favour after I'd helped out with crowd control at his store one day when word had gotten out that he'd gotten his hands on a shipment of Botox through the Devil's Duo and half the women in Jericho had descended upon the shop at once. The fact of the matter is, I didn't have to do much, really, just tell Darcy Hawkins that she had beautiful bone structure and that I for one didn't know why in the world she would want to inject Botulinum toxin into her face, but still Kenchy insisted that he had to pay me back even though I kept reminding him that I'm a lone wolf.
"Really? Bill?" Jake seemed stunned by the news. "You know, he's really kind of a.... loner. A confirmed bachelor."
"Everyone needs and wants love, Jake," Kenchy countered, "And I'm going to find it for Bill."
"Okay, sure." Jake screwed up his face, thinking hard as he studied the marker board. Absently, he took a sip of his Razz-Apple Surprise, choking on it, so that Kenchy was forced to clap him on the back. "How - how 'bout Margaret Peterson?" he sputtered in suggestion.
"MP, right there," Kenchy said, pointing to a pair of pink initials which had been lined out in lavender. "According to Bill, Margaret is a real ball breaker. His words." (I did say that. I went out with Margaret for a month or so my rookie year on the force. She was one of those women who started planning the wedding on the third date, if you know what I mean.)
"Rachel Spenser?" Jake offered next.
"She's got a kid. Bill says he doesn't want an instant family." (Actually, Rachel's kid was a complete brat though she was a nice enough girl, and I hadn't wanted to dissuade Kenchy from trying to find her someone else.)
"Stephanie Lancaster?"
"Just a little young for him, don't you think?" (Way too young. I provided the police escort to the med centre for her parents the night she was born for Pete's sake.)
They continued like that for a half hour, debating all the women on the board and a number who weren't. Kenchy remained unsatisfied and became more and more out of sorts as they argued the possibilities. "It's here. I know it's here," he grumbled, glaring at the now even more complicated diagram on the marker board.
"We've gone through every female in town," Jake reminded. "Twice. I don't know, Kenchy, this one may be too much. I don't think it's gonna happen."
"I already failed once," Kenchy argued. "But that was Beck, and he's insane and nobody likes him. The Terrestrial Mentalists can have him, no loss. But people like Bill."
"In that annoying, Cousin Oliver kind of way," Jake agreed. Poor Jake. He always did resort to making fun of others when he was feeling bad about himself.
Kenchy didn't get the reference but he laughed anyway - distractedly - and took a step closer to the board. "We'll just have to go through it again," he decided. "A third time, and then a fourth if necessary. The match is here," he declared, tapping the board with one finger. "The match is here."
"You say so," Jake muttered, finishing off his juice. "But this just looks like a mess to me," he said shaking his head.
"It's here, Jake!" Kenchy declared, an air of determination coming over him. He stared at the board again then, letting out a frustrated growl, threw the remains of his juice at it, obliterating the brightly coloured and intricate diagram. "We start over, consider everyone. 'Cause there's a match here."
Keanu Reeves was not harmed in the writing of this chapter. We would never do that to Keanu!
Cousin Oliver is a reference to an infamous plot device utilized in the last season of The Brady Bunch.
Parts of this chapter were inspired by an early version of the Jericho Pilot script. If you've read it, it will be hard to miss at least one of the references!
Lastly, there is a homage to a scene in a favourite movie of Marzee's. Can you guess?