Page 19 of Playing With Matches
“Next thing you’ll be pulling a tarot card to choose,” Jackson says.
I open one eye. “Now that’s not a terrible idea,” I say, reaching into my bag for my deck.
“Holy shit. You have got to be kidding me. I was joking!” Jackson exclaims.
“Nevertheless, tarot cards are a great resource. They are a great tool for tapping into our natural instincts,” I say.
I pull the World card for Chloe. Interesting! And then I pull a Tower reversed for Darwin. That’s all I need to know. The two of them are on very different journeys at this time. They’d only hold each other back from being who they’re meant to be as individuals.
“Pass on these two,” I say.
“What?!” Jackson is incredulous. “That’s ridiculous. Those cards have no meaning.”
“Maybe not to you, but for me, they confirm my general feeling. I just don’t see these two together. They aren’t meant for one another. It won’t work.”
“I disagree,” Jackson folds his arms. “Look at this. They agree on almost everything, from toilet paper alignment to car radio habits.”
“Well then,” I laugh. “They must be perfect for one another. Nothing’s sexier than someone who puts the toilet paper roll on the right way.”
“You laugh, but that’s a greater indicator of relationship longevity than religion,” Jackson insists.
“Guys,” the casting director scolds us, “you need to stop bickering. We need to wrap this up. We don’t have any more time. And we’re all supposed to be on the same team here. We all have the same goals, right? Helping these young people meet the love of their lives? If I could make a suggestion, how about you each pick one couple, and I pick the third.”
“Deal!” Jackson holds out his hand to shake hers. “I’m good with these two.”
“There’s no way. Chloe is an old soul, and Darwin is brand new,” I argue.
“Hey, I get my pick, you get yours,” Jackson shrugs. “Take your pick.”
“Okay then, fine. I want her,” I point to a folder that Jackson shoved aside at the start of our negotiations. The woman in the photo is a busty brunette with bee-stung lips and insanely long, thick lash extensions. Her eyes are an unnatural shade of teal, and I’m pretty sure she’s had a nose job and is incapable of showing emotion from the brows up. But I love who she has matched with, even though they are the weakest of all the couples the casting agent has shown us.
Name:Lacey
Age:27
Location:Tampa
Occupation:Cosmetologist
Hobbies:Attending music festivals, traveling, photography
“Lacey?” Jackson snorts. “No way. She’s a liar.”
“How do you know that?” I ask.
“She filled in the same answer on every question. All threes. Neutral choices on everything. It’s the kind of answer someone gives when they want to hedge their bets and have the best chance of matching. But it’s also a major tell. Nobody is that neutral about everything.” Jackson frowns, “She’s not here for the right reasons, Isla. She’s looking for insta-fame.”
“Maybe she really doesn’t care about her toilet roll,” I shrug, reaching for the stack of male candidates. I pick up the pile of folders, fanning them out, and wave my hand back and forth over the top of them till I sense the one I’m looking for. I pluck it out of the pile.
“Ryker,” I say pointing to the Australian hottie who bills himself as a global digital nomad. “ I want Ryker and Lacey.”
“Now I know you’re nuts. He’s almost as bad as she is,” Jackson shakes his head. “I don’t even know how these two total fame-seekers snuck past you.” He chastises the casting director. “I don’t see it. What was their compatibility ratio?”
The casting director pulls up a spreadsheet on her laptop. “Hmm… Thirty-seven percent?”
“Yeah,” Jackson smirks. “Good luck with that, Isla.”
“They’ll be great together,” I say, feeling quite sure of it now that I’ve laid them out on the table alongside Chloe and Darwin. “Ryker needs a Wendy-type, and Lacey needs a Peter Pan-type.”
