Catherine Lewis is a shy, unsophisticated twenty-one year old with a secret. She's the most prominent matchmaker for the elite, the parents of the rich and famous come to her.
But who will give her advice on love when she encounters the son of the...
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"Now what do we do?" I asked pathetically, my eyes equally glued to the spot that was occupied by the President's car not more than an hour ago.
I've asked the wrong question since Zander was at more of a loss with a hand covering his mouth and his eyes wide and glistening, the shock draped over him like the dark and unceasing clouds rolling in from the distance.
Five minutes elapse and he's an unmovable statue, a pillar of salt at the seaside and it takes a little boy with his mother dragging her son away from the amusement park to rouse Zander out of his misery. "Mooooommm that man looks like he's about to cry! Shouldn't we help him?"
"Ssshh, Daniel. Don't point! I'm sure whatever it is, he'll figure it out," the mother hissed, giving us a fleeting smile full of social politeness.
"But what if he cries?"
A choked cry escapes Zander's mouth before he clears his throat and gives the kid a nonchalant shrug, grinning half-heartedly.
Yeah, as if anyone is buying that when you're on the brink of tears in a baby-elephant shirt.
Sighing, I decide to take matters into my own hands and head for the security box where I relay the car's disappearance. The young officer on duty looks entirely floored but pleased, finally getting in some action for what would have otherwise been a mundane day at work, and follows me back to the lot where Zander's now plopped down on the curb, his head between his hands and the baseball cap, old shirt, and sunglasses tossed to one side.
"Excuse me, sir? Can you give me a description of your car and I'll need the license plate to pass along to the central patrol station to keep an eye out for it. We don't usually get car thefts out here, so I'm sure they'll be able to track it down."
Leaping to his feet, Zander shakes the security officer's hand and immediately provides him with the information which takes less than a minute, a sliver of hope in the air but once the man notes the model of the car, the plain frown on his features resets all our initial sinking feelings.
Groaning at the officer's retreating figure whose taken down both our numbers for contact, Zander continues to stand in bewilderment, grumbling, "My Dad is going to kill me. He'll have me killed and my remains scattered by the sea here. This beach might as well be my grave. I knew the old car hated me."
That seemed excessive, even by my own dramatic standards but I don't voice my thoughts out loud since there was still a slim chance that he could very well be killed off for losing a vehicle of sentimental value, but I bite down on my lip and simply give his hand a reassuring squeeze.
"I care for your life, I really do but don't you think we need to figure out how we'll get home?" I squeaked, trying to avoid the hurt swimming in his green eyes.
"Oh, we can call-"
"Should we look for a place to spend the night? I don't think we can catch transit in this area that'll take us back to the city and it looks like a storm is coming," I said, gazing up at the sky, the number of raindrops increasing and unnerving. I realise I've cut Zander off and shift my eyes to look up at him but he's staring speechless, green boring into me.
