Matchmaker 02: February

Still... standing at least seven inches taller than my own five-foot, five-inches, he filled out his shirt nicely. I liked his dark, slightly curly hair and his deep set, brooding eyes, but he offset the darkness with a playfulness that gave him a vibe of trouble... trouble of the best kind.

He may have been born with a silver spoon in his mouth and was used to getting everything he wanted, but not this time. I wasn't opposed to sleeping with him at some point, but I damn sure wasn't doing it on the first night.

I glanced back toward the bedroom. "Come on," I muttered. I rose from the chair and hurried down the steps to see if Ryker was stalling in an attempt to keep me on board. If he was, I was walking away and leaving my bag and clothes, then I was calling Brooklyn, and she was either going to get my clothes or reimburse me to replace them.

I heard Serge and Ryker talking. I peeked around the door. Serge was neatly folding my clothes and placing them in the bag.

"Goddammit!" Ryker hissed before I hurried away, not wanting the men to know I was listening.

I returned to the lounge and sat in one of the wonderfully decadent leather chairs just as I heard a series of booms, each one slightly louder than the one before, before there was a soft bang that made the car tremble. The engines far ahead billowed ash grey smoke and the car began to move.

I jumped back to my feet and hurried back to the bedroom. "The train is moving!"

"Not to worry, Ms. Preston," Serge said as he continued to fold and pack. "The train will be stopping in twenty minutes to take on additional passengers. You may disembark then." The man was a study in calm, reassuring, confidence.

I returned to the lounge and watched as we crept out of Penn Station, the train slowly snaking through the jumble of crisscrossing tracks. We were almost out of the yard when Serge appeared with my bags.

"I apologize for the delay, Ms. Preston."

"It's okay... is it Serge?"

"Yes, Ms. Preston. Serge Mikolaev, at your service," he said with the tiniest of bows and a smile.

I smiled. "You're English is perfect, but your name, is it Russian?"

"Yes. I'm a first generation American. Before I was born, my parents worked in the embassy in Turkey, and then defected and fled to the United States." He smiled again. "Mikolaev isn't my parents original last name, but the name they took when they came to America."

"That's fascinating."

He gave me another of his tiny bows. "May I speak freely?"

"Of course."

"Mr. Teaton has realized he made a mistake in pressuring you to spend the night in his bedroom. There are other accommodations available, if you would like to remain aboard."

"I don't know, Serge. I'm not for sale."

"No one believes you are, Ms. Preston."

My eyes narrowed. "Are you sure about that?"

"I spoke to Mr. Teaton."

I looked at him, my suspicions rising. "Don't you work for him?"

"Only as long as he leases this railcar. Part of a butler's job is to see to the smooth running of the household, or in this case, this railcar. Part of that is making sure Mr. Teaton's guests are comfortable."

"So he can't fire you, and you don't have to do what he says?"

"No, he can't fire me, and while I will endeavor to provide the utmost service, I won't allow any harm to come to you, nor attempt to force you to do anything you don't wish to do."

Serge might be the hired help, but I liked him better than Ryker. Too bad he was old enough to be my father. I smiled at him. "So where would I sleep."

"You will be my guest in the crew car. You will have my room."

"I can't do that!"

"Think nothing of it. There are enough quarters for twelve, but since there is only you and Mr. Teaton on this trip, there are only four members of the crew aboard. I will use one of the other rooms."

"No. I'll sleep in one of the other rooms."

"I won't hear of it. My room has the only private bath. If you'll honor us with your presence, I'd be shirking my duties to allow you sleep anywhere else."

I hear footsteps and looked around. "Serge, excuse us," Ryker said.

Serge looked at me and I nodded. "Very good, sir."

Ryker sat down in another of the chairs. "I was out of line. I'm sorry. I'd like very much for you to stay." He held my eyes.

"Are we done with that shit?" I asked, jerking my thumb toward the bedroom.

"Yes."

"You're not going to pressure me?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Serge offered me his cabin."

Ryker nodded. "He told me there were extra quarters in the crew car, but you can have the master bedroom. I'll sleep there."

"Why?"

"Because I messed up, and I want to make It up to you."

"Tell me something, honestly."

"What?"

"Do you always get what you want?"

A small smile touched his lips. "Usually."

"And what happens when you don't?"

His smile spread a little more. "Before or after I make a fool of myself?"

"After."

He shrugged. "I adjust. Be patient with me. Can I tell you something?"

"What?"

"As you might have guessed, I'm a little spoiled. I know it here," he said, tapping his head, "but sometimes I forget it here," he continued while tapping his chest. "My mom," he sighed, shaking his head, "thinks money makes someone a better person. To be honest, I don't want to be like that. I want to be more like my Dad, a guy that understands that everyone plays a part in making the company work. That's why I'm doing this. I want to get out and see America, the real America. I'm tired of parties where everyone looks down their noses at everyone else, where if people don't get what they want they consider it a game to spread gossip or try to ruin people's lives. That's my mother's life, but it's not the life I want."

I looked at him, considering. He seemed sincere. "Have you ever worked a day in your life?"

"Outside of attending college? No. I wanted to. I wanted to crew one of our ships, but Mother..."

"What about her?"

"She's... demanding."

"So why do you put up with her?"

He shrugged. "She's my mother. What can I do?"

"You're twenty-five years old. You can start by telling her to let you live your life."

He snorted. "Obviously you haven't met my mother."

"What's she going to do, disown you?"

"No, probably not that, but she can make my life hell. She's relentless and won't take no for an answer."

I watched him for a moment. I could tell he wasn't happy about how his life was going. "Have you ever ruined anyone when you didn't get what you wanted?"

"No."

"So if I never sleep with you?"

"I'll be disappointed, of course, but I won't try to take revenge on you, if that's what you're worried about. Bedding you isn't the purpose of this trip anyway. Not really. There's a saying... 'Money is the wind that fills the sails of life. With enough of it, you can get blown anywhere.'" He smiled at me and I snickered. "Getting laid has never been a problem. Finding something more than simply getting laid has been."

"So what are you looking for on this trip?"

"Something real."

"Real?" I asked, my brows furrowing slightly.

"Real. Not fake. Not pretend." He paused. "I'm going to put all my cards on the table. I want you to want to sleep with me. Not because you think you have to, or because you think you should, or to piss off your parents or a rival, or because you think I can do something for you. I want you to want me, not my money, not my name, none of that crap. I've had plenty of women do that already, and I'm tired of it. More than that, I want you to like me for who I am. I want to get out and walk around with regular people and eat regular food." He chuckled at himself. "Do you know I've never eaten a McDonalds hamburger? That's near the top of my list of things to do on this trip."

I almost felt sorry for him. Almost. "I can assure you, you haven't missed much on the hamburger. You can do better."

"Maybe, but I still want one." He looked down at his hands before he met my gaze again. "I want someone to like me because of who I am and nothing more. I don't think I've ever met anyone like that."

Damn him! Now I did feel sorry for him. I couldn't imagine going through life not knowing if someone wanted to be with me because they liked me or because they wanted something from me. That would suck so bad. I didn't have a lot, but at least I had friends that I liked, and they liked me.

"You've never had a friend?"

"I've had friends," he said, making air quotes around the last word, "but I always wondered if they talked about me behind my back the way they talked about other people behind theirs. Like I said, tearing people down is a sport. At a party I attended, one of the girls came on to a waiter. He wouldn't give her what she wanted, and I found out later she claimed he'd raped her."

"That's horrible!"

"Yeah."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" I cried. "Why not?"

"What could I do? I didn't see any of it, I only heard rumors, and it made me sick hearing people laughing about it."

I leaned back in my chair. "I don't think I'd like your social circle very much."

"Me either. That's why I wanted to get away and gain some perspective. Driving drunk and injuring someone? No problem. Spread enough money around and the problem goes away." He looked down again. "I've seen it happen. As you saw, I don't always know the difference between acceptable and unacceptable behavior. I want that to change."

"And you want me to teach you?"

He looked up again. "No. I just want... I don't know what I want."

"A friend?"

A faint smile touched his lips. "Yeah, maybe."

"You know a good friend will tell you when you're full of shit."

"I need more people like that in my life."

I twisted my lips to the side as I thought. I liked the fact that he owned up to his mistake and didn't try to sweep it away or minimize it, and I really did want to take this trip, especially after stepping into this beautiful railcar. "Okay, I'll stay."

He smiled. "Great. I'll let Serge know and he can move your clothes back into the closet. I'll move to—"

"I'll move to the crew car," I said firmly. "You're paying for all of this, so you should keep the room."

"But—"

I held up my hand to silence him. "No arguments."

"Yes, my lady," he said, the mischievous smile back. "But you'll still dine with me, right?"

"Yes. You seem like a nice enough guy. We'll do all the things you want to do—" When he smiled I couldn't help but smile back. "Most of the things you want to do," I amended, "but I'll sleep in the crew car."

"Deal. Thank you."

"Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, why?"

"Because I'm not going to let you mistreat or bully me. If you're going to keep being an asshole, better we go our separate ways now."

"No, please stay."

"You're sure you want me busting your balls all the time?"

He smiled broadly. "Oh, yes please. Wearing black leather and high heels?"

He looked so eager and hopeful I couldn't help but laugh.

The train glided into Union Station in New Orleans. I was all but bouncing in the seat with excitement. After eating crow with Deanna, we'd put my misstep behind us. Except that she wasn't sleeping in my bed, she'd been my constant companion as the Crescent roared south and westward.

The car was amazingly comfortable. The soft clicking of wheels and the gentle motion of car, coupled with the sumptuously comfortable bed, made for the best sleep I'd had in years. The all-inclusive lease on the car was costing me just north of two hundred fifty thousand dollars, but I considered it money well spent. I'd idly wondered one night, as I waited for sleep to take me, how much it would cost for me to outfit a car like this for my own use.

In addition to the fantastic meals and wonderful scenery, there was Deanna. I found her simply fascinating. She was so... down to earth, for lack of a better term. She was an auto mechanic, of all things! She worked with her father in a family run garage, specializing in old American muscle cars. When she'd first told me what she did, I was skeptical, but now I couldn't imagine her as anything else. She'd shown me a picture of her standing beside her own personal car, a bright red 1968 Chevrolet Chevelle SS 396. I wasn't entirely sure what that all meant, but seeing her smiling at the camera, covered in sweat and dirt, had made me want her like no woman before her. Her car was cool too.

Our first stop had been an overnighter in Atlanta. I was disappointed we couldn't catch a Braves game. I'd attended many Yankee's games, but TSL had a suite there and I wanted to sit in the stands. So, instead of a ball game, we'd wandered through the Coca-Cola museum. Like baseball, I'd attended many museums, but never one so low brow as Coca-Cola, and I loved it. In New York, most places I went knew me from my family, but in Atlanta I was just another face in the crowd. I'd had a grand time as Deanna and I taste tested all the flavors of Coke from around the world. The fact Mother wouldn't have approved made it all the more fun.

Tonight we were going out on Bourbon Street, and I was looking forward to it as I'd never been in a bar before. I'd gone to school at Columbia, which meant I could return home each evening after classes. Every day Gerrard was there after my last class, dutifully waiting for me. I'd wanted to go to Harvard, Yale, or Princeton, just so I could get away from home, but Mother had pulled strings and Columbia was where I ended up.

We'd been on the rails only three days, but Deanna had already opened my eyes about some things. When I got back home, no matter what else happened on this trip, there were going to be some changes. I'd let Mother run my life far too long already and it was going to stop. I hadn't approved of some of my friends telling their family one thing while doing something completely the opposite, so I'd been honest with my family, which meant I tended to knuckle under to Mother. But not anymore. I was still going to be honest with her, but instead of knuckling under, she would just have to get over it. It wouldn't be easy changing our dynamic, but it had to be done or I'd never have a life of my own.

After the first night, Deanna and I had worked out an arrangement that worked. Serge kept his room while Deanna slept in one of the extra rooms. The rooms were designed to sleep two, but she had the room to herself. Her clothes were in my closet, and she used my bath, using her room only for sleeping. I'd caught a glimpse of her once in the bathroom mirror as I passed in the hall. The opening in the bathroom door was narrow, and shower door was covered in water droplets that obscured the view, but I saw enough with my quick glance to know she had an athlete's body. I hadn't stared before moving on. Getting caught ogling her in the shower would have put us back to square one, and I didn't want to go there.

The car shuddered and bumped to a gentle stop. When we'd pulled out of Penn Station, it sounded like the car was going to self-destruct, but we'd become accustomed to the bumps and bangs of rail travel. The domino like thuds of the slack going into and out of the train were no more or less than the first time, but now they no longer sounded so dire.

"Ready?" I asked as I stood.

"If you are."

The car would be uncoupled and placed on a private siding where it would remain for two days until we were picked up by the City of New Orleans for our trip to Memphis and then Chicago.

"Will you be back for dinner?" Serge asked as we shrugged into our jackets.

"No, Serge." I smiled as I pulled out some cash and peeled off a thousand. "In fact, I'd like you to take the entire staff out to dinner, on me."

He smiled. "That's not necessary, sir."

"Oh, please do, Serge," Deanna encouraged. "You and your staff have worked so hard and have been wonderful. Take the evening off and enjoy yourself. I'll take care of Ryker."

If only, I thought to myself. I pressed the bills into his hand. "Please. There's no point in sitting around here with nothing to do."

Serge smiled. "Very well, if you insist. We'll be back in time for your turndown service."

I spluttered as I waved my hand dismissively. "What do I keep telling you? Don't worry about it. We're going to be here for two days. I plan to get out and enjoy myself. You and the staff should as well."

Serge bowed slightly before stepping back. Deanna and I skipped down the steps and onto the platform. I had little experience with public transportation, but I'd learned in Atlanta that the world wasn't nearly as hard to navigate as I'd assumed it would be.

I led her out of the station. "Did you get our track number?" Deanna asked.

We hadn't done that in Atlanta and there had been a few tense moments while we tried to locate our railcar. I patted my pocket where I'd tucked the slip of paper where I'd written the number. "Right here."

I'd looked at a map on my phone before we left the car. Bourbon Street was less than two miles from the station, so we'd decided to walk it. We started at Café Du Monde where, after a wait, we had chicory coffee and a beignet.

"I'm not sure what I think of this coffee," I said as I placed the cup back on the table.

"Me either," Deanna replied. "But this beignet is wonderful. I've never had one before."

I popped another bite of the doughy goodness into my mouth. "Me either, but you're right, these are unbelievable."

Café Du Monde was crowded and noisy, with much jostling and bumping as people cycled in and out of the closely packed tables. I might be trying to get out and experience the 'real' world, but not everything was better, and this was a prime example.

"Let's go," I suggested as the last of her beignet disappeared into her mouth.

She nodded, taking another sip of her coffee to wash it down before we rose and worked our way out, a family claiming our dirty table before we made four steps.

"Wow! What a madhouse!" Deanna exclaimed as we stepped out onto the street.

"Yeah. That's one thing nice about having money... I don't have to rub elbows with people." She looked at me in the way she had when she disapproved of something I said or did. "I don't mean anything by that, but surely you have to admit, the tables were too crowded for comfort."

She softened. "Yeah, you're right. But it's a tourist trap, so that kind of goes with the territory."

Bourbon Street didn't start hopping until the evening, so we wandered around the French Quarter, stopping in all the little shops and looking at the architecture.

"What's a po' boy?" Deanna asked as we paused by an open-air café.

"A guy without money?" She rolled her eyes. "How should I know?"

"Want to try one?"

It was almost dinner time. "Sure, why not."

The food Serge and his staff served on the train was first rate, as good as any restaurant in New York, but I was enjoying my foray into pleasures of simple food well prepared. I still hadn't had my McDonalds hamburger, but I had my first Chick-fil-A sandwich while in Atlanta, and I'd nearly swooned. How anything could be prepared that quickly and cheaply and still taste that good was beyond me. I smiled as I remembered Deanna giggling at me all through the meal as I raved about the sandwich.

We found a table and sat down, ordering two shrimp po' boys and a pair of soft drinks. I wanted to save my alcohol consumption for later.

"What do you think of the trip so far?" I asked.

She smiled and looked away demurely. "I've had a good time. I know it's normal for you, but I could get used to people waiting on me all the time. And the food! Oh my God! I'm going to get fat."

"Can I tell you a secret?"