Fixing Mom Up on a Blind Date

"Mom, do you have a moment?" Tyler asked his mother after entering her mirrored dressing room. Catching a glimpse of his reflection in the ceiling, Tyler tried to flatten a cowlick that was sprouting on the top of his head but it didn't work. Time to make an appointment for a haircut with Mr. Keith. Thank God we're rich and I never have to go to one of those cut-rate places for a haircut, Tyler thought. It must really suck to be poor--which was exactly why he needed to make sure his mother didn't get hooked up with yet another loser in her latest round of the middle-aged Dating Game.

"Of course, darling," Mavis assured him, carefully applying an extra thick line of dark blue eyeliner and extending it into a large wing just past her left eye. "But keep it quick. Mommy has a date tonight."

"Oh, yeah? Who are you going out with?"

"No one you know, precious. Just a man." Mavis smirked at her reflection. "A very handsome man."

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about, Mom," Tyler said. "I, um, was wondering if you'd like to meet someone...someone sort of...well, you know..."

"Spit it out, Tyler," Mavis snapped. "What are you trying to say?"

"A friend of mine's widowed father just moved to Schuyler Square and I told him that you'd like to have dinner with him."

Mavis laughed. "Why on earth did you tell him that? I don't need any help from my son to find a date. I do quite well on my own, thank you very much."

"I know that--"

"Then why are you sneaking behind my back, arranging blind dates for me?" Half turning in her chair, Mavis peered intently at Tyler. "Unless this man is incredibly good looking and insanely wealth--then I'd know that you only have your mommy's best interests at heart. Is he handsome and rich?"

"He makes Donald Trump look like a chump and he's a dead ringer for Tom Cruise," Tyler assured her. "And he's dying to meet you."

Mavis turned back to the mirror and began to fuss with her curls. "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt if I met the man. When are we supposed to get together?"

"Tomorrow night at the club."

"All right. I happen to be free tomorrow night but right now I'm running late. I'm meeting the most divine man at that new bar downtown--the one with the illuminated skull over the door."

"Your going to Headhunters?" Tyler felt his eyes bulge inside his own skull. The thought of his classy mother hanging out at a dive like Headhunters--blowing his future inheritance--made him sick to his stomach. Until recently Tyler had never cared too much about money but lately he'd done a great deal of growing up in that regard and he'd come to realize that not only was he entitled to his half of the Schuyler fortune, he also deserved it and he was going to make damn sure that his mother didn't blow it all before her number was up. "Have you ever been there before?"

"Not really. I walked past it once and peeked inside but I have to admit that it looked a little dingy to me.But Chuck assured me that I'll love their Red Headed Sluts."

"WHAT?"

"It's a drink, Tyler. Calm down. I think it has peach schnapps or something healthy like that in it. Doesn't it sound intriguing?"

Things were far worse than Tyler had even imagined. His mother usually stuck to dry martinis and now she was going to go drink a Red Headed Slut? Could life get any worse? Or any more confusing? "Then you'll go out with my friend's dad tomorrow," he confirmed.

Rising to her feet, Mavis squirted on a cloud of Opium and then patted him lightly on one cheek. "Of course I will. Especially if he's a rich and as handsome as you say he is. I'll see you later."

"Be home early!" Tyler called after her as Mavis floated out of her dressing room and toward the staircase. A moment later he heard the front door shut. Tyler sank into his mother's makeup chair and stared at his downcast reflection. Great. Just great. His mother was out with some gigolo and he needed to find someone who would be willing to pretend to be a grieving widower who just happened to be as rich as Donald Trump before tomorrow night. It looked like he had his work cut out for him.

What a Smart Cookie!

"So," Mindy clarified, "let me make sure I've got this straight. You want to sell the formula for Fat Off to Schuyler Industries and then blow the whistle on our charming boss with the EPA."

"Correct," Fritz nodded with a jerk of his head. "That is precisely what I want to do. However, Bernard Morton forced me to sign a contract that ties my hands completely so unfortunately my plan will never come to fruition...unless I have someone to help me."

Mindy drained her martini glass. They were sitting in the Oak Room, Schuyler Square's nicest bar and a much better place to meet than in Fritz's apartment. At least, in Mindy's opinion. She could tell that the bald chemist had been disappointed when she had insisted they go to a public spot instead of his far too isolated bachelor pad. "What is it you want me to do?"

"I will give you a can of Fat Off. You will take it to Schuyler Industries and voila. We become instant millionaires."

"Why me? Why can't you do a Deep Throat kind of thing and contact the chemists at Schuyler Industries yourself?"

"What do you mean, 'deep throat?' I don't  understand."

"You know! Watergate--Richard Nixon--Fritz, you're older than I am. Didn't you see All the President's Men?"

"I grew up in Berlin. I am not a fan of American culture."

"Then why do you live here?"

"Because the pay is so good," Fritz replied. "As are the benefits. But I won't need pay or benefits once we sell the formula for Fat Off."

"I'm on board," Mindy announced. "I can't stand Bernard Morton and it sounds like he's done you dirt so I'd be glad to help you out." She shut her eyes as the bar began to spin. Good heavens, another few minutes and she'd be telling Fritz how Bernard wanted her to become his mistress! "When can I get a can of Fat Off?"

"Immediately." Bernard pulled a small aerosol can out of his hip pocket. "I caution you not to spray it indoors. The smell is still quite offensive."

"Wouldn't it be easier for you just to give me the formula? You did come up with the formula, didn't you Fritz? Why go to all this trouble?"

Fritz looked surprised. "Why, yes it would. What a smart cookie you are, Mindy."

A smart, drunk cookie. "You get that formula to me tomorrow and I'll do the rest," Mindy promised, "but I'm thinking we should find a bigger fish than Schuyler Industries. They're big locally but we should think more globally, if you get my drift. One of the major players and neither of us will ever have to worry about anything other than where we want to take our next vacation."

Fritz put a sweaty hand on top of Mindy's. "It would be my greatest pleasure to take one of those vacations with you, my little cupcake."

"Cool down, Fritz. We're business partners and nothing else. Got it?"

Fritz withdrew his hand. "If you say so, Mindy."

"I say so."

Brother! What was with all the men at Kutrate Kemicals? They treated Mindy like she was the newest version of Marilyn Monroe. It was flattering but it was also pretty creepy. "Get me the formula tomorrow," she ordered Fritz.

"You're wish is my command." Fritz leered at her. Mindy ordered one last martini.

Schuyler Square Day 128 Mavis Meets Vlad

Mavis was sure that if her martini had arrived, she would be choking on the olive. Instead, her voice sputtered as she spoke. "Vlad?" she repeated.

The man sitting next to her chuckled, a rich, deep chuckle that had absolutely no accent at all. "I know. It's an odd name to you but a very common one back in my homeland."

Maybe this was another guy named Vlad, Mavis reasoned. Mavis this wasn't the same man her sister-in-law had fooled around with at the same time she was married to Tom. Maybe this Vlad had just happened to come to Schuyler Square for another reason than seeing his possible daughter. "It's an interesting name," Mavis finally managed to say as soon as she remembered to shut her mouth and stop staring at Vlad.

Vlad shrugged. "It's a name. What should I call you?"

"Mavis Schuyler."

"Mavis? You don't look like a Mavis. I think I'll call you Mavushka, if that's all right with you. It's a kind of term of endearment."

Mavis was beginning to see how Lynette had fallen for this guy. He was pretty charming. Make that very charming. She wondered if she should tell him that she knew who he was and why he was in Schuyler Square. No, Mavis decided, she'd let Vlad do all the talking. "That's fine with me," she said. Her martini arrived and Mavis took a huge gulp,making sure not to swallow the olive hole. That was the last thing she needed--to get the olive stuck in her throat and have to have a tracheotomy on top of the bar performed by the bartender with Vlad assisting. "So what brings you to America?"

"Two things: I have a new job at Schuyler College and I'm here to see my daughter." Vlad looked at her slyly. "But I suspect you knew that already, Mavushka. Your name is an unusual one too. One that I recognized immediately. Not only are you Lynnette's sister-in-law, your husband's family owns this town, doesn't it?"

"What's left of the family owns a pretty good share of it," Mavis agreed. The bartender set her drink down in front of her and Mavis took a large gulp. As soon as the martini hit her bloodstream she felt a little steadier. Wasn't she smart to have gone out tonight? If she'd stayed home brooding over Peter, she never would have met this charming, handsome man--even if she knew for a fact that he was also a first class rat.

"What's left of it? What do you mean?"

"Well, my husband died last spring and Lynnette also died."

The color drained out of Vlad's face. "Lynnette is dead? What happened?"

"She was in a car accident. It was quite tragic. The other driver was her daughter--your daughter--Tiffany." Mavis polished off the rest of her drink and signaled for another. "Of course, we don't know for sure that Tiffany is your daughter, do we?"

"No," Vlad said. "That's what I'm here to find out."