Even after six years of city life I think it odd that here, women aren't sugar. Indeed, I have yet to meet a sweetener, a seasoner or a downright temptation. It appeals to my feminist sensibilities while leaving my secret desire for flattery in the dust. Men who call me 'baby' should have started to pray to the Lord five minutes ago. A sentiment ingrained from Madam de Bourg, I'm sure. Except for the absence of Southern drawls and fitted Levis, I like San Francisco just fine.
When mama calls I tell her none of this as she believes I've never noticed a man in my life. Wouldn't she be pleased? I am a matchmaker by profession and a positively horrid daughter by nature. Pleased to make your acquaintance, my mother made the minister christen me Marilee Autumn Bentley. Say it to yourself just once, snicker here, and forget the 'lee' because I am called Marie.
Already, you might think that Charlotte Bentley is a vindictive woman. You would be correct. As the second daughter she didn't particularly care for and the third child, Charlotte was convinced my father was related to the voodoo queen, Marie Laveau. However, naming her daughter Marie Laveau Bentley would have been scandalous, so she made me settle for Marilee. Suffice it to say that we didn't start off particularly well.
Eventually, my mother and I came to an understanding. The only thing we had in common was a propensity for matchmaking. While she terrorizes her victims, I please my clients. A businesswoman of twenty-seven, I put my nerdy computer skills to work after college. I created my company, affectionately called LUV -- for singles who are Lovely and Unfortunately aVailable. Using computer programs of my own design, I match and organize my clients into couples. My mother cried tears of joy while my father hid in the library until he saw my profits.
Based out of Boston, LUV caters to anyone who can pay for it. Unsurprisingly my favorite place to set up respective clients on their first date is to a production of Fiddler on the Roof. Later, well connected individuals in other cities became interested in the service. I didn't hesitate to meet the demand. In Boston and most recently San Francisco, singles have had the opportunity to use LUV. Happy couples have been advertisements enough for the first few years, but I've considered hiring my younger sister Kate to manage exposure. Depending on the longevity of her newfound maturity, it could be a possibility. The two of us share some common ground, the pain of others' perceptions and harsh judgments.
Stumbling out of Shelbyville, Louisiana had merely been a matter of being accepted to Tulane University out of high school. Located in the saturated streets of New Orleans, Tulane proved to be my sanctuary from the world. At school, people had better things to do than to concentrate on my faults. The results included confidence and confidants. As an awkward teenager in a town of 3,000 residents genetically disposed to disapprove of me, I didn't have many incentives to be one of the crowd. Fluffing my hair, smoothing satin gowns, and applying make-up would have been posing. My mother has recently informed me that I still hold the record for the disinterested young men at Shelby High. Zero is a hard number to beat.
This introduction might have given the impression that I don't love my mother, my hometown or myself. If I weren't one of the ingenious GRITS -- Girls Raised in the South -- this might very well be true. As such, I tend to remain bound to my past while furiously fighting to invent my future. Which is why I decided a year ago that the next location for the third branch of LUV would be New Orleans. The opening will require more than hard work. It will mean nine o'clock services at Peace Baptist on Sunday mornings, settling for three day old copies of the Times-Picayune at Kay's Diner and enduring my family. I'm going to love it.