“This one’s a sceptic,” said Yenta.
Clarence looked at the man curled up on the hay in Pete Forrester’s barn. “He’s here isn’t he?”
“But he doesn’t believe.”
“Yenta, look at him. All alone in a dilapidated barn. The man’s desperate for love. He needs our help.”
Yenta pulled a pair of glasses from her carpet bag and scrutinized the sleeping man. He wore faded jeans and a Frank Sinatra t-shirt. Gray hairs dotted his head and a pair of red cowboy boots sat on the floor next to him. “I don’t know, Clarence. This one might be beyond us.”
“Think of it as a challenge. Just last week you complained this job was too easy.”
“All right. No need to kvetch. Who are we going to pair him with?”
“Merry is about the same age.”
“She’s a cup half-full girl. He’s half-empty. They’ll never agree on anything.”
“Olive?”
“With his vinegary attitude?”
“Helen?”
“Too explosive. He’d get buried alive.”
“Fine. Ginger.”
“Be serious, Clarence.”
“I am. Lord knows he needs some spice.”
“I don’t know.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure, Yenta?”
“I left it at the shtetl.”
“And then you found me.”
“So you always remind me.”
“Yenta.”
“Okay. You work on him and I’ll go yell in Ginger’s ear.
“I think you mean whisper.”
“No, Ginger is a heavy sleeper. I’ll need to yell to get through to her subconscious.”
“Well good luck, then.”
Yenta rolled her eyes. “Ginger and Al, a match made in heaven.”
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