A Perfectly Imperfect Match

Her father always sent her home with food whenever she visited him. In addition to being a top-notch physician, her father was also a terrific cook who could throw together sumptuous meals out of next to nothing.

She, however, lacked the cooking gene that thrived so well in his veins. Despite the fact that her brothers both knew how to whip things up, her father had failed to pass that particular trait on to her in any manner, shape or form.

She burned water when she boiled it.

Consequently, the only items that resided in her refrigerator after she ran out of the home-cooked meals her father loaded her down with were leftovers from the local take-out restaurants.

She took a quick survey—not that there was all that much to look over.

“Leftover Chinese it is,” Elizabeth murmured, pulling out a couple of cartons with red Chinese characters embossed on the sides.

She brought the cartons over to the small dinette table she had set up in the alcove. Taking the portable phone receiver over with her as well, Elizabeth made herself comfortable. She took a few bites of food—she wasn’t altogether clear on exactly what she was eating at this point since the meals all tended to blend together after a couple of days—and pressed Play.

The first call, as she’d guessed, was from her father.

Elizabeth smiled as she listened.

“Are you there, Elizabeth?” There was a slight pause as he waited for a pickup. “No? Guess you’re busy playing. I know, old joke. But I still like it. Old has its place, you know. Like your old dad.”

“You’re not old, Dad,” she murmured affectionately. “You’re distinguished.”

“Hope it was a good evening for you,” her father continued. “Sorry I didn’t get to talk to you in person. Nothing new on this end. One of your brothers is working, the other one isn’t.” A slight chuckle accompanied the statement. “Two out of three isn’t bad, I always say. Sleep well, my virtuoso. I’ll try to catch you tomorrow. If not, see you on Thursday. Love you.” It was the way her father ended every phone call to her, the way he sent her off each time they parted company. Hearing it always made her smile—and feel safe.

“Love you, too, Dad,” Elizabeth said softly to the machine.

Just the sound of her father’s deep, authoritative voice somehow managed to make her feel better, she thought as she pressed for the next message.

Ten seconds into the call, she pressed the button to bypass the message. It was someone asking for a contribution to some college on the East Coast that she had never heard of.

The third and last message was the kind of message that she listened for, the ones that involved her bread and butter.

The deep, resonant voice caught her attention immediately. Putting down her fork, she picked up a pen, drew her pad to her and listened for details.

“I’m not sure if I have the right number, but a Mrs. Manetti suggested I call. She’s catering for me. Well, not me, but my parents, except they don’t know—” She heard the man sigh, as if annoyed with the way that had come out. “Let me start over,” he said.

“Go right ahead,” Elizabeth murmured, amused. She popped a quick forkful into her mouth, picked up her pen again and waited.

“I’m hosting this special party and someone suggested that music would be good—”

“Yes,” Elizabeth said to the phone, heartily agreeing. “Music is always good.”

And so was getting paid for making it, she thought fondly.

The man with the deep voice cleared his throat several times, and she waited patiently for the message to continue.

“I’ll…uh…try to get you later,” he finally said just before terminating the call.

That’s it? Elizabeth stared accusingly at her answering machine.

“I can’t believe he just hung up,” she said incredulously. She pressed the button that allowed her to look at the previous call, wanting to find the man’s phone number via the caller ID feature since he hadn’t left it on the garbled, aborted message.

The word private spread out across the small screen. Using the *69 feature on her phone yielded the same frustrating results. No phone number, no name, no nothing. The man with the sultry voice and the tied tongue obviously valued his privacy.

Elizabeth blew out an exasperated breath. Nothing she hated more than to think she was going to be offered a job only to have it reneged.

Or, in this case, dangled before her, and then pulled like some carrot on a string.

Maybe he’ll call back, she thought, putting the receiver back down. All she could do was hope. She wasn’t at a place in her life where she could just shrug carelessly when it came to the promise of money. She needed every gig she could line up.

“Maybe tomorrow will be better,” she murmured to herself.

She erased message number two and three, clearing space on her machine for more messages. If Mr. Sultry Voice didn’t call back, someone else would. Happily, someone always did. After all her monthly bills were taken care of, she’d put the remainder of whatever money she’d earned aside in what amounted to a tiny nest egg. She turned to the latter on those occasions when she found herself needing to bridge the financial gap between engagements.

Lucky for her that her needs were few and her tastes were the exact opposite of extravagant, she thought, making short work of the leftover Chinese food.

Chapter Two

“So, how did it go, Jared? Were you able to reach Elizabeth to make the arrangements?” Theresa Manetti’s melodic voice asked early the next morning when, bleary-eyed and semiconscious, he’d managed to pick up the phone receiver on his second attempt.

The caterer had caught Jared Winterset completely off guard. He’d been up late, working on an ad campaign that needed some serious last-minute revamping and fueling his flagging energy with bracing black coffee, which could have walked off on its own power at any time. Consequently, he wasn’t firing on all four cylinders this morning when he answered his phone.

Jared liked the woman. His path had crossed Mrs. Manetti’s because, in his line of work, he occasionally had to throw a few parties for his clients. Someone had given him her card a couple of years ago, along with a glowing recommendation that turned out to be right on the money. Theresa took pride in her work and had a personal stake in every affair she catered. The food, he could honestly say, was incredible.

Over time, they struck up an easy friendship. She was like the doting aunt he’d never had and he valued her input. It was Theresa who had given him the name and phone number of the violinist he hadn’t been able to reach last night.

He wondered now if possibly the two were related. Why else would Theresa be calling at this hour to find out how it went?

“No,” he answered. “She wasn’t home. I tried to leave a message on her answering machine, but that didn’t work out too well.”

Rather than just letting it go at that, Theresa surprised him by wanting to know, “What happened?”

For the second time in two minutes, she’d caught him off guard.

“Bad connection,” he answered. Okay, so it was a lie, he thought, but he really didn’t feel like going into the fact that he’d hung up midmessage after becoming tongue-tied and unable to articulate even the simplest of thoughts.

Instead of making a second attempt at leaving a coherent voice mail, Jared had decided to just try again another time. His hopes were that the future call would get him in contact with a human being rather than an irritating recording announcing that no one could take his call at the moment, but to please leave a message after the tone.

The sad truth was that answering machines left him somewhat disoriented, and if not exactly flustered, certainly not at the top of his game. After all, he was an ad executive who had great people skills according to his annual evaluations at the firm, not to mention the input given to his superiors by very satisfied clients. But, despite all that, there was no getting away from the fact that he just didn’t feel right talking to a machine—in this case, the answering machine.

Jared would have been the first to admit that inanimate objects held no interest for him. That was the main reason why, other than when the necessity for extensive research arose, he spent next to no time online. He had no overwhelming desire to look up old acquaintances or strike up new friendships via the internet.

He was and had always been a one-on-one kind of a guy and he liked it that way just fine. It was what made him so good at ad campaigns. He made them seem as if they were speaking solely to each person in the audience.

“But you’ll try getting in touch with her again?” The way Theresa asked the question, it was as if his answer was a foregone conclusion.

“Well, I’m going to be kind of busy for the next few days,” he told her. There were still a great many details about the celebration to iron out, not to mention that he had several clients’ hands to hold through a rough time. “I’ve got an idea,” he told Theresa. “Why don’t you just make the arrangements for a band for me?” he suggested. “I mean, you’re already handling the catering and you’ve always done a bang-up job with that.”

No, no! You’re not getting the point, Theresa thought in frustration. Frustration she managed to completely hide from the intended target of all this effort.