A Perfectly Imperfect Match. Marie Ferrarella
“No,” she told him. “That’s the first thing I bought with my earnings as a violinist. I saved up for six months for it,” she said, remembering.
He heard the affection in her voice. Obviously Elizabeth saw something in the vehicle that he didn’t, Jared thought. He tended to like new things rather than things that had weathered the passage of time. Those needed coddling and he didn’t consider himself the type to do that. Everything in his life was kept on the light, uninvolved side, as per his plan.
“And it still runs?” he asked, surprised.
She grinned. “Most of the time,” she allowed. There was no point in dwelling on the times that it hadn’t. That was behind her now. “She does get temperamental every now and then,” she added fondly, “but I can’t stay mad at her. Lola always comes through in a pinch.”
“Lola?”
“That’s what I call my car. What do you call your car?” she wanted to know.
“Reliable,” he answered, then commented on the logistics that were complicating her life. “Sounds like you were describing a grumpy old uncle a minute ago and not a car.”
“It’s a little bit of both,” she confessed. “But nothing I can’t handle, although I have to admit that the parts for Lola are getting harder and harder for me to find.”
He made a tactful suggestion. “Has it ever occurred to you to buy a new car?”
She shook her head. “No. I don’t abandon things just because they’re getting on a little in age,” she said with feeling. It was one of the main principles she lived by: she stuck with things.
Unlocking the door on the driver’s side, Elizabeth deposited her violin into the backseat, then leaned in to slip open the glove compartment.
Standing behind her, Jared got a particularly good view of the backs of her shapely legs as her black skirt rode up on her thighs. She was reaching across both seats in order to get at the glove compartment.
Jared knew he shouldn’t be staring, it wasn’t right. But he had to admit that what he was being privy to was a very appealing sight.
Getting what she wanted, Elizabeth straightened up and snaked her way out of the vehicle. She found herself bumping up against Jared. When she looked at him questioningly, he muttered a semiexcuse.
“I thought you might need help taking something out of the car.”
The look in her eyes told him that she didn’t believe his alibi, and when she grinned, he could have sworn that he could literally feel the impression of her lips on his. The sensation drew out his smile in response.
“The card’s not all that heavy,” she told him.
“Card?” he repeated, lost.
“Card.” She held it up for his perusal. It was a business card for the little theater group performing the musical this weekend. On it was the address, the box office hours and the theater’s telephone number.
“The final performance is this Sunday,” she repeated, in case he’d already forgotten. “Curtain goes up at seven,” she added.
“I’ll be there before seven,” he promised. Closing his hand over the card, he slipped it into his pocket. “Looking forward to it.”
He glanced at his watch out of habit. When Jared saw the time, he frowned. He was far behind schedule and they hadn’t even gotten around to any of the specifics about the gig. “Look, can I call you later on tonight?” he wanted to know.
For just one isolated moment, she thought Jared was asking to call her on a social basis. But the next second, she knew that wasn’t possible. After all, he’d done nothing to indicate that he would be interested in seeing Elizabeth the woman instead of Elizabeth the violinist.
“Absolutely,” she told him with a bright smile. “I should be home for most of the evening.”
“Good, then I won’t get your answering machine again.” He shrugged, ever so slightly self-conscious. “As I mentioned before…I’m not really too keen on talking to machines.”
She laughed at the footnote he’d just tossed in her direction. He found the sound light, melodious and almost hypnotic.
“No worries…I’ll be sure to pick up,” she promised him, getting behind the wheel of her vintage car.
Jared stepped back, allowing her space to swing her door closed. “I’ll talk to you then,” he said.
Then, turning on his heel, he started retracing his steps to get to his own car, which was parked a good deal closer to the soundstage than Elizabeth’s was.
The fact that he fully expected to hear her car start up but didn’t had him stopping after about five steps and turning around.
He could see her frowning from where he stood. Frowning and going through the motions of starting her car up.
Still nothing.
Her beloved vintage car was apparently nonresponsive, no matter how many times she tried to get it to come back from the dead.
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