assuming that you don’t want to hire me to serenade you outside your bedroom window. So, what’s the occasion?” she repeated.
For just a second, Jared allowed himself to dwell on the scenario she’d just drawn for him. The very idea of her playing her violin just for him outside his window both amused him and—in an odd sort of way—aroused him.
He realized he was letting his mind wander while she was waiting for a response. “My parents’ thirty-fifth wedding anniversary is coming up in a little more than three weeks. Why, does that make a difference?”
“Absolutely. The occasion always makes a difference,” she told him. “There’s a different mind-set involved in playing for a couple who’ve been together for thirty-five years than, say, playing at a wedding where the couple is just starting out. And both require different preparations than setting up to play at a high school graduation party.”
“Get to play for many of those?” he asked, amused. When he’d graduated high school, he’d hung out all night celebrating with his friends. He didn’t even remember he had parents until the following morning.
“You’d be surprised at how many indulgent parents live in Beverly Hills,” she answered. And then a question hit her. “Was that my audition?” she asked, seemingly out of the blue. “Back there, in the studio,” she clarified, nodding back toward the building now in the distance.
It was starting to make sense. “You really should signal when you’re switching lanes like that. Otherwise, a person could get whiplash,” he said drily. “As for your question, I don’t know if I’d call it an audition, but the woman who gave me your name thought it might be a good thing to hear you in action, so to speak. I liked what I heard,” he was quick to add. “I should have realized that I would since Theresa speaks so highly of you.”
There was that name again, she thought. Who was he talking about?
“Theresa,” Elizabeth repeated, her tone all but inviting him to add a surname to the woman’s given one.
But when he did, she was no more enlightened than she’d been before. “Theresa Manetti.”
Elizabeth did a quick mental run through her client list. The woman’s last name didn’t ring any bells. As far as she knew, she’d never dealt with a Theresa Manetti when it came to making arrangements to play at a party or a gig.
Moving over to one side in order to avoid stepping on a rather fat wad of bubble gum, she shook her head. “I’m sorry, I just don’t remember this woman.”
He thought that odd but pressed on. “She was the one who told me where you’d be working this morning and set it up so that I could come down and hear you play for myself.” He shrugged. “Actually, although she didn’t say it in so many words, I got the feeling that she really wanted me to meet you as soon as possible.”
“Huh,” Elizabeth murmured to herself. She still wasn’t getting an image in her head. “Did this Theresa Manetti happen to tell you where she heard me play? I’m pretty good about remembering the people who hire me, so I’m guessing she might have heard me at one of the little theater groups in the area.”
For all she knew, the woman could have just been part of one of the audiences, but if that were the case, how did this Manetti woman know her name or her schedule? This wasn’t making any sense to her.
Jared, meanwhile, had been sidetracked by something she’d just said. “You play for theater groups, too?”
She wasn’t sure if he was impressed, or just surprised. In either case, the answer to his question was the same.
“Yes.”
He was undoubtedly wondering why she didn’t stick to a single venue. Aside from variety being the spice of life, there was a far more basic reason behind her working all these diverse jobs.
“It takes a lot of gigs to stitch together a living,” she told him honestly. “Unless you’re a world-class musician who can pretty much write your own ticket, you have to scramble to find work anywhere you can. And I really do love show music,” she confided. “As a matter of fact, I’m playing at the Bedford Theater this weekend. They’re doing Fiddler on the Roof. It’s their final weekend,” she informed him. “I can leave you a ticket at the box office for this Sunday if you’d like to come.”
He didn’t want to inconvenience her, or ask for special treatment. “You don’t have to do that,” he protested.
She laughed at his protest. “Are you kidding? The more bodies, the better. It’s a known fact. Musicians always play better to a packed house,” she said with a wink.
He found the wink incredibly appealing, not to mention sexy. Without realizing it, he glanced down at her hand to see if there was a promise ring, or an engagement ring or, worse yet, a wedding ring on the appropriate finger. When he saw that there wasn’t—and there was no telltale pale line there to indicate a recent removal of said ring—he smiled broadly at her.
“Then I’ll definitely make it a point to catch the show,” he promised. “Thanks for the ticket.”
“Hey, my pleasure,” she responded with sincerity before suddenly realizing that she hadn’t been paying the strictest attention while they were walking. They were practically on top of her car and she hadn’t noticed. A few more steps and they would have overshot it. If she had, she was certain he would have thought he was hiring an idiot to play for his parents’ big day.
“We’re here,” she announced belatedly, gesturing toward her vehicle.
Jared stopped walking and looked around, scanning the area. This really was the end of the lot, he thought. For the most part, it was almost empty. Except for what looked like an old T-bird, the initial model, which had been all but pocket-size when it came out.
“Is that your car?” he asked incredulously.
She couldn’t even begin to guess what was going through the man’s head, except that she was certain that at least a part of him was undoubtedly thinking that a car like that was wasted on a woman.
“That’s my car,” she said proudly.
He knew that the car was regarded as vintage, but all that meant to him was that it was old. “Let me guess,” he mused, peering at the vehicle from several different angles. He gave no clue as to what he was looking for. “That belonged to your mother, too, right?”
She supposed that her beloved car did look old enough to be considered a hand-me-down from one generation to the next.
“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.
