A Perfectly Imperfect Match. Marie Ferrarella
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interest had a definite social aspect to it, but so far, Elizabeth had managed to get out of accepting his various invitations to “unwind” after a performance—or the handful of rehearsals that preceded those performances.
His bushy eyebrows drew together over his hawklike nose as he scrutinized her closely. “You don’t look fine,” he informed her.
“Must be the lighting,” she murmured, doing her best to terminate the conversation.
Served her right for letting her thoughts get the better of her, Elizabeth upbraided herself. She was here to play—and pay her rent—not to wax envious at what it appeared others had that she did not.
For all she knew, what she thought she was witnessing could be strictly an illusion as well. Maybe this couple wouldn’t even be together this time next year.
If that did turn out to be the case, she certainly didn’t envy either of them the breakup that might be looming on the horizon.
A breakup, she thought, that would inevitably be filled with heartache if either one of them actually loved the other even half as much as appearances would indicate.
Enough already, Elizabeth silently chided herself. What’s wrong with me, anyway?
She knew she was living her dreams. She had to cherish that and stop dwelling on what she didn’t have. When had she gotten so negative?
Besides, careful what you wish for, remember?
With effort, Elizabeth drew her attention away from the romantic couple and closed her eyes, looking as if she were losing herself in her music.
What she was actually doing was protecting herself from making any further eye contact with Jack. She knew that in turn would leave the door open for him to make suggestions as to how to “put a smile on your face” as he liked to put it.
While she was grateful to Jack for the jobs, she would have been far happier just chalking it up to mere friendship. After all, if she were playing in an orchestra or ensemble that found itself needing a pianist, he would be the one she’d recommend.
But she had the uncomfortable feeling that he was actually sending gainful employment her way in a thinly veiled attempt at seducing her.
Eventually, she knew she was going to have to face up to telling him that there was absolutely no chemistry between them, that there was more chemistry between Columbus and the Native Americans when he landed on the shores of the New World than there was between Jack and her.
Elizabeth bit her lower lip, knowing that time was coming sooner than later.
Her eyes flew open as she heard Jack whisper, “I’m having a little party of my own after this shindig. If you’re interested…” he added meaningfully.
She upped the wattage of her smile—one of her best features according to her father—and said, “I’d really love to—”
Jack looked startled, but managed to recover quickly. “Great, I’ll—”
“—but I can’t,” Elizabeth continued in very hushed tones so as not to interfere with the music. “I’ve got to get ready for my studio gig in the morning. It’s for an episode of More than Roommates.”
The name of the popular sitcom evidently meant nothing to Jack since he didn’t watch episodic television. He frowned over his apparent strike-out. Again.
“That’s tomorrow?” he asked vaguely.
Elizabeth nodded, concentrating harder, determined not to miss a single beat. “That’s right.”
Jack grew silent for a moment. He was devoted to his craft, but he also clearly had designs on being more than just a fellow musician in Elizabeth’s eyes.
“Blow it off,” he told her suddenly. “I can get you another studio gig with—”
She cut him off with a slight, although emphatic, shake of the head. “I already agreed to it. You’re only as good as your word in this business,” she reminded him as tactfully as she could. Jack had it in him to be a really good friend and she didn’t want to hurt his feelings, but she didn’t like having her back to the wall this way, either.
Jack shrugged, his thin shoulders rising and falling rather hard beneath his tuxedo as he muttered, “Your loss.”
The way Elizabeth said “I know” helped assuage his wounded ego just as she’d intended. She could see it in his expression as he pulled himself away from the carefully couched rejection.
Maybe eventually they’d work this thing out, she thought. At least she could hope.
Elizabeth threw herself into the next number and tried to put this unpleasant episode behind her.
Her apartment felt lonelier than usual as Elizabeth let herself in later that evening.
She’d deliberately left a light on when she’d departed earlier for the Bar Mitzvah, anticipating that she just might need help in being upbeat when she came home.
Unfortunately, the light didn’t manage to do the trick—that aching loneliness was still waiting for her.
Or rather, it had ridden home with her in the car, growing more and more acute with every mile that brought her closer to her empty apartment.
Locking the door behind her, she threw her keys and purse onto the top of the small bookcase near the door and stepped out of her shoes.
Maybe she needed a pet, Elizabeth mused. A warm, happy puppy to jump up and greet her as she came through the door.
For a split second, she actually considered it. She certainly had an abundance of love to give to a pet. But then she thought of how guilty she’d feel about keeping the poor thing cooped up in the apartment while she was away at work. Considering how sporadic and unstructured her engagements were, the puppy wouldn’t be able to have anything that resembled a normal, regular schedule.
Besides, she reminded herself, Mrs. Goldberg had Lizzie and she was forever telling her how lonely she was for actual company ever since “her Albert” had passed on. The feline, while fairly affectionate, still didn’t fill the gap she had in her heart, the older woman had confessed sadly.
No, the cure for this loneliness that kept wrapping its tentacles around her lately was just more work, Elizabeth decided. It was while she was playing that she felt whole, as if she was contributing something worthwhile and beautiful to the universe. The violin was capable of making its audience both laugh and weep, and she could make it do both with aplomb.
Elizabeth glanced at the answering machine as she walked past it. The red light was blinking, telling her she had messages.
One, she knew, was bound to be from her father. That wonderful man always called her every night, no matter how busy his day had been, just to check in on her.
Now there’s something to really be grateful for, she told herself. Not everyone had a father like that, a man who had single-handedly raised her and her two younger brothers while he was juggling a full-time career as a physician.
With very little warning, he’d been blindsided by his wife’s sudden onset of pancreatic cancer and just like that, he’d found himself a widower with three young children.
Rather than farming his kids off to a female relative, or gladly abdicating his role to some full-time nanny he paid to raise his children, he’d painstakingly rearranged his life so that he could be there for every school play, every concert, even every parent/teacher conference. Elizabeth would forever be grateful to her dad for all the sacrifices he’d made over the years. There wasn’t anything that she wouldn’t do for him—and she knew her brothers felt the same way.
Maybe that was part of why she was having such trouble finding someone to share her life with, Elizabeth thought. She wanted to meet a man who had the warmth, the integrity, the sensitivity that her father had. She supposed that her standards