“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.
Maizie, one of her two dearest friends in the whole world, had called her the moment she’d left the doctor’s office, telling her about Dr. Stephens’s daughter. Maizie had put both her and Cecilia, her other friend, on high alert. Between the three of them, she was certain that they could find someone for Dr. Stephens’s daughter.
Theresa had gotten lucky first. But nothing ever went smoothly, she thought now.
“I’ll do anything you want me to with food, Jared, but I think that you should be the one to select your parents’ music,” she suggested tactfully. “After all, you’re the one who knows what they like—”
Actually, he didn’t have a clue as to what his parents liked to listen to. He vaguely remembered that when he was a child, his mother used to like to play old show tunes—but he didn’t know if she still did—and as for his father…Off the top of his head, he couldn’t recall if the old man favored one style of music over another.
“Probably the same thing you like” was his best guess.
This wasn’t going to be as easy as their last effort to pair up a couple, Theresa thought. But she was nothing if not a study in quiet determination. People, it was her firm belief, were much happier in pairs than alone.
“Be that as it may, Jared. I know that I would be touched if my son was personally involved in all the preparations for my thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. Trust me, mothers are funny like that,” she added as her closing argument.
Before he could jump in with another rebuttal, an idea came to her. “I happen to know that Ms. Stephens will be playing at Paragon Studios today. She’s part of a small ensemble recording the background music for this romantic-comedy series, More than Roommates. Why don’t you drop by and give her a listen?” She paused. “That way you can hear her perform in person and that’ll help you make up your mind about the pluses of having live music at your parents’ party.”
It sounded reasonable, but there was one thing wrong with her suggestion. “I can’t just waltz onto a sound-stage,” Jared pointed out. He didn’t know all that much about the mechanics of taping a show, but he did know that.
If he thought this was over, he was mistaken, Theresa thought with a tinge of triumph.
“Not most studios,” she agreed. “But you can this one. The director’s an old friend of mine. I’ll give him a call and I know he won’t mind you coming in—as long as you just observe.”
The woman had an answer for everything. Jared felt as if he’d just gotten in the path of a hurricane and been swept up. He laughed, surrendering. “Fine, you get the okay, and I’ll go listen—but it’ll have to be in the late afternoon,” he stipulated. “I have to be in the office today.”
“No problem. These things run over,” Theresa assured him, recalling what little she did know about tapings. “I’ll call you back with details,” she promised.
He shook his head as he hung up. Maybe the woman was right. He’d hired Theresa on a number of occasions, and he fully respected both her work ethic and her opinion. Besides, she was around his parents’ age. She would know better than he what would please them. They’d probably like having a live band.
He smiled to himself. This was something his sister, Megan, hadn’t thought of when she left him with a list of things to follow up on—just before she went off on that extended cruise with her husband.
Megan was going to be surprised at his intuitiveness, he thought. She didn’t have to know that the suggestion had come from the caterer.
However, he had no way of knowing that Theresa and her friends, Maizie and Cecilia, had banded together to form a matchmaking group that had been dubbed “Matchmaking Mamas” by one of their children. All three women were successful businesswomen in their own right, but making matches for their children and their friends’ children was where their hearts really lay.
And so far,