Theodora’s Screwy Love Test
A Romantic Comedy Novelette
by
Caralee Michaels
Copyright © 2012 Caralee Michaels
Published by March Winds Publishing
Cover art copyright © Can Stock Photo Inc./AnnieAnnie and
Can Stock Photo Inc./Ostill
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Theodora Zymwati flipped her long, brown hair behind her ear, trying to finish one last brochure for the vet two blocks away. They were two long blocks here in Manhattan, but Theodora loved the chance at some extra exercise.
“Get it done, get it done.” She hated to hurry anything to do with her business because she had a reputation for producing quick, error-free work. But she wanted to get to her ultimate vacation spot, and her business was butting in on her fun.
And that spot wasn’t on a sunny beach in Hawaii. It wasn’t on the Riviera. It wasn’t some other ritzy, expensive place. She needed to get away from all the usual haunts. So she decided on a bed and breakfast tucked away in a quiet Pennsylvania backwater.
She needed quiet up the wazoo, because her small business was driving her even nuttier than she usually felt. Not that she was complaining about the money; ideas for brochures and flyers and writing copy was big business, especially for other small companies. They helped each other, sometimes a little too much...
“There, done.” She’d talked to Ajit Tandon, the vet, on the phone and through emails earlier in the morning. She had been dating him for only three days when he told her of his small advertising budget; his budget was so small it could fit on one of those old postage stamps Theodora had given up on last year.
Ajit’s voice was smooth and friendly, and she knew he loved his work, talking endlessly about the animals for which he cared. Who wouldn’t love working with dogs and cats all day? Theodora smiled as she pushed the plush chair back from her laptop. Brochure emailed and printed, bring to the color printer next door, and over to Ajit’s.
Then she could get to her place of solitude.
Theodora grabbed her industrial-strength backpack which contained her purse, two smartphones (in case one died unexpectedly), work for her different clients, a snack, and who-knew-what-else. Her entire life was contained in this one backpack.
After locking up and sliding into the sagging, creaking building elevator, Theodora bumped into Edgar, the building’s super. He stood about four foot nothing, weighed about ninety pounds, and looked somewhere between eighty and two hundred years old. He had a growth of gray beard on his chin, a pencil behind one ear, and a puss on his face.
Some things never changed.
“How are you, Edgar?” Theodora said, trying to slip by.
No such luck.
“Hold on,” he said, in that thick accent Theodora could never place. No one she talked to had any idea where he’d come from; he just sort of sprung up from the lobby floor. “Ask question.”
Theodora waited, biting her lip, waiting for the inevitable disjointed question to come from Edgar’s lips.
“Why you in hurry? Where you go? Why you not go away somewhere? You work too much.”
She supposed she should smack her head at the onslaught, but Theodora was so used to it she didn’t even flinch. “Need to finish up some work, ah, going to the printer and the vet, trying to get away to the country, and, yes, you’re right.” She did a quick inventory check, then nodded. Yup. Answered ’em all.
Edgar put a hand to his left ear. “Huh?”
Did he forget his hearing aid again? Theodora checked both his ears; neither had a small plastic thingie stuck in it. She cupped her hands as best she could around her mouth. “Never mind!” she yelled, stepping around Edgar, flying to the front door, waving at the doorman. Such as he was.
Which wasn’t much. The doorman, usually in jeans and collared shirt, sat at a teeny, tiny desk just inside the front door. He stood about her height, and the most prominent feature on his body was a (wait for it) “Mother” tattoo on his right bicep.
Which he flexed for Theodora and other women in the building regularly. Even when it was cold outside.
But Theodora couldn’t ponder Edgar or the doorman or anyone else. She needed to get next door to the printer, to have him run off two-hundred color copies of the brochure. She just hoped she remembered to put the brochure in her backpack, or she would lose time backtracking to her apartment.
“Hey, Theo,” Tom the printer said as she strode in the door.
Her hair flew in a thousand directions as she approached the printer, panting.
“I didn’t know you cared,” he said.
Theodora took a deep breath. “Shut up.” She took the backpack from her back, unzipped the biggest section, and riffed through six different folders before she drew out the one for Ajit. She let out a long sigh, thankful she didn’t have to drag herself back to the apartment. “Two-hundred color copies, please.”
“You know you can do it yourself.” Tom smirked, as he always did when Theodora blew in. “Or you can get your own color copier.”
Theodora stuck out her tongue. “I’ve already got enough crap in my apartment.” She could imagine how that would go over with her neighbors; the copier from a few years ago was a hulking, noisy beast, and her neighbors were never shy complaining about it. “Besides, don’t you want the business?”
“To see you come in, of course.” He took the folder from her hand and walked backward to the copiers near the back of the shop.
Theodora was always amazed at how he did the walking backward thing without stumbling or falling to the floor. She giggled, as she remembered the other guy she was dating.
Hercule Declercq. She immediately thought of Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot, though she couldn’t stand mysteries. She hadn’t known his name when he fell into her at The Ginger Man, a nearby bar/restaurant, just as she was getting up to leave.
“Sorry,” he’d said, offering his hand to Theodora.
The man brought her to her feet in one motion, as she stared into those soft, hazel eyes. Dirty blond hair, jutting jaw, bushy-brown eyebrows. And the rest of him looked equally as nice. She licked her lips, liking what she saw.
And she wanted to see more.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “The name’s Hercule, Hercule Declercq.”
“French?”
“Belgian,” Hercule corrected. He winced. “I have to stop doing that.”
“Nothing wrong with getting it right.” She settled back into the chair she just tried to vacate. “So what do you do?”
“Obviously not with the ballet.” He smiled, a little gap between his front two teeth. Charming. “I’m a freelance journalist.”
“Oh.” Usually Theodora talked a mile a minute—kind of how she walked—but she couldn’t think of a thing to say. Then it hit her, and it wasn’t a headache. “You do local stuff? Dweeby stuff?”
Hercule raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what ‘dweeby’ means, but, yeah, I do local stuff. Local meetings of different clubs, including the political ones.”
“Sounds interesting.” Not really, but I want to be polite with such potential for a nice roll. “What kind of tech do you use? Smartphone, netbook?” She shrugged, again staring into those lovely, soft eyes.
“Theo.”
Theodora blinked. “Tom.” She gazed the printer, his quirked mouth, the chubby cheeks she always wanted to pinch. “Oh, sorry. Must’ve been daydreaming.” She grinned.
Tom waved a hand at her. “That’s okay. Who is he?”
“You know me well.”
“I know that you’re hot and heavy with two guys, and one of them isn’t me.”
Theodora stuck her hands to her face; the warmth was already there. Damn. She hated when she blushed. “You could say that.” She dropped her hands, her fingers drumming the top of Tom’s biggest color copier. Funny, I don’t remember coming over here.
“You came over almost immediately after you got lost.” He pointed at the side of his head.
The perils of thinking of Hercule. Or Ajit, for that matter. Theodora was about to tumble into a daydream about Ajit, but she stopped herself, focusing on Tom. “How much do I owe you?”
He collected the copies and the original paper, sticking them all into Theodora’s folder. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
Theodora smacked her forehead, head bobbing. “Right, you already have my card on file.” She jerked the folder out of Tom’s hand, waved her goodbye, then turned on her heel, heading back out into the crisp autumn air. In her haste, she’d only pulled on a sweater over her blouse and skirt, but it would do.
Especially if she were heading to Ajit’s place.
Never knew what might happen there.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Ajit’s receptionist told Theodora she had to wait. He owned the place, though he had two junior vets join him recently, both fresh out of veterinarian school.
“Here he comes,” the receptionist sang out. The other two people in the waiting room stared at Theodora. No matter. She knew this was part business, part pleasure, and to hell with what other people thought about it.
A second later, the door to the animal examination rooms opened. Out strode Ajit Tanon. Tall, dark, brown eyes, short and wavy brown hair. His lips were smooth and sensual, and Theodora couldn’t wait to kiss his lips, so she did just that, standing on tiptoe. The two people waiting grunted.
She still didn’t care.
“Come inside,” Ajit said, motioning her to the door. He closed it behind them, telling her to go to his office—in the back.
Although they did some heavy breathing back there, they’d never done it there, because no couch could be found, and Theodora’s spine would break on Ajit’s flimsy chair or the tiled floor. Still, it was fun to just kiss each other’s brains out, amid the barking and meowing. Just a little further...
Someone knocked on Ajit’s office door.
He untangled his tongue from Theodora’s mouth and cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“I just put Mrs. Punjab in Room 4.” The receptionist, her voice still trilling in song. “She’s been waiting awhile.”
Ajit put a hand to his face. “Okay, okay. Tell her I’ll be right there.”
Theodora listened as the receptionist’s steps trailed away from the door, then slipped her arm around Ajit’s waist. She was ready for another round.
Ajit moved back, away from Theodora. “No, not right now” He motioned at the door, scowling. “I don’t usually get this irritated with Mrs. Punjab, but she’s been here twice this week with her cat. There’s nothing wrong with her.”