11 #FaceTime

Checking her watch again, Teddi found it to be three minutes until her scheduled call with Jon Bon Jovi, so she finally just closed the lid on her laptop.  It wasn’t as though anything of use had been accomplished in the last hour.  She’d read the same webpage countless times in the last thirty minutes without absorbing a word. 

 

It wasn’t that she was anxious.  Not in the usual manner, at least.  She might have a tiny, niggling concern that he would reference her foolishness from yesterday, but her faith in his sense of propriety largely outweighed the concern.  This was just another business call for Teddi, and she had a well-rehearsed script for it. 

 

Her routine was to first ensure that the client installed the app and could log themselves in.  Afterward, she would demonstrate some of the features and provide a homework assignment.  Interaction from thereon out would be via that social media platform, until the client “graduated” to a new one.  Rinse, lather, repeat with each app, and then develop a usage strategy to achieve the overall client goal.   

 

She’d often thought she could do it in her sleep, yet she mindlessly fingered her aromatherapy pendant while pondering whether he possessed the celebrity mentality.  Would he call on time or whenever it suited him – because he knew the world would wait?

 

That wasn’t the person she wanted him to be.

 

It was far preferable for Teddi to believe he lived up to the arrogantly humble image that social media portrayed.  He seemed to be considerate of others, and she suspected that the only place he took liberties with his timetable was in concert. 

 

Then again, there were curfews to adhere to, and she didn’t recall reading anywhere that Bon Jovi kept their fans waiting for showtime. 

 

He’ll be on time.

 

Pressing the button that would illuminate her phone screen, she found it was now two minutes until their scheduled appointment. 

 

A loose wave of honey hair was tucked behind one ear, and she ran a thumb and finger mindlessly over a gold hoop earring.  Biding her time wasn’t something at which Teddi excelled.  Commanding a situation was easier on her anxiety, but since she didn’t have the means to contact him, there was no choice but to wait.

 

She’d given Jon her number and only taken his email as a means to respect his privacy.  If he didn’t block his number when calling, she would add it to her contact list.  If he did, then she would only initiate contact by email.  It had proven to be an effective and diplomatic way to let her clients choose how much they wished to share. 

 

Bruce had told her not to bother with email and provided his number right off the bat.  A Harvard professor, a hedge fund manager and a self-proclaimed psychic had all chosen to keep that information to themselves.  The psychic had actually implied that Teddi’s “third eye” should’ve known the number without asking.    

 

Although Teddi was indifferent about whether she got the number or not, that collaboration hadn’t lasted long. The woman with the Ouija board tattooed across her abs was all show and no substance, gave a bad name to genuine psychics.  That irritated Teddi since there were a few of them scattered amongst the branches of the Bihari family tree – including Magdalene. 

 

The man causing her phone to vibrate against the desktop at precisely one minute before four was all substance, and she took in the unfamiliar number with a smile.  He hadn’t chosen to block the call.  Jon Bon Jovi had just provided her with his phone number.

 

Taking a breath, Teddi reminded herself this was just another client meeting and focused on presenting a professional demeanor when swiping the screen.  “Hello, Mr. Bon Jovi.  I appreciate your punctuality.”

 

“I’m very conscious of the value of time,” he greeted from beneath the bill of a ballcap whose logo wasn’t visible due to the camera angle.  There was nothing more on display than a sleeveless gray t-shirt and his face with its unshaven jaw.  “And how about we dispense with the titles?  I’m Jon and you’re Teddi.  Sound good?”

 

Seeing him so casually unpolished did something to her.  How lucky would a woman be to look across the table on a Sunday morning and find this man sipping coffee?  He didn’t need a stylist to be sexy.  Jon had cornered that market all on his own, and the effortless way he did it had Teddi feeling overdressed in her taupe charmeuse blouse and slacks. 

 

You’re working here.  Value of time.  Pay attention.

 

“As you wish.  Did you have any difficulty downloading the Instagram app or accessing it with the credentials I provided?”

 

“Your instructions were very thorough,” he observed with a dry smirk.  “Just because I don’t like this shit doesn’t mean I’m technologically inept.”

 

Heat crept into her cheeks, but Teddi just smiled placidly and reassured, “I never presumed you were.  Those instructions are standardized for all my clients, broken down in the most basic terms to ensure comprehension.”

 

“Does speaking that way come naturally to you?”

 

Eyelashes fluttering with shock at both the change of subject and his frankness, she stuttered, “I- I beg your pardon?”

 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he was quick to amend, tipping the hat back to quickly rub at his forehead.  “You speak very eloquently.  I just wondered if it was a concentrated effort or ingrained.  Because I know I can facilitate a conversation with grandiose vocabulary, but I only do it if I have to.  I’m more likely to tell you I ‘wrote it for a moron’ rather than breaking it down ‘in the most basic terms to ensure comprehension’.”

 

In truth, Teddi used her “grandiose vocabulary” a form of self-defense.  Experience and Grandmother Peabody told her that using proper English with authority reduced one’s tendency to be undervalued.  It was a habit that Maggie and Kizzy often mocked.  They said it was easy to tell when she got her panties in a bunch, because her posture, diction and word selection made Queen Elizabeth seem like a commoner in comparison.

 

It’s why they sometimes called Teddi “Her Royal Highness”, and she didn’t want Jon adopting that perception.

 

“May I be brutally honest?”

 

“You gonna tell me you’re attracted to me again?”

 

His impudent smile had Teddi’s nostrils flaring.  So much for his propriety. He hadn’t even lasted three minutes before broaching what she considered to be a taboo subject.

 

“No.  I am not,” she sternly denied. 

 

“Damn.  Oh, hey, that reminds me.  I owe your assistant some flowers.  Can I send ‘em to your place?”

 

Teddi’s brow drew with surprise.  She was attracted to him and he was going to send flowers to Julia?

 

“Yes, of course, but may I ask why?”

 

One side of his mouth hooked in a lazy smirk.  “For not cancelling that appointment.”

 

“In that case, you should send flowers to your manager’s assistant, whom I spoke with earlier today.   She was the one who didn’t relay the message.”

 

One brawny shoulder lifted in concession.  “How about both?”

 

If this wasn’t a business call, Teddi would be tempted to ask why he was commemorating the occasion at all.  Since it was a business call, she merely nodded and granted, “Very well.”

 

“Great.  Now what were you saying about brutality?” 

 

 What was she saying? 

 

Oh, yes.  Defending her vocabulary. 

 

Teddi channeled energy into her meditation rings (since they were off-camera and the necklace wasn’t), released a short breath and issued a confession that was only moderately less embarrassing than the attraction one. 

 

“I’m overcompensating on the professionalism because I’m uncomfortable.  Your awareness of both my hormonal and fan club statuses is, quite frankly, awkward.  Please understand that, while I may excel at Jon Bon Jovi trivia, I’m also good at my job.  For what you’re paying me, you need to know that.  Don’t discount my skill because of any… personal interests I may have.”

 

The tip of his tongue peeked out to wet lips that were curved with amusement.  “Since we’re being brutally honest, I’ll confess that I don’t normally attend meetings in sweaty workout clothes, unshowered and unshaven.   This is to show you that, no matter what you’ve read, watched on YouTube or heard through the grapevine, I’m just a man.  For what I’m paying you, I expect results, and you’ll accomplish a hell of a lot more if you can separate me from my job.”

 

Teddi’s rings went still, but her tummy spun in a delicious way.

 

Little did he know that she found his job to be the least enamoring thing about him.  It was things like this – his display of intellect, insight and forthrightness – that fascinated Teddi.  The man built homes for the homeless.  He fed them.  He looked for opportunities to better the world and did so with steady determination. 

 

His mouth-watering good looks, songwriting and ability to work a crowd were only the attention-getting icing on a very appealing cake. 

 

“Consider yourself separated, but please tell me you brushed your teeth.”

 

Pearly whites reflected daylight as his mouth fell open with laughter.  “What are you?  A spy for my dentist?  Yeah, I brushed my teeth.”

 

The muscles in her cheeks went tight with a smile, and Teddi nodded with satisfaction.  She’d known he wouldn’t neglect that investment. 

 

“I’ll pass that along to your dentist.  Can we get some work done now?”

 

“One more thing first.”  Blue irises still shone like the midday ocean even as his amusement faded to sobriety.  “You said you’re good at your job, but I made some calls today that disagree with that assessment.  You’re not good; you’re exceptional.” 

 

Her heart stuttered with something that felt like arrythmia but might just be infatuation.  Thank God they weren’t in the same room because being the subject of his intent gaze would’ve had her once again embarrassing herself.  As it was, she was fighting the impulse to snap a screenshot and capture the moment.

 

His face was the main reason her chest fluttered, but there was also a touch of something else.  She had a feeling he didn’t hand out compliments lightly, and to be on the receiving end of one made her a little giddy. 

 

“I trust you’ll let me know who gave good reports, so that I can send cookies?”

 

“Hell, no!” he scoffed with indignation.  “If you’re sending cookies, send ‘em my way.  Preferably ones that smell like you.”

 

There went that little flutter again, this time accompanied by an inconspicuous squirm in her chair. It took visualizing Grandmother Peabody’s stern face for Teddi to maintain a neutral expression.  “Since I don’t dab cookies behind my ears, I’m not certain what those might be.”

 

“I didn’t know either until my daughter brought some over this weekend.  They’re called something that sounds like ‘vanilla kipper’.”

 

“Vanillekipferl,” Teddi murmured, assaulted by a wave of nostalgia. 

 

The Central European cookies had been a favorite since she was a little girl, and baking them with her mother was the most tangible memory Teddi held of Esmerelda Bihari.  Powdered sugar had floated in the air like snow when they coated the crescents that still reminded Teddi of her mother’s moon and star locket.  She’d been enamored with that necklace. 

 

“That’s it!” A triumphant finger pointed at the screen.  “Since you know the name, does that mean you can bake them?”

 

“I haven’t in a very long time.”

 

“But you can, right?”

 

The cookie rumors about him were obviously well-founded, and Jon’s sweet tone was meant to cajole her into being a supplier.  That persuasively lifted brow of his held a boyish quality that she found endearing enough to consider it.

 

“I would imagine so,” she evaded with a half-smile.  “Text me an address, and if it turns out I can, you’ll get some.”

 

“Or you could just bring ‘em by,” was his suggestion, offered with a coercive tilt of the head.  “The post office might smash ‘em all.”

 

He did not just invite you to his home.  He invited cookies, and your hormones are imagining any suggestiveness.

 

“Oh, no.  That would violate our contract.  Besides, I’m very good at packing.  They would arrive in perfect condition.”  She spoke with enough confidence to satisfy even herself, and when he dipped his chin in graceful compromise, Teddi steered them to the real purpose of this call.  “Now, tell me what you know about Instagram.”

 

Scruffy features contorted with distaste that was mirrored in his sarcastic, “I know I couldn’t care less about it.”

 

“I’m sorry.  I thought you were the same man who forced his way into my house yesterday, begging for help with this.  Who was just ordering hypothetical flowers for the women responsible for him being at my door.  Or was that someone else who wants into the Hall of Fame?”

 

“I didn’t beg,” he huffed indignantly.  “I merely explained my situation and you decided it was worthy of your time, but fine…  Point taken.”

 

Maintaining a professional relationship with this man was going to be tough, because Teddi found him ridiculously adorable.