Someday My Prints Will Come

by Marilyn Baron

  Eva’s mother was pained to see the panic and heartbreak etched on her daughter’s face. She knew all about heartbreak, first-hand.

  “It was a classic coup de foudre, a lightning strike, love at first sight. A rarity these days. And when it comes, it usually lasts forever.”

  “Has it ever happened to you?” Eva wondered.

  “Once,” her mother said, almost bitterly, in a voice that signaled there would be no elaboration.

  Eva still looked confused.

  “What you just experienced was longing,” she explained, getting up from her chair, trying to comfort her daughter. “The first stirrings of love, child.”

  Eva’s tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “I think he wanted me, too,” she said.

  “Who wouldn’t want you? You’re a beautiful, desirable young woman. Venus herself was not more beautiful. But you will never have him. The count came here to punish me, but I won’t allow him to hurt you. This is just the beginning. Now that he’s caught your scent, he will never leave us alone. He has threatened me before and I’ve managed to protect myself, but now he will try to get to me through you. I can see, and so can he, that you’re vulnerable. You must go away before he delivers on his threats. And there are other reasons I want you away from him. Reasons I can’t talk about.” She whispered something unintelligible about a forbidden love.

  “Mother, I don’t want to go away from my home. I love the boy, and I think he loves me.”

  “Don’t you see, this is all part of the count’s plan. He’s waited a long time for retribution, and he won’t be satisfied until he’s had it. You need to leave before he banishes you forever to someplace where I can’t help you. His power and his magic are strong, and they’re growing. He is as clever as he is evil, and there is no end to the twisted paths his mind will take.”

  “Will we make the match for the count’s son?”

  “I’ll make the match, and this time I’ll make a good one. And, hopefully, put an end to this cycle of bitterness.”

  “But Mother, I don’t want you to send him anyone else. I don’t think my heart could bear that.”

  “I know. But your heart will heal. I’m just glad you didn’t get in deeper, like I did.”

  “Mother, how does the matchmaker find a match? When will I ever find love again?”

  “Sometimes you don’t find love, love finds you.”

  Chapter Two

  Lobster Cove, Maine

  Somewhere in the back of a dark and dusty photo shop, amid the cobwebs, the long-forgotten paper files and canisters of unclaimed film, the Roloflexes and the other outdated cameras, a woman sat and waited. The sign on the door read, “Someday My Prints Will Come.” People might say that was someone’s idea of a bad joke, the most unlikely name for a photo developer, indicating the slowest possible service and outcome.

  The shop was located in the quaint seaside town of Lobster Cove, Maine, but the business wasn’t listed in the phone book or in directory assistance. It wasn’t publicized at all. In fact, no one in the general public knew of its existence. But it was well known by all the photo processors, the drugstore shops, the grocery stores and superstores, the places where people brought their hopes and dreams preserved on film. A Lost and Found of Mismatched Prints, she liked to call her business, like lost socks in a dryer. Shop owners knew where to send the prints, picked up by the wrong parties, to be rematched and returned.

  When the Browns opened the package to view the photos of their daughter’s first birthday and instead got the Willis’ trip to the islands…when the Nelsons got home to look at their honeymoon photos from Paris and found themselves looking at Aunt Estelle’s pictures of her nephew Jonathan’s Bar Mitzvah…when Amanda Brucker and her friends gathered at a sleepover to look at their spring break photos and instead found themselves looking at Ryan O’Riley’s retirement party…when Samantha Scott’s baby shower photos ended up with…well, when anyone got someone else’s precious moments…you get the picture? That’s where she came in.

  Across the country, each and every customer was assured that his or her prints would be sent promptly back to “The Lab,” where the unfortunate mess would be sorted out and the owners reunited with their rightful packages. There was no brick-and-mortar lab; it was a virtual and universal lost-and-found of memories.

  Who had set the woman up in business was a mystery. She appeared to have materialized one day out of thin air. She was from the old country. But no one knew exactly where she had come from, how long she had been there, or exactly how old she was. Looking at her, it would have been impossible to determine for sure. When asked her age, she liked to reply, “I’m as old as I need to be.”

  Comforted by the steady whirr of the central processing unit, the woman constantly prayed to the techno-gods that the complicated machinery would continue to operate. Somehow the database allowed the woman to match the right prints to the right people and, zip-zap, this set of prints went to this one and that set of prints to that one, and all the mismatched prints ended up in their proper places.

  There was plenty of leftover space on the database, so the woman, who was good at using leftovers, put the extra space to good use to accomplish her primary mission. The database included everyone who took pictures, which was mostly everyone in the country, or anyone who had enough love to want to record the memorable moments of their lives and so would have enough love left over to offer someone else.

  The database was also powerful enough to tap into and merge every online Internet dating service and singles Web site, and that maximized results. When a potential match surfaced somewhere in the system, she heard that magical ping. And it still took her breath away. And warmed her heart and her soul.

  When she heard the sound, she took her mandel bread out of the oven, tapped into her computer, and sent out the intriguing, irresistible message that would set the match into motion. It said all it needed to say and that was simply, “I have found the one for you!” It listed the old woman’s particulars, her contact information, and how she could be reached, and then she sat back and waited. It never took very long.

  A bank of red phones stood ready to take the calls while she got herself ready for company. There was always a pot of chicken soup bubbling on the stove, a batch of mandel bread with the old woman’s secret ingredient baking, and a tender brisket in the oven. You never knew who could pop in. Or how hungry they would be. A divorcée ready to try again, a mother desperate to find a match for her child, a grandmother looking to assure the continuity of the next generation, a young woman looking for her soul mate, or a young man looking for his destiny. Each deserved and got the old woman’s special brand of care and attention.

  There was no shortage of people looking. There was no plea too large or too small to merit her consideration. And once she was on the case, she was like a veritable dog with a bone. She didn’t rest until she had executed a perfect match. She was good at her job, very good, and she rarely failed in her mission.

  She heard the buzzer, checked herself out in the mirror in the hall to make sure she had assumed the proper persona, and excitedly bustled over to the door. To some, she appeared as an elderly grandmother. To others, an efficient businesswoman with a briefcase, or a society matron. There was, of course, a nominal fee—no one expected charity—and the old woman promptly plowed the profits right back into growing her business.

  “Come in, Mrs. Fischer. Let me fix you some tea.”

  “No, I’m fine,” the woman said, eyeing the plate of hot, freshly sliced mandel bread. “A little cookie would be lovely, though.” No one could resist the old woman’s cookies. And she counted on that. In fact, she made it a policy to send each customer off with a canister of cookies to take to the man or woman looking for love.

  “Talk to me,” the old woman began.

  “Well, you see, I’m here about my son, my Bennie,” Mrs. Fischer began hesitantly. She brought out a picture of the boy. “He’s such a good boy. He’s twenty-five, but h
e hasn’t found the right girl yet. He has a good heart, but he’s big—” Mrs. Fischer admitted. “He’s gained a lot of weight since this picture was taken.”

  “Sometimes bigger is better,” the old woman pointed out. She curled her fingers around her lips in contemplation. “A handsome boy,” the old woman noted charitably. She looked at what she had to work with. A Prince Charming, he isn’t. But there was a match for everyone under Heaven. Therefore, there was a match for Bennie Fischer, and she wouldn’t rest until she made it.

  Chapter Three

  Sometimes the old woman offered assistance even when she wasn’t asked. She firmly believed in helping those who helped themselves. She had her eye on two promising fifty-two-year-old married women in Lobster Cove who had taken matters into their own hands. Nan was determined to find a match for her son Brad, and Natalie was on a mission to do the same for her daughter Rachel, who lived in New York City. The friends caught the old woman’s eye one night while she was surfing the Web.

  “I think this one has gender issues, but he doesn’t know it,” Natalie quipped. “It says here he loves to shop.”

  “Here’s one who knows who he is. It says he’s looking for a man who’s…”

  “He’s looking for a man?” Natalie asked. “He’s out.”

  “He certainly is,” Rachel agreed.

  “My younger daughter is having a gender reveal next week,” said Natalie.

  “Doesn’t she already know what sex she is?”

  “No, it’s a gender reveal for the sex of the baby she’s expecting, and Rachel feels her own biological clock ticking.”

  “This one looks promising, but he’s living in Asia,” Nan pointed out. “Where are they supposed to meet for coffee, in the middle of the Mediterranean?”

  “Rachel would kill me if she knew I was looking up her profile,” reasoned Natalie.

  “So would Brad. But what they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

  “It says here my daughter loves sports, especially football and tennis,” Natalie read. “That girl wouldn’t know a football if it hit her in the face.”

  “Everybody lies on these profiles,” Nan confirmed. “Brad told me. Men are looking for a girl who’s in shape.”

  “I’m looking at this list of prospective women in Lobster Cove. There are only seven listings,” Nan observed.

  “Slim pickings,” agreed Natalie. “I think we have our work cut out for us.”

  “You’re luckier,” Nan complained. “New York must have thousands of listings.”

  “How do we arrange a match without the kids finding out?” Natalie wondered.

  “We post fake profiles on the service,” Nan said. “We start e-mailing, instant messaging, making phone calls, and we set up the meeting in a public place and check out the prospects.”

  “Won’t they think it’s strange when no one shows up?”

  “It will only make them more anxious to meet their mystery woman or man.”

  “Then when we have the perfect match, we hook them up.”

  “Exactly.”

  The old woman smiled, turned off her computer, and mixed up a fresh batch of mandel bread.

  Chapter Four

  Esther Horowitz was a beautiful, desirable girl trapped in a fat person’s body. She had just about given up on dating services. Or rather, they had given up on her. The conversations over the Internet were always great, the phone calls were wonderful, even bordering on the sensual. Then, when a meeting was arranged, she would sit in the local gourmet coffee shop in Lobster Cove, full of anticipation and excitement about the promise for the future and, invariably, no one would show up. Probably they had shown up, taken one look at her in the flesh, and decided to head for the hills. They hadn’t seen the real Esther. If they had, she felt sure they would have pulled up a seat and stopped to talk awhile. She had a lot to say and a lot of love to give, if only the right person would come along.

  Suddenly, she received the message on her computer, “I have found the one for you!” At the same time, a canister of beautifully wrapped cookies was delivered to her door.

  Esther was intrigued by the message but had to think twice about the cookies. She had sworn off junk food and joined the gym in a bid to lose some weight, but it seemed that the less she ate, the more weight she gained. And the more she exercised, the more weight she gained. She had tried every kind of diet. She had decided she was cursed with bad metabolism and bad genes—genes so bad she could barely find a pair of jeans that fit her.

  Esther gave in to temptation and tasted one of the almond-flavored pastries. It was delicious. So she took a second cookie, and a third.

  The next day she began to notice a difference in her weight. The difference was that, for the first time, her weight was going in the right direction, down. It seemed the more cookies she consumed, the thinner she got. She finished the rest of the canister. Soon her dress size began to drop and her face became more defined. When there were no cookies left in the canister, she became alarmed and began scanning the label. Perhaps she could find more of them at a health food store. But there was no information to be found anywhere on the container.

  The next morning, shortly after she awoke, the doorbell rang and another canister of cookies was delivered. She continued to eat the cookies and exercise.

  She went back to the computer. There was the message again. She had erased it the first time, thinking it was a hoax. Her hopes had been dashed too many times to count. But the message kept reappearing, just like the cookies. This time she responded. And she was greeted with: Congratulations. I have found your perfect match. Simply follow these instructions.

  So Esther dressed in her most slimming new outfit. She’d recently had to buy a whole new wardrobe because her old clothes were swimming on her. And a quick pass by the bathroom mirror confirmed that she looked good. She drove to Julie’s Coffee and Sweet Shop, ordered a mini-blueberry tart and a caramel latte, and waited.

  When her perfect match walked into the shop, Esther’s heart skipped a beat. This couldn’t be the one. He was so handsome, and his eyes were so kind.

  ****

  Bennie hesitated for a moment, looked around, and then he saw her. The canister of cookies was sitting on the table, so he knew he was in the right place. His face broke out into a wide grin, and he ambled over to greet her. She was breathtaking, so small and so beautiful. His heart turned over in his chest.

  There were a few snickers at the next table when the two strangers came face to face.

  “A perfect match,” one girl remarked snidely, barely concealing her laughter behind a fashion magazine.

  Bennie extended his hand and she took it. They looked into each other’s eyes. And he knew he had finally found The One.

  “You must be Esther,” he said politely. “I’m Bennie. It’s nice to meet you.”

  Chapter Five

  Her hair was the color of spun gold and the texture of corn silk, and it hung straight down her back, almost skimming the floor. She wore it loose around her shoulders to frame her heart-shaped face, and tied it casually back with an emerald green ribbon to match the form-fitting dress. Her arresting eyes sparkled like two blue sapphires. Her complexion was fair and clear.

  When he came through the door and she shook his hand, he felt a spark where their hands touched. It was still stinging when she pulled it away.

  “You’re here about—”

  “You’re the matchmaker?” he asked, his eyes searing insolently into hers and moving lower in a bold appraisal. He’d come such a long way, and he’d had the devil of a time trying to track her down. He thought he had worked it all out in his head, the way he would tell her. But now all the words had gone out of his brain. It wasn’t hard to see how a man could fall head over heels in love with her. She was even more beautiful than advertised. More luscious, more sensuous, with endless curves that could drive a man crazy. Curves that were driving him crazy.

  He hadn’t known what to expect. He thought she
looked like an enchanted princess, like a beguiling sprite or a nubile wood nymph that had just stepped out of a fairy tale. And that dress didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her voice was musical and magical, spell-castingly mesmerizing.

  ****

  Eva thought he was one of the most gorgeous men she had ever seen. And in her business, she had seen all kinds.

  “Yes,” she said, smoothing her dress in an effort to keep her hands still. She had never been nervous before. She’d always maintained the upper hand in the matchmaking process.

  “You’re not what I expected,” he admitted.

  “What were you expecting, an elderly grandmother type?”

  “Actually, yes.” Then he laughed and his rigid face relaxed, making him even more attractive.

  “I’m the emissary for Adam Prinsky,” the man began.

  “His emissary? Am I making a match for the Pope?”

  “Ah, the matchmaker has a sense of humor,” he said dryly, adding, “and not much of one at that.”

  “I see,” she said frowning. She had totally misread this one. Her dress, her image, was all wrong for him. She should have worn her hair up in a tight bun and put on the prim blue pinstriped business suit, with the jacket buttoned all the way up the front. She rarely showed her real self, but she wanted to see if she still felt comfortable in her own skin. She was normally more cautious, but she felt the time was right to try herself back on for size. Apparently, she had been mistaken.

  “Yes, I see,” she continued, her eyes moving down to the index card. “Adam Prinsky of Prinsky Electronics.” She glanced at the computer on her desk and noticed the name Prinsky Electronics engraved in black on silver with the mark of a thunderbolt at the bottom. Of course the name sounded familiar. Every piece of computer equipment in her office bore the Prinsky Electronics imprint.

  “You say you’re Adam Prinsky’s emissary?” the woman repeated.

  “I’m here to screen the prospects,” the man said arrogantly.