His Uptown Girl (14 page)

“B
ye, Bart!” Georgette called out. “See you tomorrow!”

“Bye, George!”

The entire trip home in her truck, Adrian's words echoed through Georgette's head.
I think he likes you.

She couldn't help it, but she liked Bob too. Yet just as Bob needed time to think about what was happening, so did she. Above all, she had to be realistic. Bob was her boss, her landlord, her tutor, and recently he'd become somewhat of a spiritual mentor. She didn't want to think that he was acting like a big brother just because he had three younger sisters.

As she turned into Bob's back lane, she saw the garage door was open, displaying the storage area Bob had built. Bob, wearing coveralls, stood on the pad, next to something she'd never seen him with before.

A big, big motorcycle.

Georgette drove up, parked her truck and approached Bob. “What in the world is that?”

“It's my baby. Isn't she a beauty?”

Georgette ran one hand over the chrome handlebars.
She didn't know much about motorcycles, but she could tell it was old. “What year?”

“She's a 1949 Harley-Davidson Series F Hydra-Glide Solo, a real classic. It was the first year they introduced the hydraulic front forks.” He paused to run his hands down the chrome plating of one of the forks. “She used to belong to my father, but he wasn't really interested in motorcycles, so he gave her to me when I got old enough to drive one responsibly. Of course, I had to get her running first.”

“If he wasn't interested in motorcycles, what was he doing with it?”

“Someone gave it to him. A friend didn't have any money to pay for some work Papa did, so he bartered the motorcycle instead. It wasn't in very good condition, but Papa felt obligated to take it.”

Georgette had a feeling that Bob had learned many of his kind ways from his father, whether they were good business practices or not. “It looks like you've done a good job fixing it up.”

He ran one hand lovingly over the leather seat. “Thanks. It took me a long time to get her to look like this. I thought today would be a good day to take her out—with all the work I've been doing, I haven't been able to lately.”

A slow grin began to spread on his face. “Do you want to go for a ride when I'm done?”

Georgette's heart pounded so hard, she thought Bob would be able to see the movement through her T-shirt. For years, it had been her secret fantasy to ride a motorcycle, but she didn't know anyone who owned one, nor did she have a motorcycle license.

She hugged her purse as she studied Bob's bike.
The burgundy paint shone in the sunlight, and when she moved, the reflection of the sun off the polished chrome nearly blinded her. The motorcycle was big and proud, it would be noisy, and it would turn heads. The force of the wind would be exhilarating in the rush of the speed.

She steeled herself. “Have you got an extra helmet?”

“Of course.” He pointed to two helmets, exactly the same color as the bike on one of the shelves in his storage area.

Her voice quivered as she spoke, and she couldn't stop it. “Need some help getting it in shape to go?”

He bent down, picked up a wrench and handed it to her. “Here you go.”

They worked in silence for a few minutes, but it didn't take long before Georgette couldn't stand it anymore. “I didn't know you had a motorcycle. Why didn't you tell me?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “There isn't much to tell. I own a motorcycle. So what?”

“I haven't seen it or even known about it in all the time I've known you.”

“It's a noisy thing to start up early in the morning, so I can't take her to work. Like I said, I had a few things to fix up before I put her on the road again. I belong to a Christian motorcycle group, and it's our annual camping trip soon, so I need to get her in good shape.”

“Camping trip?”

“Yeah. Usually we head up into the mountains, but this year so many people are going, we rented a couple of acres on a ranch. We head up Saturday, have a big barbecue together for supper, and camp out Saturday night. Sunday we have a worship time and short service,
then have a big picnic to finish up the leftovers before everyone goes home.”

“You like doing that?”

Bob nodded. “Yeah. We go in groups of twenty or thirty bikes, and we all meet there. There's nothing like being in the middle of a bike caravan. This year I think they're expecting five hundred people.”

“Where do they put everyone? Where do you sleep?”

“I told you, George. It's camping. Everyone brings a tent and a sleeping bag and one change of clothes. There's not a lot of room to carry stuff on a motorcycle.”

“A tent? You mean you sleep—” George gulped “—on the ground?”

“Yup. That's what camping means. Sleeping on the ground in the great outdoors. Haven't you ever gone camping before?”

She shuddered just thinking about lying on the ground with the bugs and whatever else was down there. “No.”

He sighed. “I forgot. You've probably traveled around to all the great cities of the world, where you only stay in the best hotels. You've probably never not had running water.”

Georgette pressed one hand over her heart. “No running water? Where do you…uh…”

Bob sighed again. “The people who do the organizing rent chemical toilets that don't need flushing.”

“Ew.”

“It's not as bad as you think. It's actually a nice break to get away from a busy life. We sing songs by the light of the moon, under the starry sky. You can't see the scope of the heavens or the number of stars under the city lights. I think you'd really be amazed. If you came, I bet you'd enjoy yourself.”

“But I don't have a motorcycle. I've never even been on one before.”

“Lots of couples come, and not everyone has their own bike. A motorcycle seats two.”

“But you and I… We're not…you know.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It's a Christian campout, George. Not every couple that comes is married. It's well-chaperoned, and at night, it's divided into three sections. One for families and married couples, one for the single men, and one for the single women. And let me tell you, the single men
far
outnumber the single women. You've still got lots of time to decide. It's not this coming weekend, it's next weekend.”

“That's only ten days away.”

“Like I said. Lots of time.”

“What about the shop?”

“I do this once a year, and Bart runs things by himself for a day.”

George stared at Bob. She wanted to think he'd invited her because he cared for her in a special way, but Bob's deliberate reference to the abundant supply of single men contradicted that. Still, it was something she'd never done. “Let me think about it.”

“Sure. We're done. Are you ready to go?”

She studied the bike. Suddenly, instead of looking like fun, it felt intimidating, now that she was so close to it. “I don't know.”

“We can make your first ride a short one. How about if we just go to the grocery store, and come back with something to cook for supper.”

She looked down at the saddlebags attached over the rear tire. They were as small as Bob said, but they would certainly hold enough for one meal.

“Okay. Let's go.”

He handed her a helmet, then helped her fasten the chin strap so it was positioned securely. Satisfied, he closed the garage door and locked it, put on his own helmet, then slid onto the motorcycle. “Come on, George. Hop on.” He patted the seat behind him.

Suddenly her doubts pressed in on her like a wall.

The motorcycle didn't have a seatbelt. The only way to stay on and not fall off was to hold something, and that something would be Bob.

But now that she had the helmet on, it was too late to change her mind.

“Don't be nervous. I'm a safe driver, and I'll take the corners carefully. All you have to do is hold on tight, and lean with me. I haven't dumped it in five years.”

“Dumped it?”

“That's when something happens and you lose your balance and the bike lands on its side. With a bike this size and weight, it takes two men to get it upright again. That only has to happen once, and it's a lesson learned for life. It's really embarrassing.” He patted the seat again. “Up you go.”

Inhaling deeply, Georgette walked stiffly to the motorcycle and slid on behind Bob.

The seat was surprisingly soft. For a short trip, it would be fine, but she couldn't imagine sitting on it for hours and still being able to walk with any sort of dignity afterward.

Beneath her, the motorcycle roared to life.

She stiffened from head to toe.

Bob twisted around to look at her. “This is it. Hang on.”

When he turned so he was once again facing forward, she gently rested her hands on the sides of his waist.

He twisted slightly, flipped the visor up once more, and looked into her eyes. “Not like that. You'll never be comfortable enough to enjoy the ride if you're not holding on properly. Like this.”

Before she could think of what he was doing, his hands pulled hers forward and pressed her palms onto his stomach. The unexpected movement sent her front into Bob's back, her head landing between his shoulder blades.

He patted her hands, then let go. “Just remember to lean with me.”

Without waiting for her response, he took off.

Georgette squeezed her eyes shut and hung on for dear life. She pressed herself into Bob's back, and didn't move. When they came to the first corner, it took every piece of strength within her to lean into the curve with him, feeling the pavement approach the tender flesh of her leg.

Bob slowed as they approached a red light, and she could feel his body shift as he extended one leg to support the bike while they waited for it to turn green.

Georgette opened one eye. Nothing seemed abnormal as they sat in the traffic. She opened the other just as Bob revved the motor, which she took as the cue that they would be moving in another second or two.

From behind him, she watched as the world went by in a glorious rush.

She didn't feel entirely safe being so open to the elements, but she was starting to feel more comfortable.

Not moving her hands from the security of Bob's stomach, she straightened her back so she could see better. Riding on the back of the motorcycle was fun. Kind of like the scariest ride at the fair.

Too soon, Bob turned into the supermarket parking lot.

She slid off the bike first, then Bob followed. He engaged the kickstand, pulled off his helmet, and smiled down at her. “Did you enjoy the ride?”

She pulled off her own helmet. “Yes! I can hardly wait for the ride home.”

“First, we have to buy something to make for supper.”

“What do I do with this?” She held out the helmet.

“I'm afraid we have to carry them. I don't have a lock to keep them on the bike and if we don't take them inside, someone will steal them. Sad but true.”

She followed Bob inside and through the store, selecting some vegetables and a package of chicken fillets. The ride home was much more enjoyable than the ride to the store, and when they pulled onto the pad beside the garage, Georgette was sorry it was over so soon. The only reason she didn't ask Bob to keep going was that she was so hungry.

“What are we making today?”

“A stir-fry. Only because I'm really hungry, I'll cut up the chicken, and leave you to cut up the vegetables, so we can get it done faster.”

She remembered the disgusting process of cutting the beef. She didn't imagine cutting raw chicken was any different. “You won't get any argument from me on that one.”

When they were done, she followed Bob to the stove. “First you put a little oil into the pan, let it heat up a bit, and before you add the chicken you test the heat. Mama showed me how to do this. Splash a few drops of water in the pan. If the water rolls in a little ball for a second before it evaporates, the oil is ready.”

With Bob standing and watching, she did exactly as
he said, and strangely, the drops of water did stay in a little ball rather than a puddle when he splashed some in. Bob tossed in the chicken, stirring and showed her what to look for to tell when it was time to add the vegetables.

Leaving Georgette in charge of the stir-fry, Bob began rummaging through her fridge.

“Don't you have any soy sauce?”

“No. We haven't ordered Chinese food because I didn't have enough money.”

Bob stood. “Soy sauce doesn't only come in those little packets, you can buy it in a bottle. I have some at home. I'll be right back. Just remember to stir this in a couple of minutes, so it doesn't burn.”

“Will do.”

Instead of staying by the stove, she walked over to the window to watch Bob as he dug his keys out of his pocket and went into his house. She pictured him walking to his kitchen, since she now knew the layout. The phone rang, causing Georgette to flinch and breaking her reverie. So she returned to the stove and stirred the cooking chicken, as instructed.

She waited for a minute, then gave it another stir. A watched pot might never boil, but a watched stir-fry was making her restless.

Georgette walked to the television and flipped it on to listen to the news. Then it was time for another stir, so she walked back to the stove, tended to their dinner, and went back to the television where the theme had changed from world news to local, and a reporter came on with a live broadcast of a boat accident under one of the city bridges that had tied up rush-hour traffic when the boat hit one of the bridge supports.

Just as a city engineer started describing the steps it
would take to ascertain that no permanent damage was done, Georgette smelled smoke.

She ran back to the pan, which had started smoking. Time seemed—slow. Just as she reached for the spoon to stir everything again, the smoke alarm in the center of the room began to screech. Her hand continued its course and the exact second she touched the spoon, the contents of the pan burst into flame.