His Uptown Girl (15 page)

Time snapped back into focus. Georgette backed up, unable to believe what was happening. She ran to the cupboard, grabbed a glass, then ran to the sink to fill the glass with water. She had just filled the glass and aimed it at the flames, when the door burst open.

“What are you doing?!” Bob exclaimed as he ran for the stove. He grabbed the lid for the pot and threw it on top of the flames. It landed crooked, but he made a quick jab at it to push it so it fit squarely. He blew on his fingers, turned off the heat, then stuck his fingers in his mouth.

“How did this happen?” he yelled around his fingers. “I thought I told you to stay there and stir it every couple of minutes.” He pulled his fingers out of his mouth, looked at the reddened tips, then shook his hand in the air.

Georgette couldn't answer, not that it would have made any difference. The screeching of the smoke alarm would have drowned out anything she said.

Bob reached forward and pushed the button to turn the fan above the stove on, then ran some water over his fingers in the sink. After a few seconds, he muttered something else under his breath, dragged a chair under the smoke alarm and took out the battery.

The only sound remaining was whirring of the fan above the stove.

It was still too silent.

Bob returned to the stove, and using a towel, he lifted the lid to confirm that the fire had been extinguished. “It's out,” he grumbled.

Georgette felt her lower lip quivering, but she refused to cry. After everything that had happened, and after everything she'd done, she didn't want to give in to the last sign of weakness and defeat.

“I'm so sorry,” she mumbled. Her eyes burned, but she blinked a few times to fight it back. If she said any more, she knew she would lose control, so she remained quiet.

Bob waved one hand in the direction of the stove. A black smear marred the stove hood, and a cloud of smoke hovered next to the ceiling over the space of the entire apartment. “How could you let this happen? I told you not to leave it.”

She stiffened and tried to be brave, but her voice came out in a squeak. “You didn't exactly say that. You told me to stir it in a couple of minutes. When I heard the phone ring, I knew you'd be gone longer, so I actually stirred it a few more times.”

His arm dropped to his side. “And what were you doing with a glass of water? You of all people should know better. That was a grease fire. It was the oil that was flaming, not the meat. Water spreads a grease fire.”

“There isn't a fire extinguisher here, so I didn't know what else to do. It didn't occur to me to smother it.”

The sound of canned laughter drifted from the corner of the apartment that was officially the living room.

Bob's eyebrows knotted, and his eyes narrowed. “Were you watching television?”

“I got bored, and then I got distracted. I'm so sorry.” She bit into her lower lip, to keep it still.

Bob ran one hand down his face. “No, I'm the one who should be sorry. I should have come straight back. I also shouldn't have yelled at you.”

Georgette stared at Bob, waiting, although she didn't know exactly what it was she wanted. It felt like a moment from a TV commercial, where Bob would open his arms, welcoming her. Then, in slow motion, she would glide across the room into them and they would close around her. His kiss would make it all better, and end their first fight.

Bob sighed, disturbing her thoughts. “I guess we'd better clean up, and decide what else we can make for supper. I have a fan that I can put it in the door to see if we can get more air circulating to clear out the smoke.”

Without waiting for her to comment, which would have been pointless anyway, he turned and walked out, leaving her all alone.

The stove fan continued to whir, reminding her of how stupid she'd been.

She'd failed again.

Georgette looked at the charred meat inside the pot, and swept her hand over the top to check the temperature. It was still warm, so she set it aside to cool completely before she threw it out.

Her father had been right when he said she could never live on her own. She couldn't even cook an edible meal by herself.

Rather than do nothing, she retrieved the pine cleaner and a sponge, two things she had come to know quite well, and began scrubbing the black spot, standing on a chair to reach. She didn't even bother to turn around when clunking behind her signified Bob's return.

The noise level increased significantly when the second fan started.

“If you're interested, we can eat the leftover stew from yesterday,” she said as she wrung out the sponge. “I think there's enough for both of us.”

“No, I think I'll leave that for you for tomorrow night, because I'm not going to be here. I'm going out with Randy.” He paused for a few seconds. “You do know how to heat something up without a microwave, don't you?”

She dipped the sponge in the water again, and resumed scrubbing. “I've never done it before, but I'm sure it's not difficult.”

The pause before he spoke was almost tangible. “Tell you what. Tomorrow at lunch time, I'll go out and make an extra house key for you, and you can use my microwave. It's probably a good idea for you to have a key for my house, anyway.”

Georgette felt herself sinking to an aptitude level below that of the common earthworm.

She kept scrubbing, not trusting herself to speak.

“For today, I have a solution for supper.” Bob picked up the phone and dialed. “Hey, Tony. It's me. Bob. Can you send over a house special pizza to my garage?” Bob paused. “Yes, I said the garage, very funny. Jason used to order pizza all the time. Thanks.”

Georgette felt herself sinking lower, if that was possible. Even Bob's brother knew how hopeless she was.

Her father was right. She would never survive. Even her boss's family knew it. Unless she could live on peanut butter sandwiches.
Those
she could make without setting anything on fire or doing anything else potentially fatal. Of course, she could always cut off her fingers in the process.

“George? I don't think you're going to get that any cleaner. Pretty soon you're going to take the paint off.”

She froze, staring at the stove hood. Bob was right. No black remained. The surface was back to its original luster.

She turned around and smiled weakly. “This pine cleaner and I, we have a history together.”

Bob approached her, standing in front of her as she remained standing on the chair. It felt strange to look down at him. She'd never seen the top of his head before. His hair was dark, thick and slightly wavy. She wanted to run her fingers through it, to see if it was as coarse as it looked.

He tipped his head up and trapped her with his vivid olive-green eyes, eyes that were the only criteria for that dress she'd purchased, a dress she would keep for the rest of her life, simply because of those eyes.

“It's okay, George. Everyone makes mistakes. You're still learning. I just keep forgetting how little you've done before.”

“It's not okay. I can't do anything right. The only thing I can do without some disaster happening is my job. Someone has to do everything else for me, or I mess it up.”

“That's just inexperience, not lack of ability. There's a big difference. You have loads of ability. It's just…never been tested.”

“That's not true. Every time I do a test drive on my abilities, something needs to go back for repairs.”

She glared down at him, daring him to differ.

“Will you get down from there? I can't talk to you like that.”

Before she could refuse, his hands circled her waist, and he lifted her down from the chair.

Her heart pounded in her chest. Don't let go. Don't let go, she chanted inwardly.

His hands remained fixed on her waist. “I've never seen you make the same mistake twice, so that means you're learning, and you're teachable. That's the first thing I thought when I hired you. You were anxious and willing to learn, and sometimes that's almost as important as ability.”

She went to raise her free hand almost as if in a dream, but discovered the hard way that it was too confining to rest her hand on his shoulder, which had been her intention. Rather than let her hand drop, she positioned her palm on his chest, over his heart.

She opened her mouth to tell him that his kind words meant a lot to her, but no sound came out. His body heat warmed her hand, and his heart beat accelerated beneath her palm. All coherent thought deserted her.

His grip on her waist tightened slightly as he drew he closer. One eyebrow quirked as he looked down at her.

She couldn't help herself, she let her eyes drift shut and tipped up her chin.

His lips brushed hers in the lightest of kisses. Not wanting to let the moment end, Georgette leaned forward, just enough to increase the contact slightly, to savor the softness of his gentle kiss.

She felt a soft sigh escape from Bob under her palm. His hands drifted slightly so they were more to her back, and his mouth came fully into contact with hers.

The sponge dropped from her hand.

Bob's kiss deepened, and he kissed her in a way she'd never been kissed before, as if he meant it.

Fool that she was, she kissed him back in equal measure.

A gentle rapping came from the doorway. “Bob? I got your pizza.”

In a split second, Bob stepped back, breaking all contact. A shiver of cold coursed through her at the loss.

“That shouldn't have happened. I have to go. Keep the pizza. I'll see you at work tomorrow.”

He stumbled around the fan, past the boy with the pizza in his hand, and was gone.

“I
am an idiot,” Bob muttered to himself as he reached up to the muffler of the car on the hoist above him and pulled on the tail pipe.

He picked up his hammer and began to hit at the muffler to loosen it, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw George through the window, dealing with a customer. She was as efficient as always. Polite. Cheerful. Proficient. Capable. Soft. Warm. A great kisser.

Bob took a harder swing at the muffler and missed shattering the exhaust pipe mounting bolts instead. The pipe itself hit the frame, then bounced back, narrowly missing his head.

“I'm a
total
idiot,” he grumbled as he yanked it off, then stomped to the parts area for a new one.

“You're talking to yourself again,” Bart said as Bob walked by.

“Ma fatti affari tuoi,”
he grumbled.

Before he could walk two more steps, Bart was beside him.

“I remember what that means, and you're wrong. It
is
my business when you walk around talking to yourself. What's going on with you and George? And don't try to deny it. She's been acting funny today, too.”

Bob sighed. “I lost it last night, and things went further than I wanted them to go.”

Bart stiffened. Bob had never seen Bart's eyes open so wide.

“Don't look at me like that,” Bob muttered. “Her honor is fully intact.”

“Then what's the problem?”

Bob waved one hand in the air toward her. “She's our employee, for crying out loud! What would happen if we got personally involved?”

“I dunno. The business would turn into a three-way partnership?”

“Not funny, Bart.”

“I wasn't trying to be funny. I really like George, but if you're doing something that's going to cause her to stumble…”

Bob swiped one hand down his face. “It's not that at all. It's just that she's got too much going on in her life to start something, even if she wasn't our employee. The fact that I personally hired her makes it even worse.”

“I know she's got a few things to deal with. Everybody does. That's life.”

Bob made a mental list of all the things that had gone wrong in George's life in the past few weeks, from Tyler to the situation with her father and then her sister, to her complete lack of experience in looking after her own daily needs, for starters. “You don't know the half of it,” he mumbled.

And yet, as much as he knew it wasn't wise to get involved, he still wanted to help her be the person God
wanted her to be. It wasn't likely God meant that to include kissing her.

“Earth to Bob. Hello, Bob. Put the landing gear down.”

“Sorry. I was thinking about something. What did you say?”

“I said, I think you two should go out for coffee and talk, and get things back to normal. If that's not possible, at least make some kind of agreement that will allow things to go on the way they were before around here. I'll hold down the fort while you're both gone.”

“No, that won't be necessary. I actually don't have much to say. It might even be a good idea to do it now, before the rush starts. Can you watch the front?”

Bart nodded and followed him into the lobby.

“George, I think we need to talk. Let's go into the office. Bart's going to run interference for us.”

Her face paled. “Uh, sure…”

The second the door closed behind her, she spoke, her voice coming out barely above a squeak. “Am I fired?”

“No, of course not. But if you're worried about that, then it
is
best that we talk.” He sat behind the desk and clasped his hands together on the desktop in front of him, trying to get himself into “boss mode” when he really felt more like a teenager.

When she was seated, Bob cleared his throat. “First of all, I need to apologize for yesterday.”

Her face paled even further. “Apologize? But—”

Bob held up one hand to silence her. “Please. I'm finding this really difficult, so I'll just come right out and say it. I'm not sure what's happening between us, but what comes first is that I'm your boss, and I can't do anything to jeopardize that relationship. I've heard and
seen too many times when people who work together start dating, and then the relationship ends. There are only three of us here, and we work together too closely to risk that kind of thing, so I think it's best to stop right now, before things get out of control. I think we can stay friends, and if we both keep that in mind, I think we'll be fine.”

“Are you still going to show me how to cook and help me figure out a budget and all that stuff?”

“Of course. I said I would, and I have no intention of breaking a promise.”

Her eyes widened. Bob felt as if he'd been poleaxed. He'd never seen a woman with eyes like George's. She sat before him, dressed as unwomanly as possible in her coveralls and safety workboots, complete with a streak of grease across her left cheek. Yet he'd been fighting the urge to gently wipe the smudge off ever since she'd come into the office. He knew that if he touched her, everything he was trying so hard to do would be lost in an instant.

Even though he'd been fighting his feelings toward her all day, now that they were together, her eyes held him like a deer in the headlights. He couldn't look away. Sincerity, hope, innocence and trust, all shone through right at him. He knew the difficult turns her life had taken. He wanted to move mountains for her, and it hurt him deep inside to know he was just a mechanic.

“What about next weekend? The campout with all your biker friends. Am I still invited? I was thinking about it all night, and I really want to go.”

Bob's breath caught in his throat. The campout was his one break in the year—for two short days, his motorcycle took him to a place where no one could reach
him, and he couldn't reach anyone else. This year, the organizers had encouraged everyone to leave their cell phones at home, or keep them turned off and pretend they wouldn't work on the wide-open ranchland the same as in the mountains, which blocked the signals. This was where Bob could retreat into rest and quiet, put all his problems and worries in a box for the weekend and listen to God talk.

Except he'd already promised George she could go with him.

But then, the quiet retreat would probably be good for her, too. It would be selfish if he didn't let her go.

“Of course you're still invited,” he said, forcing himself to smile. He reached into his pocket. “Before I forget, I went out on my lunch break and made this key for you, like I said I would. Feel free to go in and use the microwave any time you want.”

“I don't want to intrude. When will you be home?”

“Not until late. I'm going to the mall as soon as I get off, to meet Randy. As soon as he gets off, we're going shopping.”

“Shopping? What are you going to buy?”

Bob's grin reached from ear to ear. “He's going to help me buy an electronic drum set. I can hardly wait.”

 

Bob steered his motorcycle into the row of other motorcycles, and cut the engine. Supporting the weight of the bike with his leg until he could get off and engage the kickstand, he pulled the helmet off his head and turned around, still seated. “Here we are, George. It's time to dismount.”

George pulled off her helmet, but remained on the bike. “I don't think I can move.”

He grinned. “You'll only be stiff for a few seconds, and then you'll be right as rain.”

“What a stupid saying. Who made that up, anyway? When it rains, I don't feel very ‘right.' All I feel is cold and wet.”

“There's only one way to get limber and that's to quit stalling. Just do it.”

Before she had a chance to attempt to get her joints working again, a voice came from Bob's right side. “Hey, Bob! Good to see you.”

He turned. “Hey, Brad. Good to see you, too.”

Brad turned to George and smiled at her. “Care to introduce me to your friend?”

Bob squirmed invisibly on his seat. The entire trip, he'd been telling himself that it would be a good thing for George to meet eligible men, nonetheless, what he kept
feeling
were her arms around him as she rode behind. Now that he had someone to whom he could introduce her, Bob wanted to punch him in the nose.

He eked out a smile. “George, this is Brad. He's a wimp. His bike is one of those foreign makes.”

Brad grinned. “Yeah. My bike actually lets people hear each other talking when they ride. I can demonstrate if you want to come for a ride with me.”

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I can get off
this
motorcycle, never mind get on another one.”

“Some guys get all the luck,” Brad said. “When you decide that he's not your type, have Bob give you my phone number.”

Her face turned ten shades of red. “Uh…yeah…sure…”

At her reply, Brad moved on in the direction of the barbecue, from which Bob detected the aroma of roast
ing hot dogs. He mentally kicked himself for not being sorry to see Brad leave.

Finally, George slid off the seat, allowing Bob to slide off as well. He engaged the kickstand, and turned to George.

“What did you think of the ride?”

She rubbed her backside, obviously not caring if anyone around them was watching. “It was fun until it was time to move. How does anyone sit on those things for so long?”

“I guess we get used to it. Are you hungry? They have the barbecue going already.”

“Yeah…” She inhaled deeply, grinning as her voice trailed off. “I sure am.”

“Don't get too excited. It's just hot dogs. They have to keep the costs down.”

“No, you don't understand. Daddy never barbecued anything, certainly not hot dogs, and neither did Josephine. I once had a hot dog from a vendor, but it was pretty gross, to say the least.”

He supposed hot dogs, like meat loaf, for example lacked upper-class appeal. His family, on the other hand, loved meat loaf, even though it wasn't on a typical Italian menu. And when they all got together in the summer time, they always had barbecued hot dogs because his father could put more of them on the barbecue at once than anything else.

He led her to the barbecue, where she ate two hot dogs, loaded with onions, mustard and ketchup, then gave him half of the third one when she couldn't finish it.

He noticed a few raised eyebrows, and he did feel strange eating the rest of her hot dog—it spoke of a closeness that they didn't have. People seemed to move
beyond that, though and during the course of the day, he introduced Georgette to as many people as he could, men and women. The group varied in age and background, but she connected with them all.

He helped her with the small dome tent he'd brought for her, and they set it up together in the area designated for the single women. She merely stood back and watched as he set up his own tent in the area for single men, as he claimed it wouldn't be good for his male ego if she helped him.

By the time the sun had set, about five hundred people had arrived, as expected. A number of campfires had been started, and about a dozen people with guitars scattered themselves throughout the site, all wearing battery-operated headsets so they could hear the leader and play the same thing at the same time.

“They're going to start in a few minutes. This is going to be really fantastic.” Bob spread out a blanket over the grass, and they sat.

“Why aren't you playing something with them?”

“I play drums, not guitar.”

“Drums aren't electric. At least not your old ones. You could play them here.”

He grinned. “A drum set doesn't easily fit on the back of a motorcycle.”

“Oops. I never thought of that.”

The strumming guitars halted their conversation, and soon the rich sound of five hundred voices carried songs of praise throughout their own gathering, echoing off into the distance to whatever animals lived on the land.

Bob preferred a small congregation to a large one, but the combined effect of so many people singing and worshiping together was like nothing else, especially out
side, where there were no boundaries. He wondered if this was a small sampling of what it would have been like during the journey of the twelve tribes of Israel in the desert, except those people would have been walking, not arriving on motorcycles of course.

Though George didn't know all the songs, unlike him, she participated where she could, and a few times he thought he saw tears shimmering in her eyes.

At the end of the worship time, everyone broke into small groups to pray, to catch up on events since the last time they saw each other, or simply to spend time with a friend.

As more people crawled into their tents for the night, Bob eventually found himself alone with George. He led her away from the brightness of the fire and pointed to the sky. “Look at the stars. You don't see this from the city.”

She tipped her head up. “I've never seen anything like it. It's breathtaking.”

“This time of year you see more shooting stars. They're fascinating to watch. This is the only time I can forget about everything and just be quiet in God's presence. Looking up at the big, wide-open sky reminds of how little I really am, and how big God is. Big enough for all our burdens.”

George sighed. “I have to admit that I've never had so much to deal with as I have in the last few months. But when I'm busy all day, and so tired at night, I can push it aside. Here, though, I feel like God is telling me to make some decisions.”

He turned and looked down at her. At work, and even in the kitchen with one notable exception, he didn't stand particularly close to her. Yet now, in the quiet of the dark, open field, with nothing and no one else
nearby, her small size made him want to get as close as he could, wrap his arms around her, and shelter her from the world.