Feral

by Teagan Kade

  I walk into the open doors of the garage, over to the shiny new red workbench. It’s fairly clean still. I rifle through crisp product catalogs.

  Led Zeppelin plays through the overhead-mounted speakers and clean, country air streams through the doors. I finally have a space of my own, untainted by the expectations and assumptions that haunt the Beckett name.

  I have to admit, it feels fucking good.

  It’s a chance to start fresh, to let go of who I was and close the door on all the dark things weighing on my conscience.

  Lost in thought, I’m scribbling down part numbers when I finally hear a throat clearing behind me. I missed the bells jingling from the storefront. The customer must have wandered back here.

  “Excuse me, are you the owner?” I hear a feminine voice asking.

  Robert Plant starts crooning Whole Lotta Love as I swivel around on the cushioned stool. I’m looking down as two sandal-clad, pink-toenail-painted feet come into view. I feel my heart rate jump as my gaze travels up to two long, tanned legs gloriously on display in a pair of dark jean cutoff shorts, and the bold curve of perfectly sculpted, perky breasts barely hidden beneath a blousy cotton tank top.

  Mr. Plant’s right, I need cooling.

  I reach her face and there is no breath left in me. Her hair is a dark auburn riot of curls falling over her tanned shoulders and framing delicate features. Almond-shaped emerald eyes stare at me expectantly, confusion on her face.

  Snap out of it, Mason. “Hi, hello, yes, this is my shop. I’m Mason,” I say, reaching out with my hand, smiling smoothly and flashing her the dimple that’s bagged me a good share of female company.

  She takes it happily, her face breaking out into a wide grin, “Nice to meet you and welcome to Silver Springs. I’m Jeanie.”

  Jeanie… Makes sense. She looks like someone I could easily have dreamed of.

  “I don’t recall rubbing any magic lamps,” I joke.

  She gives me a laughing eye roll. “Yeah, my mom was a big Barbara Eden fan.”

  I’m still shaking her hand. I’ve probably gone on too long, but it’s so smooth and finely boned, fitting neatly in my own. I realize I’ve seen her around town a few times, but never up close and never with her hair down like this. I feel trapped in her gaze.

  “Well, well, Jeanie-doll, I didn’t expect to see something as pretty as you in a place like this,” says my new client, coming out from the back hallway.

  Jeanie looks away, clearly irritated. “Hey, Clint.”

  Clint strolls up, giving her an intentionally obvious once-over and nodding in approval. “You see my baby out front? When you finally gonna let me take you out for a ride in Big Mama again, sweet cheeks?” he asks, licking his lips and looking at her rack.

  Please shoot this juvenile dumbass down.

  “Hmm, I’m thinking never would be a good time for me. That work for you?” she says, crossing her arms over her chest, blocking his gaze.

  Sounds like a good plan to me.

  He looks irritated. “You know you’re gonna regret this, right? You got any idea how many girls would kill to be offered a ride in my baby? How much premium ass I could have without a second thought?”

  Jeanie lowers her voice, clearly embarrassed. “The only thing I regret, Clint, is ever giving you reason to think I was one of those girls. Now, please just leave me alone.”

  His face is flushing red. I’ve seen and heard enough of his hassling. There is clearly history here. I’m not interested in having it relived in my shop.

  I clear my throat and step between them, looking down at Clint. “All right then, looks like I’ve got all the parts written down I’ll need to order. I’ll call you when I hear back from my vendors and can nail down a day for you to bring her in for the work. Here’s a quick estimate for you,” I say, handing him a carbon copy.

  When he doesn’t take it, I put it to his chest, and add, a little forcefully, “Take it, man.”

  Clint hesitates for a moment then snatches it out of my hand. “Fine. Whatever.”

  He storms out the front door, the string of bells slamming against the glass behind him. The growl from his exhaust echoes in the shop as he speeds off.

  I turn back to Jeanie. “You alright?”

  She nods, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Sorry about that. He’s just…ugh, I don’t even know where to start.”

  “Don’t worry about it. So, what can I do for you today?”

  Her cheeks look a touch flushed. I notice the rosy blush spread to the delicate curves of her neck and chest.

  “Right, yes, I came in to talk to you about fixing up a classic car for my uncle—well, great uncle, actually. He’s got a birthday coming up and I’d really love to surprise him with it.”

  I look out the large front window at the street. “Is it out front somewhere?”

  She bites her lip. “Actually, it doesn’t run. It’s been parked in the garage for at least the last seven years.”

  “That’s a long time for it to sit. Can Is ask what was wrong with it when it stopped working?”

  God, she looks hotter the more I stare at her. “I wish I could tell you, but I don’t really know at this point. I know Jerry had talked about the transmission? But before you go thinking I’m a total airhead, I snapped a few pictures of it on my phone.”

  Her arms, exposed in the tank, are lean. Her skin seems to glow in the filtered May sunlight as she moves to pull the bright pink phone from her bag.

  “I know you can’t tell a lot from the pictures, but I thought it might give you an idea. We’ve kept her dry and covered, and I know Jerry took some precautions with the fluids to prevent sediment buildup.”

  Looking at the screen, swiping through the pictures, I can’t help but whistle at the baby blue 1967 Pontiac GTO. “Your Uncle Jerry has great taste. She could use some love to get her looking cherry—new vinyl for sure. Looks like a high-output 389 engine and a three-speed Turbo-Hydramatic tranny… I bet she was a hell of a ride in her prime,” I say, mostly to myself as I study the pictures.

  After a few moments of silence, she asks, hope in her voice. “What do you think?”

  I think you’re fucking perfect. I swallow the thought away. “Well, you said you wanted this before his birthday, right? When’s that?”

  “End of July. Is that too soon?” She’s chewing on her bottom lip and I’m having real trouble looking away.

  Get with it, brother. “So, two months. No, that shouldn’t be a problem. Classic car parts can sometimes be hard to find, but this particular series sold like hot cakes and have retained their popularity, so I don’t think that’ll be an issue. However, one thing you do need to know: with classic parts and the time required to take apart these old beauties, the cost can climb pretty quickly.”

  She’s wincing as she asks, “Just how high are we talking?”

  I tally mentally. “From what I can see here, and if we need to rebuild the gearbox, I’d put it in the range of five- to seven-thousand dollars.”

  The minute the numbers leave my lips I want to reach out and snatch them back. The devastation and surprise on her face tells me she wasn’t expecting it to be quite so high.

  “Oh, I see,” she’s saying, her voice deflated. “Well, that’s a bit beyond my budget. Anyway, thanks so much for taking the time to talk to me and looking at the pictures.”

  “Hang on a sec,” I hear myself saying, not sure what I’m doing. “What kind of budget were you working with?

  She laughs humorlessly. “I feel silly now thinking I could fix up the car for so little, but I have about two-thousand, or just shy of it, actually.”

  Not even half of the low end of the estimate. I could recommend getting credit, but the idea feels dirty and wrong in the face of such innocence. I can’t keep the shop open forever on goodwill, but my savings will see me through for a bit yet…

  What are you doing, Mason? You need income. Just shake her pretty little hand and wish her luck.

  “Any
way, nice to meet you, Mason,” she says, turning her back to me as she heads for the door.

  Something about the sound of my name in her voice grabs me. Before I can think about it, I’m talking.

  “Wait,” I say, catching up to her as she looks at me with surprise on her face.

  “Maybe we could work something out… just between the two of us…”

  “Excuse me?”

  Shit, that came out wrong.

  I can sense her hackles coming up as she backs away from me. “I’m not sure what gave you the impression that I am that kind of girl, but let me clarify, in no uncertain terms, that I am absolutely, unequivocally, not,” she blusters.

  “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I just mean you can put the money you have now as a down payment and make payments on the rest.”

  She is still looking at me suspiciously, so I add. “I’m not propositioning you here, honestly. I don’t expect any kind of ‘favors’ if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  Don’t lie, you sure as hell wouldn’t say no if she was so inclined.

  “Then why did you say, ‘just between the two of us’? Sounds pretty hinky to me.”

  ‘Hinky.’ There’s a word I haven’t heard in a while.

  “I just meant that I don’t want our arrangement to be public knowledge.” I tell her. “I’m just starting out and I’ve got a business to run. I don’t want everyone who comes in thinking I’ll work for free for a pretty face.”

  Shit. Bad move.

  She’s huffing out again. “Well don’t worry. This ‘pretty face’ doesn’t want any favors. For your information, and despite your assumptions, I work hard and earn what I have. If you want to stay in business here, take my advice—people here are hard-working, god-fearing, bootstrap-pulling folks. Pretty faces or not, I would suggest keeping any offers or deals that imply otherwise to yourself. Welcome to Silver Springs, Mr. Mason.”

  “Beckett,” I add, compulsively, as if somehow that was the most necessary thing to clarify.

  She whirls back around. “What?”

  “Mason Beckett. I just thought you should know my name.” She narrows her eyes and takes off again, this time more determined.

  Damn, she has a nice ass.

  She’s stomping off down the sidewalk now and having already made our interaction awkward enough, it doesn’t seem wise to push it any further. But damn, I haven’t felt as alive and aware of a woman as I did when she was chewing me out just now in a hell of a long time, maybe ever.

  For someone whose former career relied heavily on my ability to talk circles around people, I did a piss poor job with Jeanie. Something about her has set me off kilter; the tangy mixture of fire and innocence in her eyes, the way her mouth moved as she was cutting me down, and the way her generous chest heaved with indignation.

  What are you doing, dumbass? You came here to uncomplicate your life. No piece of ass, no matter how shapely and firm, is worth undoing the work it’s taken to get here.

  Try as I might to block her out, over the next couple hours I keep reliving our encounter, how I could have handled or phrased things differently.

  Still, she’s probably right. These aren’t the kind of people I’m used to—the back-scratching and favor-lending elite New York circles I once moved in are a far cry from this place, geographically and philosophically.

  My stomach rumbles. I realize it’s mid-afternoon and I’ve barely eaten. Maybe that’s the problem—I just need to refuel and get my head back in the game. I flip the sign on the door to closed and lock it along with the garage door, setting out down the quaint, flower basket-laden street, looking to drum up some quality, home-style cooking.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  JEANIE

  By the time I get home, having race-walked across town, I’m out of breath. Worked up and flustered from my encounter with Mason and his assumptions, I need a distraction.

  Just what kind of girl does he think I am?

  I’m sorting laundry, hurling it into baskets with more force than necessary.

  I’m a virgin for crying out loud.

  Not that he needs to know that. If anything, that fact has inspired far worse behavior before.

  My watch beeps. I look down, realizing what time it is. I’ve got no more time for these aggravations. I check on Jerry, napping in his recliner, Jinx snuggled warmly on his lap, one of Jerry’s hands on his back mid-stroke.

  Maybe I shouldn’t have rushed out so quickly. Mason’s piercing blue eyes did seem sincere when he tried to clarify, and I really want to do something special for Uncle Jerry.

  Still, thinking about the way he called me a ‘pretty face’… Well, as Lola would have said, I could feel my blood boiling.

  I grab my pale blue diner uniform and put it in my bag to change into once I get to work. They have a retro style that has more to do with the slow progression of time in this town than any efforts to hop on a vintage trend bandwagon. Sweeping my hair up into a high, loose bun, I study myself in the mirror.

  I don’t usually wear much makeup save for a little mascara and the occasional soft cat eye. My body seems unspectacular to me, but I wonder what Mason saw.

  With his strong, symmetrical features, stunningly icy eyes, wavy golden hair, and tall, muscular frame he’s probably propositioned by women all the time. Maybe I shouldn’t take it so personally. Then again, who knows, he might not even be single, though I didn’t see a ring. Still, a guy who looks like that is not likely to lack in female companionship.

  Glancing at the clock, I hurry and throw the bag over my shoulder, dipping down to kiss Uncle Jerry on the head as I leave. His dinner is on the table and I’m hoping the mashed potatoes and gravy I snuck in will perk his appetite.

  I smile at the familiar faces that have surrounded me my whole life as I head out through town. My best friend Ava was out of here the second we graduated, along with most of our grade, actually—heading off to colleges and universities, states, even countries away.

  Part of me wonders what those places might be like, what sort of adventures are out there, but the bigger part of me knows what I have here is special. Some people might not like having everyone know each other’s business, but I love the closeness of our little community. When there’s a fire or someone has to go up to Bakersville for a surgery, the whole town pitches in. We take care of our own. We’re not just residents of a place, brought together by circumstance and coexisting, we’re a family. I know better than to take that for granted.

  I wonder where Mason is from. I think the article said something about New York, but it seems so strange someone with the means to remodel and open a business like his would up and move to a little town like Silver Springs from a big city like that.

  He’s mysterious in a town of no mystery. The biddies will be whispering about him today for sure.

  I’m so distracted I don’t even see Clint jogging towards me from across the street until he’s already upon me.

  Great, just what I need before I start my shift.

  “Well, look who it is, little Miss High and Mighty. Where’s your white knight now, Jeanie?”

  His ego always was fragile. I keep walking, trying to ignore him, but then, it’s been three years and he doesn’t seem to be getting the hint.

  “You know, Jeanie,” he continues, “I’m only going to play nice for so long. You can’t keep treating me like shit forever.”

  Ha! Me treating him like shit. That’s rich.

  “Or what, Clint?” I tell him. “You’re going to take yourself off the table? Is that supposed to make me think twice? I’m not sure you realize this, but you’re not exactly some prize here, bucko.”

  Bucko. Good one.

  He steps in front of me, angrily blocking my way. “And what the fuck would you know about that, you uppity little bitch? You keep those knees closed so tight that shit’s gonna dry up and ain’t nobody gonna want it.”

  Rolling my eyes, I push past him. “If it means you’ll finally leave me alo
ne, that’s just fine by me.”

  His eyes glitter viciously. “Or maybe I have it wrong. You spend so much time with that old man, maybe you’ve gotten a taste for geriatric dick.”

  Without thinking, I slap him, my hand making sharp contact with his prickly, chin-strapped cheek.

  “Don’t you dare talk about Jerry, you sick bastard,” I say, surprising myself with the surge of fiery anger.

  He just smiles, the meanness in his eyes turning his features grotesque.

  “Strong words from the queen of priss, but you think I didn’t see the way you were looking at that greasy mechanic? What’s his name? Mason? You’re just another bitch in heat. You think you’re something special, you’re dead wrong. You’re just another piece of small town ass, just another country whore. Deep down, you’re like every other chick who wants a dick in her. You have the gall to turn your nose up at me, I’m the hottest shit in this town, bitch. Sooner or later, you’re going to see. You all come crawling back. We’ll see if I even want you then.”

  He storms off back across the street. My blood is pumping. I want to slap him again, but he’s already gone. I feel my cheeks growing pink and I glance around, relieved that no one is around. Still, the sense of embarrassment doesn’t fade right away.

  Maybe because he hit too close to the fact you were thinking about Mason after all.

  Focus! I’ll be late for work if I don’t hurry.

  What the hell is wrong with men? I want to think Clint is his own special kind of jerk, but I don’t even know anymore.

  I come up to Lexington Street and my work comes into view. Lexi’s Diner is a Silver Spring’s institution and a hub of activity this time in the afternoon.

  I hurry around the back and rush up the steps to the kitchen. I bustle through the narrow space, trading hellos with everyone on my way to the cleaning closet where I hurriedly throw on my uniform like the world’s lamest superhero.

  Luke is on the grill. I rub his buzzcut for luck as I pass by, our own little tradition. He’s Ava’s seventeen-year-old brother, and by extension, something of a little brother to me as well.