by Gail Sattler
As they crossed the intersection, Bob pointed to the north. “There’s a small mall down that way, if you ever need anything. Next door to the mall are a couple of fast-food places.” He jerked his head in the opposite direction, toward the residential area. “But if you want one of the best corned beef on rye sandwich in the world, there’s a neighborhood market down that way.”
“It sounds like you know the area really well.”
Bob smiled. Little crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. His whole face softened, confirming her earlier opinion that her boss was quite a good-looking man.
“I grew up here. The reason Bart and I chose the location is because most of our initial customers were people we knew. It’s worked well, so we’re still here.”
As they walked, they passed a number of specialty stores and small office buildings in the small commercial district. Not a single building was over two stories tall, and there were actually open metered parking spots on the street. The ambience of the district was nothing like the hustle and bustle of downtown. Georgette liked it.
By the time they arrived at the ice cream shop, Georgette could feel effect of the unaccustomed weight of the steel-toed safety boots on her lower back, far different from too-high high heels. Thinking of her closet-full of spike heels, and the shoes she’d worn earlier, she inwardly shuddered at the thought of forcing her feet back into such things to go home.
“What flavor do you want?”
Georgette stared up in awe at the board listing the flavors.
She probably could have picked an old standard, but today was a day of new experiences. Today was her first day of independence. Therefore, she wanted to pick the wildest flavor she could.
She tipped her head toward Bob and whispered, “What’s Tiger Tiger?”
He pointed to a bin containing swirls of black and orange stripes. “I’ve had that before. It’s a little strange. Orange and licorice. My favorite is the Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough.”
She didn’t care if it was strange. She wanted to have an ice cream flavor she’d never had before, to celebrate her first day of doing a job she’d never done before.
She turned to the kid behind the counter. “I’ll have the Tiger Tiger, please.”
When the clerk began scooping the bright colors into a huge waffle cone Georgette reached to open her purse, but Bob stopped her.
“No, this is my treat. In honor of your first day.”
“Really?”
Bob smiled and turned to the clerk. “And the usual for me. Thanks.” He paid the teenager.
Georgette didn’t know how to respond. Of course it was only a simple ice cream cone, an inexpensive treat, but no one had ever given her anything when her father hadn’t been either watching, or would be informed later.
“Thank you,” she muttered, thinking that she didn’t know enough nice people. Of course the people at her new church were nice, but she didn’t know any of them that well, since she’d only been attending church for a few months.
When the clerk handed her the cone, Georgette gave it an experimental lick, confirming that Bob was right about the exotic flavor—it wasn’t bad, but it was a strange combination.
On their way back to work they walked faster than she would have liked, but they didn’t have time to dawdle.
“The phone hasn’t stopped ringing, Bob.” She paused to stifle her smile. Apparently there had been an ad in the help-wanted section of the newspaper. It had given her great pleasure to tell everyone that both positions had been filled. “Is it always like this? It hasn’t been when I’ve shopped before.”
“It never used to be this busy, but lately it has been. We hope with you here, it won’t be so hectic, and we can all go home at a decent time.”
She would gladly have worked as many hours as they needed, but she never would be able to explain longer hours to her father, who was not exactly pleased that she’d found a job on her own.
By the time they arrived back at the shop, both cones were finished.
“Let’s get you started in the shop. Unfortunately, you’ll still have run into the lobby to answer the phone, but it doesn’t ring as often in the afternoon.”
“Why don’t you have a cordless phone?”
Bob smiled. “Sorry, but that doesn’t work here. When the phone rings, we’ve got power tools going or we’re banging on something. It’s impossible to hear the caller speak. So you really do have to leave the room.”
“I didn’t think of that. I understand.”
“I’m going to give you all the tune-ups to do,” Bob continued.
She opened her mouth to protest that she was capable of much more, but stopped herself. The terms under which she’d been hired stated light-duty. “Sure,” she mumbled, trying to smile graciously.
Bob walked behind the counter and stacked a few work orders into a pile. “Do these, and when you’re finished, come see me.”
Georgette picked up the pile and moved the first car into Bay One, anxious to begin the job she couldn’t have foreseen in her wildest dreams.
As she worked on her tune-ups and waited for the oil to drain, she watched her bosses as they worked. They both worked hard and appeared to share all tasks and decisions equally, yet they still remained friends.
Of all the people Georgette knew, she couldn’t call a single woman a real friend. She seldom saw them outside formal events, and even then those events were mainly venues to make or strengthen contacts. Even at the gym, Georgette felt as if her life was a competition.
She liked to think of the guys at the track as her friends, but she never saw them anyplace else. She suspected much of that had to do with their wives and girlfriends being suspicious that she was there for more than automechanical work.
Everyone at church was friendly, but three months wasn’t enough time to nurture any real friendships, especially when she only saw them once a week, and then rushed home directly after the service, since her father didn’t want her going in the first place.
At four twenty-five, Bart appeared beside her. She hadn’t finished the pile, but it was time to go home in five minutes.
“Didn’t get as much done as you thought you would, did you?”
“No, I didn’t,” she said quietly.
“Before you go, Bob wants to see you. He’s in the office. Okay?”
Georgette stepped out of her coveralls, hung them on the hook, picked up the pile of work orders she hadn’t completed, and made her way to the lobby. Her stomach clenched with the thought that she wasn’t good enough, or fast enough, and that her first day was also going to be her last.
Chapter Three
Bob paused at his customer’s question, halfway through typing the invoice. “It was just a tune-up, Don,” Bob responded. “I guarantee all the work we do, and I guarantee this, too.” Bob hadn’t hovered, but he had watched George when she couldn’t tell he was there.
She knew what she was doing.
“If you tell me what you think she did wrong, I’ll fix it.”
“Well, maybe I spoke too quickly,” his customer said. “It seems to be running smoothly, and I didn’t see any oil on the ground. At least not so far.”
“You won’t see any, either. George did a good job.”
“Do I get a discount?”
Bob gritted his teeth. “You were more than happy when my high-school-age cousin tuned up your car last year. You didn’t ask for a discount then. What makes the difference now? Is it because a woman did the tune-up?”
Don’s voice deepened. “No. Of course not.”
Bob typed the last code for the computer to add the tax, and hit Print. “Good. Will that be on your charge card?”
A flicker of movement in the doorway to the shop caught his eye.
George was standing in the doorway, stiff as a board, holding the orders he knew she hadn’t had time to do. She cleared her throat. “You wanted to see me?” she asked in a raspy squeak.
“Yes. Can you meet me i
n the office?”
He swiped the card, completed the transaction, closed the program, and waited until Don was out the door before he joined George. He sat behind the desk. “Bart and I had a little talk today about you.”
He slid an envelope across the desk. She stiffened in the chair.
“Unfortunately, as a mechanic, you really stick out being a, um…uh…a woman. Our customers have this corporate image of us, as a business, even though there’s only been the two of us. We think you’d fit in better if you didn’t use those blue coveralls and bought gray ones, like ours. Bart’s wife washes everything on the weekends, so buy enough to last a week. Here’s a few crests with our logo. Sew them on right here.” He patted the logo on his own coveralls. “Of course we’ll reimburse you. This is something I should have thought of sooner. Sorry about that.”
She picked up the envelope, and pulled out one of the crests. “This is what you wanted to see me about? My coveralls?” Her blue eyes, big and wide, and very, very pretty took him in.
Her voice lowered to barely above a whisper. “I thought you would be angry because I didn’t finish everything you gave me.”
“That’s nothing to get angry about. We knew you wouldn’t be able to finish everything in that pile in one day, especially with the way the phones have been ringing. But we would like you to get those coveralls as soon you can. I could probably phone the place I usually go. They size them by height. How tall are you?”
Her cheeks darkened. “I’m five foot three. I hope you’re not going to ask me what I weigh.”
“I have three sisters and one of my brothers is married.” A smile tugged at his lips. “I know better.”
“You have brothers and sisters? Plural?”
“Yes. I have three sisters and two brothers. It’s a large family. What about you?”
“I only have one sister. She’s married, so I don’t see her much anymore.”
“I don’t see my family as often as I used to since I switched churches.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But that’s okay. I still see them at family functions and stuff.”
“You can’t see your family because of church? I don’t understand.”
“Well, every Sunday I play on my church’s worship team with three of my friends. Actually, four friends, now. You remember me mentioning the accountant? His name is Adrian. He’s one of them.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him in open astonishment. “My church has a lady who plays the piano, which my father tried to get me to learn as a child, but I just couldn’t get it. What do you play?”
“Drums.”
Her eyes flitted to his arms, before returning to his face. “I’ve never seen drums in church. But then I’ve only ever been to one.”
The words were out of his mouth before he had the chance to think. “You’re more than welcome to come and worship with us one Sunday. It’s a very contemporary service, and the crowd is very informal. Sunday evenings we have coffee and donuts after the service.”
Her eyes widened even more than they had before. “Coffee and donuts? At church?”
“Uh, yeah…” He let his voice trail off, not knowing how to reply. Her surprise told him that she hadn’t been a Christian very long.
“I’d love to go. Thank you so much for inviting me. Can you write down the address?”
Warnings about not mixing business with pleasure clanged through his head. George had done well today, but today was only one day. If her skills and abilities didn’t mesh with what they needed, and if he became too friendly with her, it would cloud his ability to make a rational judgment when her probationary period was over. That clashed with his duty toward her fledgling Christianity, which included widening her Christian circles. He couldn’t very well take back his invitation.
He scribbled down the address for Faith Community Fellowship. “Would you like directions? It’s actually not far from here.”
She scooped the paper up quickly. “That’s okay. I’m sure I can find it. I can hardly wait.”
He pictured the way most people dressed for church, compared to the way George had been dressed when she first arrived that morning.
A newcomer was always noticed, especially during the evening service. A newcomer, coming with him, dressed to the nines, would be almost newsworthy enough to make the bulletin. He wouldn’t hear the end of it for months.
“Just one thing. Like I said, it’s really informal there. Please, wear jeans.”
“It’s Sunday night. Where are you going?”
Georgette smiled at her father. “I’m meeting a friend from work. Then we’ll be having coffee and donuts. Don’t wait up for me! Bye, Daddy!”
She closed the door behind her before her father could question her further. Every day, he became increasingly irritated at the lack of details she provided him about her job, but she didn’t know what to tell him. Her clothes on the first day, suitable for work in an office, let him initially believe what he wanted to believe. But the questions became more and more insistent, and she’d finally told her father she was working as an assistant for two gentleman entrepreneurs in a limited partnership. She had told him her primary job was working in the accounting department, but part of her duties involved customer service.
He watched her leave daily, openly showing displeasure that she was going to work. However, at the same time, he seemed proud that she dressed well. He’d even noticed her new bright-red nail polish, and asked if it was because she was trying to attract a man.
Georgette detested wearing nail polish. She did it to hide the grease she couldn’t get out from under her fingernails. She took the nail polish off on the way to work, while sitting in traffic, then put it back on, on the way home.
She knew Bob wondered why she arrived at work every day dressed to impress and then changed clothes, but she found herself caught in a cycle she couldn’t break. In order to make the long drive across town and be on time, she had to leave before her father. She couldn’t let him see her leaving the house wearing anything other than what his preconceived ideas told him she should be wearing.
So the household staff wouldn’t have to lie for her, Georgette changed back into her good clothes in the gas station washroom on the way home. But, once at home, she changed in order to work on the old truck in the garage, so her father wouldn’t wonder why she smelled like oil at supper time.
Instead of confronting her father, she was acting like a coward.
She pushed that thought aside as she pulled into the parking lot of a well-cared-for building that looked as if it had once housed some kind of small business. Inside, everything had been renovated and decorated in neutral shades of greens and browns, giving the place a welcoming atmosphere. Signs indicated that classrooms and a gymnasium were downstairs. As she stepped forward, soft music from the worship team echoed in the background.
A couple welcomed her as they gave her a bulletin.
“Welcome to Faith Community Fellowship. My name is Kaitlyn,” the woman said, smiling. “Are you new to the area?”
Georgette smiled back. “No, I actually don’t live near here. I’m here with Bob Delanio, except he had to come early.”
The woman’s eyebrows arched. She quickly glanced at the man she was with, then turned back to Georgette. “Then you’ll want to go in right now, so you can find a seat close to the front. Would you like me to show you where to go?”
Georgette shook her head. “I’ll just follow the music. Thanks.”
As she’d said, Georgette followed the music until she was in the sanctuary where Bob, two other men and a woman were at the front.
Georgette slid into a chair, and surreptitiously she checked the place out. It was nothing like the church she’d been attending.
Even though she felt strange, she had worn jeans because Bob had told her to do so. Now she was glad she’d listened to him. Everyone was wearing either jeans or casual clothes. Not a single man wore a tie, including a man she thought might be the pastor.
>
Instead of a stately sanctuary with stained-glass windows and wooden benches, this sanctuary was a large rectangular room. A large opening in the wall showed a kitchen, which indicated that the sanctuary also doubled as a banquet hall. But for now, a single, plain wooden cross at the front, and banners on the walls clearly defined it as a church setting.
Most of the people in attendance were her age, except for a large group of teens, who took up at least a quarter of the seats in the back.
At the church she’d been going to, everyone was solemn, and once inside the sanctuary, silent.
Here, all around her, people talked and even laughed. Out loud.
“Hello, everyone!” a voice boomed from the speakers mounted on the walls. “Welcome to Faith Community Fellowship. Please stand and let’s worship God together.”
Georgette hustled to her feet. To her surprise, the first song was from one of her praise CDs that her father hadn’t managed to find and throw out.
She forced herself not to watch Bob, and to pay attention to the words.
Until now, the only time she’d actually sung God’s praises out loud was in the closed car, but here things were different. The enthusiasm of the crowd around her encouraged her to ignore her father’s warnings not to make a spectacle of herself. Here, she joined in with the rest of the congregation to praise God in song. Being able to express herself out loud among other people opened a rush of emotion she hadn’t experienced before.
By the time they had sung the fifth song in praise and wonderment of God’s glory, tears streamed from her eyes, and she didn’t care if her mascara ran.
When the songs were over, she quickly reached down and started digging through her purse for a tissue.
Bob sat beside her just as she was blowing her nose.
“Hi, George. I’m glad you found us.”
