His Uptown Girl. Gail Sattler

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 in 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