His Uptown Girl (8 page)

Georgette grasped the edge of the table to steady herself. “You don't mean that.”

“I've put up with your foolishness until now, but this job is the final straw. I've given you everything you wanted, and more, and now I find out that you're spending your time with some backwoods grease monkey! It's time for you to put your ridiculous ideas aside, and start doing things my way. You've forced my hand on this.”

Georgette's entire life flashed before her eyes. It was true, she knew she'd been spoiled, but, except for the job, she'd always done everything her father desired.

“And from now on, I want you to attend Sunday-morning brunches either with me or with Tyler.”

“But I go to church on Sunday mornings.”

“Church is a crutch for people who are weak. You won't be going back there. Or to your job. Is this clear?”

Her voice trembled. “No, Daddy, it's not clear. Why are you doing this to me?”

His voice deepened. “You are an Ecklington. You don't need church. And you certainly don't need a job.”

Perhaps she didn't need the job, but she did need church—and God—more than she ever had in her entire life. She knew God wouldn't turn His back on her if she didn't go to church on Sunday, but she had so much to learn, and she needed to be with other believers. Even though she could be close to God anywhere, she found it difficult when surrounded by decadence. Church was where she truly felt God's presence. God's presence wasn't exactly welcomed in her home.

Her father's voice broke into her thoughts. “I'm sending you home in the limo to give yourself time to think. I'll follow with Tyler. When we get there, I will hear your decision.”

“My decision won't change,” Georgette snapped. She scooped up her purse and stomped outside to the limo. The driver opened the door, she slid inside and the door closed, cutting her off from her father and the rest of the outside world. In the past, she'd always considered the limo a safe haven. Tonight, it suffocated her.

She turned around and watched through the rear window as Tyler and her father walked into the parking lot together.

They were a matched set. Tyler would do anything her father said, and anticipate his every need for the possibility of gaining his favor. Her father reveled in Tyler's adoration, which made Tyler expect even more from the relationship. Everyone knew where things were heading. Tyler would rise up quickly in the ranks of her father's empire.

Knowing Tyler, Georgette should have expected his duplicity. Not to see that he'd initially been acting on her father's instruction made her ten times the fool. But then, it was her own fault. It had been easier to believe what she wanted to believe and that had b been her downfall. She knew what Tyler was capable of doing. He acknowledged no guilt in taking advantage of her or forcing her hand in marriage.

It didn't matter what her father said or what threats he made. She would never marry Tyler. For any reason. Ever.

If she was going to marry someone, she would marry a man like Bob—a man who was honest and hard-work
ing, and a wonderful example of how to lead a good life, with God in the middle of it.

The car stopped in front of the house instead of pulling into the garage.

She wondered if she could tell the driver to keep going, but the door opened, sending in a draught of cold air. Her father must have taken a short cut.

He released the door handle and stepped back. “What do you have to say for yourself?” he ground out between his teeth.

“Certainly you can't expect that I'm going to marry him,” she pointed at Tyler as she scrambled out, “just because you don't approve of my job or the people I've been seeing lately.”

“I most certainly do. For a long time, I've hoped that you would marry Tyler. He would fit well into the business, and our family. In fact, I'm considering a plum position for him right now, based on his dedication.”

Tyler might have been a good match for the business and for their dysfunctional family, but not for Georgette's heart. After attending dozens of events since their “arrangement,” she liked him even less than she had before. Now, after what he'd done today, he downright disgusted her. She certainly couldn't marry him. The only reason she would ever marry was for love.

She turned to her father. “Why did you marry Momma?”

“I married your mother because she was pregnant. Getting married was the right thing to do.”

“Did you love her?” she choked out. They'd always been told Terri had been premature.

He cocked his head to the side. “Not really. But she loved me.” He arched one eyebrow and turned to Tyler
who smiled in response. “I was young and our parents saw to it that that we did what was expected. Everything was fine until your mother got all those ridiculous ideas in her head.”

Georgette pressed her hand over the gold cross beneath her dress. She had a feeling she knew what he meant by “those ridiculous ideas,” and wondered for the first time if her mother had really left, or if she'd been “disowned,” to use her father's term, for her beliefs. It didn't matter.

Even if the reward was the smallest corner of her father's corporate world, she couldn't marry for any reason other than the love of a good man.

Like Bob. Not that she was in love with her boss, of course, she corrected herself.

She cleared her throat. “I already told you. I won't marry Tyler. Ever.”

Her father extended one arm, drawing her attention to a stack of boxes stacked haphazardly on the grass. Clothing and some of her personal items from her bedroom stuck out at odd angles, telling her that the boxes had been packed in a hurry by his staff. A cold numbness started to overtake her. Georgette stepped forward, reached into one of the boxes, and pulled out the stuffed teddy bear that she kept on top of her bed.

“I'm giving you ten seconds to change your mind.”

When her father had said he'd disown her, she hadn't thought he'd meant that he would kick her out immediately. This must be the same way her mother had disappeared in one afternoon.

Tyler's voice sounded behind her, every word echoing into her brain. “I'll be a good husband to you.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Her fa
ther called himself a good husband, too, claiming the failure of the marriage was her mother's fault and nothing could be blamed on him. He'd kicked his wife out, and now he was kicking out his daughter.

“Your time is up. What's your decision?”

“I haven't changed my mind. I'm not going to marry Tyler, I'm not going to quit my job and I'm not going to quit going to church.”

“You're no better than your mother.” He pointed into the center of his chest. “I'm the one who brings in all the money. I'm the one who provides a home and all the perks that go with the fortune I bring into this house. I gave her anything she wanted. She had no right to refuse to do things my way. And neither do you!”

After experiencing a sample of what he considered publicly acceptable in order to get ahead, Georgette could only guess at his less public methods. “But what if what you're doing is wrong?”

His face turned red. “How dare you criticize me, after all I've done for you! Is this what that church does to you? Teach you to question my judgment and my success? Your mother was exactly the same. Get off my property. I no longer consider you an Ecklington.”

Georgette stared at the pile of the boxes, not many, really, considering all the material items she considered hers, even though most of it had been paid for by her father. Her father had obviously instructed the staff to be very selective in order to keep what was “his” by purchase.

“And get that monstrosity you call a truck off my property, as well. If it's not gone by morning, I'm having it towed to the junkyard.”

She turned to see that her truck was in the driveway,
not in the garage, where she had been storing it while she continued to work on it. In all the excitement, she hadn't noticed it. “But…” her voice trailed off.

“Don't try using any of your credit cards. They're all in my name, and I've cancelled them. Soon I will be removing all the money I have deposited in your account since that account has my name on it too. All that will remain is the money you've put in from your pathetic job. Less what you've spent in the past month, of course, if that leaves anything at all. I'm giving you one last chance to get some sense into your head and change your mind.”

Georgette stiffened. “Never!”

“You have no idea what it takes to succeed in this world. No one will do anything for you without getting something in return, and you don't have what it takes to handle any kind of pressure. You won't survive. You'll be back, and when that happens you'll do things my way.”

Her father turned, opened the door, and stepped into the house. Tyler followed him inside and the door closed.

G
eorgette stood, facing the closed door, unable to move.

The reflection of the moon on the smooth wood mocked her with its silence.

Everything she had taken for granted was gone.

Her car. Her computer. The furniture. Her jewelry. Her tools.

She still had her cell phone in her purse, but she was positive that by morning, that account would be terminated too.

She tried to imagine the contents of her closet, her dresser and the racks of shoes. She couldn't imagine everything stuffed into only a dozen boxes, but that was all that remained. Her life had been reduced to a dozen boxes, sitting on the lawn.

Money can't buy happiness.

She didn't need so much money. All that money certainly hadn't bought her a trouble-free life.

But love doesn't pay the rent.

Georgette squeezed her eyes shut. She didn't have to
worry about paying the rent. She didn't have a home to pay rent on.

But she would. She refused to go crawling back to her father, and do the wrong thing for the wrong reasons.

For years, she'd wanted to become independent, and now she was going to do it.

She pulled her keyring out of her purse, removed the key to her father's car and the key to the front door, and left them on the doormat, which she would never cross again. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes and loaded the boxes into the back of her truck, one at a time.

The truck didn't start easily, but it did start. Fortunately she'd insured it so she could take it on test drives as she continued to work on it. The insurance was one thing her father couldn't cancel.

She drove away from her father's home without looking back.

She didn't know where to go. Without looking, she knew she had under five dollars in her wallet.

Her first impulse was to go to the bank machine, but by the time she got there, her father's threats had indeed come to pass. He'd gone into the account online and transferred out all the money he'd given her, just as he'd said he would. Of course, since she'd counted on her allowance, she'd spent more than what she'd received in her pay. The account now held exactly one dollar, which was probably the minimum requirement to keep the account open.

She couldn't seek shelter at the homes of any of her current friends. She wasn't even sure she could call them friends. She hadn't seen a single one of them since she'd started her job, and not one of them cared enough to ask about her. Not one of them would ever do anything to cross her father.

The people she called friends were the guys at the race track. Yet those friendships were minor ones, not true personal relationships. No one there knew her background, and she worked hard to keep it that way. Many of them lived from paycheck to paycheck, and she didn't want to intimidate them. Besides, most of them were married and so she couldn't very well show up at the home of a married man on Friday night, asking to spend the night. She certainly wouldn't ask any of the single men that question.

Another option would have been the people she knew from church, but she didn't know anyone well enough to impose. The only people she'd had minimal contact with were those in the family from whom she'd bought the truck, and they had enough problems of their own without adding hers. Lately she hadn't even been going to her own church. Instead, she'd been sneaking into Bob's church, arriving late because of the long drive, and leaving right at the close of the service. Bob never even knew she was there, but she needed to get home before her father became too angry with her for going to church at all.

For lack of anywhere else to go, Georgette drove to her sister's house. Her sister wouldn't agree with what she'd done, but she would certainly understand. Whatever Terri thought, Georgette needed someplace safe and warm to retreat for the night, a quiet place to think about her future.

She knocked softly at the door and heard shuffling, then silence. Georgette waited for a significant amount of time, and when no one answered, she knocked again.

“Terri? Are you there? Byron? It's me. Georgette. Please let me in.”

More shuffling sounded on the other side of the door, and then it opened.

Her brother-in-law stood in the doorway, his clothing disheveled. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

She looked down at her watch, then back up again. “It's not really that late, but…” Georgette's voice trailed off.

Romantic music echoed in the background, but Terri was nowhere to be seen. A bottle of wine sat on the coffee table, with two half-empty glasses beside it. A pair of ladies' shoes lay on the carpet beside the couch. Pretty shoes, but they were big. Not her sister's size fives.

“Terri isn't home. Is there something you need?”

“Where is she?”

“She was out with Melissa, shopping all day. They went out for dinner and the evening, and she's spending the night downtown with Melissa.”

A sick feeling gripped her stomach. Georgette glanced from side to side. Along with the faint smell of the wine, she could smell a woman's perfume.

“May I come in?”

“Actually, I'm really tired, so this isn't a good time. I'll tell Terri you were here.”

For the second time that night, a door closed in her face.

This time, instead of standing there and staring at the closed door, Georgette turned and ran straight for her truck. She drove away quickly, without thinking of where she was going.

She found herself in the parking lot of the repair shop.

She slid out of the cab and stood in the lot, empty except for her pickup, and stared up at the decidedly non-glamorous, board sign, lit up by a pair of colored spotlights. In the darkness, the old building looked even more drab than usual, but at least the night hid the
marred surface where vandals had once written crude words, though Bart had cleaned most of it off.

It wasn't much, but she had nowhere else to go. Payday was six days away. She had less than half a tank of gas, almost no money in her wallet, no credit cards, and no one left to turn to.

A cool breeze caused her to shiver.

Without digging through the boxes, she wasn't sure she even had a jacket.

She ran her fingers along the keys in her hand. About a week ago, Bob had given her a key and the alarm code, saying that in case of an emergency, she might need to come in early, or lock up one night.

This might not be an emergency in the strictest sense of the word, but the shop was her only safe haven for shelter and warmth for the night.

She said a quick prayer that she'd remembered the code correctly, and opened the door. Just as Bob had warned her, the system started with a series of beeps. She quickly pushed the code into the buttons on the keypad, and the building went silent.

While the shop was located on a commercial roadway, in this end of town it wasn't exactly a major thoroughfare. She stood still, experiencing the silence as never before. Her father's house was often silent when her father and all the staff were sleeping at night, but she was always comforted by knowing they were there.

Here, though everything was familiar, she felt truly alone.

She turned and stared outside. A few cars were lined up along the fence, waiting their turn to be fitted into the work schedule, but her old truck was the only vehicle in the parking lot. She trusted the neighborhood in
the daytime, when everything was bustling with activity, but at night, if someone came by and wanted to steal the last of her worldly belongings, from the back of the truck, she would be helpless to do anything. By the time she could call the police, they would be gone.

She caught the reflection of herself in the large window. She was still wearing her new dress, the one the same color as Bob's eyes. She could do nothing about that. But she could do something about her footwear. She kicked off her high-heeled shoes, retrieved her safety workboots and an extra pair of wool socks from beneath the counter, and slipped them on.

Depending only on the muted light from the street-lamps, Georgette hauled all twelve boxes into the corner of the private office without turning on the light so anyone passing by wouldn't think she was taking things out instead of moving things in, and call the police. Once all the boxes were inside, she moved her truck to the lineup of vehicles along the fence.

When she was done, Georgette locked the door behind her and sank down on the worn couch.

She'd couldn't remember ever being so tired. It was now Saturday, 4:48 a.m. She'd been up at 6:15 a.m. on Friday morning in order to get ready and be at work for 8:00 a.m. She'd put in a full eight hours on the job, and then when she got off, she'd gone shopping for the new dress she'd worn to that fateful Chamber of Commerce banquet. Then she'd moved whatever remained of her material possessions twice, first lifting everything into the back of her truck, then carrying everything inside the building.

The chill of the night started to set into her bones now that she was sitting still. Being tired made everything feel
worse. She hoped that whoever threw her things into the boxes had included a jacket or a sweater. If she couldn't find a sweater, then she could grab any article of clothing and throw it around her shoulders like a shawl.

Except she didn't have the energy to move to find out.

Georgette wrapped her arms around herself, and let her head fall back on the couch.

Her life was a disaster. But, for now, she had a roof over her head and a clean washroom nearby, which was all that mattered until daylight.

When the sun began to rise, that would be her signal to leave. Like most people, she worked Monday to Friday, but Bob worked six days a week, including Saturdays and since it was now officially Saturday morning, Bob would soon be in to open for business though a little later than the weekday opening.

Not bothering to fight back a yawn, she tried to figure out what she could do until it was time to sneak off. No thoughts would form, so she did the only thing she could think of, which was to ask God for help.

No answer came.

Slowly, the world faded to black.

 

Bob tucked the morning newspaper under his arm while he unlocked the door, then pushed it open. He stepped inside and flipped the panel covering to turn off the alarm, ready to punch in the code, but his hand froze in mid-air.

There was no tell-tale beeping that the door had been opened or that the motion detector had caught his presence.

He blinked and stared at the panel. The green light was on, not the red.

Slowly, he tapped his chin with the rolled-up newspaper as he continued to stare at the panel. He had been the last one out on Friday night. If he'd forgotten to set the alarm in his hurry to get home and change for the banquet, then this was another sign that he was working too hard. That was the reason they'd hired George, but they'd obviously hired her too late. He was already losing it.

He began to turn around, then stopped. As if she'd materialized from his thoughts, George lay on the couch in the lobby.

Bob shook his head, but the image didn't clear.

Still in a sitting position, she was sprawled on the couch, her head resting at what had to be a painful angle, her blond hair spread like a halo around her face. She still wore her dress from Friday night, a close-fitting, silky green number that proved there was more to George under those coveralls than just a mechanic.

But the worn workboots on her feet shouted exactly that.

She gave a little snort, her head jerked slightly as if to awaken, then sagged once more.

Bob ran his fingers though his hair and looked outside. The parking lot was empty at 7:30 a.m., except for his own car. So he wasn't totally losing his mind by not realizing she was there before he stepped inside. But that only added to the mystery of how she got there, especially since George was dressed as though she hadn't been home.

Very quietly, he approached her until he was only one step away. He waited, but she didn't awaken.

Bob leaned forward and sniffed the air. He didn't detect the smell of alcohol, only her perfume.

He closed his eyes as he inhaled the faint but heady scent more deeply. He knew it was only the expensive perfumes that could linger for hours and hours and remain sweet, but now that he knew who she was, that she could spend so much money on perfume didn't surprise him.

Bob quickly stepped backward and opened his eyes at the memory.

She was no longer just George the mechanic. This was Georgette Ecklington, daughter of William Ecklington, billionaire magnate of the biggest chain of retail discount stores in the country.

And she was sleeping on his couch. His old, beat-up, dirty couch that he'd repaired with duct tape.

Suddenly, her eyes opened. She blinked a few times, gasped and scrambled to her feet.

Her eyes lost their focus, and she began to sway.

Without thinking, Bob grasped her shoulders to keep her from falling.

After a few seconds, she raised one hand and pressed her fingers between her brows. “I think I stood up too fast.”

“Are you okay?”

She nodded, so Bob released her, and stepped back once more. “What are you doing here? Where's your car?” He looked down at the workboots on her feet. And your shoes…

Her lower lip trembled. “I don't have a car. But I have a truck…” She turned her head and Bob followed her motion with his. Parked in the row of vehicles waiting their turn for repairs, was an old, decrepit pickup truck he didn't recognize.

Her voice shook as she spoke. “That truck is mine.”

“But it's so…” he let his voice trail off. He really didn't care about what she drove, although the condi
tion surprised him. His main concern was George. “You didn't tell me what you're doing here.” He knew she'd been to the banquet with Tyler, and an urge to protect George boiled to the surface. Bob clenched his fists. If Tyler had hurt her or threatened her to cause her to hide, Bob didn't care who Tyler was, or where he lived. Bob would force him to make it right.