Road to Reality (4 page)

Mac arrived at the appointed time, then made his way to the front door, but not before an older woman on the front porch stopped him. “Hello, can I help you?”

“I’m looking for Beth.” He looked at the house again. He was sure he had the right address, not to mention recognizing her car in the driveway.

“She’s inside, first floor, the door’s on your left.  I live upstairs and watch that precious angel of hers while Beth works. I’m Mrs. Wilks. How did you two meet?” she asked.             

Mac was feeling a bit uncomfortable. He wasn’t one for gossiping and didn’t know if this woman, who seemed nice enough, was privy to Beth’s affairs. Not that he and Beth had anything going on, but he hoped to change that.  Either way, he was saved from answering when Beth appeared in the doorway with Zoe fast on her heels.

“Dr. Mac,” Zoe cried. She ran to him and raised her arms up for him to lift her. He noticed Beth’s and Mrs. Wilks’s shocked expressions. Before either woman could comment, Zoe was happily chatting with him about princesses and her room. 

Mac caught the way Mrs. Wilks glanced toward Beth with a lifted eyebrow and a knowing smirk. Then she placed her hands on her knees and stood up. “Well, children, its time for me to go watch one of my shows. Have a fun afternoon.”

Following Beth into her apartment, Mac discreetly took note of the surroundings. The place was small but immaculate, and very cheerful. Not in a bold-hurt-your-eye type of a way, but more of a soothing-welcome-to-my-home feeling.  He tried to pinpoint what might have caused that reaction to her apartment, but nothing stood out as he followed her through the living room into Zoe’s room.

“This is a princess room all right,” he said with Zoe in his arms. 

She started to wiggle in an attempt to get down, so he complied by leaning over until her bare toes touched the white-and-pastel-pink throw rug attempting to cover the old hardwood floors. 

Looking around her room, he noticed the pale pink walls and princesses in ballerina shoes dancing along the top of the walls in a very girly border.  A white dresser with bright pink knobs added to the decor.  Even Zoe’s little white bed was covered with a pale pink comforter that had little princesses and castles floating around. 

The kicker was a hand-painted tiara above the headboard that took up more than half the wall. He squinted and realized it sparkled, making him wonder if there was glitter mixed in the paint. No stereotypical licensing princess room here. Nor was it gaudy either, rather it was the right mix of little girl and princess. 

Zoe grabbed his hand and tried to pull him the two feet to the bookshelf. There were strategically placed hand-painted flowers closely resembling the flowers on the blades of her new fan. “See my dollies,” she said, pointing with her casted hand. Then she let go of his hand to grab a doll with her good hand and held it up to him for inspection. “Pretty princess,” she informed him.

“Yes, it is,” he said, crouching down to her level. “Not as pretty as you though.” He couldn’t fight back the wide smile at the picture she made with a princess costume over her clothes and layers of play jewelry around her neck and wrists. Even over her cast.

He looked up and saw a shy smile on Beth’s face.  “Zoe, honey, can you take your dolls and play in the living room where Mommy can see you? Dr. Mac and I are going to put your new fan up, but we need some space.”

“Mac,” he corrected her.  “You can call me Mac, not Dr. Mac.” He leaned down to Zoe. “You too.”

Zoe grinned. “’Kay, Dr. Mac.”

Beth shrugged and smiled at her daughter, as Zoe walked out of the room with her arms full of dolls, the clanking of her jewelry the only noise she made.

***             

An hour later and several mumbled curse words from Beth—and one not so mumbled curse word from Mac—and Zoe’s new fan was installed. The old clunky brown one was now sitting on the floor, a glaring reminder of why fixtures should be replaced every twenty years or so. The wiring had been a bear, not to mention all the screws rusted in place.

“The moment of truth.” Beth picked up the remote. “And it works,” she said, watching the little blades spinning around.

Zoe dashed into the room. “Ohhhhhh, flowers.” She pointed at the ceiling, her bracelets falling to her elbow in the process.

“Flowers are right,” Beth said, picking Zoe up for a closer look.  “What do you say to Dr. Mac? Mac,” she corrected.

“Thank you,” Zoe crooned.

“You’re welcome,” Mac said, enjoying the sight of the little girl in her mother’s arms as she gazed dreamily at the flowers spinning around.  There was a knock in his chest, added to a flutter in his stomach, something he’d never experienced before.

“And thank you,” Beth said with a smile to him, after she placed Zoe back on the floor. “I’m not sure I could have done that alone. It definitely required more than one set of hands.”

“No problem, glad to help.” And he was, glad to help and to spend time with them.  Now, he had to figure out a way to stay a bit longer.

“Mommy.” Zoe tugged at Beth’s shorts, another pair of shorts that Mac couldn’t help but notice when he came in. Or her bare feet complete with a hot pink pedicure. “Can we eat now?”

“Not yet, honey.”

“Dr. Mac eat with us, too?” Zoe asked, looking between the two adults.

Mac looked at Beth and a held his breath, but lifted his eyebrow questioningly, his lips tugging up at the corners. He saw her hesitate and knew Zoe put her on the spot, but he didn’t care, it sounded like the best invitation he’d had in a long time.

“Ah, sure, if you want to,” she said hesitantly, then looked at Zoe’s smile.  “I should warn you, it was Zoe’s night to choose, so it’s chicken fingers and mac and cheese.”

“Mac and cheese, huh?” He let out a little laugh and looked toward a beaming Zoe whose face lit up at the mention the night’s menu. “Sounds like you knew I was coming today. 
Mac
and cheese.”

Zoe looked clueless but continued to grin, causing Mac to shrug and Beth to chuckle at the corny joke.

And hour later, Mac was surprised to find that Beth’s idea of chicken fingers and mac and cheese was nothing like the child’s meal he had expected.  Rather than frozen chicken from a bag and a box with powdered cheese, he saw her pull out fresh chicken and several blocks of cheese, along with milk from the refrigerator.

“It shouldn’t take too long if you don’t mind sitting in the kitchen with us?” she asked him, bringing the pitcher of ice tea over and refilling his glass.

“Not at all. Maybe Zoe can go get one of the puzzles I saw on her shelf and show me how she puts them together?” Zoe’s little feet hit the floor and ran the short distance to her room.

“You’re good with her,” Beth said, then looked embarrassed. “I meant that obviously you are good with kids, but, well, I don’t know, forget it,” she said with a blush and turned back to the stove to check on the milk and cheese in the pan.

Mac understood what she was saying. “I like kids. I always have. Don’t know why, but it’s a good thing considering my profession.”

She continued to stir the rue she was cooking while Zoe climbed back on Mac’s lap with her puzzle in tow. He was so engrossed with Zoe and the sounds of Beth working in the kitchen—the homey feel of it all—that the loud bang caused him to jump and grab Zoe protectively.  Looking over, he thought Beth dropped something, then realized how silly he was when he saw her pounding the chicken on a cutting board with the flat end of a pan. 

She obviously noticed his reaction and apologized. “Sorry. I should have warned you. I’m not used to anyone being in the kitchen other than Zoe, and she is unfazed by all the noises.”

“It’s OK. I wasn’t expecting it, thought I was getting frozen and boxed food tonight. I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to this,” he said earnestly.

Beth looked like she didn’t believe him.  He knew he looked more the type to order mac and cheese at a fancy restaurant—if he ate it at all—than sit in her tiny kitchen entertaining her child. That was why he purposely wore another pair of athletic shorts, a longer length hitting his knees, a simple T-shirt with a discreet logo in the upper left, and running sneakers.  He wanted to take the professional out of the equation.

She turned her head shyly, reminding Mac of when Zoe turned her head into Beth’s neck.  “I like to cook healthy. And it’s not that much more work than the processed stuff, plus it tastes a whole lot better.”

“Either way, I appreciate it.  I don’t do much cooking. It’s a lot of effort for one person.” He threw the last bit out there, figuring she knew that by now, but wanted to confirm it in her mind, in case she wondered.  “Just you and Zoe?” he asked for his own peace of mind.

“Yes, the two of us.”

***

“Well, I better let you get on with your night. This one looks to be ready for bed.” He smiled affectionately at Zoe, who was lying on the couch watching a cartoon, her eyes drooping. It was barely seven o’clock.             

“She goes to bed early. It’s nice for me, actually, and gives me time to unwind and get my chores done,” she explained, awkwardly wiping her hands on her thighs, then walked him to the door.             

“Thanks for dinner, it was great,” he said, amused by how uncomfortable she was acting. He was a fairly good judge of character and he was sure she was as attracted to him as he was to her.

She didn’t seem to be the type of person who invited men over a lot, if ever, based by her actions tonight. He knew that he’d maneuvered his way here and didn’t feel the least bit guilty over it. If he hadn’t, he was pretty sure she would have kept her secret attraction to herself and he would have seen her at Zoe’s appointments only.

“Thank you for the help with the fan again.”

“Have a good night.” He leaned in and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek, then straightened back up. “Better get that princess to bed.”

             
             
“All set,” Beth said with a final pass of the flat iron down her client’s shoulder-length bob.  “What do you think?” she asked, running her fingers through the long wispy bangs parted to the side, partially covering an eyebrow.

“Wow, it’s amazing. And the color—shy of the red undertones—is almost exactly like it was in high school.  Why can’t I ever get it to look this good?” her client, an early thirty-something, asked in awe.

“Thanks,” Beth said, glowing with pleasure for a job well done.  “The trick is to blow dry your hair upside down, give it some body first from the roots, and then straighten it. You’ll get more bounce that way,” she added, as her client moved her head from side to side, watching her hair float and swing effortlessly.

“I’ll try it tomorrow. For now I can’t wait to go show it off to my friends. They’re going to be so jealous. Be ready, you might be getting some new customers when I’m done.”                           

Beth tried to mask the giddiness, but it was hard.  She had only been here six weeks and that appointment was exactly what she needed.

Especially clients like that, she told herself, walking back with a hefty tip in her pocket and a follow-up appointment in six weeks. Her first repeat customer.

“Whoa, Major Hotness alert,” Mitchell said when Beth glided back to her station with a decidedly bouncy step, not even trying to mask her happiness now.

Beth chuckled and shook her head at Mitchell. He was forever flamboyantly characterizing the clients, without their knowledge, of course. 

Thanks to the reception area around the corner and the large reflective mirror angled near the ceiling, they could see who entered without being seen themselves. It was both a security—not that they needed to worry in this area of town—and an arrival announcement for when there was no receptionist up front.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on his head,” Mitchell said, teasing, causing Beth and Charlotte, another stylist, to laugh. 

When Charlotte turned to look in the mirror and add her own wishful thoughts, Beth decided to look, too.  Then wished she hadn’t, stopping in the process of dropping her black comb into the disinfecting solution.

“Even just-plain-Beth is rendered speechless,” Mitchell commented, referring to Beth’s typical response when asked if her name was short for Elizabeth.

“I have first dibs, ladies. Don’t even think about it,” he said in warning, wiggling his eyebrows.

Beth smirked at Mitchell. She didn’t want to burst his bubble, but couldn’t help it. “I don’t think he’s your type.”

“Doesn’t matter, he might be when I’m done with him.” A new fit of giggles erupted from Charlotte while she swept up the remains of hair from her last client.

Rachel, the fresh-faced intern from the cosmetology school Beth and Mitchell both attended, walked back, face flushed, grinning ear to ear.  “Beth, do you have time for another one?”

“Oh no,” Mitchell interrupted, “he’s mine. I called him first.”

Rachel looked back and forth between her boss and Beth. “Ah, he requested Beth.”

Striking a pose, hand on his hip, head cocked to the side, Mitchell exclaimed, “Oh really, Ms. Beth.  Are you holding out on us?”

Beth ignored Mitchell, turned, and addressed Rachel. “Yes, I’ll be up in a second. Thank you.”

“Wait,” Mitchell called out when Rachel started to head back to her desk. “Does Major Hotness have a name?”

“Mac,” Rachel said, letting out a soft breath.

“Dr. Mac? Zoe’s Dr. Mac?” Mitchell asked Beth. “You
have
been holding out!”

“Don’t be jealous, Mitchell,” Charlotte said, scolding and looking a bit jealous herself.

“They didn’t call me Mitch the Bitch in school for nothing,” he replied to Charlotte. Then turned his attention back to Beth. “Well?”

“Yes, Zoe’s Dr. Mac. I mean Mac,” she said, clarifying.

There was no way to hide the embarrassing blush rising up her neck and spreading across her cheeks. Or the mortification she had felt on Sunday when Mitchell showed up at her house with a red tool belt fastened to the hip of his skinny jeans, announcing himself ready to be her handyman.  Telling him she had it installed already caused Mitchell to breathe a sigh of relief, as he wasn’t sure how much help he had to offer. Trying to convince Mitchell that Mac was just being friendly was much harder to do since Zoe couldn’t help gushing about him.

“Well, well, well, you work fast. Been here less than two months,” he said, teasing her some more.

Actually Mitchell had never known her to date anyone since the “dillweed,” which Mitchell affectionately named the sperm donor of Zoe, who’d left her high and dry. Mitchell refused to acknowledge him as a father, and Beth loved Mitchell’s loyalty.

“Stop it,” Beth said. “And don’t embarrass me. Go do some shop owner thing,” she said, pleading, then turned to walk up front to greet Mac.

***

Mac had been racking his brain for days trying to figure out a way to seek Beth out. Nothing came to mind short of pulling her number from Zoe’s chart. Only he couldn’t think of any logical reason to call other than checking on Zoe.  He wasn’t to that point of desperation. Yet. 

But when he overheard a few staff members talking about trying Mitchell's—thinking it was a restaurant after the way Beth transformed that simple child’s meal into something more—he realized he found his answer. 

However, when he searched for the location online, he discovered it was a full service salon and spa. Actually, that made more sense.  All three times he had seen her she had an effortless look to her. Her hair was styled differently each time, looking casual, yet perfect. Even in the ponytail the day of Zoe’s accident and the complicated braid she was sporting on Saturday while installing the fan. 

He saw her turn the corner, hair completely sleek and straight, ending at the middle of her back. Another style. She was wearing what looked to be pale blue skinny jeans and bright floral wedges—he’d learned that was what they were called, thanks to Brooke’s obsession with fashion—raising her normally tall frame a few more inches, now a few inches shy of him. He couldn’t see the color of her shirt because a black smock with a hot pink “Mitchell’s” embroidered in the corner currently covered her upper body.

“Hi,” she said simply.

“Hi yourself,” he replied lamely, then pulled it together. “Do you have time for a quick trim?”
              “Sure, come on back.”

***

She could do this. Or so she tried to convince herself. It was her job. She did it all day long.   Just because she had a crush on him didn’t mean she couldn’t be professional. Even if it meant running her fingers though his hair. Oh man, she needed to get her mind back on track.  It was a haircut, nothing more, nothing sensual there. Only she couldn’t seem to convince herself of that.

Once Mac was seated in her chair, a black smock on, this one with a teal embroidered Mitchell’s on the front, she asked, “What can I do for you?”

Ignoring the muffled cough by Mitchell hovering a few feet away in the guise of product inventory, Beth continued to look at Mac’s reflection in the mirror in front of her. She saw his eyebrow rise and fought not to blush at the loaded question she asked. “With your hair. What do you want done?” she said, clarifying her question.

“A trim I guess,” he replied easy enough.

“OK,” she said, pulling a blue comb from the glass jar on her counter. Running her fingers through his hair first, testing the weight and feel of it, she tried to convince herself once
again
it was just a haircut, for God’s sake. “Feels damp.”

Mitchell’s snort caused her to turn her head sharply and glare at him while he arranged products without skipping a beat.

“I took a quick shower at the end of my shift.”

Trying not to imagine him in the shower was an effort, but she could do it. She hoped. “That makes it easier then. I’ll just spritz it down a bit more.”

Running her hands and the comb through his hair, turning, and angling her head, she tried to decide where she wanted to start on the wavy locks. “You’ve got quite a bit here.”

Mitchell suddenly had a coughing fit behind her and had to excuse himself, Charlotte seemingly joining in. 

“Sorry about them. They’re both getting over a cold,” she said, hoping it didn’t sound as stupid to him as it did to her.

“No problem,” he said with a knowing grin.

“So what are we doing here?” she asked again. Flustered, she completely forgot he already had addressed the question.

“Oh, I think you know what we are doing here,” he answered with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Oh boy, she thought, way out of her comfort zone. Pull it together, she scolded herself, pull it together.  Choosing to ignore his loaded answer, she picked up her scissors and went to work. “Ever think of trying something new?” she asked, and then regretted it almost immediately as she felt the heat creep back up her neck.

Mac continued to grin at her obvious discomfort. “What did you have in mind?” he asked, seeming to enjoy the banter.

I’m a professional, she reminded herself. “Nothing major, tighten up the sides and back, go a bit shorter on top, maybe.  It would be easier, too. You could probably run a towel through it and go. You’ve got enough waves, so it looks like it will fall in place on its own. Want to give it a go?” Crap, she shouldn’t have phrased it that way.

He sent her a look that had her holding her breath, his eyes challenging hers, a sensual smile spreading across his handsome face. “I’m willing to risk it, are you?”

Placing her scissors down, she grabbed the clippers and tentatively smiled back at him. She could play it cool. “Sure.”

Afterward, Beth made her way back to her station and saw Mitchell finishing up with the broom, so she sat in her chair, buried her face in her hands and groaned. “Thanks for embarrassing me, Mitchell.”

“What? What did I do? I’m not the one that said ‘You’ve got quite a bit there,’” he said, mocking her with a wiggle of his shoulders. 

She groaned louder and then looked up at him sharply. “Ugh, I meant the picture you took. But did I really say that to him?”

“Oh, well, the Style Monitor was your idea.” He pointed to the flat screen TV mounted on the wall between his and Beth’s station. A twin TV was on the other side mounted between Charlotte’s and Laurie’s stations, with a much larger TV out front for waiting clients to view. The last TV was in back by the nail dryers.  The slideshow of color, cuts and styles had been Beth’s brainchild, and a good one at that, showcasing the stylist’s best work.

“Besides, that was a pretty awesome cut. How did you make the back graduate in length like that as you moved up from his neck?”

Glowing with satisfaction, she said, “Simple. I switched out the blades on the clippers, and then I blended a bit with the scissors. I hope to be able to do the whole thing freestyle soon.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing I took the picture for others to see. Don’t worry. I used artistic talent, just an angular shot from the side and back. I think black and white for a bit of drama. No one will even know it’s him.”

Rachel walked back to where Beth, Mitchell and now Charlotte were all tidying up for the night. “I’ve got envelopes,” she said. 

Mitchell had long ago realized that the clients preferred to leave their tips anonymously. All employees, from the salon to the spa, had a stack of empty envelopes at the front desk with their names on them allowing clients to discreetly leave their tips. 

There were still a few old fashioned clients who tipped when they were done, but with less and less people carrying cash on them this was the perfect alternative.  They could pay with their credit card, and then Rachel would exchange the tips for cash at the end of the night.

Mitchell reached out a hand and laughed. “Hand those babies over. Let’s see who wins the prize tonight.”

“Why do you even ask that?” Charlotte said, chagrined. “You always beat us.”

“True,” Mitchell boasted, “But the competition makes you girls work harder.” Then he chuckled at their glares.  

Beth ripped open the first five and was pleased. But she was surprised when she opened the last one, not only did it contain a generous tip, but also a note.  She sat down and opened the note to read silently.  Unfortunately, Mitchell dashed behind her and read it out loud. “Give the princess a hug for me.” At the bottom was a phone number. “Little Ms. Beth, you go girl!” He did a little happy dance behind her chair and made a grab for her phone. “Call. Right now.”

“No,” she shouted a bit too loudly, then lowered her voice. “I don’t know. He’s so out of my league, it’s not even funny.  And the last thing I need is Zoe getting attached to someone when I doubt it could possibly go anywhere.  She already thinks of him as her Prince Charming.”

Mitchell looked at Beth critically. “So, what is wrong with Mommy looking at him like that too?  Not all guys are dillweeds, you know.”

Beth sighed.  “That fantasy dream train left the station four years ago, and now I’m left with the nightmares of reality.”