Point of Attraction

by Margaret Van Der Wolf

  Georgie knew she should be listening, but she was confused by the puzzle of it. Why take Raggs? As usual, she had taken the cash receipts to the bank before it became too tempting an amount. So there was just enough in the till to run the shop for the evening; enough to satisfy a thief so he would, hopefully, not harm whoever was working at the time. Yet only Raggs had been taken.

  “George, tell me you will call this in. George?”

  Mason’s voice finally broke through Georgie’s jumbled reflections, and she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She knew her long self-imposed routine: hold back your grief, keep it inside, at least until you were alone in your room and your head lay on your pillow. She did it through her mom’s illness and death, her dad’s heart attack and death, and then her beloved husband Sam. Now Raggs. Keep it inside, Georgie.

  “All right, guys. Class is on,” someone called out from the door.

  The three of them looked up at the summons, but said nothing nor moved. Georgie felt Mason and Cassie’s eyes, the question left unspoken, until Cassie’s arm draped her shoulders to pull her in, as she always did, with a tight and quick hug.

  “Are you up to it?” Cassie asked, giving her another squeeze. “We could go home. No biggie.”

  It was all Georgie could do to swallow and say, “What could I do if I were home?”

  “Point taken. Come on then. Class it is.”

  ~~0~~

  During class break, the group split up into their smaller clusters among the other students of the Community College; those sitting on the courtyard benches smoking, others choosing the indoor tables. They all snacked on the cafeteria’s offerings while the writers discussed the evening’s chapters already critiqued and those yet to be gone over.

  At an inside table, Georgie tried to focus on the remarks given on her chapter and the inserted notes on the pages, but couldn’t. When she sipped on her coffee to moisten the dry cookie in her mouth, there was no taste. Should she tell Steven and Paula about Raggs, she wondered? Then thought how silly that would be. Paula had her law books to hit while carrying the first grandchild in the family, and Steven had his schoolwork. Med-school was no easy thing.

  “Is it okay if I sit?” Mason asked.

  “Sure,” Cassie answered, also arriving with her own cup of coffee.

  “George?”

  “What?” She looked up at them. It took a second for her to grasp what Mason was asking. “Oh. Yeah. Sure.”

  Taking off his cap and setting it on the table, he then sat next to her. “Have you heard anything more?” He ran a hand over his hair that Georgie noticed was an attractive one-level color up from black.

  Georgie shook her head. “I told the girls to go home. We’ll look for her in the morning.”

  “I gather Raggs has been with you a while,” he said.

  Cassie reached over and Georgie smiled, squeezed her friend’s comforting hand with a deep breath and sigh.

  “A very long while,” Georgie said, avoiding Mason’s inquiring gaze, and shrugged, but the weight of loss would not be shed so easily. Two students walked in from the courtyard. A gust of chilled evening wind swept the room, carrying with it traces of their nicotine habit.

  Cassie’s cell phone went off and she excused herself. Georgie kept her focus on her cuticles, but her thoughts would not abandon her Raggs.

  Mason lowered his head slightly and finally managed eye contact. And just as Georgie feared, the soft gray hue of those eyes did a number on her. If she had killed someone, she would have confessed on the spot, and she began her tale.

  “When my mom found out she had ovarian cancer she made this doll for me; to take care of me, she said.” Georgie struggled with the rising sadness causing her voice to quiver and tears to well. Keep it inside, Georgie. And she forced them back. “She... uh... she knew she was going to die, and said if ever I needed her or wanted to talk to her, I could just talk to Raggs, and she would hear me. Raggs would be our connection. I was...” The lump in her throat choked her and her voice broke, forcing her to clear her throat before going on. “I was eight. She died a year later.”

  Mason’s fingers moved and Georgie thought he was about to reach for her hand, but Cassie came back to the table. She was tying up her shoulder length deep carrot-red hair, then picked up her notebook. “Well, that was one of my patients. She’s in labor... no messing around this time. I have to go to the hospital. Georgie, can you drive me? Then you can take the car, leave it at the shop. April will come get me when I finish with the delivery. We can pick it up then.”

  Georgie nodded. “Sure thing.” And she too began to gather her class work.

  “You know, I could take you home,” Mason offered, his large hand draping over hers.

  Georgie froze.

  It had been three years since the touch of a man gave her the comfort of strength and promise of protection. It was a struggle not to draw back her hand for no better reason than just how much she liked the warmth of his touch. “No. I’m fine, really. Cassie and I have done this before.”

  “Oh, yeah. OB/GYNs have no lives. But you know, that’s not a bad idea, M&M taking you home.”

  “M&M? Is that what you two call me?” Mason asked.

  They laughed.

  “No. I call you BADGE 747,” Georgie admitted.

  “At least you’re smiling,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze, and Georgie could swear the gray of his eyes deepened in color. “But seriously, I can take you home. Not a problem.”

  The glint off his wedding ring stabbed Georgie and she bit her lip in punishment for enjoying the little flip her heart took at his offer. She slowly slipped her hand clear of his, and a shadow passed over his face as his smile lost its light. The wife, she thought, of course. An awkward pause hovered like stale cigarette smoke.

  “Okay,” Cassie said, dropping her keys on the table. “This silence is more pregnant than my patient in labor.”

  “Maybe George has a jealous husband,” Mason said. “Wouldn’t do to come home with a strange man.”

  “You’re the one with the wedding ring,” Georgie countered, pointing at his finger. How did this become about her?

  “Wedding ring?” he asked, staring down at his hand. His eyebrows twitched as though in surprise, as if some alien thing had attached itself to his finger.

  She almost laughed at the expression on his face, and said, “Yeah, wedding ring.”

  “This is just too funny to miss,” Cassie said, “But, kiddies, I have a baby on the way. Did neither of you realize you’re both wearing wedding rings? Now I know Georgie’s widowed, but I have to admit it never occurred to me to look at your finger or I would never have suggested you take her home. So, quickly, now. Explain. I have to get going here.”

  “My wife died four years ago,” he said, turning over his hand, still staring at the one finger as it bent slightly then straightened. “I guess I just never thought about taking it off.”

  “Okay,” Cassie said with an exaggerated sigh and snatched up her keys. “Mason, you’re taking her to her shop to get her car. Make sure she gets home. One improper move from you and you will die. Remember... I’m a doctor. I can make it happen so no one suspects a thing.”

  Georgie flinched as Cassie’s fingertip poked the top of her head and gave her hair a quick tug.

  “Call me when you get home.”

  Georgie rubbed the spot. “You make sure you keep your cell phone on in the delivery room. Your patient will love it, I’m sure.”

  But Cassie was already on her way out the door, one hand up waving her good-bye, the other holding the cell phone to her ear.

  Georgie gave Mason an apologetic shrug. “Some people are blessed with big brothers. I have Cassie.”

  “She makes two brothers,” he smiled.

  After a quiet moment, Mason clicked his tongue and winked. “Well... I guess it’s just you and me, kid. What do you want to do?”

  “That is such a bad Humphrey Bogart,” she told him, and gather
ed up her chapters. “But since I now have an armed escort, I might as well finish class. You are armed, aren’t you?”

  He put his cap back on and eyed her through the corner of his eyes. “Let’s just say you might want to take care how you critique my work tonight.”

  Chapter three

  After giving Mason the basic directions to her shop, Georgie ventured into breaking the awkward pause. “Being on the force... there must be a lot of stories in here,” she said, pointing to her head then at his. “You know... Joseph Wambaugh. How long have you been on the force?”

  What else can you talk about on a twelve mile car ride with someone you hardly know? Other than Cassie, this was an entirely new class. In three Wednesdays, Georgie had come to know the main character in Mason’s book, but not the author himself, then found herself wondering what she was doing taking a ride from a stranger. He was a fellow writer, but a stranger nonetheless. A cop, true, but he wouldn’t be the first cop with a dark side. Do bad guys look this good in light blue turtlenecks and black leather jackets?

  “I’ve got fifteen years behind me including a six year stint in the army. I was an MP four of those years. So the choice of what to do when I got out was clear. You know... military police, civil police.”

  As he spoke, Georgie noticed him shift in his seat, getting more comfortable behind the steering wheel. Sam used to do that, she thought, and like Sam, Mason kept both hands on the wheel. She wondered if it was because she was in the car, then decided Mason’s mode was more from his training. Always be in control.

  “That’s a lot of years for notes on a rich assortment of people, character habits, incidents. You have kept notes, right?”

  He nodded with a hint of a smile. “And you?” he asked. “Have you always been into writing?”

  Writing, she thought. He didn’t ask how long she’d been a hairdresser. That was always the first question. Then would come the, “Why hair dressing,” as if she should somehow defend her career, never mind that it offered her an endless assortment of characters for writing.

  Well, this is interesting, she thought, and almost laughed at how such a little thing... pleased her.

  “What?” he asked.

  “What what?” she countered, feeling as though she’d been caught with a dirty comb in her hand or plagiarizing a piece of literature.

  “You looked as though you were about to laugh or something.” He gave her a quick glance through the corner of his eye, then focused straight ahead. “Did I say something funny?”

  “No,” she said, waving a hand in denial then settled back in her seat. “It was just a thought that was so out of context it would mean nothing to anyone else but me. But to answer your question... yes, I’ve always scribbled. I even used to go up on the roof of our house to write, much to the annoyance of my dad, but he knew... if I disappeared? Look on the roof first.”

  “And you’ve never been published?” He shook his head, making that little “tisk” with his tongue. “Doesn’t hold much hope for me. You’re good, and yet not published in all this time?”

  To this, Georgie did laugh. “You think I’ve always been at this level? Oh, I take that back. My letters to the editor have always been published. Got my butt into a lot of trouble with those letters over public issues.” Then waved a pointing finger. “Oh, turn left at the next light.”

  “Published is published,” he said, steering the Toyota into the left turn lane.

  “It’s a lottery. Right time, right place, right reader, and right frame of mind. Lot of rights to happen. Pull into that Western Shopping Center there,” she pointed. “Actually, I stopped writing while the kids were growing. Once they were grown, Sam, my... husband, and the kids stated flat out, they would no longer be used as excuses for me not writing. One day, I came home, and there was a computer all set up in a room with shelves filled with my old reference books. They worked all day getting it all set up.” She pointed again. “That’s my shop there.”

  “Dare To Care Salon,” Mason said.

  The dash lights reflected in his eyes as he looked over at her, and Georgie wondered if the flush of heat showed in her cheeks.

  “Do you cut guys’ hair?”

  “Eighty percent of our clientele is men.”

  “Oh, I can believe that.”

  “My car is over there, the red Subaru,” she said, indicating the area furthest away from the stores facing the street, and waited until he pulled up next to her car, leaving an empty parking space between. “I have two stylists that are cuter than hell and damn good at their job. They do draw in the young guys.”

  He put an elbow on the steering wheel and rested his chin in his hand to look over at her. “And the more mature men?”

  Georgie ran her fingers through her short flippy hair, shook her head with an elaborate toss, then deliberately batted her lashes at him. “Why, they come to me, Badge 747, they come to me.”

  He laughed, and she found it a nice sound, pleasing, with a good smile, not showy and wide, just... honest.

  “You do play the game well,” he said.

  “Yes, I do. I have over twenty years behind that chair bantering with men and women.” She opened the door, shivered in the cold breeze, and took out her hat. With one tug, she put it on, pulling it over her ears, then gathered her writing. “Thank you for bringing me to my car. You really don’t need to follow me home.”

  “And have the Mad OB/GYN after me? Not on your life. I’m making sure you get home.”

  “Really, it’s not...”

  “Watch it!” Mason called out, just as another car pulled into the empty spot.

  Georgie’s heart took a leap before she recognized the dark green Durango as the window whizzed down. “Jeffrey?”

  “Is everything okay?” he asked her, but his focus was on Mason.

  “Sure. Why not?” she told him, slightly shifting her stance so he could get a good look at Mason.

  “I thought you said you were going to your class, but I guess... I mean, I just thought...”

  “I’m fine,” she said, and made a show of the class work she held in her arms, “and yes, I did go to class, but Cassie, being the ever-on-call OB/GYN, had to go deliver a baby. Mason, here, was kind enough to bring me to my car.”

  Mason tipped his finger to the bill of his cap.

  Jeffrey pursed his lips, his eyes and mouth twitching before smiling, but Georgie thought it looked forced, stiff, and hardly shy.

  “Are you on your way home now?” Jeffrey asked. “Would you like...”

  “Yes, we are. Mason and I are going to discuss our chapters over coffee. So I’m fine. It was kind of you to think of me, though. By the way...”

  “Good night then.”

  Before Georgie could say anything more, the window went up and the vehicle pulled out of the slot. She watched as he drove out onto the street and heard the squeal of his tires.

  “Wow,” she murmured, very taken back at Jeffrey’s actions. And what was that with the squealing of the tires? “I was going to ask him if he noticed anything when he was at the shop, but...”

  “How do you know he was there?”

  “What? Oh. He was making an appointment as I went out the door to go to class.”

  “Is he the type who might take Raggs?”

  “Jeffrey?” Georgie looked at Mason. She felt the tug of her brow furrowing in disbelief while her breath misted in the cool moist night.

  “As a joke, maybe?”

  “Again, Jeffrey?” She smiled as she shook her head. “No.” She laughed. “No, no, no.”

  “But you did look surprised at the squealing tires.”

  “That was... strange, to say the least.” She pondered over the moment while reaching into her pocket for her keys, and was unable to comprehend Jeffrey’s actions.

  “And can I ask... not that I mind now, but can I ask what that was about? You telling him we were going to have coffee and go over the writing?”

  Her jaw muscles ached from cle
nching her teeth, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell Mason she was blatantly using him to make Jeffrey see there was nothing there for him to cling to as in “them” as a couple. But that felt so... so self-absorbed, so utterly conceited. A deep sigh escaped her. Her uneventful day had somehow become this... this evening filled with unanswerable problems and complications. And her poor Raggs. Georgie would rather the thief had just opened the shop till and taken the money. But to take Raggs!

  “Is he a boyfriend wannabe?”

  Georgie shrugged and looked in the direction Jeffrey had driven off. She’d hear about this tomorrow... or the day after, whenever his haircut appointment had been scheduled.

  “Do you mind if I do see you home?”

  “What?” she asked, being jerked back to the moment.

  “Does your mind wander a lot like this?” he asked.

  “No,” she half snapped at him, then waved a hand to erase to her mood. “I’ve just never had so much on my mind like I have this evening. But honestly, you don’t have to see me home.”

  “Humor me on this, George. I won’t hold you to your little lie to... what did you say his name was?”

  “Jeffrey Sanders.”

  Mason nodded that he heard, but made no comment. Cassie, what have you gotten me into, Georgie thought with a deep breath, but as she looked into Mason’s eyes, the concerned face, there was a tug to a place she thought buried with Sam.

  “Okay,” she heard herself say, “Follow me home, but keep up. I don’t want to keep looking in the rear view mirror for you.”

  “Oh, I think I can keep up,” he smiled.

  ~~0~~

  This is not wise, Georgie told herself, turning the key in the Subaru ignition. First you take a ride with a man who’s basically a stranger. Now you’re guiding him to your doorstep. Yeah, so he’s tall, dark and handsome. Great eyes. Ax murders don’t have AX MURDERER written on their foreheads.