George was swiveling in her chair at Happy Time, waiting for Dolores to bury her in some mundane task. She was thinking about how she was proud of Mason for wanting to take things slowly; it meant he was serious about her, but it also made her want him more. Sitting around horny and bored at work wasn't very fun.
While reveling in her frustration George heard a lot of oo-ing and ah-ing going on. She turned in time to see a man with a large, beautiful bouquet coming at her.
"You Millie Haagen?" 'Mason actually remembered my alias?'
"Um, yeah."
"Sign here." The impolite flower-guy shoved a clipboard under her nose. She did it anyway.
"Thanks." She read the card, scribbled in ghastly handwriting: "Dear G, er, Milly, I think you are truly marvelous and I adore you. Have a good day. Love, Mason."
"Ooh, Millie, what a lovely arrangement!" Dolores crooned, appearing out of nowhere. "Who's it from?" Dolores's face was in such a simple, curious expression that George almost laughed, almost.
"Uh, um, Secret Admirer," George wasn't sure what made her lie right then; Dolores had met Mason after all.
"Oh. Well I hope it's not a stalker." 'Huh?' "I had a stalker once - sent me flowers every day. Eventually though I had him put away; he'd been sniffing my garbage cans and stealing trash." Dolores blinked her big brown eyes and shook her head, "Odd man." She walked off talking to herself.
M, er, George sniffed the flowers, trying hard not to smile. She knew Daisy had probably helped Mason pick out the flowers, which must have made him feel silly. She sat there for the rest of the day typing 'All work and no Mason make George a very dull girl' over and over like in that movie "The Shining." She was very pleased and proud of her six pages of insane words when she got up to clock out. She couldn't wait, for once, to finish her reap.
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She re-checked the address of a little yellow house on Baker Street. Right place. "D.L. Brainard, ETD 5:35 pm," she muttered.
A young girl, maybe 9 or 10 years old, answered the door. "Hello, I'm doing a survey. Are you D.L. Brainard?"
"No, I'm Carly." The little girl smiled, "My Grandma is Daisy Brainard; I'll go get her. Hold up." The girl disappeared without closing the door.
In her place came a very tall, brute-looking old broad. George felt compelled for some reason to think of her as a 'broad'.
"Hello there. My granddaughter says you have some questions for me?" She had a rough, comical, and kinda cranky voice. George liked her immediately.
"Yeah, well, I have this survey for, uh, fast food restaurants."
"Well, we don't eat that crap around here," Daisy started to shut the door in George's face.
George quickly pulled and ran her arm over the older lady's arm, extracting her soul (It's weird to think of it as extracting, like you're pulling a tooth). "Please, Ma'am, I have to make my quota," She pleaded, knowing the woman wouldn't care.
"Look, kid, you people are such a bother. Just fill out whatever answers you want and forge it." The door slammed shut and George sat down on the front stoop to wait. She heard a loud crash about six minutes later as well as the panicked scream of one Carly Brainard. Daisy Brainard's soul walked through the door.
"Oh well; I've lived a good life and my son and Linda should be home soon anyways." Daisy shrugged and walked down the steps. "I suppose you'll be taking me somewheres?"
George loved compliant spirits, "Yep. Follow me." They hadn't gone far down the street before a horse appeared in the sky surrounded by glimmering blue lights. 'A horse?' George thought; she had been expecting more. 'What a jip.'
"It's Lightning!" The woman wailed, running at full speed to the lights. She climbed onto Lightning's back and vanished.
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George pulled a strawberry Laffy Taffy out of her pocket and stuck it in her mouth. She hoped Mason's reap had already happened. She took her car to his house and walked up the walk. Surprisingly though, there were white rose petals up the drive to the door.
George smiled, but whispered to herself, "Please don't let there be cheesy music."
A not on the door said simply, "Entre." This one was written in Daisy's delicate, curvy hand.
It had begun to dim outside; the sky blazed red and pink behind George's head. She opened Mason's door to find all the lights off. Candlelight shone in the dining room, so she followed.
Mason sat at the table in nice black slacks and a black, silk shirt. He was holding daisies. George remembered once telling Daisy they were her favorites - she of course had just been mocking the prissy reaper and much preferred desert roses, but how could Mason possibly guess that. There was a nice meal of fried chicken, pizza, and red wine (even sparkling apple cider for Mason) on the tablecloth. There was no cheesy music and Mason looked amazing in the soft candlelight. George grinned, she couldn't help it.
Mason got up and took her coat. He handed her the daisies and moved her chair so she could sit down.
"Mason, this is all really sweet."
"I know," he said stupidly in his sexy English accent. He smiled at George and sat down opposite her. "Um, red wine, my lady?"
"Actually, I think I'd like some cider." Mason smiled gratefully as he poured two glasses of it. He walked George's glass over to her and kissed her cheek. Her hand stopped him, resting on his chest, and she kissed him on the mouth as he bent down with the cider. He nearly spilled the drinks as he instinctively reached out to touch George's soft hair. He set both glasses on the table without pulling back for an instant and knelt down, taking George's cheek in his hand and keeping her mouth captive.
"Georgie, I love you," he whispered involuntarily. She couldn't bring herself to admit to the same and just kissed him more deeply, happily, hoping he would get the message.
Mason felt a little sad - the change of intensity in George's kiss said that she had heard his confession, but she hadn't said anything back. He hoped she was just afraid and really did love him too, but he became unsure. He decided it was enough that he had finally told her something true.
When his lips began to hurt, he pulled back slowly and again kissed George on the cheek. They ate and talked about nothing important.
When they finished, George said, "Thanks, Mason. This is really great."
He beckoned for her to come and sit on his lap, where they kissed more. In a daze, he lifted her and carried her into his bedroom, forgetting why he had decided to wait the night before. Mason whipped his shirt up over his head. He took George's soft hand and ran it down his chest to the tip of his pants and released it. She could feel his Union Jack skivvies; she slid the rim of them down until she felt soft pubic hair. She quickly pulled her hand back up. She felt the light in her own eyes and thought about Mason's proclamations: first that he wanted to take it slow (the thought made her feel guilty; she had started it tonight) and then that he loved her as she wished he did.
She abruptly felt lonely and confused and kind of sick, and told him hurriedly, "I - I gotta go."
"George, I meant what I said. And we don't have to-"
She thought quickly, "I have to go to work early tomorrow. Sorry."
"We can just sleep together like last night," Mason pleaded. 'What did I do?' "Please Georgie, don't leave."
She knew she couldn't stay with him tonight. She loved him too much and wanted him too badly, and above even that, she did not want to have to talk to him about her outburst. She grabbed her coat and left.
Mason punched the bed. He had tried ti give her what he thought she wanted. 'I pushed her.' "I shouldn't have told her I love her," he resolved sadly. "I know she could never love someone as dumb as me, but-" His thoughts had nowhere to go after that. He just stripped and fell asleep.