Chapter 6

When he met Zena Wildman, it wasn't at a church social. She came into his shop one noon hour and handed him a fine old Sunbeam toaster. It was the heavyweight, chromed beauty of the fifties with the slow-down, slow-up feature. The raising and lowering mechanism had quit and almost as an afterthought, Zena remembered Bill's Repairs and decided to see if it could be fixed. It had been in the family for many years and had been given to her by her parents when she moved out. Her brother had bought them a fancy toaster-oven and even though her parents preferred the Sunbeam, they felt duty bound to use the new device.

"Can you fix it?" she asked as Bill examined it. He plugged it in on his test bench and used a small piece of plywood to activate the mechanism. He took a flashlight and shone it down into the bottom of the toasting cell and watched carefully as he tried to activate the switch mechanism. He pulled the cord from the socket and turned back to the attractive woman at the counter.

"Yes, I'm pretty sure I can. This toaster is well worth fixing. You can't find another this good at any price." He was surveying the dark haired beauty has he reassured her.

"How much will it cost?" she asked with a worried look. "I can't afford a lot."

"If it's what I think it is, my minimum charge should handle it. Ten dollars." He looked at her expectantly, hoping she wouldn't flinch at the cost.

"Oh ... that's not so bad. If that's all it is, you can go ahead and fix it. How long will it take?" she asked expectantly.

"Uh, if you come back in a couple of hours, it should be ready for you," he smiled.

"Oh, wow. I didn't think it would be that fast. I'll come back after work at five, if that's OK?"

"Sure. If the door's locked, just knock and I'll let you in." Service with a smile, he thought. Service with an ulterior motive too.

"Great. Thanks very much. I really appreciate this." She flashed him a big, lovely, toothy smile, and then turned and walked out the door. She had given him her business card and he noticed that she was listed as "Customer Assistance" at the most exclusive women's wear shop in town. That would account for the lovely dress and jacket she was wearing. He smiled and wondered if she would be at all interested in someone like him. He had his doubts.

At five past five, Zena tried the door to Bill's shop and it was unlocked. She entered and the little bell above the door announced her arrival. In a few seconds, Bill emerged from the back of the shop, carrying her toaster.

"There you are. All fixed," he said proudly.

"Oh thanks. I'd heard you were good. I'm glad I decided to try you out today."

"Thanks for thinking of me. I always appreciate referral business. Can I ask who recommended me?"

"Uhhhh ... I can't remember. Maybe one of the girls at the shop. We're always talking about the guys we meet," she laughed. "I can see why they'd remember you."

Bill blushed and was conscious of the heat in his cheeks. "Thanks, anyway. I know you'll be happy with that toaster."

"Thanks for staying open for me. Our shop closes right at five and if someone tries to lock up early, there's hell to pay." She was laughing as she said it, but Bill thought her comment was probably accurate.

"Yah, well, not everyone works a nine-to-five job anymore. I try to find ways to help folks get their stuff when they can't manage it."

It was an offhanded remark, but on several occasions he had delivered a repair after dinner when the customer couldn't get in before closing. His house calls were now limited to after-shop hours, but he still believed that word-of-mouth and reliable service went a long way toward building his business. The proof was the constant growth to the point where it was getting difficult to accomplish everything within reasonable working hours. More and more he found himself working nights and weekends to keep up.

"We have those late hours on Friday. That can be a real drag," she sighed.

"Yah, I guess they would be. Do you work all the way through from opening?"

"No, thank god. The girls with seniority get the morning and afternoons while we get the Friday evenings and afternoons on Saturday. That way, they ruin both days for us." She was clearly not pleased with the distribution of work at her shop.

"I was admiring your clothes. Did they come from your store?" he asked, anxious to keep the conversation going.

"Yes. It's about the only benefit we get. We get a nice discount on them because Mrs. Kronsky wants us to show her stuff off to the customers."