It wasn't until the two girls leaned across the table to give each other a long, full kiss – with tongue – that I started to worry.
Sure, the place definitely had its trashy side, as evidenced by my own attire, and sure, we served up booze and attitude. But it was still a restaurant, and we'd all been told a thousand times that public grope-a-thons, no matter who was participating, were bad for business.
Just last week Eddie had been forced to physically evict a couple of touristy types, a man and woman around my parents' age, who'd shocked their nearby tables by playing catch the cocktail wiener under the table.
And how shall I put this delicately? If the wiener were a horse, it was most definitely out of the barn.
At least that particular couple had been quiet about it. As for Brittney's table, they were anything but. When it was time to deliver their bill, the kissing had turned to neck-licking with a side of groping, as evidenced by Britney's hand squeezing the other girl's breast while their dates hooted encouragement.
Their behavior would've been blatant enough if the girls were sitting side-by-side. But they weren't. They were sitting across from each other, which meant they were leaning across the table in a way that had everyone looking.
I glanced at the bar area. Eddie was nowhere in sight, and I didn't see Keith either. Cursing under my breath, I hustled to the back office. I found Keith with his feet propped on the desk. He was laughing into his cell phone like he had all the time in the world.
When I motioned toward the dining room, in a blatant plea for help, he held up a hand, five fingers extended.
Five minutes? Crap, at the rate those girls were going, in five minutes, they'd be naked and covered in barbecue sauce.
Chapter 18
Keith was still talking on his phone. I edged closer. "We've got a situation," I said in a low, urgent voice.
He waved me away with a quick, shooing motion and mouthed, "One minute."
So was it one minute? Or five?
Either way, it was too long. Muttering, I stalked out of the office and peered into the dining area. As I watched, one of the guys lifted Britney onto the table top of their booth. I stared, in stunned disgust as she started to dance, lifting her long hair off her neck and gyrating like a low-rent stripper with a nerve condition.
Alcohol was definitely not her friend.
Desperately, I glanced toward the bar. Still no Eddie. The other bartenders, Tina and Carrie, had stopped making drinks and stood, staring, along with almost every other person in the restaurant, as Britney's friend climbed up on the tabletop too. She started rubbing against Brittney in a way that elicited catcalls from the two players and a mixture of murmuring and occasional laughter from the other patrons.
Screw it. I marched across the dining room to stand, my hands on my hips, at the end of their booth. If I were lucky, I'd be able to hustle them on their way without throwing more gasoline on the fire.
"Looks like somebody's having a good time," I said, trying to make my voice lighter than it felt.
"Got that right," one of the guys said. He leaned his face over the table and peered up under Britney's dress. From the look on the guy's face, it was pretty obvious the view was panty-free.
"Alright guys," I said. "Time to take it someplace else." When they all ignored me, I rolled my eyes and added under my breath, "like the Boobie Bungalow."
Apparently, I hadn't said that last part as quietly as I intended, because one of the players immediately gave a hoot of encouragement. "Yeah!" he bellowed. "Boobies! C'mon, let's see 'em!"
He might've been talking to the blondes. Or he might've been talking to me. Or maybe, it was a general plea for boobies of any variety. Honestly, the guy didn't look too picky.
Too bad Bolger wasn't here. He had decent cleavage if you could get past the hair.
On the table, Brittney was reaching for the shoulder strap of her skin-tight dress.
"Hey!" I said, "Hoochie girls. Off the table! Now!"
One of the guys laughed. "I got a better idea," he said, giving me a look that made my skin crawl. "Why don't you join 'em?"
"Yeah," the other guy said, applauding in a way that I guessed was supposed to be encouraging. He got out his wallet and peeled off a bunch of singles. He fanned them out and shook them at me like some dog-trainer, promising a treat for a trick. "Go on," he urged, "be a good girl and show us your stuff."
I gave him a smile. "I've got a better idea," I said as I leaned in close. "Why don't you take your player ass the fuck out of here, and take that travelling skank show with you."
Around us, the dining room had grown oddly quiet. Slowly, I realized that the girls were no longer dancing. The lack of motion, both from the girls and the rest of the restaurant, made them, if possible, look even more ridiculous as they stood in their sheer cocktail dresses, their high heels surrounded by empty drink glasses and plates of half-eaten food.
"Jeez, what a bitch," Brittney said. She turned to her friend and said, "Looks like someone hasn't been laid in a while."
I flushed. She was right. I was in the midst of what some might call a dry spell, but it wasn't for lack of opportunity. The way I saw it, it was better to be too picky than screw anything that moved.
"That's okay." I gave her a sweet smile. "Because it looks like you're getting plenty for all of us."
She tossed her hair. "Don't you know it."
"And, uh, how much do you charge again?" I asked.
"Hey!" the other girl broke in. "It's not like we're hookers."
"Whatever." I slammed their bill down on the table. "Time for you to go."
With a huff, Brittney climbed down from the tabletop, and her friend followed suit. Some guy across the restaurant gave a loud cheer. Was he cheering their performance, or the fact that it was finally over? I had no idea.
The girls slumped in the booth, murdering me with their eyes while the players grinned like this was the best fun they'd had all year. From the look in their eyes, they were waiting for the inevitable three-way catfight – the one that would end with a pillow-fight and torn panties.
Dumb-asses. Had they already forgotten? The skanks weren't wearing any.
I stood with my arms crossed as the first guy pulled out his wallet and tossed a credit card on top of the bill. "Here ya go," he said in a loud, important voice. "And add on a nice tip for yourself while you're at it."
"No way," Brittney told him, tossing her hair as she looked daggers at me. "She was a total bitch. She don't deserve anything." She sank down in her seat and added, "This place sucks donkey dick."
Donkey dick? Seriously? Like a regular dick wasn't enough?
"Well," I said, "coming from an expert such as yourself, we sure do appreciate your input."
Brittney stared up at me, as if trying to decide if I she'd just been insulted or complimented. And then, something in her expression changed. Her confusion cleared, and she smiled like she'd just gotten the best surprise since her last negative gonorrhea results.
"Heeeey," she said, "I know you." With a little laugh, she turned to her friend. "Recognize her?"
I stood, frozen in place as her friend cocked her head to the side and stared up at me. She shook her head. I forgot to breathe.
And then Brittney spoke. "It's that dog-chick from Lawton's."
At this, one of the players laughed. "Dog-chick, huh?" He gave his friend a sly grin. "I'm liking the sounds of that." He leered at me. "So, you like it doggy-style or what?"
"Or maybe," the other guy said, "she's one of them Fido fuckers, if you get what I'm sayin'." He slapped the table and guffawed at his own joke as the rest of them joined in.
For once, words escaped me. I had no snappy comeback, no smart-ass observation. All I had was the urge to flee.
Wordlessly, I snatched up the guy's credit card, along with the bill, and hustled to the cash register. I processed it with lightning speed and returned to their table, eager to get this whole thing over with.
Ignori
ng a running stream of jokes about doggie-style sex and bestiality, I dropped off the credit card slip for the guy's signature and started clearing away the remaining dishes. The sooner the table was empty, the sooner they'd leave – or at least that's what I hoped.
Brittney snickered. "And here, we thought you were some rich bitch." She grinned at her friend. "Didn't we, Amber?"
I tried to concentrate on the dishes, but I swear, I could hear the smile of satisfaction in Brittney's voice.
"Yeah," Amber said with a giggle. "And turns out, she's just a plain, ordinary bitch."
"The poor thing," Brittney said in a tone of mock sympathy. "Guess she won't be going to Lawton's party tonight."
"What party?" one of the guy said. "You never said nothin' about a party."
"Sorry, Max," Brittney said, blowing him a kiss. "This one's girls only."
I'd been reaching for the squeeze bottle of mustard when she made that last comment. Even now, I couldn't say for sure if my fingers flexed on purpose or by reflex.
Either way, I squeezed, mustard shot, and Brittney gave a high-pitched squeal as a stream of mustard splattered the front of her cream-colored dress, with a few stray drops grazing her face, her hair, and the guy sitting next to her.
Across from them, the guy who hadn't been hit bellowed with laughter while Amber assaulted me with a stream of profanity that would've made any drunken sailor proud. On the bright side, at least she wasn't giggling anymore.
With a screech, Brittney snatched up the bottle of ketchup, pointed in my direction, and squeezed, yelling out, "Take that, you crazy bitch!"
The ketchup hit, splattering the front of my white blouse as I backed uselessly into the table behind me, my hands full of condiments and my mouth full of curses that I let loose in Brittney's direction.
And this is when Keith, the ass-hat of a night manager, chose to finally make his appearance.
Chapter 19
"You can't make me pay for this," I protested. "It wasn't my fault."
We were in the manager's office, and Keith was glaring at me. "Yeah? Then whose fault was it?"
"Brittney's," I said. "She totally started it."
"That's not what I heard."
"From Brittney?" I said. "She's such a liar. And besides, you didn't see the way they were acting. I did. Just ask the other waitresses. Or better still, ask the people sitting around them. They'll tell you. They were totally out of control."
"You're the one out of control." He crossed his arms. "What I should do is fire you."
I felt myself still. He couldn't fire me. I'd been here for years. He'd only just started a couple months ago.
Across from me, he smiled. "I see I finally got your attention."
My mind was whirling. Technically, I had another job, a real job. I started in a few weeks. I should tell Keith to fuck off right now and walk out my dignity, or what was left of it.
I closed my eyes. But I hadn't started that other job yet. And even once I did, it would be over a month before I got an actual paycheck. At least as a waitress, I got paid in cash every time I showed up, thanks to the tips, which were substantial.
Sure, there were other restaurants in town, but not many like this. Girls literally stood in line for a chance to work here.
And besides, I didn't have time to start waitressing someplace else. Even if I did manage to find another serving job, I'd never make this kind of money, at least not for the first few weeks while I was in training. And by then, I'd be starting that other job anyway, so the time would be wasted.
Across from me, Keith was tallying up the total on his notepad. When he was done, he turned the notepad around to face me. I felt myself pale at the amount written in big red letters at the bottom.
"That can't be right," I said.
"Oh, it's right," he said. "Go ahead, add it up."
My pulse racing, I studied the list. In Keith's tidy handwriting, I saw the amount for the group's dinner, including drinks. Given the fact they'd been drinking like fish, this alone was enough to make my stomach clench.
Then there was the amount Brittney had claimed for her ruined outfit. Finally, there was the cost of free dinner vouchers, given at Keith's insistence, to encourage Brittney to come back and give the place another chance.
Okay, I guess I could see paying for the dress. But I couldn't see paying the amount Brittney had demanded. I leaned over and pointed at the amount in question. "That's ten times what that stupid dress was worth."
Keith looked unimpressed. "It was a high-price label."
"Bull," I said. "It was a generic knock-off."
"Say what you want, that's the amount we paid her." His eyes narrowed to slits as he leaned forward. "And that's the amount you owe."
"And why the meal-vouchers?" I said. "We don't want those skanks coming back. Their dates either. They were total animals."
"Wrong, they were customers," he said, pressing his palms flat on the table. "Now pay up, or get out. Your choice."
I stood, rigid, my fingernails digging into my palms.
He glanced at his watch. "I'm waiting."
"Fine," I muttered.
At his desk, Keith leaned back. "Great." He pointed to the bottom of his list. "Sign here."
"Uh, no. I don't think so." I tore off my apron and tossed it onto his desk. "I meant, fine, I'll get out." My heart racing, I whirled around and marched toward the office door. When I reached it, I turned around and said, "Oh, and Keith?"
"Uh, yeah?" he stammered.
I smiled. "Fuck off."
Chapter 20
My satisfaction lasted less than an hour. By the time I'd driven back to the Parkers', I was cursing everything from my rotten temper to my stupid foul mouth. And that doesn't even count the time I spent cursing out Brittney and her whole sordid freak show.
An hour later, I was cursing a lot more than that. I was huddled in the Parkers' backyard, with dripping hair and only the barest of clothing – just a thin white tank top and matching lace panties. I had no shoes, no socks, and no pants, no kidding.
I was so screwed.
"Chucky," I muttered under my breath, "You are a very bad dog." More to the point, I was a very stupid house-sitter.
I'd just gotten out of a long, hot bath – a feeble attempt to wash away the lingering unpleasantness from work – and had been dressing for bed when Chucky bounded into the bathroom, trailing my ketchup-stained blouse behind him.
A hole was chewed in the center of the largest stain, and one of the sleeves hung by just a few loose threads. The way it looked, he'd been chewing on it the whole time I'd been in the tub. It was obviously ruined.
I closed my eyes and counted to ten. It wasn't Chucky's fault I'd left the thing lying on the kitchen floor. At the very least, I should've put it in the sink.
I didn't care about the blouse. Not anymore. I'd never be wearing it again anyway. But I definitely cared about the mess. I couldn't let Chucky drag the thing all over the house. One hop onto the sofa with it, and I'd be paying for a lot more than my own short temper.
It took me forever to wrestle the thing away from him – after a lot of chasing, cajoling, and one frantic lunge that sent me skidding in my T-shirt and panties across the oak floor in the downstairs foyer.
By the time I'd gotten the blouse back in my clutches, Chucky had been thoroughly entertained, but I was flushed, breathing hard, and my hands were damp with ketchup and dog-slobber. I did a quick rinse in the sink, and then, holding the blouse by my thumb and forefinger, I marched straight out the back door and stalked the few short steps to the trash bin near the back entrance.
It wasn't until I'd flung the ruined blouse into the bin and slammed shut the lid that I had a horrible thought. I had unlocked the back door, hadn't I?
The door had one of those annoying safety features that let you turn the knob from the inside whether it was locked or not, but wasn't nearly as accommodating the other way.
My pulse racing, I hurried to the back door
and gave the knob a twist. It didn't move, well, at least not enough to count. The damn thing was locked. Of course.
I'd been outside less than a minute when the chill night air started to seep in with a vengeance. Normally, I'd have never stepped outside the house in so little clothing. But it was dark, and I'd been roasting from the hot bath and the chase with Chucky. I didn't think it would matter.
Apparently, I was wrong.
My hair was still wet, and I was dressed for bed, and then only just barely. Maybe I'd been stupid to step outside like this in the first place, but I hadn't planned to be out for more than a few seconds.
It was a clear night with a full moon, which gave me a good view of my surroundings. Frantically, I glanced around the back patio, looking for something. What, I didn't know – a blanket, a jacket, anything. It didn't take me long to realize that unless I could snuggle up with a patio chair, I was so screwed.
Shivering, I tried all the back windows within reaching distance, and then, made my way around to the side of the house, and finally to the front, the fear of someone seeing me like this fading to near insignificance compared to the fear of freezing any longer than I had to.
Returning to the backyard, I glanced in the general direction of Lawton's house. He was the only person in the neighborhood I remotely knew. He was a friend. Maybe more than a friend. I blinked hard. Maybe he wasn't anything. I'd just seen him a few hours earlier, and he hadn't mentioned anything about a party.
It was pretty obvious I wasn't on the guest list. Then again, the way Brittney talked, it wasn't exactly a normal party. If she was telling the truth, if only girls were invited, I could only imagine what the entertainment would consist of. The whole thing made me sick to my stomach.
Glancing at the back fence, I listened for the sounds of music or voices. Were Brittney and Amber there right now? Were they all laughing at me, telling Lawton all about their freaky good time? I didn't hear anything, and I didn't see any lights through the shrubbery. Then again, only an idiot would be outside in this temperature.
Unbelonging Page 8
