Unbelonging

by Sabrina Stark

  I was still holding the phone, not sure what to think. Was the guy serious? Or was it some kind of ruse to drag me in there, so he could have the pleasure of firing me in person?

  I shouldn’t go. But I so needed the money. And what if Keith were telling the truth? What if the other girls were swamped? I'd been in that position too many times to count, with too many tables and not enough time. Before I knew it, I was pulling on my spare uniform and reaching for the eye shadow and hairspray.

  When I arrived, the parking lot was packed, and there was a long line out the door. For a Sunday night, the place was hopping. I parked in the back like I always did and sat in my car a couple of minutes longer than necessary, screwing up my courage to actually go inside. And then, I opened the car door and got out.

  Inside, the place was a madhouse. Weaving through the crowd, I clocked in and ducked into the waitress station.

  "Thank God you're here," Josie said. "Three girls called in sick, and we're totally slammed."

  I looked around. "Where's Keith?"

  She rolled her eyes. "Hiding in his office. Where else? Hey, help me with these salads, will ya?" She thrust five empty bowls in my direction. "Four ranch, one blue cheese. Next table's yours, by the way."

  I started flinging lettuce into the bowls while she assembled a tray of soft drinks. I lowered my voice. "I thought I was fired."

  "I thought so too. We all did." She turned and grinned at me. "Keith was so pissed. You know that vein in his forehead? It was totally ready to pop, swear to God. The guys in the back were taking bets."

  "So why'd he call me back?" I asked.

  Josie glanced around. "Like I mentioned, three girls called in sick, two of the chefs too. Some kind of volcanic flu, if you know what I mean. Then Carmen's in Florida, and Keisha eloped with some football player. Anyway, I don't think Keith knew what else to do."

  "So I wasn't still on the schedule?"

  "Hell no," she said. "He scratched your name off the second you stormed out the other night." She lowered her voice. "Did you really tell him to fuck off?"

  I nodded. "Yeah, but it wasn't half as fun as it sounds."

  "I seriously doubt that," she said. "My bet? As soon as the flu thing passes, he'll find some reason to let you go. I'd give it a week. Two tops. I sure hope you're looking for another job."

  "Not really," I said. "Long story."

  "And he says you owe him money."

  "Technically, I owe the restaurant money," I said. That reminded me, I still didn't know how I'd finally settle the incident with Brittney, but knowing Keith, that had to be in the mix somewhere. "He's probably gonna dock my last paycheck."

  "Yeah. That sounds like him."

  "Well, I'm here now," I said, passing her the tray of assembled salads and wading out to catch the next table. "I guess I'd better make it count."

  Business was absolutely crazy. Even with my unscheduled arrival, we were still two girls short. But it wasn't all bad. Sure, more tables meant more stress, but it also meant more tips.

  I barely saw Keith, mostly because he spent most of the night hiding out in his office. Probably, it had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the fact there was actual work to be done. He finally surfaced a little after midnight when Julia, the hostess on duty, threw up in the ladies room and had to be sent home.

  With no one to take her place, Keith reluctantly assumed host duty, seating customers and assigning tables. Things were going as smooth as could be expected until I glanced out at my next table, only to see Brittney and Amber sitting there, dressed to kill with facial expressions to match.

  Chapter 33

  I rushed over to Keith, who'd just returned to the hostess station. "I can't wait on those girls," I said.

  He crossed his arms. "And why not?"

  "You can't be serious," I said. "You know why not. After the other night, you honestly think that's a good idea?"

  He flicked his gaze in their direction. "They seem to think so."

  I stared at him. "What?"

  "Yeah. They requested you personally. Got a problem with that?"

  "Hell yeah, I got a problem with that. They're just messing with me. You know it, and I know it."

  Keith lowered his voice. "All I know is that unless you're planning to curse me out again, you'll get your ass out there." He gave a nasty smile. "Unless you don't think you can handle it?"

  I rolled my eyes. "Oh please. Like I'd fall for that reverse psychology crap."

  "Look," he said, gripping my elbow to hustle me off to the side, "here's the deal. They asked for your section. I couldn't exactly tell 'em no, especially after what happened the other night. So I'll make you a deal. You make 'em happy, and we'll forget about you paying for their meal vouchers."

  Now that got my attention. "What about the other stuff?" I asked.

  "What other stuff?"

  Oh, for crying out loud. Did I have to spell out everything? "I'm talking about the dress," I said. "And their dinner, all that stuff from the other night."

  "I already agreed to wipe off the vouchers," he said. "Isn't that enough?"

  "Hardly," I said. "Of everything on that stupid list, that was the smallest."

  Okay, maybe I was being a teeny bit unreasonable. But the guy had been giving me crap since day one. And he'd flat-out lied to get me in here tonight. Besides, he was going to fire me the minute the flu bug passed, if not sooner. Money aside, this was my one chance to make him squirm. No way I'd be letting this opportunity pass.

  At the nearby hostess station, customers were lined up waiting. The woman at the front of the line cleared her throat far too loudly to be genuine. Keith turned to call over to her. "Be right with you, ma'am."

  He turned back to me. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll cover the meal, but the dress is on you. I wasn't the one who ruined the damn thing."

  "She still inflated its value," I said.

  "Tell someone who cares," he said. "It's my final offer. Take it or leave it."

  Biting my lip, I looked toward Brittney's table. She and Amber were leaning forward, their eyes bright, their expressions eager. Whatever they had in mind, they were obviously looking forward to it.

  I wasn't.

  But there was an awful lot of money on the line. Mentally, I added up the cost of the vouchers, along with the dinner from the other night. The amount was scarily big.

  "I'll take it," I said. "But I want it in writing."

  Keith stared at me. "What?"

  "I want it in writing," I repeated. "Spell it out. Everything. That I'm not responsible for the vouchers or that stupid dinner from before."

  The way I saw it, Keith would be firing me anyway, but it wouldn’t be tonight. As busy and short-staffed as we were, he couldn’t afford to. But tomorrow? Or next week? He'd be giving me the boot for sure. And I sure as hell didn't want to leave with a giant bill hanging over my head.

  "Fine," he muttered. As I watched, he grabbed a notebook from the nearby register and scribbled out a quick note.

  "Don’t forget to sign it," I told him in a cheery tone that made him bare his teeth at me.

  When he finished, I snatched it out of his hand and looked it over. All the points were there, just like I'd asked. And at the bottom, I saw his signature, all nice and official.

  Our entire exchange had taken less than five minutes, but as hectic as tonight was, it was more time than either of us could spare. Still, I felt myself smile. In five minutes, I'd managed to wipe out a big chunk of the disputed amount. About the dress, well, I guess there wasn't a whole lot I could do about that.

  As I folded up the note and tucked it into my apron, I felt my smile fade as I recalled the other half of the bargain. My half. Waiting on Brittney and Amber, and making sure they were happy.

  This definitely wasn't going to be easy.

  Chapter 34

  As I made my way out to their table, I took a deep breath and steeled myself for what was sure to be an unpleasant experience.

&n
bsp; Whether by accident or design, they'd been seated at a center table. Brittney wore a sleek black cocktail dress and matching stiletto shoes. Amber was dressed in much the same way, except her dress was a deep shimmery green and cut slightly lower in the front.

  As much as I hated to admit it, they looked great, like two cover girls out on the town. It was obvious they'd put quite a lot of time and thought into their appearance.

  I suddenly felt beyond ridiculous in my too-tight, low-cut blouse and stupid bobby socks. And then there was the rest of it. Where their hair fell in soft waves over their bare shoulders, my hair was an over-teased, over-sprayed mess.

  Where their makeup was flawless, with just the right shade of lipstick and the barest hint of color, my own makeup was too loud, too bold, and too much. My lips were too red. My eyelids were too blue. And my face was a little too pale, if the bathroom mirror was any indicator.

  Unfortunately, it was the look required of me – of all the girls actually. Most of the time, I didn't mind too much. But tonight, with Brittney and Amber, I minded.

  I minded a lot.

  I also minded that they'd slept with Lawton. The last thing I wanted was to look at them, talk to them, or certainly serve them. But what I wanted and what I needed to do were two different things.

  They were watching me openly as I moved toward them, with my ballpoint pen in one hand and my tray in the other.

  Their eager, predatory smiles, not to mention the fact they'd asked for me specifically, told me all I needed to know. This wasn't about getting good service. And it wasn't about the food or the atmosphere. No. This was about making me pay, and not just for the last time I'd waited on them.

  This was about Lawton giving me a ride home and his odd refusal to remember Brittney's name. It was about knocking me down from some imagined perch to watch me squirm under their stiletto-clad feet. And if they knew anything about the other night, it was also for me getting them kicked out of Lawton's birthday party.

  But I'd been bribed handsomely to do this, and I refused to regret it. I'd made my proverbial bed. Now, I just had to lie in it. Eventually, they'd leave, and I'd be done with them. And if I were really lucky, I'd never have to see either of them again.

  I arrived at their table determined to make the best of it.

  "About time you made it out here," Brittney said.

  I gritted my teeth and reminded myself that there was some truth to what she said. Under normal circumstances, I'd have never kept a table waiting that long. But nothing about this thing was normal, and it seemed silly to pretend otherwise.

  But pretending was exactly what I'd been bribed to do, so I plastered on a stiff smile as I placed the square beverage napkins on their table. "Sorry for the delay," I said. "Can I get you a drink or an appetizer to start?"

  For the longest time, neither girl answered. Then, Brittney pursed her lips and said, "Is that it?"

  "What do you mean?" I asked. Were they waiting for some kind of apology?

  Brittney rolled her eyes. "Aren't you supposed to be funny or something?"

  I felt myself swallow. Were they really expecting the whole sassy waitress act?

  "Yeah," Amber chimed in. "If we wanted a regular, boring-old waitress, we'd be eating at Denny's."

  "Come to think of it," Brittney said, "how come you're not working at Denny's?" Her lip curled as she gave me a long, once-over, starting at my over-teased hair and ending somewhere around my bobby socks. "Wouldn't you be more comfortable there?"

  I grew very still. I had worked at Denny's, in fact, for six months my senior year in high school. My fellow waitresses had been single Moms and women whose husbands or boyfriends worked as cooks, construction workers, or not at all. There'd also been kids like me saving for college, and others my age who weren't what you'd call college material.

  But they'd all had one thing in common. They had to take a lot of crap, and they worked their asses off for modest tips and a meager paycheck.

  I studied Brittney's unblemished hands and perfectly manicured nails. It was pretty obvious she'd never been burned by bacon grease or scalding-hot coffee. In spite of what she seemed to think, that didn't make her better than those waitresses. It only made her luckier.

  "Earth to waitress," Brittney said in a loud, biting tone. "Anyone home in there?"

  Oh, someone was home, alright, and she wanted to slap someone silly.

  But I wasn't going to screw this up. The last time I'd waited on Brittney, their drink tab alone had been astronomical. If I didn't want to be stuck paying it, I'd need to pull my head out of my ass and quick.

  I knew exactly what they wanted. They wanted to get a rise out of me. They wouldn’t be satisfied until I flipped out or started crying. If I did both, they'd be positively orgasmic. I squared my shoulders. No way I'd be giving them the satisfaction.

  Giggling, Brittney said loud enough for the neighboring tables to hear, "Look everyone, I think our waitress fell asleep."

  "We might have to poke her or something," Amber said in a loud stage whisper.

  "Good idea," Brittney said. She craned her neck and made a show of looking around. "Anyone here got a stick?"

  Standing at their table, I was gripping the pen so tightly it should've snapped. But I kept my mouth shut, refusing to give them the reaction they so obviously craved.

  "From the look on her face," Brittney said, "I know where a stick is." She grinned at Amber. "Go on, I'll give you three guesses."

  Amber's eyebrows furrowed. "Where?"

  "Oh, never mind," Brittney said.

  "Oh wait," Amber said. "I've got it." She giggled. "Up her ass, right?"

  "Ding, ding, ding!" Brittney said. "We have a winner!"

  "If you're finished," I said in a voice far more calm than I felt, "I'd be delighted to tell you the specials."

  "Oh, we're not finished," Brittney said with a menacing smile, "not by a long shot."

  "Tonight, we're featuring the Mushroom Burger Plate," I said. "It comes with onion rings and a side of slaw."

  Brittney scowled. "I don't care about that crap."

  I gave her a bright smile. "Then, might I recommend the chef's choice? A T-bone with all the fixings?

  By now, Amber was scowling up at me too. "You stop that," she said.

  I blinked at them. "Stop what?"

  "You know what," Amber said.

  I lowered my voice as if sharing a dirty secret. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Are you a vegetarian? Then might I suggest our signature California salad?"

  Silently, Brittney regarded me with undisguised hatred. Then, very deliberately, she leaned over the table until her right elbow nudged the little metal rack that held the salt and pepper. She nudged a little harder, and the rack clattered to the floor, sprinkling random splotches of salt and pepper when the rack landed sideways by my feet.

  Around us, the neighboring tables grew quiet.

  "Actually," Brittney said, "you can start by picking that up."

  My heart was racing, but my mind was made up. I would not let her get the best of me. I looked around. "Picking what up?"

  "You know what," Brittney said.

  I put on my most sincere expression. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I don't know what – "

  "Ma'am?!" Brittney said. "I'm not a ma'am."

  "Oh." I raised my hand to my lips. "I'm so sorry." I cocked my head to the side. "Um…" I scrunched up my face as if thinking way too hard for my addled brain. "Then, it's uh –" I squinted at her. "Sir?"

  Brittney rocketed to her feet. "I am not a sir." She thrust out her hips to one side and threw back her shoulders. "Does this look like the body of a sir to you?"

  "No. Of course not. Sorry, ma'am."

  She stomped her foot. "Stop that!"

  "Hey, buddy!" a male voice called to her from somewhere near the bar. "Keep it down over there, will ya?"

  I had to stifle a laugh. I recognized that voice. It was Eddie. There was a reason he was my favorite bartender.

  Brittney whippe
d around toward the sound of the voice. "I. Am. Not. A. Man," she announced in a loud, clear voice. She turned to glare at Amber, who had remained sitting, her eyes wide, her mouth open. "Aren't you gonna say something?"

  "Like what?" Amber whispered, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear.

  "I don't know," Brittney hissed. "But don't just sit there for God's sake. We're in this together, remember?"

  Fidgeting, Amber rose to her feet. By now, the dining room was eerily quiet. Her gaze bounced from one face to another. She cleared her throat.

  Brittney tapped her foot. "Well?"

  Amber stood up straighter and put her hands on her hips. She cleared her throat again and licked her lips like they'd just gone dry. And then she said in a loud, clear voice, "I'm not a man either!"

  Around her, people at neighboring tables burst out laughing. Someone hooted from the bar area. Brittney looked around the crowded restaurant, glaring at anyone who met her gaze.

  Amber looked wide-eyed, frozen in place, until she blurted out, "I'll be right back," and bolted for the door.

  Brittney stared after her. Her gaze shifted sideways until our eyes met. The silence stretched out as she glanced again toward the door. Amber was gone. And for some reason, I didn't think she was coming back.

  Brittney turned her head to face me. "You'd better watch your back," she said, "because this isn't over."

  She didn't scare me. Compared to Loretta, Brittney was about as menacing as a cupcake. I blinked stupidly at her. "So, uh, you're saying you want dessert?"

  She gritted her teeth. "No, that's not what I'm saying, and you know it."

  "Lemme tell you our specials," I said. "Our apple cobbler – "

  "Shut up!" she screeched.

  Someone at a nearby table laughed.

  With a noticeable effort, Brittney collected herself. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and glared around the room before announcing, "I'm outta here." After a final dirty look in my direction, she said, "And I hope you know, you're not getting a tip for this."

  I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."