by Stacia Stone
“Go away.”
My brother, Luis, opened the door and came to stand at the foot of the bed. “Are you coming to work today?”
I rolled over to glare at him. “No.”
“You need to wake up and get ready.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Get up!”
He whipped the blankets off of me and I screeched. “What the actual fuck?”
Ever since I’d bailed him out of jail, Luis had been on this man-of-the-house kick. Which was great when it meant he was going to work and buying groceries, but not so much when it meant he was interrupting my wallowing.
“And take a shower.”
I’d been wearing the same pair of sweatpants and ratty t-shirt for the entire weekend. Even to me, the room smelled old and stale.
“Fuck off, Luis.” I snatched the blanket back and pulled it over my shoulders. “And shut the door behind you.”
“I’m not kidding, Dalea.”
He pulled at the blanket again, but I held it firmly. We ended up in a sort of tug-of-war. His lean body quivered with rage, which would have funny if he wasn’t being so annoying.
“Please, just go.”
“C’mon, Dalea, you know this isn’t right.” Luis let go of the blanket and looked at me entreatingly. “What’s gonna happen when we can’t make the rent this month?”
I heard his words through the filter of my own self-absorption: help everyone else, Dalea. Their needs are so much more important than yours.
“And what would you do if I wasn’t here?” I sat up to glare at him, the blankets bunching at my waist. “Maybe I’ll just disappear one of these days and you can all figure things out for yourselves.”
“Dalea—“
“Today can be practice. Dalea has left the building.” I pulled the covers back over my head until I was wrapped in a cocoon of fabric and down.
Luis collapsed onto the bed next to me. I grudgingly slid over to make room for him.
“What is going on with you?”
What was there to say to that? There’s a man who used to spank me until my bottom was on fire and then face fuck me into oblivion, but I can’t see him anymore so let’s forget any of that ever happened. No harm, no foul, no wallowing in misery until the mere thought of getting out of bed was more than I could handle.
“Nothing is going on.”
“I don’t believe you.” He stared at me for a long moment, as if trying to understand the secrets that I could never tell. “You’re sad and weird all of the time, for like no reason.”
No reason? “Just leave me alone, Luis.”
“No,” he said, voice obstinate. “If you don’t go to work then I’m not going either.”
It was clear that he had no intention of just letting me be. I shoved the blanket away and sat up in the bed, glaring at him. “Fine, Goddamn you.”
His sudden grin reminded me strongly of when he was just a scrubby little kid. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”
Once he was out of the room, I levered myself out of the bed. My muscles groaned in protest from being required to move after such a long period of disuse.
All of my work clothes were dirty and in a pile near the corner. I rifled through them to find the shirt and pair of pants that smelled the least like a week’s worth of sweat and body odor.
“Hurry up!” Luis yelled from the kitchen.
I grumbled to myself as I pulled on a pair of black pants. If I had more energy — and if he wasn’t right — I’d tell my little brother exactly where he could shove it.
The diner was a little busier than normal, but I moved slowly. It was like my body had to push itself through molasses.
“You look like crap,” Miranda said as soon as she saw me. Her pale purple hair was caught up in a beehive and glinted under the florescent lighting.
“That’s pretty much how I feel.” I tried for a smile, but judging from her face it came out looking more like a grimace. “It’s just been a rough couple of days.”
“Oh that’s right, I forgot you’ve been sick.”
Luis buzzed past us, carrying a bus tub full of dishes in his hands. “Tables aren’t going to serve themselves, Dalea.”
I sighed at Miranda’s knowing smile. “He’s been a real pain lately.”
“Luis means well.” She wrapped a comforting arm around me in a half-hug. “He’s trying to be the man of the house, just like you always wanted.”
I watched Luis move through the tables. He saw me looking and gave me a significant glance as he passed a table in need of drink refills.
“Whatever you say.”
“Things are looking up, girl. How’s your mom?”
“Good.” And she was. The chemotherapy made her sleepy and she’d lost all of her hair, but the doctor said that the tumors on her lungs had shrunk considerably.
The clinic had even set up a payment plan. Between her disability payments, my tips and Luis’s paycheck from the diner, we were just able to make things work. For now.
“That’s such a relief.” Miranda glanced over her section which was nearly full of customers. “We better get back to work before Luis snaps the whip.”
“Oh, haha.”
I served my tables the best that I could, but I knew that my lackluster effort and lack of speed was going to be reflected in my tips. Hopefully, all of the extra effort that Luis was putting in would help make up the difference.
After dropping off a plate of spaghetti, two chicken-fried steaks and a children’s hamburger to one of my tables, I slipped behind the counter to hide.
Everything reminded me of the Dollhouse. I wasn’t even safe at work. This is where the Procurer first found me, slipping his business card into the check folder without a word along with the biggest tip that I had ever received.
I’m not sure what I wanted — adventure, an escape from my real life — but I had gotten something even greater. Julian was like a dark fantasy that couldn’t exist in real life. A fantasy that threatened to consume my every thought until nothing else was left.
I had walked away before I was destroyed. It had been the right decision — but regret still burned in me like fire.
“Order up!” The cook barked from behind the grill. The food was for one of Miranda’s tables but when I scanned the dining room, she was taking the order of a group of ten that had just been seated. This order would be cold by the time she was done.
With a sigh, I glanced at the ticket and grabbed the hot plates off of the metal surface before heading for table five.
I wove through the tables, my head down. It was an effort to put one foot in front of the other. All I wanted to do was go back home and climb into bed.
“Enjoy,” I said flatly, sliding the plates onto the table.
“Dalea?”
I looked up and met a familiar face. “Oh my God, Trina. Hi!”
Trina Fowler stood up from the table and wrapped me in a hug. The aura of her cucumber melon perfume surrounded me, the same scent that she wore when we were roommates my first year in college. I hadn’t seen her since right before I dropped out.
“How are you?” She asked, pulling back.
“Good,” I murmured, a little embarrassed. The stylish pencil skirt and blousy silk top that she wore made it clear that she’d moved on from the types of jobs that required an apron and nonslip shoes. And she definitely didn’t get paid in tips. “You just graduated, right?”
“Last year,” she said with a proud smile. “I was interning for Berkmore Global — you know, the telecommunications company — and they just offered me a job in their marketing department.”
“Wow, that’s amazing.” I said, genuinely happy for her, but also wishing that the ground underneath my feet would open up and swallow me whole. “Good for you.”
She pointed to her companion, an older man wearing a suit and glasses who took one look at me before promptly turning to his food. I clearly wasn’t worth his attention. “Bill and I are in the neighborho
od scouting out locations for a new satellite office.”
“Wow, that sounds impressive.”
“I’ve been lucky.” Trina waved my words away with a demure smile. “What about you, how are things?”
“Same old.” I forced myself to smile. “You heard I had to drop out of school to take care of my mom, right?”
“Yeah, I heard.” Trina looked a little uncomfortable, but her voice was sympathetic. “How is she doing?”
“Okay, now.” I didn’t really want to talk to her about it, it had been so long that at this point we were nearly strangers. But I also didn’t want her to think that I was just a college dropout. “She can’t work right now and her chemotherapy is really expensive, but we’re managing okay.”
“I’m so sorry. Are you going to finish school when she’s better?”
“That’s the plan.” Although I wasn’t optimistic. It seemed like there would always be something standing between me and a better future. The universe clearly wanted me to struggle. “It was good seeing you again. I’ll let you get back to your lunch.”
“Wait.” Trina rummaged in her purse and pulled out a half-sheet of heavy paper. “The firm is hosting a benefit dinner to support building a new wing on the children’s hospital. They really need more waitstaff to work the event. It’ll be decent money, if you’re interested.”
I took the announcement from her and scanned it quickly. It was being held at one of the fancier uptown hotels. “Thanks, I’ll think about it.”
“Just show up an hour early and tell them Trina sent you.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “And call me sometime, I really want to catch up.”
“Sounds great, thanks Trina. I’ll see you later.”
She turned back to her companion and began animatedly talking about market-share and community outreach.
It was pretty clear that I had just been her good deed for the day. I wondered if there would ever be a time when I wasn’t a charity case, when things actually worked out the way that I wanted them to.
I couldn’t have the Dollhouse. I couldn’t have Julian. And now, I couldn’t even have my pride.
8
“Which way to the grand ballroom?” I asked the girl at the front desk of the Hotel Milan.
“Up the main staircase and to the right,” came her clipped response. It was obviously clear to her that I was here to work and not a guest of the hotel. No reason to waste pleasantries on the help.
It had taken me three hours, four bus transfers and a twelve block walk to make it to the Hotel Milan. This clearly wasn’t a place that catered to the public transit crowd.
I was already sweaty and tired. Thankfully, I’d packed clean work clothes — black pants and a white collared shirt, the standard attire for these types of things — in the backpack that I’d slung over my shoulder.
A harried woman wearing a dark suit and high heels, was at the entrance of the ballroom and shouting into a headset.
“The tablecloths on table four don’t match the rest, I need you to bring me cream, not off-white!”
I approached her quietly and waited for her to notice me standing there. But the woman continued to rant at whatever unlucky soul was on the other side of her headset.
“And why do I see lilies in the main hall, when I specifically requested orchids? I swear to God, could you screw this up anymore if you tried?”
“Who are you?”
I realized that the woman wasn’t talking into the headset and that the last thing she said had been directed at me.
“My name is Dalea Moreno.”
“I don’t care,” she snapped. Her hand touched the earpiece, as she responded to whoever was on the other side. “Get Mike over to the ballroom, the main stage needs to be moved to the right by two feet. What do you want?”
I blinked, not completely sure if she was speaking to me or not. “My name is Dalea Moreno.”
“You said that already.” The woman’s foot tapped impatiently on the marble floor.
“Trina sent me. She said you need waiters.”
“Oh, that,” the woman said, her voice impatient. She indicated the back of the ballroom with the manicured fingers of one hand. “The food service area is set up through the doors in the back. Ask for Zach and tell him I said to get you a uniform.”
The woman promptly turned away and returned to her conversation, not giving me a chance to say anything else.
I walked through the empty ballroom, which had already been set up with dozens of round tables covered in cream-colored tablecloths and set with fine silverware. A large chandelier hung in the center of the room, crystals reflecting off it like teardrops from God’s eyes.
I’d worked for the school’s catering company when I was in college, but that was mostly alumni events or sports functions, never anything as fancy as this.
The invitation that Trina had handed me put the cost of this thing at almost a thousand dollars per plate, which was closer to what my family paid for rent than dinner.
I pushed open the doors at the back of the massive ballroom and was immediately confronted with a bustling scene. Dozens of people dressed in starched uniforms — made up of tuxedo shirts, black slacks, and bowties — hurried around the room.
Squeezing between two large, silver tray caddies, I approached a guy who looked around my age. He was leaning against a wall divider and seemed to be the only one who wasn’t in a hurry.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The guy turned to me with a devastating smile. “You’re excused, beautiful.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly nervous. This guy was the kind of hot that was dangerous, like he would rob a liquor store right before giving you the best sex of your life. He had dark hair and darker eyes — a gypsy who would come in the dead of night and steal you away. I was both attracted and repelled.
“Do you know where I can find Zach?” I said, ignoring the compliment. “He’s supposed to get me a uniform.”
He gave me a long once-over that made me want to slap his face. “Depends on who’s asking, sweetheart.”
“My name is Dalea. Trina sent me.”
He took a step towards me. I fought the urge to back away as he slowly circled me. “What will you give me if I tell you?”
I suppressed a shiver — of fear or something else, I couldn’t say. “Forget it. I’ll ask someone else.”
He put a restraining hand on my arm and the heat of his touch was practically burning. Was I reacting to him, or just desperate for a man’s touch on my skin?
“Relax, chica. I’m Zach.”
“Great.” My voice dripped with sarcasm and I yanked my arm away. “The woman out there said you could get me a uniform.”
“You mean Elsie?” He laughed and the sound was dark and sensual. “I’m surprised she stopped yelling at her assistant long enough to even talk to you.”
I had to laugh at that. “Yeah, I feel sorry for whoever is on the other side of that headset.”
“So, you need a uniform right?”
“Yes, please.”
Zach surveyed me, his gaze lingering on my hips before moving up to my chest. I was about to say something indignant, when he spoke again. “Size four, right?”
“Um, yeah. How did you know that?”
“It’s a gift.” Zach winked at me. “I was probably a gay fashion designer in a past life.”
Everything about him was so overwhelmingly masculine and physically dominant that I couldn’t quite imagine that. I must have made some sort of disbelieving sound because he grinned at me.
“Or I just spend too much time looking at woman’s bodies.”
“That, I believe.”
The look he gave me was so frankly sexual that the breath caught in my throat.
Cheeks flaming, I reached around to open my backpack and searched for something to break the sensual spell he tried to cast. “I have my own pants.”
He stuck his hands in his pockets and gave me a crooked smile. “Changing area is
behind those curtains. The shirts are on a rack to the right, just find your size. Hurry back, because we’re still prepping plates.”
“Okay…thanks.”
“One more thing,” he said, before I could walk away. “A bunch of us are going out for drinks when this thing is done. You should come.”
“I’ll think about it.”
I walked away while I still had the chance, my heart beating hard.
It wasn’t until I was back in the dressing area and flipping hurriedly through the racks of starched tuxedo shirts, that I realized something.
While talking to Zach and for the first time since I left the Dollhouse, I hadn’t been thinking about Julian.
I’d forgotten how much easier it was to work a catering gig than to actually wait tables in a restaurant. All I had to do was say “chicken or fish” in as unobtrusive a way as possible and remember to serve from the left. I might as well have been a brain-dead monkey in a penguin suit.
“Is this free-range chicken?” A socialite dripping in gaudy jewelry and makeup that was too heavy asked me.
“Of course, miss,” I said, though for all I knew it was the same chicken that you could buy at the Fresh Market in Englewood. “Would you like pepper?”
Once dinner was served, most of the waitstaff returned behind the doors with just a few staying in the ballroom to keep drinks refilled.
Zach appeared at my shoulder. “We have a few minutes. Come grab a smoke.”
I didn’t smoke but I’d been working in food service long enough to recognize a free break when I saw one. I followed him out the back door, which was propped open with a brick, where a group of people were sitting on milk crates.
“This is Dalea,” Zach said, his hand touching my back in a way that was too possessive.
I shook his hand off and stepped away a little. “Hi.”
If he noticed me putting additional space between us, Zach ignored it. “Dalea, this is Collette, Jason, Molly and Aeryn.”
Aeryn, a short, redheaded girl with a crooked smile, leaned forward and held out a pack of cigarettes. “Want a smoke?”
I hesitated for a beat too long and one of the girls — Collette, I think — broke in with a cheeky grin. “We have something stronger, if you want that.”
