Mr. Plum held up his palm to interject. “We certainly don’t want to jeopardize your employment, now, do we?”
“No way, sir.”
“I’ll put you down for Tuesday, Friday, and Saturday—your assigned shifts—but I’ll also pencil you in for Wednesday. If it’s not going to work you can let me know Tuesday.”
“I’ll make it work, Mr. Plum.”
“Sweet. You’re a cherry on top. I’ll be in back if you need anything.”
He disappeared through the swinging, stainless-steel door into the kitchen. A minute later, Jill walked through the front door. She stepped behind the counter and started putting on an apron as if she had arrived on time.
“Mr. Plum isn’t very happy with you,” Amanda warned her.
“Mr. Plum can shove a double scoop of vanilla up his ass and chill the eff out.”
Whoa, Amanda thought. Perhaps a certain co-worker should give her own suggestion a try. Instead of vocalizing the thought, she poured her energy into wiping down the counter. After all, if there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean. Being a Friday night, a popular night to stop in for ice cream according to Mr. Plum, the free time didn’t last long. Soon, Amanda was scooping so much ice cream she thought she might get frostbite. Meanwhile Jill (no surprise) stayed planted behind the cash register, doing as little as possible.
Eventually, Mr. Plum set the stainless-steel kitchen door swinging.
“Jill,” Mr. Plum said, “help Amanda with the customers. I’ll man the register. Hang tight, folks. We’ll have your ice cream orders ready quicker than you can say free sprinkles.”
“Fwee spwinkles?” a little girl carrying a teddy bear said.
“Okay, maybe not that fast,” Mr. Plum stated. “But give these customers free sprinkles if they want them, okay, girls?”
“Yes, Mr. Plum,” Amanda said.
With Jill temporarily pulling her weight and the owner collecting the customers’ money, soon things were under control.
Mr. Plum, before returning to the kitchen (or perhaps his office), shot a disappointing look at Jill, and then told Amanda, “If you need help, tell Jill but don’t hesitate to get me. I’m putting you in charge of customer flow. The line should never exceed three groups or five customers total. Understand?”
“Yes, Mr. Plum,” Amanda said. “No more than five. Have Jill help scoop, or let you know.”
“Jill?”
“I got it, I got it.”
Mr. Plum disappeared.
“You’re a brown-nosing busybody,” Jill whispered.
“Look, I don’t want any trouble,” Amanda said. “I’m just trying to do a good job.”
“You should try at McDonald’s. I hear they are hiring.”
“It’s none of my business, but if you don’t start showing up on time, McDonald’s is exactly the kind of place you’ll end up working.”
Jill glared at Amanda. “What are you trying to say?”
“Isn’t it obvious? Mr. Plum isn’t happy with your tardiness or performance.”
“Says you.”
“Says Mr. Plum. I believe he’s cutting your hours next week. And he told me, he’s considering posting the Help Wanted sign again.
“I don’t believe you.”
“Believe what you want. It won’t change anything.”
“You’re such a bitch.”
“I’m a ‘B’ for telling you the facts? Fine. Why am I debating this with you, anyway? We need more chocolate. I’ll be right back.”
Amanda pushed through the swinging door and a delightful scent of grilling meat greeted her.
“Whassup?”
Amanda said hey to Tony, a long-haired, acne-faced boy she had met on Monday. Other than their initial introduction they had yet to have a more meaningful conversation. Not that Amanda wanted to. She didn’t. However, she sensed Tony working up the nerve to hit on his newest co-worker. While flattered, Amanda was anything but interested. She glanced away and locked eyes with Mr. Plum looking up from his desk in his tiny office.
“Getting chocolate,” she said as she rushed past.
It only took a minute to find what she needed. She was passing through the kitchen when this time Tony stopped her.
He said, “Yo. Amanda, right?”
“Yes, Tony.”
“Whatchoo doin’ after work?”
“Going home.”
“We could hang.”
“Hang?”
“Hang. Chill. Shoot the breeze. Whatchoo think?”
“I’m supposed to go home directly after work.”
“On a Friday?”
“Unless I make plans ahead of time, yes.”
“Yo. What say you we make plans sometime?”
“What say?” Amanda, momentarily confused, had to decipher his words. It only took a moment to realize he wanted to do something with her after work next week.”
“We’ll see, Tony. I should get back to the front.”
“Yo. It’s cool.” He bobbed his head in acceptance.
Great. Now she had two crazy co-workers to deal with. Why didn’t people just do their jobs? Amanda pushed through to the front, where—shock—she found Jill enthralled in a conversation with Brad from the other night. Brad. From the other night. Jill was leaning across the counter so far her breasts wanted to spill out from her tight, white blouse.
“Hi, Amanda,” Brad said.
“Hi, Brad. What brings you to Sugar Plum Grill?”
“Duh,” Jill said. “He wants ice cream, of course. What can I get for you, Brad?”
“Well, yeah, I want ice cream. Who doesn’t? But I came here hoping to see Amanda.”
“Amanda?”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you, Amanda.”
Embarrassment and excitement collided into Amanda. She said, “Okay then, what can I get for you?”
Ringing bells of entering customers interrupted their conversation.
“Welcome to Sugar Plum Grill,” Amanda said. “Jill, please take care of these customers. Brad, what can I get for you?”
Brad gestured for the entering family to be served first. Jill, obviously unhappy, started scooping ice cream for them.
At the edge of the ice cream display case and out of the way, Brad said, “I almost called you, but I figured you might be here, and besides, I wanted to see you.”
“I still look the same.” Amanda grinned.
“That’s a good thing. You could have gotten your hair cut, colored, and curled—I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
“But I didn’t. Thought about it but didn’t go through with it,” Amanda teased.
“I’d be happy if you didn’t change a thing.”
“I’m partial to this look.”
“Good.”
“I’m glad you stopped by. I kind of need to keep working, though.”
“Of course. Ice cream please.”
“Gladly. Cone or cup? What flavor?”
Brad gave her his order, and Amanda began scooping ice cream for him.
“There’s a party I heard about happening next weekend,” he said. “Saturday night. Think you’d like to go with me?”
Sure, she did. But she didn’t know Brad so well.
“I’d have to ask permission.”
“It’s going to be a great party. You won’t want to miss it.”
“Of course. It’s just my foster parents. I haven’t lived with them very long. I really need to ask, first. You wouldn’t mind if I brought a friend, would you?”
“No, that’s cool, you don’t know me. I could be a … Well, a not so nice guy.”
“You seem nice. But I’d feel better if I brought a friend.”
“This friend isn’t a guy, I assume.”
Amanda smirked. “No, not a guy. Her name is Pammy.”
“Cool. Is she seeing anyone? Maybe I could set her up with my bro, Josh. What do you think?”
“As long as Josh doesn’t care about being set up with a mother-to-be, we’ll
be fine. I’ll have to ask her but she’s easygoing, so I don’t think it would be a problem.”
“Sounds great. You check and I’ll check on my end. I’ll stop by or give you a call next week.”
Amanda returned Brad’s smile. “Okay.”
After he paid and left Jill asked, “What’s he see in you?”
“Who cares, so long as he does.”
“Where did you say you went to school?”
“Monarch Prep.”
“Like I said before, that explains it. All the girls at Monarch are sluts.”
“I’m no slut,” Amanda said.
“A slut and a brown-nosing bitch. Brad isn’t interested in you. He’s only interested in what he can get from you.”
“He isn’t going to get anything.”
Jill smiled. “Then you won’t keep him for long.”
* * *
Although Amanda let her co-worker’s comment drop, she couldn’t quite shake its nagging implication. She had never experienced sexual relations with a boy, and she didn’t plan to anytime soon. But she did want to attend the party with him so much it hurt. She also wanted Pammy to agree to go, too. With the extra shift next week, and her household chores and a math test next Friday and English paper due next week, she didn’t quite know how she could pull it all off.
Somehow she would find a way without jeopardizing things with Mr. and Mrs. Henning.
She managed to keep busy and get her work done by closing time which had left only a little extra clean-up, including mopping the dining room floor.
“Good-night, Mr. Plum.”
“Good-night, Amanda. You sure you don’t want a ride?”
“No, thank you,” Amanda said, raising the kickstand on Mrs. Henning’s bicycle. “I only live five minutes away.”
“Okay, then.”
Amanda pedaled away as Mr. Plum slid into his Cadillac. The night air felt good whipping through her hair. She enjoyed the freedom of the night, and arrived on campus much too soon. She steered clear of a rowdy group of guys teasing a redhead on their way to the Administration Building parking lot. Or was the girl teasing them? Amanda locked the bike in the shed and used her key to enter the Henning house. With the exception of a night light near the staircase, darkness filled the downstairs.
After locking the door behind her, she navigated her way upstairs. She heard a television playing in the Hennings’ room and quiet at the other end of the house. In the bathroom she skinned out of her work clothes and placed them into the hamper. She planned to wash them tomorrow morning, along with the rest of the laundry, before her afternoon shift began. She didn’t know how to ask Mr. Henning about going to the party next Saturday night. Somehow, though, she would find the nerve to ask. The warm spray of the shower helped rinse away those worries and left her clean and relieved and vibrant in a world where a handsome young man wanted to spend time with her, for her. Not for any other reason like Jill had implied. Amanda stepped out of the shower, dried off, and, after brushing her teeth and combing through her hair, exited the bathroom wearing panties and a robe. A nightgown awaited her in her bedroom.
Before reaching the relative safety of her room her mind processed the muffled sounds in the sleepy house.
The television no longer blared in the Hennings’ bedroom; however, from down the hall, from behind Amy’s closed bedroom door, came odd sounds. The sounds, so strange and unfamiliar, stopped Amanda in her tracks.
A sound of heavy breathing, light whimpers, and, perhaps, body contact reached her ears. Tiny hairs rose on Amanda’s neck.
“Daddy,” Amy’s voice said. “Daddy, no.” The voice, while firm, didn’t sound quite like a protest, just a request. And it frightened Amanda beyond belief. She caught herself holding her breath, and let it out slowly, deliberately, focusing on the horribly revealing sounds.
She glanced back at the closed door to the Henning room, and then back to Amy’s door.
“Good girl,” Mr. Henning’s voice said.
Amanda started moving again, although her legs almost refused. The floor might creak with each step. But it didn’t. She heard the doorknob to Amy’s room start to turn, and so Amanda dashed into her room and shut her door. It didn’t slam, but she had shut it a little fast, a little too hard.
Heart racing, she pressed her back against the unlockable door. She nearly wet herself when a knock sounded at the door, a light tapping directly to the right of her head.
“Amanda, may I come in? I know you’re awake.”
Her voice cracked as she fearfully stepped away from the door. “Y-yes, Mr. Henning.”
He entered, a light sheen coating his bare chest. Pajama pants slung low on narrow hips. A thin trail of hair led down between the muscular cut defining his pelvis. Amanda couldn’t quite help but notice the outline of his bulge. It seemed to be protruding, and slightly bobbing, as he entered the room. She quickly looked up.
“How are you feeling?”
“I … I’m fine, Mr. Henning.”
“You sound a little shook up.”
“No, sir.”
“I was just checking on Amy. She wasn’t feeling well earlier.”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Mr. Henning smiled. “Good, Amanda. Good.” He reached to touch her cheek. His touch made her skin crawl. She wanted to shrink away but didn’t dare.
“I didn’t hear anything,” she repeated, and added, “I didn’t see anything, either.”
His fingertips glided down her clean flesh, along her neck, and nudged open her terrycloth robe. She just knew he would pull it wide open but he didn’t. He stopped short, stepped closer, and whispered, “Let’s keep it that way. However, should you happen to believe that you’ve seen or heard anything, you will keep your trap shut, won’t you, Amanda?”
“Y-yes, sir. I won’t see or hear anything. Promise.”
“Very well …”
Amanda didn’t recall Mr. Henning
leaving her room.
Only remembered her tears.
Which continued to fall.
She removed her now-askew robe
and flung it across the room.
She slipped into a second pair of panties
and pulled on her nightgown.
She said:
“No
no
no
no
no”
while rocking on the edge of her bed.
PART II
Kat
THE NEXT LEVEL
Windows shook to the tune of a Social Distortion guitar riff. The redhead lay squirming beneath him as Rock slid easily into and out of the sweet suction between her thighs.
“Fuck me, baby. Rock my world,” she said.
This session at his townhouse, their first away from the tattoo parlor, had been going on for a while now. Rock wasn’t sure for how long, but long enough to enjoy all his favorite positions and a few of hers. Their bodies, slicked with sweat, made beautiful music together, serenaded by Kat’s wonderful moans and his steady, practiced breath. He’d held back his orgasm, wanting their fun to last. But now he longed for sexual climax.
“Don’t you fucking come yet. Not yet, god damn you.”
A cry blasted past his lips as razorous nails shredded furrows down his back, all the way to his buttocks which clinched from the momentary agony.
“Oh fuck. Oh fuck,” she said, now bucking her hips against his rigid body. “Choke me.”
“Choke you?”
“Choke me.”
Her hands left his buttocks and nails dug into his upper back, poised for another bloody trip down. She spat in his face, and then bit into his shoulder.
“Crazy bitch,” he said, pulling away but not out. He clamped a hand around her throat and started to throttle her as he resumed thrusting his erection into her.
Her face, going from pale to red, smiled back at him while her nails sank deeper. Her expression turned orgasmic as he deposited his load inside her. Their bodies re
laxed and he rolled off her. Lying there, Rock watched Kat finger fluids from her slit to taste. Unsatisfied, she bent down to lick their juices from his wilting member. If she kept this up he’d be ready to go again soon. But then his mind gave birth to a disturbing thought. Using the remote on the bedside table Rock lowered the volume on the stereo.
He said, “Tell me you’re on the pill.”
Stroking his cock she said, “Not me.”
“Fuck.”
They’d fucked three times before. Each time he had popped in her mouth, on her tits, or across her back. Of course each time had been preceded or followed by a new tattoo. For her second tattoo she’d wanted a tramp stamp. An inverted crucifix. And last week she’d wanted him to christen it by using it for target practice. Squirt your jizz on Jesus, she had said. Come to think of it, Kat had always requested where he squirt his seed. But not today. A girl like this had to get around, so she should be on birth control. But had she decided she wanted to get pregnant by the cool older guy with a tattoo parlor? Why hadn’t he worn a condom like he did with older women he fucked? Although Kat didn’t seem the least bit innocent, perhaps subconsciously her younger age wrongly promised a sexual partner clean of disease.
“Fuck,” he repeated. It seemed like a perfect setup. What the fuck was he doing banging a sixteen-year-old girl anyway?
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to get knocked-up.”
“Let’s pray you don’t.”
“Pray—ha! What a fucking joke. I wish I could get pregnant.”
“What?”
“Don’t worry, I can’t. Not a problem—even if I did, I’d have an abortion.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do. So drop it. You have any beer?”
“Yeah. Downstairs.” Beer did sound good. “I’ll be right back.” Rock got out of bed, stepped into a pair of jeans.
“You’re so cute.”
“What? I gotta go downstairs.”
Kat waved him on. “Just go.”
Rock padded downstairs, barefoot and shirtless. A cartoon blared on his flat-screen TV.
“Meow. Is kitty coming down?” the little girl sitting on the sofa asked.
“No, Vicki, she’s not. You want a Pepsi or something?”
“Meow.” Her attention returned to the TV; the remote control appeared from under her skirt, and the cartoon switched to some other animated program.
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