Done Burger

by Camille Oster

  "Nothing particular." Truthfully, my weekends were a little dull since my best friend, Cherry, was spending the summer with her dad in Reno. She hadn't been that excited about it either, but those were the sticks with a caring, but divorced father figure. I didn't really have that problem. My dad only called, and increasingly those conversations were growing strained and awkward. We had nothing in common other than biology and that doesn't make for great conversation. "Might catch a movie." I didn't mention it was with my mom, but that was our thing sometimes, we went to the movies, wearing comfy clothes and buying lots of crap at the counter.

  "I'm going to a party across town. This guy has this awesome house and he throws cool parties. Cocktail and bikini type of thing. There's this pool that changes color, nice vodka, and hot guys. You should come."

  "I don't really party in bikinis."

  She looked at me like she wasn't comprehending. "Why? You've got a good enough body."

  Thanks, I guess, I thought. "Just not my kind of thing." And it really wasn't. All I could imagine was some douche pretending to be a rapper, convincing gullible girls that kind of stuff happens around here. A twitch of conscience pierced me, thinking Ella was gullible, but maybe she was. "What about Julian?"

  "We don't hang out," she said, a little disbelievingly, like I didn't understand. "It's just a here thing. Breaks the monotony, you know? And I haven't got a boyfriend at the moment, so no harm done."

  She smiled and smoothed her hair, which was one of her unconscious habits. Her nails were done with these crystals at the very tips.

  "Nice nails."

  "Thanks. My cousin does them. She can do you too, if you like. She does charge though, but it's worth it." She splayed her fingers and chewed her cheek. They were cool. Again, not my kind of thing, but I decided I liked Ella, maybe because she was ultimately generous. We were absolutely not kindred spirits, but who cared.

  A woman came in with a stroller, the tiny face watching me as the mother considered the board above my head. Those little eyes were staring unblinkingly, but it was late enough that I felt sorry for the little tyke, but apparently some kids were night owls, by choice or not. "Can I have one of those, with the melted swiss cheese?" the mother asked, standing there in jeans and high tops. She was young, like our age.

  "Sure," I said brightly. I took the money she got out from her purse in exact change and watched her carry her tray back down the restaurant, balanced on one hand, pushing the pram with the other.

  "Get pregnant and die," Ella said with a shiver. "Is there anything more boring?"

  "You don't like kids."

  "I don't like having no life. What kind of girl goes like, yeah, you can do whatever you want. No condom? Sure. Knock me up. Stupid," she said with two fingers to her temple.

  Maybe that was why Ella liked Julian. He didn't try on stuff like that. I was guessing. What the hell did I know? But as mismatched as Julian and Ella were, I guess they weren't looking to start a family.

  "I have to go to the bathroom," Ella said and moved into the back. I leaned down on the counter and watched the customers. There was nothing happening tonight inside this little bubble of brightness in a sea of dark outside. Tonight we weren't attracting the nightlife. The flies weren't swarming. Maybe even the customers had better things to do tonight.

  Matilda still stood to attention at her register like she was expecting a customer to walk in the door any minute.

  "What are you doing this weekend, Matilda?"

  "I have another job down at Baskin and Robins," she said without looking at me. She bit the nail of her thumb before returning it to the side of the register.

  I was impressed. A night job and a weekend job. Matilda was doing more than a forty hour week—no days off.

  "You going to go to college?" I asked.

  "I will next fall. Georgetown. I'm saving up."

  Okay, now that was impressive. "Can you apply a year ahead?" I asked. This was not how I understood it working, but maybe ivy league schools were different.

  "I haven't applied yet."

  "I like your confidence." She'd stated it so matter of fact, I'd assumed she'd been accepted. Although somewhere like Georgetown was impossible to get into unless you were something totally remarkable or rich enough to buy yourself in. She wasn't rich if she was working here, so either remarkable or deluded. I didn't know which, and I honestly didn't care. "Nothing beats having a plan," I said, knowing full well that my plan was more or less absent.

  I just couldn't decide what I wanted to be. I'd been accepted at the local campus of the state university where the tuition fees were high in my book, but not ridiculous like the ivy schools. Just looking at the fee schedule was scary. The sums were incomprehensible. My mom was still paying off her student loans and more than once had I seen her cry about it, particularly those times when it looked like we weren't going to make the mortgage on our condo.

  The future was just a big, scary uncertainty and it sent a little shiver down my spine.

  "Instead of dreaming about the vacation you're not on, why don't you refill some of the stocks," Julian said, making me jump. I hadn't seen him approach and he moved past, continuing to his little office. I really didn't see what Ella saw in him. I mean there was nothing wrong with him, considering he was thirty or whatever, but he certainly wasn't rappers and Grey Goose, which seemed to be her thing.

  Grudgingly I straightened up and started checking supplies—napkins, packets, stirry things, straws, marshmallows. Milk, ice cream, juices, cocoa powder, nuts. There were an amazing number of supplies that went into just the front operation. I started shifting them over, consolidating baskets until I had an empty one. Straws and swizzle sticks were running low so I grabbed the two empty containers and walked out the back to the dry store.

  "Princess," Riley said.

  "Don't call me that."

  "It's generally considered a term of endearment," he said, pretending to look hurt. He was leaning on the edge of the grill with his arms crossed in front of the white apron. There was nothing for them to do back here either. Gods knows what they talked about—online games?

  "Except we're not endeared."

  "Are you hitting on me?" he asked, that smile creeping over his lips. All out with the teasing, then?

  "That will happen," I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster. "Keep your hopes up." I did a corny Brady Bunch fist swing and moved on. I didn’t know what the hell his problem was, but again, I didn't care. "Looking styley in that apron, by the way." I smiled as I walked off. Two could play that game.

  Walking into the dry store, I searched for straws and swizzle sticks, finding only straws. Where were the fucking swizzle sticks? Whose job was it to ensure there actually were supplies when we needed them? I imagined myself having to apologize to anyone buying a coffee that there weren't any swizzle sticks and would they like a spoon instead? I growled a little through my teeth, also recognizing this really wasn't worth getting worked up over.

  No, they had to be here. I looked harder and spotted a bag up on the top shelf, the kind where the shelves were made of tubular steel rods. I couldn't reach it, but a box of napkins was surprisingly sturdy, so I used it to stand on, just reaching up. The bag of swizzle sticks was awkward and I tugged it. When it came down, it would plummet, so I had to catch it, but it also pulled the black bag next to it. My eyes widened in concern when they both shifted forward, the black one moving as much as the swizzle sticks, but it stuck on the metal edge of the shelf, tearing with the weight of the bag itself. Whatever it contained came down on top of my head with a whoosh, drenching me in the tangy smell of mayonnaise. The floor was an absolute mess. I was a mess, unable to move in mortification. What the hell do I do now? I was covered in mayonnaise. The whole dry store was a disaster area.

  I staggered out of the dry store, my arms held out at my sides. I was dripping the stuff.

  "Brian came all over Pepper," Wyatt shouted and started laughing. Riley was laughing so ha
rd he couldn't make a noise, or breathe.

  Just great, this is just what I needed. I hope you choke, I thought bitterly. "It's the fucking mayonnaise. It caught on the edge," I stammered. "Why are there sharp corners and metal things sticking up?"

  Julian appeared, looking unimpressed. "Do you have to tear everything apart? The dry store is a mess and you're dragging it everywhere."

  "What am I supposed to do?" I challenged, close to tears.

  "She can't work the register like that," Matilda said, also coming to check out my humiliation.

  "Yes, thank you, Matilda," Julian said dryly. "I guess we'll just have to hose you off. Out the back," he ordered.

  I walked awkwardly. It was all down my front and it was soaking through my clothes, a clammy, wet feeling along my body. I felt like throwing up.

  Julian held the door opened for me and it shut behind us, only the spotlight lighting the space. Julian walked into the dark corner and grabbed the hose. It spluttered before water started flowing. He held his thumb over the edge of the hose to pressurize the spray.

  I spat and avoided the spray as he started on my head. "I sorry," I said when I could. "I didn't mean to."

  "Don't worry about it. I'll make the boys clean it up."

  He sprayed my front and I turned so he could do my back. I still stunk of mayonnaise and was slightly slimy everywhere, but most of it was cleaned off, flowing in a rivulet down to some unseen drain in the dark.

  Julian came back with a towel. "Here."

  "Thanks," I said, drying my face.

  He pulled out a pack of smokes and lit one. "Want one?"

  "Yes," I admitted and took one sticking out the top of the pack. I felt beyond stupid, standing there soaking wet. I really needed a proper shower. I certainly couldn't go back in there in my wet clothes, with everyone laughing at me.

  "Go home," Julian said, sitting down on the chair and crossing his legs. He picked a bit of tobacco or something off his tongue before taking another drag off the cigarette. "I won't dock your pay. Just don't make a habit of it."

  "I won't," I said. "Thanks."

  "I'll get your bag in a minute. You can sit on the towel when you drive home," he said and I nodded, feeling like a five year-old getting caught finger-painting all over the walls. Saying that, he was compassionate about it.

  * * *

  Chapter 4:

  * * *

  I sat in my car and just watched the people walking in and out of the supermarket across the parking lot. Crossing my arms, my gaze drifted down to the floor of the passenger side, which was covered in empty wrappers, shopping bags, and even a few half-eaten chocolate bars. An old drink sat in the holder. I couldn't even remember when I’d put it there. I really should clear that up; I just wasn't able to get my ass in gear and do it. There was never the right time for it. My car kind of reflected my life, a big fucking mess.

  Yesterday had been a horror show, getting hosed off by my boss like a dog who'd escaped and gotten itself covered in mud. If I didn't need this job, I might not go back, but then I also told myself not to be chickenshit. It was embarrassing, but it wasn't the end of the world. I wasn't fourteen anymore when I would have been too mortified to ever show my face again. That was one thing about growing up: you could put these things in perspective. I just had to get over it, and really, was there anyone there whose opinion I cared about? No.

  Getting out, I locked the door and headed to the back of the restaurant, pushing my light knit sweater up my arms. The sun was still warm this late in the afternoon, but it would cool soon. A noise came from the other side of the fence, which meant someone was out back, but I was greeted by a sight I'd never expected. Riley sitting in the chair, dressed in a fur coat, a black star painted over one eye like some Kiss fan, drunk out of his head. His legs were apart and a green bottle of champagne rested on his thigh.

  "Princess," he said as he looked up, noticing me there. He took a swig from a champagne bottle. He had a challenging look like he wanted me to call him out on the nickname again.

  I seriously couldn't be bothered arguing with him. What was the point of arguing with a drunk person? "Good day?"

  "I've had worse." He wasn't slurring too much, but he wasn't sober either. "Got laid." He leaned back and stretched out, wearing nothing but black jeans under the fur coat. His abs were surprisingly tight.

  "I dread to think with what," I said dryly.

  "I can give you details if you like."

  "I would actually go a long way not to hear that."

  "Got a smoke?"

  "Nope," I said, my thoughts traveling to the pack in my bag. Like I'd said, I wasn't a charity.

  "Liar," he said and smiled, leaning back again and considering me. "You're a bit of a bitch, aren't you?"

  "Yep."

  I'd had enough of this and punched the code into the door lock. If he was drunk, why the hell was he hanging out here? It wasn't my problem and I dismissed him out of my mind as I shoved my bag in my locker and grabbed my uniform. Another day of subjugation to corporate capitalism. Yay.

  Once dressed, washed and face checked in the mirror, I made my way out. Matilda was standing by her register and I wondered if she'd even left. Maybe once they're smart enough, robots could take over these jobs. Matilda would fit right in. "Hey, Matilda," I said as I unlocked my register. "How's everything?"

  "Fine."

  "Okay, glad to hear it." The restaurant wasn't busy, just some kids sitting yakking. The corner of my mouth twitched looking at them, remembering when I'd been just like that, the only care in the world being what to wear on the first day back at school and who had hung out with whom during the summer. No more school. For four years I'd been dreaming of the day school was out for good. It wasn't as exciting as I'd always thought. Because here was the big 'now what?' question, and I still had no answer.

  An arm stretched at my side, making me jump. A guys arm from right behind me. Riley was standing close to me; I could feel him at my back. What the hell? "I stole a cigarette out of your bag," he said, the fur gone. Standing this close, I noticed how tall he was; he was practically looking down at me, that star still painted on his face, otherwise bare-chested.

  "You can't be out here without a uniform on," Matilda said tersely.

  "What are you going to do, wrestle me out? Strike that, you probably will," he said, walking back lazily. His jeans rode low on his hips and he looked so completely out of place. And he'd gone in my bag, the dog. Anger fumed in my head and I considered having it out with him for a minute, until I recalled how drunk he was. That would obviously go well. And life lesson: don't argue with half-naked drunk guys.

  "If I was running this restaurant, he'd be fired on the spot. In fact, he should have been fired months ago," Matilda said bitterly, her jaw clenching before returning to a completely neutral face again. The shifts in her emotions were so stark and complete I couldn't stop staring at her.

  Was Riley going to get fired? Not that I cared. I wasn't the one turning up to work drunk. A customer approached and I smiled at them absently while punching in their order.

  *

  Riley was by the grill, spatula in hand when I walked back for my break. He was laughing at something Wyatt said, crunching over with cramps. Still bare-chested, and again, surprisingly good body. Broad shoulders, tight ass, light caramel skin.

  "Pepper," Julian called from his office. I diverted my direction. I hadn’t been unaware Julian was there.

  "I'm sorry, but you have to make up some hours for yesterday." His pen was lightly in his fingers, pushing up the side of his template.

  "Okay," I said, trying to think where I could fit some hours in when there weren't any I wanted to give.

  "Matilda," he called in a deep voice, looking past me. As I turned, I saw Matilda stop on her way toward Riley and Wyatt. Her eyes narrowed and she threw Julian a filthy look before turning sharply and stalking back to the front of the restaurant. "Matilda doesn't respond well to things being out of orde
r."

  "Riley's drunk," I said, feeling a twinge of guilt for telling on him.

  "Yes," Julian said and threw the pen down on top of the papers on his desk. "But as much as Matilda would like that to be her issue to deal with, it isn't. And I need a fry cook more than I need a sober fry cook, and he is reliable—always turns up, no matter what. You have to respect that. Besides, none of us want to see Matilda taking charge around here."

  "She is a bit…"

  "A psychopath. She's a psychopath."

  I snorted. That couldn't be true. Psychopaths were serial killers with scary, unblinking eyes.

  "She'll kill us all one day," he said with resignation, "but I can trust her to lock up. I kind of wish I have more of her. Could you imagine? Actually, that would be really scary," he said and stood up, pushing past me. "Apron, Riley," he yelled as he walked past me into the storage area.

  Riley did a mock salute with the spatula as I withdrew to the staff area and unrolled the Subway sandwich I'd gotten on the way to work. I ate quickly feeling disturbed and ill at ease. This place was crazier than I'd thought, and I’d been working next to a psychopath, according to Julian. I'd read somewhere that they were more common than people thought, but I'd never really thought I'd actually meet one. It couldn't be true. She was just a bit clueless and quirky, that was all. But if Julian was right… I shivered. Riley being drunk in a fur coat wasn't the weirdest thing to happen that day.

  Returning to my register, I watched Matilda with a whole new level of suspicion, who greeted a customer with perfect pitch and a broad smile, like a robot. Just creepy. I felt my gut twist with unease. This information didn't make it at all unpleasant to work up here.

  Something on the wall caught my eye. The photo for the employee of the month had been changed. It had been Matilda before, looking perfect in her uniform, to now being a photo of me covered in mayonnaise, like a slime monster from hell. My arms were out and I had that stunned, haunted look on my face. Julian must have put that up for absolutely everyone to see, but then I guessed I deserved it. I should have guessed my fuck-up yesterday wouldn't come without a price. Public embarrassment was the currency around here.