"HardCase's Angel"
Time: Three years ago, around 12-1pm
Setting: Outside Salem Center. Shady Suburb.
Reaching up she brushed away the chin length bangs that fell in the way of her vision, trying to get it to stay in the ponytailer atleast two minutes. The afternoon crowd would come in soon, and she'd rather have a clean bar top for five or ten minutes than to never seen the thing shine at all. She was bound by fierce determination to prove there really was a counter top under all the beer rings, food stains, and general puked up and bled on crap that was stuck better than the stuff stuck under the tables.
She worked her hands hard on a wash cloth, not crying out but wincing and whimpering sometimes when she would press too hard on her finger tips, and using a metal spatula when she got to the particularly "clingy" articles of whatever it was stuck. Occasional she took a step back to wipe her hands on
the apron around her shorts, and tuck the strands of not-yet-long-enough hair away for the millionth time in that one minute alone.
"What're you goin' at, girl?"
The voice rolled in her ears, thick, strongly accented and she cast her intense eyes from the counter of the bar to him. Sal. Her boss. The man with an annoyingly strong and getting all too obvious crush on her.
"Cleaning the tops, Sal, before the next pack files in. Drinks ready? Stoves warmed?"
Her glowered at him over the large nose that detracted to what could've been a nearly partially attractive face, and his eyes darkened on her. He hated being talked up, too. The only reason she got away with was she was cute in his eyes, knew how to put up with the customers, and they seemed to like her.
"Why dontcha just focus on ya job, beau'ful. Straighten you'se'f up for the nooner's so they keep comin' back for more."
Sal waddled back through the swinging door to the kitchen and she tried to refrain from swearing outloud again or throwing the spatula through the pick up area for food at him. She wasn't a hugely emotional person, but she hated being told, day in and day out, it was her body that let her keep the job. No, it wasn't that she was friendly, or that she could make any drink you could name and even a few you couldn't and would kill for. It was because of her body.
Looking down at herself as she walked towards the drawer under the register didn't help any.
A pair of normal, casual, white tennis shoes and crew shocks. Her legs like most of her skin was a gorgeously tanned color, thought she wished her leg were in a bit more shape. She wore a pair of tight blue daisy duke jean cut off shorts that hugged her hips and pressed tight against her form under the untidy apron. Above that she had a tie string shirt in crimson that tied one in thin strings behind her neck and once across the center of her back, and had a white play boy bunny on the center of the shirt.
Pulling out the hair band that held her hair in a low bun, she opened the drawer and pulled out a brush. Stretching the hair band she slid it on her wrist and began to brush out her hair. She loved her hair. It was one of her smaller joys in life. And her life did need them. It came the center of her shoulder blades in a rushing tumble of dark brunette shades. Taking little time to care she brushed out the knots and started pulling it up in a high ponytail.
Not that she really cared. She cast a glance to the door as it swung open and she placed the brush down with one hand around the bottom of the ponytail tight, right above the crown of her head. She nodded to the man, as she pulled the pony tailer from her wrist and started twisting it around her hair.
"Afternoon, Roger. How's the wife?"
He grinned at her, strong rugged feature sliding into a barstool as she moved, finishing her hair, to the back and started making him a double scotch already. He was constant in his thing, only once asked for a different thing. He was a big bear of a man, strong, but one of those teddy bear men that were so hard to find. Genuine smile, soft eyes.
"She's good. We're good. Baby's due in about two weeks. Decided she's going to name it Michele- thank you," he interrupted himself as she handed him his drink. She nodded good naturally, and went to getting rid of the apron, and placing her three rings back on her fingers. "She's naming it Michele after her grandmother."
"Sounds good, what you think?"
"I'm a blessed man, that's what I think," Roger said raising the glass to her as if in a toast, and he took half the drink in one shot.
The door opened again, as she had to keep from grinning all but a little. The man who walked in was tall, clean cut type you wouldn't ever expect here. White suite, blue shirt, shined shoes and a lapel of a red rose. Never came in too often to annoy the normals. Uptown money, was what the guys around here called him.
"Heya, Josh. What can we do ya for?"
He gave a charming smile she fought to find annoying, even thought she found his moods to be usually. He slid into the first stool, next to the register, down the row four from where Roger was. Setting another drink in front of Roger she looked up expectantly.
"How bout that date you promised me so long ago, Baby Jane."
"I never promised you nothin'," she said with a sly grin. "What can I get for you?"
"Vodka martini. Dry. Two olives, and a small onion slice in between."
He leaned up to the counter where she'd started making his drink, invading what could easily first be called her personal space, and then her even more personal space. A shiver of impatience ran down her spine, but after so long in this place she'd learn to deal with people who were like that.
"Were you always this cute or do you have to work at?"
Roger glanced up, giving him a look that would have told him he was being watched and warned and to her that if she needed the help. Big bear. She adored Roger. He was in some way the father she never did have. Sliding the olive and a thin slice of onion and the other olive she slipped him his drink with a laugh.
"I'm way too much for you to handle, doll," she said grinning teasingly, stepping back, pulling out more cups and a order pad. People began to come in suddenly almost like a line getting tables, and whistling for service, so it was now her cue to as Sal so nicely put it before 'Get her rear in gear, and serve'.
"You wouldn't know what to do with the likes of me." With that she walked off knowing it wouldn't be the end, if only the beginning of the cutesy conversation lines she'd get tonight.
Baby Jane wasn't much of a drinker herself, she never much liked the taste of many alcohol's. But the people who did like it tipped good, and the wages working here at HardCase's were terrific for someone who'd clean up puke, blood, teeth, say they never saw a thing to the cops, or a wife, and would flirt with them even after watching it all happen.
Time: Three years ago, around 12-1pm
Setting: Outside Salem Center. Shady Suburb.
Reaching up she brushed away the chin length bangs that fell in the way of her vision, trying to get it to stay in the ponytailer atleast two minutes. The afternoon crowd would come in soon, and she'd rather have a clean bar top for five or ten minutes than to never seen the thing shine at all. She was bound by fierce determination to prove there really was a counter top under all the beer rings, food stains, and general puked up and bled on crap that was stuck better than the stuff stuck under the tables.
She worked her hands hard on a wash cloth, not crying out but wincing and whimpering sometimes when she would press too hard on her finger tips, and using a metal spatula when she got to the particularly "clingy" articles of whatever it was stuck. Occasional she took a step back to wipe her hands on
the apron around her shorts, and tuck the strands of not-yet-long-enough hair away for the millionth time in that one minute alone.
"What're you goin' at, girl?"
The voice rolled in her ears, thick, strongly accented and she cast her intense eyes from the counter of the bar to him. Sal. Her boss. The man with an annoyingly strong and getting all too obvious crush on her.
"Cleaning the tops, Sal, before the next pack files in. Drinks ready? Stoves warmed?"
Her glowered at him over the large nose that detracted to what could've been a nearly partially attractive face, and his eyes darkened on her. He hated being talked up, too. The only reason she got away with was she was cute in his eyes, knew how to put up with the customers, and they seemed to like her.
"Why dontcha just focus on ya job, beau'ful. Straighten you'se'f up for the nooner's so they keep comin' back for more."
Sal waddled back through the swinging door to the kitchen and she tried to refrain from swearing outloud again or throwing the spatula through the pick up area for food at him. She wasn't a hugely emotional person, but she hated being told, day in and day out, it was her body that let her keep the job. No, it wasn't that she was friendly, or that she could make any drink you could name and even a few you couldn't and would kill for. It was because of her body.
Looking down at herself as she walked towards the drawer under the register didn't help any.
A pair of normal, casual, white tennis shoes and crew shocks. Her legs like most of her skin was a gorgeously tanned color, thought she wished her leg were in a bit more shape. She wore a pair of tight blue daisy duke jean cut off shorts that hugged her hips and pressed tight against her form under the untidy apron. Above that she had a tie string shirt in crimson that tied one in thin strings behind her neck and once across the center of her back, and had a white play boy bunny on the center of the shirt.
Pulling out the hair band that held her hair in a low bun, she opened the drawer and pulled out a brush. Stretching the hair band she slid it on her wrist and began to brush out her hair. She loved her hair. It was one of her smaller joys in life. And her life did need them. It came the center of her shoulder blades in a rushing tumble of dark brunette shades. Taking little time to care she brushed out the knots and started pulling it up in a high ponytail.
Not that she really cared. She cast a glance to the door as it swung open and she placed the brush down with one hand around the bottom of the ponytail tight, right above the crown of her head. She nodded to the man, as she pulled the pony tailer from her wrist and started twisting it around her hair.
"Afternoon, Roger. How's the wife?"
He grinned at her, strong rugged feature sliding into a barstool as she moved, finishing her hair, to the back and started making him a double scotch already. He was constant in his thing, only once asked for a different thing. He was a big bear of a man, strong, but one of those teddy bear men that were so hard to find. Genuine smile, soft eyes.
"She's good. We're good. Baby's due in about two weeks. Decided she's going to name it Michele- thank you," he interrupted himself as she handed him his drink. She nodded good naturally, and went to getting rid of the apron, and placing her three rings back on her fingers. "She's naming it Michele after her grandmother."
"Sounds good, what you think?"
"I'm a blessed man, that's what I think," Roger said raising the glass to her as if in a toast, and he took half the drink in one shot.
The door opened again, as she had to keep from grinning all but a little. The man who walked in was tall, clean cut type you wouldn't ever expect here. White suite, blue shirt, shined shoes and a lapel of a red rose. Never came in too often to annoy the normals. Uptown money, was what the guys around here called him.
"Heya, Josh. What can we do ya for?"
He gave a charming smile she fought to find annoying, even thought she found his moods to be usually. He slid into the first stool, next to the register, down the row four from where Roger was. Setting another drink in front of Roger she looked up expectantly.
"How bout that date you promised me so long ago, Baby Jane."
"I never promised you nothin'," she said with a sly grin. "What can I get for you?"
"Vodka martini. Dry. Two olives, and a small onion slice in between."
He leaned up to the counter where she'd started making his drink, invading what could easily first be called her personal space, and then her even more personal space. A shiver of impatience ran down her spine, but after so long in this place she'd learn to deal with people who were like that.
"Were you always this cute or do you have to work at?"
Roger glanced up, giving him a look that would have told him he was being watched and warned and to her that if she needed the help. Big bear. She adored Roger. He was in some way the father she never did have. Sliding the olive and a thin slice of onion and the other olive she slipped him his drink with a laugh.
"I'm way too much for you to handle, doll," she said grinning teasingly, stepping back, pulling out more cups and a order pad. People began to come in suddenly almost like a line getting tables, and whistling for service, so it was now her cue to as Sal so nicely put it before 'Get her rear in gear, and serve'.
"You wouldn't know what to do with the likes of me." With that she walked off knowing it wouldn't be the end, if only the beginning of the cutesy conversation lines she'd get tonight.
Baby Jane wasn't much of a drinker herself, she never much liked the taste of many alcohol's. But the people who did like it tipped good, and the wages working here at HardCase's were terrific for someone who'd clean up puke, blood, teeth, say they never saw a thing to the cops, or a wife, and would flirt with them even after watching it all happen.