She pulled the brush through her hair roughly. Her scalp could bear the blunt of her aggression. She could take her punishments like a woman. A strong, strong…very strong woman. She slammed the brush on the sink. The face starring back at her from the mirror was familiar and aggravating. She wasn't strong. She was never strong.
Her mother had been buried the day before.
It was a beautiful cemetery. Something out of a gothic novel. The trees leaned towards the Earth in defeat and in mourning. And her mother was now in the Earth, separated by three inches of mahogany and another two of plumped up silk.
Her death was luxurious, while her life had been anything but.
And now here was Irie, in all her glory, crying. Something had broken inside her. Her mother, the woman Irie could never be good enough for, was dead. Gone. She should feel relief.
She didn't.
She loved her mother, damn it! Even with the abuse and neglect, Martha had still been her mother. She found herself whispering "Mama…Mama" in an empty home that smelled of old cigarette smoke and the bitter stench of alcohol.
There was no answer.
The tears refused to subside.
A lone drop of liquid dropped on her hand. Her hands could be called graceful. But not to Irie. The half cast black. The light brownness of her skin made her hate herself sometimes. Made her hate the world.
Born of a white rapist and a poor southern black. Could her heritage have been more promising.
She sighed.
She hoped her mother appreciated the silk, the mahogany and the expensive dress. Irie had felt that her mother deserved it all. She would be eating much for the next few months, but she could stand to lose a few pounds. Well several. And another point against her.
She looked at the loose dark curls cropped short to her head. They framed her face so to hide some of the roundness of it. They made her look young, pretty, innocent.
She sighed again. The sigh turned to a long moan of pain.
She was an orphan. (She didn't count the rapist as a father). Her mama, the woman Irie hated just as much as she hated herself, was dead. How did these feelings become so jumbled inside her breast? How could she still hate her mother even after her death, and love her so desperately at the same time?
Her alarm went off.
She needed to leave now if she planned to be ten minutes early for her job interview. Merllote's was the name.
She entered. She was wearing business casual. Or she was pretty sure that what she was wearing would be considered business casual. She couldn't be too dressed up for a waitressing job. She walked into the bar… or was it a restaurant? and looked around. There was a waitress with shocking red hair serving a loud, blonde, elderly woman. The red head was doing a pretty good job of hiding the grinding of her teeth.
Finally when the meal was placed in front of the woman, who continued to complain loudly about everything under the sun, did the red head look up. She saw the obvious confusion in Irie's face and walked over with a more pleasant smile.
Irie liked her immediately.
"Hey hun, can I help ya?" She asked, her southern drawl pronounced yet not in the least bit obnoxious.
"Hi." Irie's voice came out soft and even, just as she had practiced it to be. "I'm here for a job interview with Sam Merllote. Could you please direct me to him?"
"Don't you talk pretty." The redhead gushed. And Irie did have a pretty tone to her voice. One that always appeared calm and understanding. It was never raised in anger or frustration. At least not in public.
"Thank you ma'am." Irie liked to be acknowledged for her good manners. Propriety was fast losing its hold in society. She thought it a shame.
"Well, he's in his office. Go on back, just a little beyond the kitchen." The redhead pointed.
Irie smiled. "Thank you, I'm Irie by the way."
"Oh, I'm Arlene. Charmed." She said, straightening. Obviously trying to impress Irie with her own form of politeness. Irie was very charmed.
She gave her one final small smile and moved towards the office. The kitchen was slightly open to the hallway and Irie saw a white man and a black man making food. The white mad appeared nervous in his movements. Almost as if his skin did not fully fit his body. The black man was the complete opposite. He moved as if he were dancing to a tune only he could hear. His movements, the stirring the chopping were pure sensuality. The black man sensed her gaze and lifted his own to meet it. Irie held it for less than a second and dropped it again. He wouldn't want to be friends with her. He seemed too good for her.
She knocked softly when she reached Merlotte's door.
"Come in." The voice was very masculine and sure of itself.
Irie entered. A handsome, young man set by a desk doing the accounting it seemed. He raised friendly eyes to look at Irie. "May I help you ma'am?" And such nice manners. They brought an instant smile to Irie's lips.
"Yes, I hope so. I heard that you might be in need of a new waitress?" Irie felt her heart pounding, waiting for the rejection. She had seen what Arlene had been wearing, she could never wear something like that. But outwardly she was calm.
"Yes, I am. Are you interested?" He asked standing. Another polite gesture. She just loved this place. The people appeared so nice
"Yes, I am." Irie finished. She was never one for excess words. The minimum the better.
"You're hired." She was stunned. She was sure he was going to find a very nice way to reject her employment. Waitresses had to be pretty and thin, shouldn't they?
"When would you like me to start?" She asked. But inside, she was glowing with acceptance and a certain amount of love. Silly to love people she didn't know. But she could never seem to help those things.
"Now would be nice. I just got a call that one of the waitresses isn't coming in today."
"Oh, alright." She smiled showing the slight dimples in her cheeks. Sam reacted to her smile with one of his own. She turned to walk out but stopped. She turned back to Sam. "Umm, sir. I don't mean to be contrary, but could it be possible for me not to wear the uniform? I don't think I could pull it off." She finished with a sheepish smile.
"Oh hell, nobody wears the uniform anymore. Wear whatever you want honey." And another endearment. Irie had heard that they were common for southern people, but she still welcomed it.
"Thank you, sir."
"It's Sam."
"Irie."
She walked out to the gathering crowd.
She served people and glimpsed the profile of the fascinating man in the kitchen. Arlene had called him Lafayette. Lafayette, like the American rebel. Is was unique just as he was. And she wanted him as a friend. She wanted them all as friends.
The day ended late. She had worked a total of nine hours since five o'clock to two in the morning. She was listening to Arlene talk about the other waitress, Sookie and Tara the bartender would chime in every few minutes, when Lafayette and Terry walked out of the cleaned kitchen.
"Bitch, let get the fuck outta this joint. I have shit that needs to be done." Lafayette spoke in slow measured tones. Which soothed Irie, even as his crass words embarrassed her.
"Yeah, yeah. I'm coming." Tara put away the last clean glass and walked from behind the bar.
Irie could do it. She wasn't the shy, unnoticeable girl anymore. She had even had a conversation with Arlene and Tara. Well mostly she had listened, but she was engaged. That counted for something.
Now Irie. Stick out your hand introduce yourself and make another two friends. But her tongue seemed to have become glued to the roof of her mouth, making speech impossible. So she said nothing.
Tara grabbed her jacket but Lafayette wasn't moving. Tara stopped in her tracks. "You coming?" She asked impatiently.
"Wait, hooker. Who's this fluff of sweetness?" He asked pointing a well-manicured finger at Irie.
"Oh. Irie, the new waitress." Tara said somewhat dismissively.
Irie gave a fond, if not sad smile. She was still being dismissed, even by people she almost thought of as friends.
Lafayette seemed to soften at her smile. "Hmm. You dumb or sometin'?" Lafayette asked.
"No, I just don't have much to say." Irie replied.
"Where you stayin'?" He asked.
"Mrs. Hartman is letting me rent a room." Irie was to pay $15 at the end of every week for the room she rented from Mrs. Hartman. Irie had tried to argue that the price was too low, but the older woman was set in her ways and refused to negotiate in any way. In the end Irie had tried to contribute by helping out with groceries and other miscellaneous expenses.
"That religious old crow?" Lafayette sneered.
"I think she's very sweet." If not set in her ways. But Irie didn't mind that.
"Just wait til she throws some holly water your way and calls you Satan's spawn. Then we'll revisit your opinion of her."
"She did that to you?" Irie gasped in horror.
"Wasn't the first time, sugar. Probably won't be the last time." Lafayette said with overconfidence, but the declaration made Irie's heart ache.
"I'm so sorry." She whispered aghast.
Lafayette had a troubled, yet vaguely suspicious look on his face. "It wadn't your fault."
"It's still horrible."
"Yeah, well..." He turned away from her large brown eyes. "We going hooker?"
"I'm waiting bitch." Tara snapped in reply.
A giggle broke out before she could stop it. It brought smiles to the rest of the people around.
"Come with us." Lafayette ordered.
"I can't. I promised Mrs. Hartman that I would help her gardening. And she wakes up with the dawn. So I need some sleep." Irie was very disappointed to have to turn down the offer, but she was barely keeping her eyes open. She wondered if this would be the last time Lafayette would offer to spend time with her.
"Alright. Another time, then." But would there really be another time?
"Okay."
"Bye bitches." Lafayette and Tara waved as they walked out.
Irie turned to the troubled looking Terry and Arlene. "Terry, right?" She asked walking forward and extending her hand.
"Yes ma'am. Terry Bellefleur." He said with a low, husky voice taking her hand and shaking it. His grim was firm and strong, but not at all cruel. He was a gentle man with a troubled soul.
"It's a true pleasure, Terry Bellefleur." Irie said with complete sincerity. Terry seemed to believe her.
"Well, I'd best get heading home. Good night." Irie said to the fellow employees. She moved to the backroom and picked up her purse.
She walked home in the dark. She wasn't afraid. All the monsters of the night had already been exposed.