"HardCase's Angel" Part III

Time: Two Years ago, around four pm

Setting: Harry's Hide-Away Outside Salem Center

With a reluctant sigh, her eye's searched out a window as she twisted the rag between her hands, slipped it in her white apron pocket and started carrying the dishes to behind the counter, where the sinks were. She nodded to Molly as she walked buy, the blue uniform dress swaying ever so slightly on the pert young blonde, and gave her the 'long day but we're hanging in there' smile they'd seemed to manage to understand between each other. Especially, since any other language didn't work well, even if they both spoke english.

Okay. Five-second thought break. It wasn't too bad a place. Dress cleaner, more respectable, mind your manners, make nice with the customers, say please and thank you, let them giggle and joke and be normal. It's not like the place's you've been. Its better than the place you been. It's clean, respectable, over the counter, full of smiles.

When was the last time you saw a fight in here? Have you ever seen anyone so much as yell, or even disagree loudly since the day you started working here? When has the boss so much as given you the up and down look? Or the last time he decided to tell you were just a chunk of meat to bring in the customers? Has a customer so much as asked you for more than date here? And the last time you cleaned up blood and teeth here?

Never. Of course not. None of that happens her.

Welcome to Harry's Hideaway. The place were the people who invented the images of families with the white picket fence pop up daily, or the richie-rich people live, and try not to make you sickened. Or is it envious? It's the place where oldies play on an all too modern juke box, and the cook and waitress, Harry and Molly, knows you by your first name said with a smile.

Turning the faucet off, and placing the hot, dripping dishes in the side rack she pulled up her right arm, bent at about a forty-three degree angel inward, to look at her watch. Four-thirty. Damn. Looking up her eyes raked the scene. One old couple drinking cherry flavored root beer floats, and another group of four teenagers in the opposite corner. In laymen's terms, the joint cased, was very dead, and didn't look to be changing anytime soon.

So why aren't you happy?

Cause you're Baby Jane and your best friend told you last night you're going to run yourself into the ground, and you're doing it quite willingly. Harry's from eight am till six pm, then HardCase's from six thirty pm till three am, and somewhere in there atleast one wink. No boy friend. No free time. All your money's going into paying your mothers medical bills.

The real reason?

Because Harry's is a heaven, and HardCase's is hell, and somehow, even though you work it wonderfully, and both sets of customers love you, you know you don't fit into to either. And you, you take the hand out, anything to get the day over with. Maybe you're living for that three minutes of sleep you swore to your best friend was a lot longer than that.

'Find the place y'ur happiest and don't leave it fer nothin'.'

The words that haven't left you in six months. You might as well tattoo them on your forehead since they've wrecked your world. Seven months ago, you were living with living the lie, even happily living it. Now you can't forget the way he looked you like it was the saving grace of Christ's last words. You can't forget the heart in his voice, and he never was that vulnerable to anyone. Not fighting, not being quiet, not even when laughing.

You're not happy, and you know you're not happy. You're just living by the day, paying bills in your short spare time while you keep you bathroom closet behind the mirror and purse filled with not just Midol, for those of so un-fun day, but more importantly, caffeine pills, because you don't have time to sleep. Two normal jobs don't pay off medical bills, even on double the normal paycheck.

And men? Men. Feh. Working in a bar you've seen enough of them. Not to say you're for the all girl team or some such as that. But you don't have a problem with it either. Woman are sweet, too. Not like it's forbidden fruit or anything. You're just off the swing. You don't want to swing either way. Because having time to waste on a significant other, of any sex, takes up time you could be using to pay off those bills.

And what do you need of a life? For that matter when was the last time you had time for a life?

The bell on the door jangled and the security box beeper, both annoying, caused her to look up from where she now stood at the register. A statuesque red head, and a thin black woman who had the whitest hair she'd seen on anyone. Dress said upscale, but uncaring enough to be relaxed. Features and attitudes said carefree and happy. The placement in the society scale was iffy.

They were walking straight up to the counter which meant no need for seating. Might have been lovers from the way they both laughed and smiled at something obviously now over having been said, and from the way their hands had been together and then dropped while walking in. The red head suddenly smiled faintly and then oddly the black woman did, as if some secret joke had passed between them without words.

Gaea, BJ, get your head out of the black hole. You gotta keep on top of it. You don't have the time or the money to fall on your ass now. Give it atleast another six-twelve months

"Welcome to Harry Hide-Away how can-," Baby Jane started pasting a smile on her lips that was unreal.

"Mama-mia! Girls!" The Italian voice called from behind her, filled with tender affection, like one might have for one's own child, and she tired hard not to shudder. Did he know everyone?