A/N: Disturbed-girl (Nikki), It was my pleasure to put you in here, even though your not that smart or realistic ;o) J/K, sort of! Angry Princess, I'm glad you still like it, and keep reading. Clover, patience!! And don't worry, she isn't a Mary Sue!!
Chapter Four
"Mr. Razini, I am begging you for your help. I don't know where else to go. I need this job. I'll be a good worker, I promise you. If you don't hire me, I'll end up sleeping on the streets. You couldn't sleep right knowing your old friend's daughter is sleeping on the streets, could you?" Tara knew that last part was a low blow, but she was desperate. She'd never had to beg anyone for anything ever in her life, and she was not going to be unsuccessful at her first whack at it. "Please Mr. Razini."
"Look, bella, the only position we have open is busgirl, and I'm sure that you would not..."
"I'll take it!" Tara interrupted. She had told Nikki that she would do anything that he told her to do for money, and she wasn't lying. Being a busgirl couldn't be that bad, could it?
"Are you sure bella?" Mr. Razini asked, skeptical.
"Absolutely." Tara replied firmly.
"Well, welcome to Razini's Place." He said. "It isn't too impressive. I tried to supply good Old World Italian food to those people who can't afford to eat at the richest places. Not all of our customers are the classiest people, but they are characters. Those are the people that you serve, and those are the people who tip you, so show respect and obedience."
Tara nodded as he raddled off the list of her duties. It seemed as if being a busgirl wasn't as easy as she thought. Getting refills, clearing empty dishes, boxing up food, doing anything that the waitresses tell her to do, clearing, cleaning, and setting tables. Tara, someone who was used to being on the receiving end of those services was now doing them for the people she had always thought were under her. Irony is a bitch.
(One month later)
Tara woke up in her single room apartment overlooking the river and shuddered. She was having another one of her dreams. This time, her mother was calling to her for help before her father shot her, and Tara had tried to get to her, but was unable to. She woke up at the sound of the blast from her father's gun.
That dream, or one like it was practically a nightly ritual. Tara realized that she was not going to fall back asleep and looked out her window. Her river view would have been nicer sounding if it wasn't in Brooklyn. She sighed as a piece of garbage floated past a man who was urinating in the water. A little ways down, some newsboys were swimming in that very water. Disgusting.
She dragged herself out of bed, and decided to take her time getting ready for work. Ugh, work. It wasn't too bad, if she kept her mind elsewhere. She didn't have friends there, but that was alright. Tara knew that that was her own fault. She kept to herself. She worked hard, but she didn't really want to become close to these people. She would end up losing them in the end somehow, which is why she ostracized herself from Nikki.
That was the hardest. She missed having someone to talk to or gossip with. She missed, well, she missed people. But she was getting used to being alone in a way.
Tara glanced in her mirror, which was a mistake. Her long hair was getting frizzy from split ends and darkening. Where it once was golden and shinning, it was dirty blonde and lifeless. Her skin, in contrast to her hair had lightened. She never really went outside unless she was going to work or getting food. And her eyes, they were like her hair, lifeless. They had once been a brilliant blue, but had dulled. If she hadn't noticed this process over the last couple of months, she would have thought that she was seeing a stranger.
At least she could do something about her hair, though. As she reached into her drawer for her scissors, she prepared for yet another changed. She grabbed a handful of hair, which was nearly to her waist, and cut off a little over a foot off. Tara held that lock of hair in her hand, and almost wanted to cry. Not because of her hair, but because of the hopelessness of her situation. But she had made a vow that she would not cry, and she stuck by that. It was the only thing that she had.
Spot and a few of his friends made their way over the Brooklyn Bridge towards Manhattan. Jack, Race, and Kid were meeting them at Razini's for dinner. The place was better than other places they had eaten at, and the old man gave them a deal. He saw his friends just outside of the restaurant, and grinned. He hadn't seen them in a while; he had been too busy busting his ass for money. He had almost saved enough.
After their hello's, the boys went in and found a table.
"So Spot, how've ya been lately?" Jack asked.
"Not bad, not bad. Keepin' busy, but that ain't nothin' new." He replied. They told the waiter what they wanted, and Race entertained them with a story about what happened at the racetrack.
"And den, da horse, instead of crossin' da finish line, tossed his rider, cleared the fence and raced in da centa of the arena. I mean, ya shoulda seen da look on dat poor guys' face, and den..."
"Whoa, check dat out boys!" Kid exclaimed. The boys followed his line of sight and, of course, it was a girl. She had blonde hair that reached to the middle of her back, and blue eyes. Her high cheekbones accented her small aristocratic nose. She was very thin, almost too skinny. He couldn't explain why, but he recognized her from somewhere. And then, it hit him. The girl that he had run into, over a month ago. He knew what it was the jogged his memory, it was her arrogance. Her appearance had changed, but the arrogance was still there. You could tell how she looked at people that she thought she was better than them, even though she was the one doing to serving. Interesting, he thought as his eyes narrowed on her.
Tara felt someone's eyes boring into and turned to see who it was. It was a guy around her age dressed in grungy clothing. He was surrounded by a group who were in equal states of disarray. They stared at each other, a silent challenge of who would look away first. She made her way to the back, and would have to pass their table. As she passed, she gave him the once over, lifted her eyebrow, rolled her eyes, and walked past, her head held high.
The group of guys around Spot burst out in laughter. "Whoa Spot, looks like ya finally met your match!" Jack laughed. At that time, their waiter Jimmy set down their drinks.
"Hey Jimmy," Spot called, "what's up wid little miss high-and-mighty over der?"
"Oh, that's Tara." Jimmy said.
"Why's she got a stick up her ass?" Spot's friend Jay asked.
"She's not really a bitch, Jay. She just keeps to herself. She has good reason to, though. I would be if I were in her situation." Jimmy said sadly.
"What do ya mean?" Jack asked.
"Well that's a sad story in itself. But you guys should know it, I mean; ya do read the papers, don't you?" He replied smugly. "Remember about two months ago. That big bank guy who killed his wife and shit his daughter and himself? Well, that's the daughter. Yeah, really sad, that one. Good worker, but she's one sad girl." Jimmy said as he walked away.
"Yeah, I remember dat one." Jack said.
"Didn't even have to lie about it. Jeez. I guess that kinda explains it. But why ain't she sittin' at home, livin' off her inheritance?" Spot wondered. The other boys just shrugged.
As she walked by again, Spot tried not to look in her eyes, but he couldn't seem to help it. They once again made eye contact, and what he saw in her eyes ripped at his gut. There was so much anger there, and under that, just plain anguish. It hurt him to look in her eyes, so he distracted himself with his friends.
Tara blew off that strange boy and kept working. Thankfully, it was almost eight; break time. It was starting to die down in the restaurant, and she asked Jimmy if he would mind if she went outside.
"Be my guest. Not much to do in here." He said.
She walked out the back, not noticing that someone had noticed her, and decided to follow her out.
Tara sat down on a crate and rubbed her aching feet. She then fished around in her apron for a cigarette. That was just one more thing about her that had changed. But she didn't care.
"Shit." She said when she realized she forget her matches.
"Need a light?" The boy!! He had followed her! What gall.
Without waiting for her to respond, he struck the match against the brick of the building and held it up for her. Leaning forward, but never breaking eye contact with him, she allowed him to light her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, felt that sweet smoke hit her lungs and let the calming effects of the nicotine flow through her body. Tara eyed him suspiciously as he mirrored her actions.
"You don't recognize me, do ya?" Spot asked with a smirk.
Tara continued to stare. She recalled something about his eyes, but not much else.
"I believe your term for me was...urchin." He reminded. He knew the second that she recognized him, because she glanced at the ground.
"Yeah, sorry, I guess. I was having a bad day. But you should watch were your going." She said. Oh my God. She didn't think she would see him again. Oh well. That's life. And life does suck, so she shouldn't be surprised. "But, much to my extreme displeasure, my breaks over." She crushed her cigarette with her shoe and started to head in.
"It's been great catching up with you. We'll really have to do it another time!" She said, her words dripping with sarcasm. And with that, she went inside.
"Oh, you can count on it sweetheart." Spot said smugly and made his way back inside to his friends.
Chapter Four
"Mr. Razini, I am begging you for your help. I don't know where else to go. I need this job. I'll be a good worker, I promise you. If you don't hire me, I'll end up sleeping on the streets. You couldn't sleep right knowing your old friend's daughter is sleeping on the streets, could you?" Tara knew that last part was a low blow, but she was desperate. She'd never had to beg anyone for anything ever in her life, and she was not going to be unsuccessful at her first whack at it. "Please Mr. Razini."
"Look, bella, the only position we have open is busgirl, and I'm sure that you would not..."
"I'll take it!" Tara interrupted. She had told Nikki that she would do anything that he told her to do for money, and she wasn't lying. Being a busgirl couldn't be that bad, could it?
"Are you sure bella?" Mr. Razini asked, skeptical.
"Absolutely." Tara replied firmly.
"Well, welcome to Razini's Place." He said. "It isn't too impressive. I tried to supply good Old World Italian food to those people who can't afford to eat at the richest places. Not all of our customers are the classiest people, but they are characters. Those are the people that you serve, and those are the people who tip you, so show respect and obedience."
Tara nodded as he raddled off the list of her duties. It seemed as if being a busgirl wasn't as easy as she thought. Getting refills, clearing empty dishes, boxing up food, doing anything that the waitresses tell her to do, clearing, cleaning, and setting tables. Tara, someone who was used to being on the receiving end of those services was now doing them for the people she had always thought were under her. Irony is a bitch.
(One month later)
Tara woke up in her single room apartment overlooking the river and shuddered. She was having another one of her dreams. This time, her mother was calling to her for help before her father shot her, and Tara had tried to get to her, but was unable to. She woke up at the sound of the blast from her father's gun.
That dream, or one like it was practically a nightly ritual. Tara realized that she was not going to fall back asleep and looked out her window. Her river view would have been nicer sounding if it wasn't in Brooklyn. She sighed as a piece of garbage floated past a man who was urinating in the water. A little ways down, some newsboys were swimming in that very water. Disgusting.
She dragged herself out of bed, and decided to take her time getting ready for work. Ugh, work. It wasn't too bad, if she kept her mind elsewhere. She didn't have friends there, but that was alright. Tara knew that that was her own fault. She kept to herself. She worked hard, but she didn't really want to become close to these people. She would end up losing them in the end somehow, which is why she ostracized herself from Nikki.
That was the hardest. She missed having someone to talk to or gossip with. She missed, well, she missed people. But she was getting used to being alone in a way.
Tara glanced in her mirror, which was a mistake. Her long hair was getting frizzy from split ends and darkening. Where it once was golden and shinning, it was dirty blonde and lifeless. Her skin, in contrast to her hair had lightened. She never really went outside unless she was going to work or getting food. And her eyes, they were like her hair, lifeless. They had once been a brilliant blue, but had dulled. If she hadn't noticed this process over the last couple of months, she would have thought that she was seeing a stranger.
At least she could do something about her hair, though. As she reached into her drawer for her scissors, she prepared for yet another changed. She grabbed a handful of hair, which was nearly to her waist, and cut off a little over a foot off. Tara held that lock of hair in her hand, and almost wanted to cry. Not because of her hair, but because of the hopelessness of her situation. But she had made a vow that she would not cry, and she stuck by that. It was the only thing that she had.
Spot and a few of his friends made their way over the Brooklyn Bridge towards Manhattan. Jack, Race, and Kid were meeting them at Razini's for dinner. The place was better than other places they had eaten at, and the old man gave them a deal. He saw his friends just outside of the restaurant, and grinned. He hadn't seen them in a while; he had been too busy busting his ass for money. He had almost saved enough.
After their hello's, the boys went in and found a table.
"So Spot, how've ya been lately?" Jack asked.
"Not bad, not bad. Keepin' busy, but that ain't nothin' new." He replied. They told the waiter what they wanted, and Race entertained them with a story about what happened at the racetrack.
"And den, da horse, instead of crossin' da finish line, tossed his rider, cleared the fence and raced in da centa of the arena. I mean, ya shoulda seen da look on dat poor guys' face, and den..."
"Whoa, check dat out boys!" Kid exclaimed. The boys followed his line of sight and, of course, it was a girl. She had blonde hair that reached to the middle of her back, and blue eyes. Her high cheekbones accented her small aristocratic nose. She was very thin, almost too skinny. He couldn't explain why, but he recognized her from somewhere. And then, it hit him. The girl that he had run into, over a month ago. He knew what it was the jogged his memory, it was her arrogance. Her appearance had changed, but the arrogance was still there. You could tell how she looked at people that she thought she was better than them, even though she was the one doing to serving. Interesting, he thought as his eyes narrowed on her.
Tara felt someone's eyes boring into and turned to see who it was. It was a guy around her age dressed in grungy clothing. He was surrounded by a group who were in equal states of disarray. They stared at each other, a silent challenge of who would look away first. She made her way to the back, and would have to pass their table. As she passed, she gave him the once over, lifted her eyebrow, rolled her eyes, and walked past, her head held high.
The group of guys around Spot burst out in laughter. "Whoa Spot, looks like ya finally met your match!" Jack laughed. At that time, their waiter Jimmy set down their drinks.
"Hey Jimmy," Spot called, "what's up wid little miss high-and-mighty over der?"
"Oh, that's Tara." Jimmy said.
"Why's she got a stick up her ass?" Spot's friend Jay asked.
"She's not really a bitch, Jay. She just keeps to herself. She has good reason to, though. I would be if I were in her situation." Jimmy said sadly.
"What do ya mean?" Jack asked.
"Well that's a sad story in itself. But you guys should know it, I mean; ya do read the papers, don't you?" He replied smugly. "Remember about two months ago. That big bank guy who killed his wife and shit his daughter and himself? Well, that's the daughter. Yeah, really sad, that one. Good worker, but she's one sad girl." Jimmy said as he walked away.
"Yeah, I remember dat one." Jack said.
"Didn't even have to lie about it. Jeez. I guess that kinda explains it. But why ain't she sittin' at home, livin' off her inheritance?" Spot wondered. The other boys just shrugged.
As she walked by again, Spot tried not to look in her eyes, but he couldn't seem to help it. They once again made eye contact, and what he saw in her eyes ripped at his gut. There was so much anger there, and under that, just plain anguish. It hurt him to look in her eyes, so he distracted himself with his friends.
Tara blew off that strange boy and kept working. Thankfully, it was almost eight; break time. It was starting to die down in the restaurant, and she asked Jimmy if he would mind if she went outside.
"Be my guest. Not much to do in here." He said.
She walked out the back, not noticing that someone had noticed her, and decided to follow her out.
Tara sat down on a crate and rubbed her aching feet. She then fished around in her apron for a cigarette. That was just one more thing about her that had changed. But she didn't care.
"Shit." She said when she realized she forget her matches.
"Need a light?" The boy!! He had followed her! What gall.
Without waiting for her to respond, he struck the match against the brick of the building and held it up for her. Leaning forward, but never breaking eye contact with him, she allowed him to light her cigarette. She inhaled deeply, felt that sweet smoke hit her lungs and let the calming effects of the nicotine flow through her body. Tara eyed him suspiciously as he mirrored her actions.
"You don't recognize me, do ya?" Spot asked with a smirk.
Tara continued to stare. She recalled something about his eyes, but not much else.
"I believe your term for me was...urchin." He reminded. He knew the second that she recognized him, because she glanced at the ground.
"Yeah, sorry, I guess. I was having a bad day. But you should watch were your going." She said. Oh my God. She didn't think she would see him again. Oh well. That's life. And life does suck, so she shouldn't be surprised. "But, much to my extreme displeasure, my breaks over." She crushed her cigarette with her shoe and started to head in.
"It's been great catching up with you. We'll really have to do it another time!" She said, her words dripping with sarcasm. And with that, she went inside.
"Oh, you can count on it sweetheart." Spot said smugly and made his way back inside to his friends.