Having relieved herself of a mild bit of tension, Mak walked around the restaurant, making sure that her other employees weren't overloaded in their various sections. She then briskly returned to the kitchen, where Faye had retreated to mope.
"Faye," she said, not bothering to slow down as she went blazing on through the mass of bodies. "Come to the office for a minute."
Reluctantly, Faye made her way to the overheated cubby, where Mak waited for her. As soon as she entered, Mak nudged the door shut with her boot. "Okay. I'm gonna talk to you the same way I talk to any of my other employees, cuz you're mine for the night." She leaned in, seriousness written all over her features. "Listen, Faye. You do not ever –" She punctuated her statement with a sweep of the hand, "ever, ever have to take shit. Not from anyone who works here, not from Jet's girls, and not from customers. Every manager who works here has kicked out a customer and told 'em not to come back. I've fired people for being too hard to work with. And you know Jet'll get rid of a girl who won't act right." Here Faye tried to speak, but Mak shushed her immediately. "Honey, if a table gets rowdy, I'll wait on 'em myself. They won't start shit with me, cuz I'll make them buy their food first, and then I'll kick 'em out in front of everybody. Now. You all right?"
Faye chuffed out a weak sob. "Yeah."
Mak patted her hand. "Hey. You know when I first started back at Seabreeze, I had some customers call me 'a fucking chink'? No other reason 'cept I had black hair and it was real long. Man, I went in the back and cried my eyes out. I tried to quit that night."
Faye winced, remotely stung by the slur. She had heard it herself more than once in her life. "Why?"
"Hell, the man was drunk, and mad because I wouldn't help him kill himself by givin' him more booze. But yeah, my manager went straight over to his table and told him that he wasn't welcome there anymore. If I remember right, dude was a pretty important politician too. Made an impression on me, that there's a point at which the customer is no longer right. Believe me, I'm pretty good at finding that point."
Faye didn't answer, staring at her hands. Mak waited for a few more seconds, then said, "I'm gonna make a couple of calls if Jet wants to know where I am. You gonna work these last thirty minutes, or you done?"
"You don't think Tony's waiting on one of us outside, do you?"
"I hope he's got better sense than that. There're cameras all over this place. Now, they ain't all real, but it's mighty hard to tell the difference between the plastic toys and the real deal."
The younger girl wrinkled her brow in a vain attempt to keep from smiling. "Fake cameras?"
"Yeah, there's about 20 cameras rigged up all around here, but only eight are actually recording something. I'm not even sure which eight they are, cuz Jet don't let me in the recording room. But since people know that there's surveillance, it cuts down on a lot of the nonsense. Less fighting, less stealing "
"Is that why Jet doesn't let the girls pick up guys in the restaurant?"
"Yep. There's a couple of cops in Vice who keep trying to shut this place down because of the girls. Any sort of crumb they could pick up about 'house of prostitution', they'd be on it like white on rice. Jet points out the cameras to all new hires and all new girls, and it keeps 'em in line. A couple of people don't like 'em, y'know, that whole 'invasion of privacy' deal. But I think that they do what they're 'sposed to do, keeping down problems. Y'know, someone tried to sue us not too long ago. The surveillance disks put a dent in his case real fast."
"Seriously? Why?"
Mak laughed and pulled down the shift change book, looking for anything that might need her authorization. "The guy said that he was being discriminated against because he was black. Problem was we had him on tape cussing out half the staff. Case didn't go past the pretrial hearing. It was pretty funny all the same, though. He had to pay our court costs and listen to a lecture from the judge. Put some good bite marks on his ass. Hey, why'd you ask about Tony? You headed out?"
"Yeah." Faye pushed back her chair and stood. "I guess I'll get acquainted with this town."
"Hmmph. Don't stay gone too late, Jet'll come trackin' you down."
"I know." Faye took care to shut the door after she left.
"Faye." Mak opened the door again. "You going out dressed like that? You better put some pants on, it's cold outside."
Jet was taking the bar mats into the dish pit when Faye strode past him, decked out in a closely fitted pair of flared jeans and a stylish suede peacoat. "I see that you've been raiding Mak's closet."
"She lent me these."
"Did you tell her thank you?"
"As a matter of fact, I did. Is there another bar nearby?"
"There are about five if you get off the beach and head left. Maybe two if you go right." He dumped the wet retainers in the first sink and pushed past her, and she didn't know whether to be relieved that he wasn't interrogating her, or irritated that once again, he didn't seem to give much of a damn. The anger won out and she stalked off.
Mak was right; the night was achingly cold. Grateful for the thick woolen scarf that she had also been lent, she wrapped it loosely around her neck, stuffed her bare hands in her pockets, and trudged on. The constant lap of the waves seemed to echo the sound of her heels hitting the boardwalk, and she was glad when she finally got back onto the asphalt. She retraced her steps to the blue convenience store, which was closed and dark. A gust of wind made her stop and wrap her thin arms around herself, and she looked hesitantly in the direction of Neon.
She had no money. She had just barely enough presence of mind to bring her gun, and armed robbery wasn't on the agenda; tonight's m.o. was to get drunk. As charming as she could be, she got the distinct impression that she wouldn't be able to finagle free drinks out of the bartenders in the better bars. Shivering, she turned back into Sunset and walked down the wide avenue.
The first thing she noticed about the Sunset district was that it was dark. There were streetlights placed at regular intervals, and that was about it. There were no blazing electric signs to dazzle, no garish displays of twisted glass and heated elements. If Neon was meant to tempt the senses and wallets of the idle rich, Sunset was meant to appeal to the working class, who would hardly appreciate such frippery.
She walked several blocks past old warehouses and ugly factories that all looked alike in the gloom. Cars rolled past, their headlights blazing into her eyes until she saw purple spots. She stopped for a moment to clear her vision.
The spots eventually faded, and she could discern movement on the other side of the street. A woman, wearing a dress that didn't even reach the tops of her thigh. A prostitute.
One of Jet's girls?
Faye watched the woman strut over to the intersection and stand on the sidewalk, calling out boldly to the passing cars. Eventually one slowed, stopped, and after a short negotiation, the woman climbed in. The car roared off angrily, ignoring the red light, and she cringed. Hannah does that…to get through medical school.
At the first sign that said "Bar and Grille" she turned in.
The promised bar was up a flight of stairs and to the right behind a smoked glass door. The air in the hall was thick with burning tobacco, but it did nothing to deter her from entering. She swung the door open and stepped through into a dim, crowded room, relieved to see other women. A room full of men simply wasn't the brightest prospect at the moment. She sidled up to the bar and flagging down the bartender, ordered a glass of Glenlivet Scotch. She watched as the older man poured two and a half ounces of golden liquid over ice cubes, inserted a cocktail straw and passed her the glass. She took it out, wanting to drink as quickly as possible; a straw would hinder her.
The liquor left a searing trail into her stomach. As soon as she could catch the man's eye again, she requested a second, downing it in much the same way. The people in the room talked and laughed and argued and danced and turned into mist that was swept out of the door a little bit at a time.
A little bit at a time. She had given her life away in huge chunks before she met Spike and Jet. Then she gave it away a little bit at a time. By this rate, she was overdrawn. There was no home, no dreams, no 'happily ever after', nothing. She laughed, bitterly. She had less than Hannah, who sold herself short now to attain a future goal.
"Well, hell," she snarled and savagely bit a chunk of ice. No plans and no resources didn't mean she wanted to live on borrowed pity. She was going to march right back to Jet and tell him that she was leaving. Sure, she had stayed a day longer than she had initially intended, but she would fix that. After just one more glass of scotch. She held up her glass for another refill and used the straw this time, drinking it down a little bit at a time.
Jet waved the last of the servers out of the door as he surveyed the deck. The navy blue umbrellas lay in a neat heap at the perimeter wall, the tables had been dutifully scrubbed down and the condiments sat in the rack near the door. Check. He entered the back room, which hadn't been swept very well, though in all fairness it was pretty hard to see when the lights were dim. Yelling for Mak to turn up the house lights, he picked up a broom and a dustpan and started from the far corner.
He was just finishing when she appeared near the bar, looking for him. "You. Phone call. Now."
Somewhat taken aback, he gave her a bemused glance. "Is it that bad?"
"It's about Faye."
No further explanation was required. He went behind the bar and punched the blinking extension button. "This is Jet."
"Hey, man, it's Brad." Bradley Young was the bartender at the Lost Cause. He and Jet had a casual acquaintance and because he was situated more closely to the part of Sunset that housed derelicts and streetwalkers, he was in a good position to keep a lookout for any of Jet's girls. "Look, there's a cute little number in here who keeps mumbling your name. She don't look familiar, but I thought I might as well call you as not. She's got purple hair and –"
"I know her. I'll be right there."
"Hurry, man. She's pretty drunk and she keeps throwing herself on this guy with green hair. I'll try to hang onto her, but if she walks out the door with him –"
"I got it, Brad." He hung up, trying to gauge whether he was annoyed or surprised, but nothing came to mind save a sense of urgency. He picked up the receiver and called the office.
"What, Jet?"
"I'll be back. Don't worry about the paperwork. Go home."
"I'm almost done. Got any notes you want me to leave for the next manager?"
"Nah."
"Is the front clean?"
"Not really. Don't worry about it. I'll sweep it myself. Go home, Mak."
"I'm not done yet. You better go get that girl."
He hung up again.
The cold stung his soft earlobes, but Jet was hardly aware as he marched purposefully down the dark blocks. If she's done something crazy, I swear I might just let her handle it herself. He wasn't even convincing himself, so he let the thought go as the rusted "Lost Cause" marquee loomed up ahead.
Brad looked relieved to see him coming through the door. "Thank god you're here, man. She's about to lift off."
"Thanks," Jet answered, whether in relief or disgust, he didn't care to say. Faye was yelling obscenities while a lanky guy with shaggy green hair tried to dislodge her frantic clutch. He didn't look much like Spike, but anyone in Faye's case could hardly be expected to know the difference, and she was in pitiable shape, indeed. "I'll take her, if you don't mind."
"Get her off me, man," the fellow grunted.
As difficult as Jet had found it to make her let go of the man and get her out of the door, he found it almost exactly twice as hard to hold her upright when she went lax in his arms, and then to restrain her when she had a brief flash of sobriety that lapsed into anger. "You fucking dick, you took Spike away from me again."
"That wasn't Spike, Faye."
She swung at him; clumsily, but with enough force to sting if it connected. He flinched and snapped his head away, but held her firmly. "I am so SICK of you! Who do you think you are, some sort of superhero social worker? Why do you always think you have to save me? Why can't you just leave well enough alone?"
He stopped, breathing a cloud of hot vapor that hung starkly in the black night. She stopped too, growing chilly now that she wasn't having a fit. "Look at yourself. You call this 'well enough'? Be glad I saved you from a one night stand with a dope dealer. Come on, since you can stand now."
"Be glad," she spat. "Be glad that you're a damned coward who lives vicariously through teenage whores! Be glad that you don't have the balls to face up to when you were wrong! Hell of a lot to be glad for, Jet!"
He stared her down so hard that she could feel herself wilting under his gaze, but she had faced his anger before, and had yet lived. Besides, if he still could get angry in the old way, it proved that he wasn't so saintly after all…
The sound of his shoes fading snapped Faye out of her reverie. He had gone nearly two blocks alone by the time she caught up again. Panting, but antagonistic, she asked him smugly, "Now who's running away?"
"I am," he answered unexpectedly. "Because I refuse to play head games with a little girl who's jacked up on too much liquor and permanently stuck in a time-warp. But she's too busy being the spoiled, selfish person that she raised herself to be to see that life moved on. So I'm going to go home, and I'm going to let her go wherever she wants. Even if that wherever leads her straight into the bottom of a bottle and into the bed of a complete stranger who just so happens to have green hair, because I'm really tired of picking up her pieces."
She finally managed to slap him. Right across his scarred eye. He finally lost his patience, and grabbed her. The flesh hand caught her wrist in a grip that cut off the circulation, and the metal arm clamped down so quickly that her other arm was pinned to her side.
They stood like this for a long moment. His look of deep-rooted hurt was not lost on her, nor did he miss the mortification that made her cheeks hot. They had both gone too far, and they both knew it very well.
He felt her shivering, and he let her go, expression softening into the pity that she had seen too often in the past three days. "Do you really think that I wanted Spike to die, Faye?"
She blinked. That had been the thought rattling around ceaselessly, but upon hearing it spoken aloud, it felt wrong, cruel. Her voice came out little more than a whisper. "Why didn't you stop him, Jet? Every other time, you'd yell…and he'd leave…and he'd come back. But that last time, it was like…you gave up on him. You finally cut him loose. Jet, didn't you see you were about all that was holding him back? He…he needed you. Needed you to keep him stable and sane, and you just turned around and let him walk out to die."
He shook his head. "Come on, Faye. We're about five blocks from the store. It's too cold out here."
"No," she said, tears beginning to leave tracks on her face that rapidly cooled and tormented her. "Tell me right here and right now, why."
"Why? I'll tell you why." He walked away and turned to the right; they were at the intersection with the blue convenience store. Cursing his ability to manipulate her, she followed. "Because Spike had been dead forever, Faye. Because the only time I really saw him wake up out of his stupor was when Julia was involved." He didn't see her flinch and stiffen. "Because every time that he heard her name, he went tearing off the ship the way that you would and vanish for days, and come back like you did, all beaten up and drained. She was like a chronic illness in his system – she would flare up and make him go nuts, and it'd pass and he'd suffer through the aftereffects alone, and he'd heal up enough to drag his ass around without walking wounded, and just when I thought he was over it, someone would whisper her name in a toilet on Pluto and he'd lose his damned mind all over again." Their feet no longer met the sturdiness of asphalt, but the uncertainty of sand. Faye stumbled, immediately found herself steadied in a muscular arm, and silently thanked Jet by way of a glance.
He missed it. "He was running on empty the whole time I knew him, and that last time he came back, the tank was dry. Nothing left. He was about to spontaneously combust. And I could've kept him around, cooled him off, convinced him not to go once again – but it would have been a matter of time. Like I said, she was a disease, and he was in the terminal stage. Keeping him around would have been like giving a pint of blood to someone who was hemorrhaging a quart a minute – noble, but futile."
By this time they were at the door. Jet fumbled with the keys, but it creaked and he stepped back, forcing Faye back a step as well. Mak looked out, simultaneously relieved and furious. "Damn both of you to the east end of west hell, it's almost 2 a.m. and I got to get home! Would you get in here already, it's cold as polar bear shit!"
"I told you to go home," Jet said with a grin as he allowed Faye to enter first.
"Shut up," Mak bit out. "You know damn well I wasn't going nowhere 'til y'all came back. And you, missy," she said, turning on Faye, "didn't I tell ya he was gonna come after yer ass if you didn't come back quick enough? Well, you can handle him now, I'm goin' home." She hurriedly buttoned up her heavy woolen overcoat. "I'll see you tomorrow night, girl, if he lets you live that long." She tugged the door back open, clearly in a hurry. "G'night, folks."
About forty minutes and a hot bath later, Faye sat in the beautiful little pastel bedroom, clad in the pink pajamas, thinking hard about what Jet had said. Her mind galled her on one point, and she wanted to clear it up. Which meant of course, getting information that would only make her fret. She opened the door and looked out.
The hall was pitch black, but she knew this ship too well to be disturbed by that. She crept down the corridor with her fingers skimming the wall for balance. Soon enough she saw a thin line of light near the floor, and she walked up to the door with a severe case of apprehension.
Before she could knock, Jet's bass rumbled from the inside of the door, "Come in, Faye."
So she did.
His room was not suprisingly as masculine as the other room was feminine. The first thing that she noticed was the wood that comprised the bed, the dresser, the closet doors and the desk; it appeared to be cedar. It went well with the dark green quilt that covered the bed.
Jet sat at the desk itself, looking over different business letterheads. He seemed quite engrossed, and didn't look up as she timidly seated herself at the foot of the bed.
She looked around. There were multiple prints of trees that covered the walls. Some were photographs, others were paintings. She saw and admired an India-ink likeness that appeared to have been done by Jet himself. Also not surprisingly, they all appeared to be bonsai trees.
He finished reading the letter in his hand in silence before setting it down to his left and swiveling in his chair to face her. "Have you forgiven me for letting him go?"
She waved her hand impatiently. "Listen. Did Spike ever talk to you about Julia?"
"Occasionally."
"Did he ever say that he loved her?"
"Not in so many words, but yes, I got that strong impression."
She slumped into herself, trying not to break down on the spot. When she got the courage to lift her head again, he hadn't budged.
"Y'know, I…I tried to tell him once…and he just gave me that damned self-satisfied smile, and we ended up fighting, and I swore that I'd never tell him after that. And every time that I thought better of it and wanted to, he'd give me that smart-ass grin, and it…" Her chest heaved. Jet stood, bridged the distance between them with one step. He sat down beside her. "…it just never got said. In all the insults and quips, somehow telling someone that I cared about them wasn't very important. And I swear…" She choked as a sob fought to get out, "…Jet, if he would have turned around, just one more time, I swear I would have told him."
He took her hand again, so softly that her skin burned beneath his touch, and wrapped his other arm around her waist again, as delicately as a silken thread. "Until he smiled, Faye. And even if you had, he'd still have gone, and you'd still be here today wondering why, just like I do."
The sobs finally broke free, and she tipped her head back and screamed, trying to give vent to a festering wound that she had never had heart enough to acknowledge before. Jet, to his credit, didn't try to restrain her wild grief, holding on to her with the lightest of grasps. She wailed and she spasmed and she wept. And she wondered why, just like he did.
She opened her eyes to find her face pressed into Jet's shoulder, her senses overwhelmed. She pulled away from him, enough to sit up, eyes bloodshot, cheeks puffy and streaked. "I…" she began falteringly through a congested nose. "I loved him, you know."
Jet looked down at her, and gently wiped up the tears that were collecting beneath her chin. "I know. I probably loved him more than you did."
Author's Notes:
Awww, poor Faye. Seriously folks, that's about the closest to a real Spike/Faye you'll ever get outta me. If you can believe it, I spent the vast majority of the time writing that first particular paragraph of dialogue between Mak and Faye. Everything else pretty much flowed into place over the course of about two days. Yay for mania/insomnia!
Thanks for all of the sweet reviews! I've got a couple of different ideas for chapter six that I really want to incorporate, so it may be another month before I can make it work. But it'll be piping hot for you once I can work it out!
p.s. Chapter title is of course by the Eagles.
