I stood, frozen in place as her friend cocked her head to the side and stared up at me. She shook her head. I forgot to breathe.
And then Brittney spoke. "It's that dog-chick from Lawton's."
At this, one of the players laughed. "Dog-chick, huh?" He gave his friend a sly grin. "I'm liking the sounds of that." He leered at me. "So, you like it doggy-style or what?"
"Or maybe," the other guy said, "she's one of them Fido fuckers, if you get what I'm sayin'." He slapped the table and guffawed at his own joke as the rest of them joined in.
For once, words escaped me. I had no snappy comeback, no smart-ass observation. All I had was the urge to flee.
Wordlessly, I snatched up the guy's credit card, along with the bill, and hustled to the cash register. I processed it with lightning speed and returned to their table, eager to get this whole thing over with.
Ignoring a running stream of jokes about doggie-style sex and bestiality, I dropped off the credit card slip for the guy's signature and started clearing away the remaining dishes. The sooner the table was empty, the sooner they'd leave – or at least that's what I hoped.
Brittney snickered. "And here, we thought you were some rich bitch." She grinned at her friend. "Didn't we, Amber?"
I tried to concentrate on the dishes, but I swear, I could hear the smile of satisfaction in Brittney's voice.
"Yeah," Amber said with a giggle. "And turns out, she's just a plain, ordinary bitch."
"The poor thing," Brittney said in a tone of mock sympathy. "Guess she won't be going to Lawton's party tonight."
"What party?" one of the guy said. "You never said nothin' about a party."
"Sorry, Max," Brittney said, blowing him a kiss. "This one's girls only."
I'd been reaching for the squeeze bottle of mustard when she made that last comment. Even now, I couldn't say for sure if my fingers flexed on purpose or by reflex.
Either way, I squeezed, mustard shot, and Brittney gave a high-pitched squeal as a stream of mustard splattered the front of her cream-colored dress, with a few stray drops grazing her face, her hair, and the guy sitting next to her.
Across from them, the guy whohadn'tbeen hit bellowed with laughter while Amber assaulted me with a stream of profanity that would've made any drunken sailor proud. On the bright side, at least she wasn't giggling anymore.
With a screech, Brittney snatched up the bottle of ketchup, pointed in my direction, and squeezed, yelling out, "Take that, you crazy bitch!"
The ketchup hit, splattering the front of my white blouse as I backed uselessly into the table behind me, my hands full of condiments and my mouth full of curses that I let loose in Brittney's direction.
And this is when Keith, the asshat of a night manager, chose to finally make his appearance.
Chapter 19
"You can't make me pay for this," I protested. "It wasn't my fault."
We were in the manager's office, and Keith was glaring at me. "Yeah? Then whose fault was it?"
"Brittney's," I said. "She totally started it."
"That's not what I heard."
"From Brittney?" I said. "She's such a liar. And besides, you didn't see the way they were acting. I did. Just ask the other waitresses. Or better still, ask the people sitting around them. They'll tell you. They were totally out of control."
"You're the one out of control." He crossed his arms. "What Ishoulddo is fire you."
I felt myself still. He couldn't fire me. I'd been here for years. He'd only just started a couple months ago.
Across from me, he smiled. "I see I finally got your attention."
My mind was whirling. Technically, I had another job, a real job. I started in a few weeks. I should tell Keith to fuck off right now and walk out my dignity, or what was left of it.
I closed my eyes. But I hadn't started that other job yet. And even once I did, it would be over a month before I got an actual paycheck. At least as a waitress, I got paid in cash every time I showed up, thanks to the tips, which were substantial.
