Posted by PK on April 21, 2003 at 18:24:17:
Gina watched the girl fall asleep, her emotions unreadable even to herself. After an hour or
so, she sighed and slipped into bed next to her. Petra twitched in her sleep and it took her a
while to nod off. Music and memories interleaved with hypnagogic vividness in her mind, the
wine had affected her control without dulling the impressions of the day. Perfect hindsight
told her that somebody had been bound to get it this time. For a moment, she'd thought it
would be Petra. Instead, it had been Mel, no real surprise there. Mel had been working there
since before she came, it was inevitable that the odds would catch up with her eventually.
Not that the odds were worse for her on any given night than for anybody else, probability
doesn't work that way. Every day the odds are the same, it was equally likely that somebody
on her first shift would be selected. Every day was new, the changes were subjective.
I can't see the lines
I used to think I could read between..
The changes were subjective, right. She had taken the job to earn her college fees, which
she no longer needed. She was in bed in the shabby old apartment she had insisted on
retaining after marrying Anthony as a gesture of independence, sharing it with her husband's
spoiled brat of a niece (who had tried to get her killed and eaten) instead of going home to
his bed and getting her brains fucked out as was her wifely prerogative. There are people
who might reasonably wonder why, she admitted. The thought reminded her of an old British
sitcom about a French cafe owner reluctantly involved in the increasingly bizarre and
ludicrous intrigues of the resistance. Many of the episodes would start with the hero
addressing the audience with lines like "You are probably wondering why I am sitting in this
tree in the dark, dressed as the back half of a pantomime cow...."
Melanie had met her fate with remarkable composure, she remembered. They usually do.
Maybe the customers would prefer to see their chosen waitress, panicking as they
pronounced her fate, dragged out kicking and screaming by the heavies to her end in the
kitchen. Maybe that's why they didn't, their only available final act of defiance being to deny
them that satisfaction.
Petra had come back from the changing room looking distraught, her expression challenging
anyone to notice the fact. She had been tactfully ignored. Gina didn't know what had
happened between her and Adrianne. Further back:
- The familiar musky scent of warm female bodies greeted her. Most of the others had
already changed and gone out. Melanie was sitting sprawled on a massage table supported
on her rear and elbows, legs apart, with her feet over Adrianne's shoulders. Adrianne was
shaving her, she realised. Very closely. -
They wouldn't have had to shave Mel in the kitchen, her lover Adrianne always kept her
immaculately smooth. Gina could imagine them preparing her for the microwave oven that
would roast her whole, cleaning her, rubbing herb-infused oils into her skin, positioning her on
the baking tray and arranging the vegetables around her so that she'd come out baked in the
right, enticing posture. Presentation is half of the art of haute cuisine. She imagined Mel
taking direction, like an aspiring actress playing the prettily dead cheerleader in a slasher
movie.
It had been a masterpiece, probably Chef's best. No way they could have done that without
Mel playing her part to the hilt. A real trouper.
Gina didn't ask herself what the fuck she was doing here - 'here' encompassing her entire
situation and not merely her location in bed with her drunken niece-in-law - because the
question was already there, a refrain in her mind so constant that it was ignored like a
buzzing fly or a dripping tap.
Speaking of which, Petra snored. It was not an unpleasant snore. Quite soft and soothing,
really, like the purring of a cat. Her warmth and the scent of human flesh and cheap wine
surrounded Gina comfortably. She fell asleep. Just before, or just after, she did, she almost
wondered about the bet, and doubtless her dreams reflected it but.....
Dream I yet and can't remember...
"Lissen up, everybody," Eddie said at last. "I've got some good news and some bad news."
Charlotte, standing next to him, looked as impartially businesslike as ever; her stony face
gave no clue as to what the manager was about to announce, nor had she offered a word of
explanation when she had ordered her waitresses to stay in the dressing room to hear an
important announcement before the commencement of their shift.
"Maybe it's a raise," somebody muttered. This elicited the standard responses of 'fat chance',
'you wish' and so on.
"Okay, pipe down, girls," Eddie said. "You want to hear this or not?" The rhubarb faded. "As
from today, every night is specials night...." Whatever else he had to say would have to wait
until the protests subsided. 'No way' and 'You're kidding' were some of the milder responses.
Eddie held up his hands. "Wait 'til you hear the rest of it, goddammit!"
"That better not have been the good news," somebody commented audibly in the sudden
hush. The sentiment expressed the feelings of the meeting. This had better be good. There
were supposedly two reasons 'specials' weren't available every day, to make it unpredictable
(though in fact most of the punters usually knew when to expect it) and, primarily, because
the staff wouldn't stand for it. Working here was like playing Russian roulette for high stakes,
there was a limit to how short the odds they'd be willing to play.
"I know what yer thinking," Eddie said wisely. "Specials is usually less'n half the time, right?"
Usually Fridays, Saturdays and a floater, the surprise element, Gina knew. "So here it is -
from now on yer hazard pay - which is most of it - goes almost double...."
Another bout of crowd reaction, this time more mixed, as a dozen or so excited and agitated
young women worked out the implications of that in various ways.
"Should be more than double," someone protested.
But Eddie still had a card to play. "And we're takin' on extra staff," he explained. "And here's
the good part. They'll cost a bit less than the rest of you on accounta they're imports."
Everyone knew, of course, that imported girl flesh from the Third World formed part of the
the menu all week. Occasionally they were imported live, which cost more again, though not
as much as ordering one of the real waitresses. Having them actually wait tables with the
home grown American girls was a controversial move. Gina had no doubt that Eddie was
aware that it was a gamble, but she was sure that he'd figured it would increase cash flow.
Did this constitute a lowering of standards? she wondered wryly.
"That's it," Petra said. She was standing next to Gina dressed for work in a miniscule bikini
top, the counterpart to the equally brief briefs Gina had on, and a very elegant pair of
sandals. She had decided that she wasn't going to risk any more of her own underwear and
reasoned that nobody could pull her panties off if she wasn't wearing any. "I'm out of here."
"Whatever for?" Gina murmured ironically.
"Are you kidding?"
"Not in the least, dear child."
"When we made the bet specials were only three days a week, right? This changes
everything. I lost, okay, but the forfeit has changed. That's not fair."
"It's Saturday, it was going to be specials tonight anyway. You might as well stick it out one
more day. If anything, the odds are better than before, at least tonight. Besides, don't you
want to show off your new look?"
Petra glanced down at her footwear. Hours ago and a little sleep since...
Petra woke confused in a way anyone who's gone to sleep drunk and woken somewhere
unfamiliar will understand. She was in a bed, that was easy. It wasn't hers. Okay. There was
someone else in it, she could feel that. That had happened before. Someone else stretched
like a cat and got up. Someone else was naked, female...
"Gina? Fuck, Gina..."
"Morning," Gina said brightly. "Breakfast?"
"What the.." Petra stopped herself. (....'fuck am I doing here,' went unsaid)
"Bacon and eggs," Gina suggested. "Maybe some sausage....or are you a Granola person? I
wouldn't recommend it."
Petra felt faintly sick. What had happened? Had they...surely not. "Just coffee," she groaned.
"Worst possible thing for a hangover, didn't you know? Alcohol breakdown products strip the
nerve sheaths, caffeine sandpapers them. Best thing you can have is a hearty breakfast. The
English know this, they have the folk wisdom of centuries of boozing." She chatted on in this
vein, throwing comments from the small kitchen as Petra tried to find her clothes amidst the
scents of cooking. Nausea fought with ravenous hunger.
"Eat," Gina ordered at last, thrusting a loaded plate at her. She was still unselfconsciously
naked. Petra hadn't the strength to protest. She ate bacon, eggs, sausage and grilled
tomatoes on wholewheat toast. At first she didn't believe she could get it down. Minutes later
she'd eaten it all.
"Better?"
Surprisingly, "Yes," she said. "Gina, last night.." Did you fuck me when I was drunk, she didn't
ask.
"I undressed you, yes. Don't worry, nothing happened. Don't give yourself airs."
"Thanks," Petra said. For the breakfast, and whatever else. "Look, about last night..."
"Happens to everybody," Gina said. "You were overwrought and tired, you drank too fast."
"I don't think I can do it again."
Gina nodded. "Your choice of course. Want to know what I do?"
What? About what? "What?"
"Go shopping. We'll go shopping for shoes, I'll show you where I got mine. Have lunch some
place nice, do whatever we like. Sack out for an hour or two before we go back. You'll be
fresh as a daisy."
"But..." Well, she would like a pair of those shoes. The fresh air would do her good. Etcetera.
Eddie completed his performance by having Charlotte bring in the new girls, there were three
of them identically dressed in the house standard bikini briefs. They were short, neat and
Oriental. Slender legs, flat bellies, small tits, hands and feet.
"I hope you'll make Lin, Su and..." Charlotte paused. She whispered to one of the girls who
whispered back, "Amy welcome." The girls looked meek and demure, their eyes downcast.
"Fuckin' foreign labour," somebody muttered. "Shit, no offense, Rosie."
Rosie, a Vietnamese-American girl dressed in a leather thong, gestured dismissively.
"Come on," Gina, "Keep me company." She was coming up and communication took
different paths. Her eyes met Petra's. Contact. She said:
With no words
And no song
You can dance a dream
With your body on...
One more night, Petra thought. Her blood rose in her. Defeat was unthinkable. Her skin was
tingling. "I don't know," sensible Petra said.
"Okay, get out there," Charlotte said. "Move it!"
It's the red shoes
They just can't stop dancing. Gina thought.
Petra faced the tables again. Did I really just say, what the fuck, okay? she asked herself.
One hour (give or take a few geological ages) later she was lying naked on a table having
seafood eaten off and out of her. She remembered insisting that Gina should be the one to
stuff the raw prawns up her genital orifice. It was quite pleasant really. When she had been
ordered to the kitchen she had been just a little bit tense. Gina had escorted her.
"Don't worry," she had said, "It's probably just a sushi table job. If they were going to eat you
they'd have said so."
"Oh, right," Petra said. "Of course. How silly of me." She was shaking so hard she could
barely stand. She wanted to throw up. "Piece of cake."
Gina had stuffed her nicely. The cooks had washed her down with wet flannels. A variety of
seafood had been arranged on her body as she lay face up on a serving tray covered with a
layer of warm, cooked rice. Lobsters were arranged prettily with their claws around her
breasts. Cosy, really. The Japanese salarymen took turns unstuffing her, sucking the prawns
out of her with their mouths. They made a drinking game out of it as they knocked back cups
of warm sake. She could tell the polite ones by the courtesy and finesse with which they
licked her clit, hoping none of them was drunk enough to bite it off. This is the gateway, she
realised. She fought to discard the idea.
Gina saw and replayed, correlating: "Okay, okay," Melanie had squealed. "I liked it, okay?
Just don't take my clit off, you bitch."
In the dressing room, later, she said: "You liked it," as Adrianne had teased Mel.
Petra was dressing. "Fuck you," she said, pulling her jeans on and fighting reaction. She was
nervous again, now it was all over. And angry. "I'm out of here."
Some time ago: - sorry if this is confusing but....no, not really.
Anthony pushed a pawn. "I don't see a problem," he said. "My wife against your daughter.
Seems fair to me."
The pawn was supported by a knight. Jerry contemplated sacrificing a bishop. Anthony had
already sacrificed his Queen but he was still winning.
"It's not..."
"Not what?"
"Not a fair bet. She's not really your wife."
It was a contest of champions. Instead of Petra and Gina fighting, their alpha males had been
appointed to decide the issue.
Anthony punched the clock. "Your move."
Jerry took the knight. He knew Tony could recapture with his rook, his material losses would
be even. Tony ignored that and checked with his bishop. Jerry moved his king. Then he saw
it. In two moves, Tony's other passed pawn would queen.
"She is now," Tony said. "Mate in three. Besides, the forfeits aren't equal. Petra can still win
even if she loses the bet." He was reiterating the obvious only to keep Jerry on track. The
effort was tedious at times. This game only decided the starting positions for another. Each
of them had their own agendas. Jerry wasn't about to reveal his because he hardly
understood what he really wanted to happen.
Anthony just liked playing.