Bonnie and Clyde were the infamous 19th century couple that wreaked havoc on the country and now it's Gerard and Frank's turn.
In the world of ‘the waitress’ you don’t question parenting, although you daydream of drowning their cute little monsters in the soda machine. You simply clean the floor until its stainless then you clean other stains from the men’s room. All tidy and with that same fake smile.
And then there’s the average bickering elderly, who all seem to have the same goal in that last phase of their life: make everyone wish they never reach the age of fifty-one.
But all together, without going into the details of trash-mouth teens and flirting married man, the job of a smiling waitress wasn’t suitable for the average human being.
Luckily Bobbi Dale didn’t think of herself as an average human being; at least she hoped she wasn’t an average human being, else there would be too much ‘screw-up’ walking around. During the age of six to seventeen she’d seen about fifteen different families. Foster care, take her away from a screwed-up family and tall her as a six year old her parents weren’t suitable to take care of her. She’d been a happy little girl when she grasped the hand of a nice looking lady and walked away from her abusive life. She didn’t even look back at her daddy who waved stoned and sheepishly at his little princes.
What foster care didn’t add was that the next fifteen families wouldn’t be much better.
And after years of very strict rules, moving from home to home she got kicked out of foster care. At the age of eighteen she suddenly had to stand on her own. She could do that, because she’d been on her own anyway. But not financially and with the stress and worry about her finances, plus the unresolved childhood traumas, she fell into a dark and deep depression.
Between the age of nineteen and twenty-four she fought her way through suicide attempts and finally settled. Without much trust she threw herself into the arms of yet another piece of healthcare, New York State psychiatric institute, and after three years of willingly taking medication and crying her heart out at group sessions she made up her mind: she needed a peaceful routine life.
And with the routine nine till five or six till after midnight she got her life on track. She hadn’t figured out if it was the right track, but at least she was moving forwards instead of driving into cliffs.
Sure, she still had her little dreams, about fortune and fame. She remembered being 12, watching the cheap TV that was missing dials with painted women and fake boobs, there walked women, stunning women, in skimpy bathing suits, yelling “I want to be Miss America!” She too, wanted to be Miss America. What girl didn’t want to be Miss America at the age of twelve, you might think. But for a girl like Bobbi Dale, who by then had seen four different houses to call home, it wasn’t just a stubborn dream. It could be her way out, it could be her chance to shine and shimmer and drag about how much she wanted ‘world peace’ which she sincerely thought was bull shit. She wanted to shimmer and shine and be that stunning. She had forbidden herself from eating any caloric nightmares by that age and it paid off 14 years later. Except not for her dream anymore, but for a quick backseat fuck every once in a while. Those paid off, like blowing off steam and sometimes earning some extra cash. She sure as hell made some lonely truck drivers happy, at least. For them she was that stunning woman that said gracefully that she wanted ‘world peace’. Or maybe that was all she wanted to believe, rather than think of her as an easy fuck. Maybe all men where the same, because she got extra tips when her shirt had one button less buttoned, or when she shook her ass a little more then was necessary.
So she had her way with men, knew how to play the game and played wise. Letting her hair fall in front of her face to whip it away seductively; her hair, her pride but owh so fake as her smile, being excessively heated with a straightener and pumped with chemicals since the age of nineteen.
And that was the story of the waitress named Bobbi Dale, started with nothing and had ended at 24-Hour Red’s Diner, which was simply another name for nothing. With her boss surprisingly named Red, being in her face every moment he notices she’s paying special interests to a particular male customer.
Tonight it wasn’t any different, besides Red being in his office doing some finances. Bobbi wasn’t sure what her boss did when he was in his office, but she didn’t really care, as long as he made sure her paid check came in time.
Having him sit in his smoky little office gave her a perfect possibility to pry and spy on the handful of customers she had on her late night shift. A few late night drivers, beside the nice suits and suitcases there wasn’t one that caught her eye. And it was likewise, none of the men sitting alone at a table, two out of three reading a news paper, wouldn’t be interested in her. Not in her small talk, her fake smile or that one button that kept unbuttoning.
There was a small group of three people that caught her eye, but didn’t make her feel like small-talk or a fake smile. Not even some after-work-sex, because neither of the two young man seemed like her type. She liked older men, at least men old enough to have a decent job. They didn’t make her feel like her normal routine, they threw her of balance, an uneasy feeling that wasn’t easily welcomed, they themselves were a bit off balance.
One thing was clear though, the girl was on a leash, pulled by the older guy subtitled by the younger guy. Maybe they were siblings, she didn’t really bother to figure it out. She walked into the dirty women’s bathroom and splashed her face with water, wiped it dry, then fixed her foundation and eyeliner. She added a significant amount of bright cherry lipstick, her trademark, and perked her lips, straightening out her wrinkled stiff apron and fixing the rusted little name plate with deeply etched B-O-B-B-I. She fluffed her stale hair and brushed her eyebrows in their designated direction. She stepped back and took a long look at herself, turning to the side and making sure the corset underneath still covered her skin naturally. She fixed her bright green eye shadow and finished with a long and well needed sigh. She pulled the corners of her lips high and started her show, letting the top button of her shirt pop open as well as the lacey black bra underneath show itself through the thin fabric of her uniform. Suddenly her face drooped, her eyes closing tightly, and her tears coming out dry, with small hiccups. But she ignored her steep drop in pride and pulled her fake smile back on. If she looked closely enough into the mirror she could see staples in the corners of her smile, keeping it in place, because she definitely felt the stinging pain there.
Her cheap plastic red heels clicked on the cheap linoleum floor and made their way, shuffling to the table in the corner with the three “maybe-they’re-siblings-but-they’re-definitely-bad-business”. They were in a booth, Fido retreated to the corner of one side and Adam sat across from him, Eve between Adam and the aisle. They’re table was very retreated and the huge-paned window next to them had a creepy light shining through from the night outside.
“Hi, and welcome to Red’s. How can I help you?” she pronounced in her thick Texas-native accent that was watery and a little click-ey. She pushed her rusty blond hairs behind her and and kept her smile wide. Both guys kept their face buried in the plastic yellow menu cards, the woman turned her face up and looked at Bobbi. Her eyes were sunken and she wore twice as much makeup as Bobbi did, which was a significant amount to begin with.
Her smile though, was sloppy and deep, a little sincere, and her voice cracked. “Two coffees and a water, please.”
Bobbi didn’t know why, or how, but she felt a pang of guilty, a sorry boiling up in her throat, but she simply returned to her trademark plastic smile and her trademark ‘everything’s perfect’ expression, and said, “Sure thing. Y’all ready t’a order or would’ya like a couple more minutes?”
The girl opened her mouth but no sound came out, she simply let her mouth slowly dropped closed, waiting for an order from her master. The older man, in sync with the girl’s reaction, said, “Give us some time.” She felt it as more of like an order.
She sat down at the bar and turned her seat at the three, curious. She almost stopped herself, reminding herself that “curiosity killed the cat” but then she simply reminded herself that she’s not a cat. She named them, because it was too hard for her to keep track between them. The girl was Eve, the man was Adam. Adam was obviously in control, no doubt he was the bigger, the better, the first. The other guy, she decided he was Fido, because he was totally clueless and just tagging along. Adam leaned back in his seat, resting his hands behind his head and breathing deeply, keeping his ease. Eve couldn’t keep her eyes off of Adam. She was there to follow, to listen, to learn. By then she figured Adam and Eve were siblings. Fido was in his own world, looking at and absorbing his surroundings, he couldn’t keep still and was scratching at his arms. She noticed Eve inch closer to Adam and shyly touch his arm. Adam sighed once more and gave a steady nod, queuing her to lean onto his side and wrap her thin arms around his and begin kissing his neck. So they weren’t siblings, that was obvious. They were boyfriend and girlfriend, she saw no rings in sight, that made more sense. She saw Adam put down the card and tap his foot. He pushed Eve off of his arm and leaned into the table, finally speaking in the direction of Fido.
“Alright kid here’s the deal.” Gerard finally spoke up since from under the bridge. He had a fiery look while he cocked his eyebrow and leaned in towards the kid.
The guy who was driving, Frank, the kid, looked up at Frank with a drowsy, distant look that would’ve earned her a slap but only earned him a step closer to one. Just one fucking step. She didn’t like him much as of that moment. She eyed him entirely, looked at everything she could see, studied him. His clothes were dirty, full of holes with the occasional tear. It was easy to spot a junkie from 100 yards away, and it was with no question that this guy was a junkie, but there was something else to him. She couldn’t put her finger on it, maybe it was the look in his eye or the quirk in his lip, maybe it was the way his foot was repeatedly tapping on the post of the table from below. But when she took a closer look she saw what she had mistaken as fear was really pain. Deeply hidden in his eyes she saw pain that took years to build, the same kind she saw when she looked in a mirror. She leaned back, upseted with a pout on her face, and pulled out a cigarette and lit it promptly. Gerard had already begun talking but she was zoned out, trying to scare away the angry glances she was earning from mothers with children. It seemed that the voices from those mothers hushing what a horrible person she was for smoking near children and that she shouldn’t dress so vulgar in public, that people like that should be kept on the street, were louder than Gerard’s voice next to her. Well where the fuck was she supposed to eat? If they wanted to go to a decent restaurant they could hit fucking McDonalds, this was their diner and no one could do anything about. This is where they came for business and it would stay that way. She shook off the glances and the whispers and drew her attention back to the two guys on sitting to her right.
Gerard’s fingers tapped and danced over the slick surface of the cheap diner table. “You know you can’t leave now. Not unless I say so.” Gerard had that tone again, it was sharper than a sword and thicker than a rock, it made her throat close off any chances of a noise escaping, she knew when to remain silent, her body knew when to remain silent. She grew up without having a clue in the world, her math skill doesn’t surpass basic multiplication and her vocabulary was trampled by a fifth grader, but she knew the rules of the streets, Gerard’s rules, better than the back of her own hand.
Frank sat in the corner, one foot bent and hugging his chest while the other rested on the booth and draped to the floor. He was rubbing his face, circling his temples and muffled, “Who asked you to get me in this in the first place?”
“Ah boo hoo,” Gerard barked, playing with the kid. “Maybe you shouldn’t drive so well and we wouldn’t have needed you, ain’t that right babe?” Gerard looked over to her and she saw it as an invitation to get all touchy again but once she inched closer he pushed her back and kept talking to Frank. “I mean, unless really want to leave, we can let you go. But for a fee.”
Frank breathed out a ‘heh’ and scoot out and stood up, stretching his arms and twisting, getting a good sigh out. She couldn’t believe this guy, Gerard had such a terrifying look in his eye that made her want to whimper and crawl under the table and this guy was fucking [I]stretching[/I]?
Frank blinked. His expression changed, but she couldn’t pinpoint what he was hiding in his mocking smirk, but she didn’t like it. He sat down.
Frank sat, but he was stubborn. He no longer held a face of helplessness like just moments ago. He had a look of curiosity, like he wanted to play a game. He smirked. He was challenging Gerard? This nobody just showed up and was trying to tell God that he could make a better world? That he could do better than what Gerard did best? She was boiling with a laugh inside, a coy “I told you so” wanted to escape her lips once Gerard pulverized the poor kid. But he didn’t look angry anymore. She saw a sudden change in expression in Gerard’s face. The small phase of weakness, when you’re head wants to change its mind there’s a moment of confusion and there showed weakness. Gerard showed a weakness. That scared her more than the death glare he had engraved in his eyes usually. Gerard smirked, returning the playful look Frank had. Then Frank turned back to his previous position and grabbed the menu card when Bobbi came back.