Chapter One

 

"I hate it when it looks like they're not a couple. I don't know who to play to," I said.

Taylor glanced across at the couple at table sixteen.

"What makes you think they're not a couple?"

"Just the way they act. And they look like they're office workers," I said.

"So probably separate checks."

"Yeah."

"So be nice to the guy."

"You think she won't mind?"

"First, if they're not a couple, what does she care? Second, she's fat and frumpy and middle-aged. She's not going to like you from the start. Third, women don't tip well anyway. Well, unless they're like, dykes."

"Lesbians tip better?"

"Some of them. It's like they want to prove they're as good as men."

"And are they?" I asked, smirking.

"Some of them," she said, raising her eyebrow.

I snorted and skimmed my eyes over the other occupied tables in my section before turning back to her. Taylor had been doing this for a few years. I'd just started - and I had no intention of doing it for years. But I'd only graduated recently, and my parents were nagging me to either get a damn job or take out a loan and go to college.

I wasn't at all sure I wanted to go to college, or what I'd take if I did. And anyone can wait on tables. Even if it's not the most fun in the world.

"Just remember, little girl, you're a server," she said. "Your job is to serve."

I sniffed and walked along the row, smile fixed in place as they looked up.

"Hi," I said brightly. "My name is Sierra, and I'll be your server. Can I get you a drink or would you like to order first?"

The guy was older, maybe mid to late fifties, kind of on the thin side. His hair sure was. The woman was a decade and a half younger, but as Taylor had observed, kind of frumpy and overweight, with limp brown hair.

I stood straight as I spoke. We all wore the same outfits; short black miniskirt and a black vest. The vest showed a respectable but not slutty amount of cleavage, and the bottom sort of curved up in the middle to display our navels.

Well, it was a pub. And I wasn't about to complain given how much I made in tips.

"Just a rum and coke," the man said.

"What do you have on draft?" the woman replied.

In my experience, customers rarely offered their names.

I ran through what we had on draft, and she ordered a Carlsberg, and I smiled in a perky way and went back to the bar to place their orders.

Taylor returned from whatever she was doing while I waited.

"Hey, you interested in going up to the lake next month?"

"What lake? Where?"

"Me and a few other girls, like, four or five, are gonna share the rental price on a cottage up at Harrington Lake. It'll be like, a girls night out - only for a week. It's a gorgeous cottage with five bedrooms."

"I dunno. How much?"

"Three hundred each. That's not bad for a week's vacation."

"What other girls?"

"Well, we don't know yet. It depends on who wants to come."

"Well, how many?"

"Probably five or six. Most cottages can sleep that many."

"All girls?"

"If it's all girls we can just fuck around and not worry about makeup and our hair and making sure we look nice for the guys and plus it's on an island so we can basically swim naked. Or at least topless. I mean, we won't have to worry about being ogled all the time."

"I dunno," I said. "What's this cottage like?"

"I'll send you a link. It's really nice. It's got a great dock with a boat for water skiing, and it's got personal watercraft and kayaks. It's really nicely equipped. And with say six of us paying it won't cost much for a couple of weeks."

I shrugged. I was pissed off missing out on my summer by working. It'd be nice to have at least some fun.

"They won't have a problem with both of us taking off the same week?"

"Nah. As long as you give them enough notice."

I'd only known Taylor a month or so, but she was pretty cool. She was a few years older than me, but she didn't act it. I was a bit intimidated since she was like a head taller than me, and also more sophisticated. But she was funny and cool. She was a redhead, but I hadn't seen much of a temper. She was a bit bossy, but I didn't mind since she was always right anyway. The thought of getting to know her better and becoming friends was something I welcomed.

The drinks arrived, and I brought them back to the couple, then took their orders. The woman, not to my surprise, ordered a steak salad. The man ordered a burger and fries. I was perky, didn't notice him examining my legs, and then went back to place their orders.

Such is life in a bar and restaurant. Exciting, it is not. In fact, I was discovering, after my brief time as a full-time employee, that school was actually preferable to work! It took up less time, was more fun, more entertaining, and people were nicer to me. Granted, I didn't get paid. That was the only area where this was an improvement.

But I sure as shit wasn't going to do it for a lot longer if I had a choice. I was already looking around for something - anything - better. But unfortunately, most places wanted experience for anything decent. Otherwise, even if you could get in, you got paid less than I made here with my tips.

And I like money. A lot!

My parents are far from rich. They're not even really middle class unless they creep up across the line from poor from time to time. Don't get me wrong, we're not exactly starving. We live in a reasonably nice place, if small. It's a rented townhouse. One of those places with big, common front and back yards and a dozen homes attached together?

No way would my parents ever be able to afford to buy their own place, or even a car. They'd had a car when I was younger, mind you, but dad had crashed it and then lost his license because he had been drinking. He still drinks. A lot.

After work I walked out onto the street, looking around myself carefully. I've actually had customers wait for me to leave and then approach me. They're always drunk, which doesn't make turning them down any more pleasant. Fortunately, it's a high-traffic area so violence isn't likely.

I crossed the street and waited for the bus, ignoring a car that honked at me as it went by. I wasn't wearing my short skirt outside, of course. But I was in a pair of nice jeans and a T-shirt, and while I don't usually show off my figure, I don't try to hide it either.

I'm young, cute and blonde. Which means I get male attention fairly commonly. Guys have accused me of being stuck-up because I don't get very excited when they approach me and flatter me and ask me out. But it happens so often! And I don't like it! I don't EVER go out with some guy who approaches me out of nowhere to tell me he likes my looks! Why should I? There's plenty of guys I know aren't crazed serial killers who want to date me.

Frankly, to be young, cute and blonde means you're always being watched wherever you go where there's men. I do appreciate that I'm good looking, don't get me wrong. And I try not to feel too proud or arrogant about it. But honestly, why would guys expect more than a shrug and a bored thanks when you tell me how cute I am? I know I'm cute. EVERYONE says so. And has for years.

Great. You like my ass, or my body or my face. Good for you. But no, I'm not going to feel any gratitude for your flattering judgment. You want to date me because I have a nice rack? So I should be impressed why? You don't know anything about me or what kind of a person I even am. You just like my boobs.

The bus came and I climbed in. My eyes did their best to eliminate every seat with people on it and focus on the empty ones. I picked the one I wanted and aimed for it, ignoring the guys I passed, none of whom ignored me. I could feel their eyes skimming over me as I approached and passed.

Not a big deal. Happens wherever I go.

I sat down and pulled out my phone, and found Taylor had already sent me the link to the cottage, so I pulled it up and looked.

It was a gorgeous place! There was one picture in particular of like this big living room thing and it was glowing yellow because it was night out and it had these big windows running down three sides of the room, all done in those cute little divided panes. It looked gorgeous and homey and comfy and all.

The view of the beach that was right there was nice, and it did have a nice dock down there, plus a deck above. Anyway, I said I was in - tentatively - depending on who else was going, and if I could find the money.

There were five bedrooms, which suggested two girls would be sharing a room. That was no big deal, and pretty normal. In fact, I wondered why they didn't invite more girls. More people meant more fun and more people paying meant it would be cheaper.

And frankly, the thought of no men wasn't that bad.

And, there was this thing about Taylor. I mean, she was cool and all, and smart and had a wicked sense of humor. But she's also kind of a tomboy type, and very assertive. She'd never said it in so many words, but I suspected she was bisexual.

Sometimes she teased me about it, like, pretending she was hot for me, but that didn't make it a certainty since she did like to joke around. But she had an attitude, and she looked at me sometimes in that way, even when not kidding.

You know, the way guys look at me?

The only thing I'd noticed about Taylor, other than her being bossy - and fun - was that as shift captain she had a habit of smacking girls asses when they made a mistake or weren't listening. Which was one of the reasons some of us kind of wondered...

But it didn't worry me or anything. I'm not homophobic. I've kind of fooled around with girls before, though I've never done it very seriously. I mean, a little kissing and groping over the clothes was about the extent of it. And, I was kind of thinking, well, if she wanted to ... explore her options with me... maybe I'd go along with her.

It wasn't like I was in school anymore where I had to worry all that much about my reputation either, so hey, maybe if I was in the mood, I'd be open to seeing what it was like. I was pretty sure Taylor would be a pretty exciting lover.

So the idea was kind of intriguing - in a 'it's almost certainly not going to happen' kind of way that my mind plays with ideas, thoughts and fantasies. You know, like some big Hollywood star coming and sitting at my table and then giving me their phone number and then jetting me off to Paris for dinner - and breakfast.

Anyway, this place looked nice I decided to go if I could get together the money. I mean, I hadn't been working for long, and I sure hadn't saved much of anything. I had spent it all on, well.. .stuff!

I got off the bus, and looked quickly around, especially at the guy who got off the bus after me. It was dark out now and a girl had to be wary. I didn't live in a rough neighborhood but still... guys, you know?

I had no problems and unlocked the front door.

"Home!" I shouted.

"How was work?" I heard my mom ask from the kitchen.

"Fine. Boring," I replied, going up the stairs.

I went into my room and kicked the door closed, then stripped and pulled on my robe and went out again.

If you work all day in a restaurant, then believe me, a shower is the FIRST thing you want when you get home. I don't want to lay around on my bed or anything smelling like fries.

I opened the hall closet, took out a couple of towels and went into the bathroom, then closed and locked the door (I have brothers). I whipped off the robe and looked at myself briefly and approvingly in the mirror, mostly focusing on my hair. It wasn't in bad shape after standing all day.

Believe me, hair is important to a server. You don't want it getting in your way but you want to look cute for the tips. I wore mine loose. It comes down to about my shoulder blades in back, but on the sides it's only five inches past my shoulders. I part it in the middle, and I want it to STAY parted, and not hang over my face. I was impressed it had held through a long day of running around the restaurant.

My boobs don't have a problem holding since I wear a bra to do that. And besides, since I'm on my feet all day I can focus my exercise on my upper body, on my abs and stomach and chest muscles. Chest muscles are important to a girl. I mean, I'm not huge or anything, but I'm just, just small enough to be on the edge of perky.

And that's also because I'm eighteen. I don't know how many years that will last.

I turned on the shower, tested the water, adjusted it, then stepped in and pulled the curtain closed, intent on washing away the smell of food and beer. I had this new shampoo. It was twice as expensive as the stuff my mom had been buying at the supermarket, but it made my hair feel really incredibly soft, and made it smell like apples. Fresh!

I washed my hair first, then continued on down my body.

No, I don't get excited looking at myself, nor soaping myself. Well, I can appreciate how soft it feels sliding my hands over my soapy body. I'll give you that. But I'm not an egotist nor a nympho. I finished quickly, wrung out my hair, toweled it, wrapped the towel around it, toweled the rest of me and got out of the tub.

All done quickly and efficiently.

I have a cousin in the army - a girl cousin - and she says you get five minutes and no more to shower. I would have had to really rush to do that, but it was doable. It sure wasn't much of a relaxing time, though. I didn't think I'd like the military.

But the problem was every time I thought about a career I could think of more I didn't like about it than I might like.

I knew one thing: I didn't like being a server.