One More Time

I motioned to her attire. Instead of the typical waitress uniform – which consisted of a short black skirt and a white crop top – Raya was wearing a maxi skirt and a sleeveless shirt. Which meant there was no way she was working the front of the house.

“Yeah, after I protested about the uniform, they shoved me to the back,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Typical patriarchal bullshit. But at least I still have a job, so there's that.”

“You'd prefer to wash dishes over wearing this uniform?”

“Hell yeah,” she said with a laugh. “I don't need to be eye candy for thirsty, handsy men to pay my bills.”

“If only all of us had that option,” I muttered.

Dishwashing might pay Raya's bills, who like Tommy, had parents who could help her out – and often did. The real money in this place, however, came from tips – which you only made if you were working out here on the floor.

Raya's newfound distaste for skimpy clothing came only recently, when the owners decided the wait staff needed to show even more skin than we had before. They'd switched out our regular tops, which weren't exactly conservative to begin with, for crop tops and shortened the skirts by several inches, making it impossible to bend down without showing off your panties. Which, was probably the idea. Gotta keep the men drinking and gawking at us.

That was when Raya moved to the back of the house and got stuck washing dishes. I couldn't say that I blamed her some nights. I often felt like a piece of meat by the end of my shift. Not to mention the fact that some of the damn grope-monkeys who came through the door thought the price of a beer entitled them to a little squeeze of my ass. Yeah, no thank you.

The trouble was, I needed the tip money. It was the only way I was going to keep things afloat on my end. So, as much as I would have loved to have told the owner to take his crop tops and micro-skirts, and shove them, I didn't have that luxury.

“So, did Mr. Handsome come in last night?” Raya cooed, munching on another piece of celery.

“That rich guy, you mean?”

“Uh yeah, the one who only has eyes for you, girly.”

“He doesn't have eyes for me.” I rolled my eyes. “He has a girlfriend. She's even come in with him a few times.”

“Doesn't mean he's not into you.”

“Sorry, not into that free love, polyamory thing,” I said. “And I highly doubt his girlfriend is either. She seemed like the possessive, bunny-boiling type to me.”

“Suit yourself,” she said with a shrug. “Free love is a beautiful thing. You don't know what you're missing, babe.”

We both looked at our phones at the same time.

“Shit,” I grumbled. “It's time to clock in.”

“Here's to another night in hell,” Raya mumbled.

You could say that again.

~ooo000ooo~

“Hey, hot stuff, here's your drinks,” Tommy said, pushing a tray of cocktails toward me.

“Thanks, Tommy.”

I would have grumbled about being called ‘hot stuff’ and put him in his place, but at the moment, I had bigger things to worry about. Like the group of men who'd just sauntered in and were getting a little handsy with the waitresses.

A tall man with no neck grabbed Sasha's ass, and then looked over at me with pure lust in his eyes. He looked familiar, and while I couldn't place him, I knew he was famous for one thing or another. His entourage parted like the Red Sea as I walked over with the drinks they'd ordered – originally from Sasha.

I took over the group for her when I found her hiding behind the bar, nearly in tears. Sasha was just a petite little girl, too shy for her own good. She couldn't handle a rowdy group of guys groping her. No one should have to, but, some of us were able to handle it better than others. Some of us knew how to put them in their places.

“Vodka tonic?” I called out, handing out the orders from the tray of drinks in my hand.

They'd moved over to a private table, clearing the middle of the bar they'd been clogging before, and proved what I suspected – the guy with no neck was someone I should know. Or at least, somebody I should've heard of.

“Charles, I think that's yours,” No Neck called out. “I had a scotch on the rocks.”

“Yes, sir, right here,” I grabbed the drink from the tray and handed it over to him.