Rebelonging (Unbelonging, Book 2) (17 page)

Somehow, Brittney had gotten it all wrong.
Her long blonde hair was too sleek, her lips too pink, and her eye
shadow far too subtle.

And then, there were her clothes. She'd opted
for spiked high-heels instead of the low-slung saddle-shoes the
rest of us girls wore. On her tight white blouse, she'd skipped the
top two buttons, opting to show an amount of cleavage that was
borderline obscene, even by the diner's dubious standards.

"Well?" Brittney gave yet another toss of her
hair. "Do I?"

I shook my head. "Definitely not."

She grinned. "Got that right."

"You look like some bit player in a
porno."

Her eyes narrowed. "
Bit
player?"

"What? You wanna star in it?"

"Well, I sure as hell wouldn't be a bit
player." Her lips curled. "I've got standards."

"Yeah?" I said. "Is that why you're doing
Keith?"

A hint of color rose to her cheeks. But then
she leaned forward and lowered her voice. "He's not the only one I
did."

I felt my own cheeks grow warm. I knew
exactly who she was referring to. Lawton. "Yeah, but you're ancient
history," I said, looking down to sift through the training
procedures.

For the next half hour, we reviewed every
step in the waitressing guidebook, from greeting the customer to
delivering their bill. Through the whole process, it was pretty
obvious that Brittney was only half-listening.

She studied her nails, touched up her makeup,
and at one point, even pulled out her cell phone to tap out a
series of texts to who-knows-who.

At last, something got her attention, the
tip-splitting arrangement while she was in training. Hearing the
details, her eyes snapped to attention. "But that's not fair!" she
said.

I shrugged. In truth, I'd felt the same way
when I'd been in training. But now that I'd been working here a few
years, I had a totally different perspective.

"Look," I explained, "it's just the way it
works. You. You're in training. So you're getting a regular wage,
just like the cooks. Me, I'm
not
in training, so I'm getting
the waitressing rate, which as we all know, is a lot lower."

She pouted. "But Keith said I'd be getting
tips too."

"Yeah," I said. "And you will. Once you're
out on your own. But until then, your trainer, whoever that is,
gets the tips. It's just the way it works."

She gave me a dirty look. "What a total
crock."

Honestly, I could relate. When I'd been in
training myself, it had hurt like hell to watch my trainer scoop up
all that cash while I got nothing except the hourly wage.

But now, I totally got it. Even with tips,
the trainer took a huge pay cut when working with a new girl.
Saddled with someone who didn't know the ropes, the trainer
couldn't get nearly as many tables, especially if she had to stop
every five minutes to explain things along the way.

Training was a major bummer. But we all had
to take our turns. Unfortunately, my turn was with Brittney.

"That's just the way it is," I said.
"Someday, you'll see."

"Now you sound just like my mom."

I raised my eyebrows. "So you're mom's a
waitress too?"

"Hell no," Brittney said, straightening in
her seat. "She's a bank president."

"Right," I said.

"She is!"

Regardless of what her Mom did for a living,
I had Brittney pegged right from the get-go. She was just another
star-struck girl who thought the job was all fun and no work. If
she lasted more than a week, I'd be surprised.

Later that night, my worst fears were
confirmed when Brittney greeted our very first table. Seated at
that table was Mr. Bolger, a regular customer who had requested me
personally.

He was a squat, middle-aged man with two
ex-wives, wandering hands, and more money than class. I'd been
waiting on him for a couple years now. I knew his quirks, and I
knew his tipping habits, which in truth, were pretty darn
impressive.

As I watched, Brittney plopped down beside
him. "Hiya Tubs," she said, looking down at his stomach. "Lemme
guess. You want one of everything, right?"

Mr. Bolger set down his menu. "What?" he
said.

"Oh Brittney," I said, keeping my tone light.
"Stop teasing the man." I gave him my best flirty smile.
"Brittney's in training," I told him, adding just a little more
spice to my voice than necessary. "So you get both of us for the
price of one."

The innuendo was obvious, and I felt just a
little dirty using it. But it didn't take a genius to know that
calling a customer fat wasn't gonna make them feel all warm and
fuzzy, especially when it came time to leave a tip.

Mr. Bolger leaned back in his booth. "Oh
yeah? I'm liking the sounds of that." His gaze dipped to Brittney's
cleavage. "So tell me, Blondie, am I gonna be your first?"

"Hell no," she said, giving a playful slap to
his arm. "I've had lots of guys." She eyed his hairline. "But none
with a toupee before."

His face froze.

"So," Brittney continued, "when you shower,
do ya take that thing off, or what?"

As it turned out, I didn't need to worry so
much about the tip-splitting arrangement, because there wasn't a
whole lot of money to go around. Even Mister Bolger, who usually
tipped like a mogul, ended up stiffing us.

I guess I couldn’t blame him. He had no idea
who was getting the tip. For all he knew, it was going to Brittney,
who'd insulted him from one side of the restaurant to the
other.

And it wasn't just him. Brittney had this
annoying habit of calling customers by nicknames based on their
appearance. Over the course of the night, we'd waited on Horse
Face, Thunder Thighs, Chicken Lips, and too many others to
count.

I couldn’t tell if she was truly that dense,
or was doing it on purpose because she knew it would hurt me a lot
more than her.

When I complained to Keith, he said it was my
fault for not training her better. And when a disgruntled table of
two, also known as Bucky and Snaggletooth, refused to pay for their
meals, Keith threatened to dock my pay to compensate for it.

I thought of all the things I could've been
doing tonight instead, naked things with the guy of my dreams. I
should've called in sick, because when push came to shove, I'd been
screwed tonight after all, just not in the way I wanted.

The next afternoon, as I headed to my
Grandma's house, I was feeling even more screwed. But this time, it
had nothing to do with Brittney.

It had to do with three official letters I
found waiting when I checked my post office box.

Bad news. Surprising news. Whatever kind of
news you called it, it had me cursing all the way to Grandma's
house.

Grandma glared down at the letters. "Those
sons-of-bitches," she said.

I bit my lip. "Maybe it's just a bank
error."

Grandma snorted. "Bank error my ass."

"Or maybe just an honest mistake?"

Grandma was still looking at the letters.
"You just got these today?"

"Yeah, but it's been a couple weeks since I
checked my box." I sifted through the envelopes, looking at the
date stamps. "Oh shit," I said.

Grandma looked up. "What?"

"These aren't even the latest ones. I've
deposited two more since these. Do you think they bounced,
too?"

If they did, I was in deep trouble. Before
the Parkers had left for Costa Rica, they'd left me a series of
post-dated checks. Those weekly checks covered everything – regular
expenses, my house-sitting salary, incidentals, whatever.

That salary wasn't a fortune, but it still
had me worried. Because my salary was nothing compared to the other
expenses those checks were supposed to cover. Those
were
a
fortune, at least by my standards.

For starters, Chucky ate only the best dog
food, some custom organic stuff from a specialty shop. Pound for
pound, it probably would've been cheaper to feed him prime rib and
be done with it.

And then, there were the countless other
things related to the house itself – the lawn service, the pest
control, some guy who came once a week to trim their hedges and
trees. It all seemed beyond wasteful to me. The hedges and trees
had stopped growing weeks ago. It was nearly winter, after all.

The Parkers probably spent more money on yard
care than I spent on groceries and gas.

Except – oh God – it wasn't going to be
me
paying for their lawn care. Was it?

"You call 'em yet?" Grandma asked.

"I tried. I couldn’t get through."

"I knew it!" Grandma said. "Those fuckers
bailed on you."

I shook my head. "They couldn’t have bailed.
They've got a house, a dog, family photos, the works. " Again I
sifted through the letters. "This has to be just some, I dunno,
bank thing or something."

Grandma gave me the squinty eye. "What kind
of degree you got again?"

"You know perfectly well what it is."

"I just wanna hear you say it."

"Fine," I said. "Accounting."

"Uh-huh. And you believe that horseshit
you're shoveling at me? Well, then you better call that school for
a refund, because they did a shitty job of teaching you."

"Sorry. They don't offer refunds." It was too
bad in a way. They hadn't done a shitty job, but my degree wasn't
exactly paying off.

"Here's what you do," Grandma said. "Go back
there tonight, and clean 'em out. Take everything. The china, the
fancy artwork." She leaned closer. "In that house of theirs, they
got copper pipes?"

I gave her a look. "I don't know. And it
doesn't matter, because I'm not gonna clean anyone out."

"Why the hell not?"

"I dunno. I mean, it's probably just some
snafu with their bank transfers or something. They
are
in
Costa Rica. Remember?"

"Calling it a snafu don't make it right,"
Grandma said.

"Besides," I said, "I'm watching their
dog."

"Shit, take the dog too. You said he's a
pricey one, right?"

I rolled my eyes. "I'm not gonna steal their
dog. Besides, if Chucky were mine, I wouldn’t sell him." I leaned
back and crossed my arms. "I'd keep him."

That mutt was growing on me. Except
technically, he wasn't a mutt. He was a purebred Yorkie, descended
from national show dogs on both sides. But he
acted
like a
mutt. That had to count for something, right?

"Alright," Grandma said, "Just threaten
'em."

I stared at her. "What?"

"Yeah. Tell 'em if they don't pay up, their
dog's gonna be dog food."

"See?" I said. "This is why I never discuss
money with you."

Grandma was a smart lady, but she had her own
ideas of justice. Of course, she hadn't been quite so bloodthirsty
when someone had cleaned out
her
life-savings a few years
earlier.

Then again, that thief had been her daughter.
My mom. Of the absentee variety.

"I'm not gonna
kill
their dog either,"
I said.

"Did I
say
you should kill him? No. I
said you should
threaten
to kill him. Big difference."

"I'll think about it," I said.

"Your ass. You're not gonna think about
nothin'."

"Besides," I said, "what if the Parkers are
hurt or something?"

"They're gonna be hurt if they don't pay
up."

A few feet away, the cottage door opened. I
glanced over to see Josh, my younger brother, come through the door
with a book bag slung over his shoulder.

I glanced at Grandma's kitchen clock. "Three
o'clock already?" I said.

"What do you mean 'already'?" Josh said,
"I've been busting my hump since nine o'clock."

"Oh. My. God," I said. "You
didn't
just say you've been busting your hump."

"Hey, I have," Josh insisted. "It's not like
I'm in grade school anymore."

"Alright, fine," I said with a laugh. "You're
officially a hump-buster."

"Damn straight," he said.

"Oh God," I said. "Not
you
too. I
thought we all agreed not to swear anymore."

"
You
agreed," Grandma said. "
We
agreed it was fuckin' stupid."

"Yeah," Josh said, "and besides, you talk
that way all the time."

"Not
all
the time." I gave him a
serious look. "
Please
tell me you don't talk this way in
public."

"Hell no," he said. "I'm not
that
stupid."

I smiled in spite of myself. "You're not
stupid at all, and you know it."

Josh was in the gifted program, and he needed
to stay there. This meant he needed to stay at his current school,
which also meant he needed to stay exactly where he was – living
with my Dad and Loretta.

And Grandma? Well, she needed to stay in the
cottage. As long as she lived there, Josh had at least one place
close by where he felt welcome.

I couldn't help but notice that Josh had come
straight to the cottage after getting off the bus. He hadn't gone
to where he supposedly lived.

Grandma's place was rented, and it was tiny –
one bedroom, one bathroom, a cozy kitchen, and small living area
with windows overlooking an elaborate rose garden, now dormant.

Across the garden loomed a much larger home,
where my Dad lived with Loretta in a two-story brick house, much
like the Parkers'. Everything was Loretta's – the house, the
cottage, the gardens, and probably all their possessions.

This meant that Loretta wasn't just mine and
Josh's stepmother. She was also Grandma's landlady.

It was all so complicated that I had a hard
time keeping it straight sometimes. But it worked as long as
Grandma thought she had a job.

Reminded of this, I stood and reached for the
bin of envelopes she had stuffed during the last week. I said my
goodbyes and headed out to my car.