German looks at me, I mean really looks at me, totally unlike he was looking at Andrew just now. He smiles a yellowed smile and says, “An’ you jus’ need ta look ’zactly like you do now. Put on dat sweet smile an’ rake in dem tips.”
I can only imagine what the other waitresses who work here full-time have to go through with this guy.
I bat my baby blues at him and say with a sweet, seductive country twang in my voice, “I sure will, Mr. German. And lata when my shift is ova’ I’m sure you will unda’stand that I’ll need to go in tha back an’ freshen up before I perform t’night.”
I notice Andrew’s eyes get bigger and more intrigued, but I keep my attention on German, who I already have so tightly wrapped around my finger that if I told him to lick the floor he would ask Fer how long?
Andrew
That Southern belle accent that came out of nowhere really turned me on. She and I are gonna have to talk about that later.
I pin on my name tag, tie my apron at the back, and grab the plastic tublike thing German points to when I look over. Hell, I don’t mind this kind of work, but German is a redneck dickhead who I hope stays out of my way for the next two hours. And he could use a stick of deodorant. I mean the whole fucking stick. He really doesn’t go with the place. He’s like a rebel flag hanging in the window of a $400,000 house. The bar-slash-restaurant is actually decked out pretty nice. On the inside, at least.
I head out onto the floor with my tub fixed underneath my arm and go to the first empty table I see. I clear away all of the trash and dirty dishes covered with uneaten fries and hush puppies, and toss everything into the tub. Then I wipe the table down with the rag in my apron pocket, and straighten the ketchup and steak sauce bottles. It’s all pretty straightforward, unlike waitressing, which I guess is why only Camryn had to get an hour’s worth of training yesterday before she could start today. She may have the tip job where she can work that sexy charm of hers, but she has to put up with the creepy perverted boss. And I’m lovin’ the shit out of it. It’s what she gets for making fun of me getting the busing job. She joked around by calling me the bar’s “bottom feeder.” Well, I hope she doesn’t expect me to save her skinny butt from German’s advances. She’s on her own with that one.
I bus a couple more tables, leaving the five-dollar tip on one table and the twenty on another. When I start to head into the back to drop off the load, I’m stopped by four girls at a booth near the bar wall.
“Hey baby doll,” one of the older women says, gesturing me with the curl of her finger. “Can you take our drink order?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I just bus the tables.”
I try to walk away, but a prettier one stops me.
“I bet if we requested that you be our waiter, you’d get promoted.” Her eyes are glassy and her head sways a little. I notice—because it’s hard not to—her huge boobs busting out of her tight tank top. She pushes them further into view.
“Well, you could ask,” I say, putting on my own charm, lifting one side of my mouth into a grin. “And if the boss man says so, then I’m all yours for the evening.”
All four of them look at one another, having some kind of inside conversation. I’ve got them eating out of the palm of my hand.
Camryn comes up behind me bearing a drink tray lined with shots of whiskey and a glass already stuffed full of bills. I wonder if that’s the tip jar or the money she collects from the alcohol. It’s making me anxious.
She smirks at me, looks down at the table of women, and then back at me again briefly. “Is he bothering you ladies?” she asks.
I know she’s not jealous; it’s all about competition tonight, between her and me. And she’s going to do whatever she can to keep me from winning the little bet we made in the car on the ride over here:
“You don’t think I can rake in tips as a busboy?”
“No,” she said. “Busboys don’t collect tips.”
“Think about it,” I said, looking at her from the driver’s seat. “It’s a bar full of women and alcohol. I bet you I can get tips.”
“Oh really?” she asked, pursing her lips.
“Yeah,” I said and then took it up a notch because I was feeling bold: “Actually, I bet I can rake in more tips than you.”
Camryn laughed. “Seriously? You want to bet on that?” She crossed her arms and shook her head at me like I was being ridiculous.
“Yes,” I said when I knew I should’ve said, No, I’m just kidding.
But I didn’t say no, and now I’m stuck in this bet where if Camryn wins, I have to give her an hour-long massage for three straight nights. An hour is a long time for a massage. I can already feel my arms going limp just thinking about it.
The older woman answers Camryn, “No, he’s not bothering us at all, sweetie.” She looks me up and down like she wants to strip me naked and lick me, propping her chin on her enclosed, upright hands. “He can stay here for as long as he likes. Where is your boss?”