Chapter 4 of the Goddess series
I had to work at ten the next day, but I woke up seven hours earlier than that. I tried to go back to sleep, but Zach was playing soft music in his bedroom, and I couldn't ignore Sick Puppies and Seether, despite the quiet volume.
Layla was at the apartment, taking care of Momma and helping with her morning routine. She'd be in charge of changing the sheets, doing the laundry, cooking breakfast, and even doing some physical therapy if Momma could manage it.
I peeked into my inbox and found an updated bar schedule from Ryan. I worked on Tuesdays and Wednesdays that week, and Saturdays night. I pinged him asking if there were any more shifts I could pick up, but he didn't respond.
I was about to leave for the cafe but Brandon flagged me down. "Hey, got something to chat about," he said.
"Alright, what is it?" I replied, dismissively.
"Holly and I..." He hesitated, looking down at his feet. "We're getting a little more committed. And since our lease is up..."
"You're moving out?" I asked, feeling a little surprised.
"Yeah, I'll be moving in with her," he admitted, sheepishly. "I'm trying to find someone to replace me and hopefully Zach, so you guys can have the place to yourselves. It wasn't easy living with strangers, but it worked out."
"I get that," I replied, smiling slightly. "Thanks for letting us know."
He looked relieved and left, taking his pack with him.
Now I had to find a better job, a way to pay for Momma's care, and a new roommate in ninety days. Her rent was rising and our apartment was expensive for the area, but we couldn't afford to leave. And I couldn't put Momma in the same home she came from before.
I glanced at my watch. I had an hour and a half until my shift started. Before I left, I stopped by Momma's room.
She was sitting in the recliner, watching TV and staring blankly. The loss of her teeth made her look like she was a hundred instead of fifty. Her skin sagged, her chin nonexistent, and her lips sunken. She'd rather go without them than keep them loose.
But she was still here.
As I entered, her attention turned to me and her eyes sharpened. She was recognizing me. I felt some relief and happiness as we made brief eye contact.
"Hey, what's up, Momma?" I asked gently.
"Fine," she mumbled, confused.
She tried to speak and said something like "late for school," but I didn't hear the whole thing.
"Don't worry, I'm heading to work now. You'll be with Layla, right?" I prompted her, offering a small smile.
"Layla?" she repeated, pointing at a photo of her. There was Layla wearing scrubs and a stethoscope on the side table. There was one for each of us beside her photo - a system I'd set up in case Momma forgot who each person was.
"I'll come back and read to you when I'm back from work," I said, folding the blanket over her lap.
As I walked out of the room, I could see Layla's shadow in the doorway. After telling her what I had planned, I nodded to her and left the room, looking back to Layla, feeling a bit choked up inside. Momma still recognized me, and for now, that's what mattered.
"I'll see you later, Momma," I said quietly, leaving the apartment.
One afternoon, with time to spare before I started work, I decided to visit the local gallery downtown. This small, artist-owned co-op featured about fifteen to twenty artists' work. While some pieces were charming and cute, others were nothing more than trash. But there were two artists, a painter and a pastel artist, whose work was truly incredible. I spent countless hours admiring their artwork, captivated by the colors, lines, symmetry, and composition. Their creations transported me to a place where I felt in control of my life and my thoughts.
During my visit, I met one of the artists, Jeremy Hutchins, as he brought in a new painting. Jeremy was a talented oil painter who focused on wet-on-wet techniques. He excelled at using light and shadow in his work. As we chatted, he discovered my artistic background.
"Are you in art school?" he inquired.
"No...I used to be. I dropped out last year...probably won't go back," I replied casually, trying to hide the truth. I had actually forfeited a full scholarship by dropping out.
My thoughts were interrupted by memories of finding my mother, alone and neglected in a nursing home, on Thanksgiving. I shook my head and pushed those recollections away. It didn't matter. At least she was safe and cared for now, even if she couldn't remember things most of the time and had lost her teeth.
Jeremy continued our conversation. "Everyone's situation is different. Art school wasn't a waste for me, but I know some friends who left and launched successful careers. Why get a degree when you can just make art to prove your talents?"
I forced a laugh, careful not to let bitterness show. "True, exactly." I tried to hide my envy, but it was difficult. Why can't I just create more art while I have all this free time and finances?
I longed to draw on a skinny pad with a few pencils to temporarily forget about life's burdens.
Alas, art supplies cost money. I had used up my school materials long ago and even sold some pieces at a low price to pay for food.
Jeremy and I spoke for a bit longer, then I left him to set up his new artwork. En route to work, I debated dropping by an art supply store to purchase a drawing pad and a few pencils. I couldn't resist the temptation to fill in the void. However, I ultimately decided against it. Art was frivolous compared to my mother's needs.
I pondered whether I was like my mother, growing up begging for meals outside of school and needing expensive presents. She worked so hard to support me. In many ways, I was still trying to pay her back.
Instead, I reported to work early and occupied a corner table, scouring job listings on Indeed and LinkedIn. I sought part-time positions that might suit an unqualified teenager like me, despite my lack of experience.
It was futile.
Healthcare was the most vital matter. The small franchise I worked for enabled me to add my mother to my insurance plan. This arrangement covered most of her care costs while I paid for the rest. It also provided her medication and emergency treatment.
Erin appeared in the hallway, signaling me to visit her office. "Benny, I need you here for a sec. Curtis, this is the guy who's going to train you. He knows the ropes, so listen to him."
"Sure thing," I said. I didn't mind tutorials, as I believed they facilitated consistency among workers. I greeted Curtis and gave him a smile.
Upon shaking my hand, Curtis's grip was overly firm and he tried to gaze down at me in an arrogant manner. Immediately, I sensed he would be troublesome.
I pulled Curtis towards Erin's office and told him, with Erin present, that he needed to allow me to train him instead of jumping into a job he didn't understand. "And Maxine is not an option," I informed him.
Why? he asked, seemingly unfazed.
To begin with, she's your coworker. Secondly, she's in a relationship already. I knew that was untrue, but it was pointless knowledge for Curtis to possess.
Okay, I get it," Curtis said, showing a mock remorseful gesture. "Sorry, I thought I was simply trying to be helpful."
Curtis couldn't have been more unapologetic.
Erin gave me a look of sorrow and mouthed "sorry" after we left the office.
When I made my way back to the seating area, a woman with long black hair was sitting at a table I'd usually reserve for larger groups. Maxine gave me a brief, silent apology for occupying one of my bigger tables. But there were no other tables available, so we both understood the situation.
The lunch rush on a Wednesday is always busy and on this particular day, this woman with black hair was one more person joining the cacophony. I found myself preoccupied with the noisy family near her, enjoying their glut of space while she was left in the middle of the room. She seemed put out by her circumstances but didn't complain.
I had considered her less intimidating after our multiple encounters. However, she was on my mind almost constantly, and I noticed myself checking for her presence wherever I went. As I worked at the bar, my eyes invariably sought out beautiful, long-haired women.
At night, my mind was preoccupied with her, as my hand often wandered to my genitals, dreaming of her stare and her full lips.
The day had been stressful, I was exhausted and rude, short on money, and preoccupied with my mother's memory loss so I presented her with her drink order and instructed Curtis to prepare and deliver it. I prioritized the boisterous table of seniors, who ordered multiple rounds of wine.
When I returned ten minutes later, her wine was still untouched. "Curtis," I sighed, gesturing to the glass. He picked it up and brought it to her before she could voice any complaints.
"You said you would watch," Curtis grumbled.
Despite my inclination to fire him, he held the power. My priority was to get through this lunch rush and avoid losing valuable tips. "I need you to help Maxine clean menus and wrap silverware. Please go do that," I requested, avoiding Curtis's gaze.
Shortly after, he said, "You told me you wanted me to watch," rubbing his superiority in my face.
Curtis's attitude infuriated me, but I couldn't terminate him. "Please go help Maxine clean menus and wrap silverware," I insisted, and I moved away, heading towards the strange woman.
"It's warm," she announced, clearly perturbed. "It's been sitting there for 15 minutes, and it's warm. Twelve dollars for a glass of wine should result in a cold drink."
I tried not to show my frustration. "I'm so sorry, ma'am," I apologized. "I'll fetch you a fresh glass." I swapped out her old glass for a new one, allowing Lucy to prepare it while I presented it to her.
She was struggling to hide her contempt. "May I have a menu, please?" she inquired.
I tried to keep my voice respectful while acknowledging her need. However, my own impatience came through. "I'm sorry, it'll only take a moment." I collected a menu and handed it to her, promising to return shortly.
However, that moment dragged on with table four requiring more seasoning for their pasta and table nine's waiter had fallen ill and Curtis failed to be even marginally useful. He punished me with his flirtatious dialogue with Maxine while he was supposed to help her. But, as I'd learned, he would've done more harm assisting her directly.
When I returned to the woman, she'd nearly finished her wine. "What would you like to order today?" I politely asked.
She set her glass down and tucked her fingers together. "Recently, I heard glowing reviews about this establishment and its employees, particularly about you. My friend Martha mentioned how you managed her unusual shrimp cravings," she added.
"Thank you," I responded.
"And last week, the service provided to me was commendable," she noted.
It turns out Shrimp Lady was indeed the corporate inspector. But at least she gave a generous tip.
"Do you know what you'd like to order for your meal?" I asked in a gentle tone.
It's nice to hear that, lady.
So why are you choosing to ignore me today?
Because I make just $2 an hour and can't afford to waste time on you. "I'm sorry if that's how you see it, miss. We're a bit busier today than we were last week."
And you're more fatigued and less focused. Why should I receive reduced service because you're not feeling it?
Perhaps because you get everything you pay for. But I couldn't say that out loud, as I felt like I was choking. She was angrily staring at me, her eyes fierce, questioning my commitment. The tables on either side were observing our conversation.
"Am I not giving you enough responsibility to keep your attention? Should I demand a refund on my food due to insufficient seasoning and poor presentation? Would that be something worth your time?"
I gulped, my cheeks blushing. Her gaze unnerved me. I wasn't sure if she was merely insulting me or flirting with me.
She whispered, "Or should I behave like those ladies over there? Brush your butt as you replenish my drink, or comment on your lovely blue eyes and vibrant vitality. Would that be enticing?" She leaned forward, her voice lowering and smoldering into something provocative and threatening. "If you're up for a challenge, all you need to do is ask."
My heart was racing, and I strove to contain my fury. Her assumptions were offensive, and how she addressed me was embarrassing. But I couldn't speak back to a customer in a public restaurant. Not only that, my neck was sweating from her unwavering stare.
Maintaining my silence, I waited until she had completed her monologue. She sat upright, staring at me determinedly, expecting a response.
I opted not to reply. There was nothing I could say that wouldn't get me in trouble, or come across as impolite.
"Anything to say?"
You don't know a damn thing about me. You don't know the difficult situations I'm facing right now. Who do you think you are?
"No, ma'am. Would you like to place an order today?"
"No." She took out a fifty dollar bill and placed it on the table and left her wine untouched. As she stood, she locked eyes with me. She stood closer to me than anticipated. Her eyes scorched me, and a scent of roses and jasmine wafted to my nostrils, causing my mouth to water.
Her eyes moved towards my waist and fixed on it for a moment, and suddenly I realized that I had an erection. Meeting her eyes again, she said seductively, "Keep the change." Then she left the restaurant as if she were a phantasm evaporating in the breeze.
For a few moments, the din around me was deafening. Then the chitchat resumed as I eliminated her plate, tucked the bill into my apron, and swiftly scurried to the waiters' station to finish her bill.