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Virginia Curtis often considered herself a woman with ambition— the most wonderful thing especially with her observations of the girls in her neighborhood. But now, she was floating, hovering between the grit of reality and what she desperately wanted from the bottom of her depthless heart.
Beads of sweat dripped down the slope of Virginia's neck. Frizzy strands of golden-brown hair were blown away from her eyes in a rush to balance plates in her hands and the crooks of her elbows. The little electric fan set up at the front counter could only do so much, the rotating head moving at a slow, side-to-side pace. It failed to calm the scent of fry oil and bacon grease, prompting the door to be propped open.
"Table four wants their check," Evie whispered as she whizzed past the swinging doors, just as frazzled as Virginia. The sounds of wheels clacked against the white and black tiles as other waitresses skated to tables with full trays of drinks and food balanced on their palms.
"This has gotta be the worst lunch rush in the history of Saturdays," Virginia grumbled, lifting up her foot, "and these damn wheels keep getting stuck."
She fiddled and picked at the sleeves of her ochre waitressing dress, wishing they could loosen up to let some cool air touch her hot skin. Her fingers tucked back loose locks of hair that fell out from her ponytail.
"Rough night for tips, girls. Hurry on up with them orders," huffed Delores Murphy as she sashayed into the kitchen. Her small, shiny black heels clicked gracefully, compared to the racket the waitress' rollerskates made.
Virginia bit her tongue to refrain from making a snarky comment but as soon as her boss retreated to her cramped back office, she stared at Evie flatly. "I ain't ever been so mad about makin' money."
Evie giggled, grabbing a steel pitcher of coffee and balancing it on a tray with a creamer and an abundance of colorful Stevia packets. "Come on, it ain't so bad."
"Really, it's like a hundred degrees in here and Delores only keeps playing Elvis on the damn juke box," Virginia groaned, blowing out her reddened cheeks. "I swear, I'll start seein' Spider Murphy and Little Joe in my sleep."
Evie grinned, peering past her friend's shoulders and narrowing her eyes coyly. "Hm, well, there's a lot of fine young men to look at. Takes your mind off the heat." She clucked her tongue at the sight of Virginia's apron. "And keep that thing clean, would ya? Nice boys don't like to see a girl bathing in ketchup. Guys at Table 13 are askin' for ya... again."
Virginia hummed disapprovingly, playfully swatting at her shoulder. Evie must've been the only good thing to come out of working at the Dingo—even considering the bitterly meager paycheck at the end of the week— and Virginia would be grateful for her help in getting the job. Yet no matter how hard she worked and how often she clumsily hurt her ankle with those damn rollerskates, she always felt like the finish line of making enough money for a year at college was farther and farther away. She liked to believe it was the world's personal form of torture for her but Darry would just call her dramatic.
