The jukebox in the corner is alive and electric. Softly humming the melodies and harmonies of The beach boys' Help Me Rhonda, a background distraction to sweeping the polished lick clean checkered floor and as well to wiping down the glittering baby pink tables randomly covered in splatters of mustard and ketchup. A late shift and counting, at Big-O's diner, it's 3:02 am, officially Saturday since 12 am, and the wonders of working at an open 24 hour diner still hasn't made sense to me.
Smoothing out the frosting blue colored uniform dress, I look onto the newly shiny, reflection of the table. My once wavy neat, curly hair, is now a teased and sweaty dark brown mess after having a long night of the few orders I get, spat at me, and being scowled at for being to much of a clutz. My tan skin lost its glow and instead a slight pale replaced it, giving me this sickly appearance. Making ends meet at just 17 is slowing loosing its purpose.
The white girls get to work the afternoon shift, with the yellow sunshine all blazed out in the sunny climate. Busy bee full- which always means more dough. Filled with the usual customers being of knit-tight, smiling platinum blonde families with polite manners and too generous tips. The rest of us- Hispanic, black, Asian- you name it, get stuck from dusk till dawn with barely any tables to serve as the night progresses, and with the few rare coming square, old white folks, who glare and mutter at us. At least we get to work the same place as the rest of the girls.
The only ones left is Janice, the cooks and I since there is barely business at this time- especially in this brisk weather which seems to worsen at night. Janice starts to get overly paranoid around this time, always calling her mother, her ride home, who never runs short of always reminding us about being wary and safe of our surroundings. To have our guards up, especially around men that come in at this time. Her mother always comes on the dot, so the moment Janice walks out, she doesn't have to wait a second longer. This would be my cue to phone my older sister from the diners telephone the minute my shift ends. A habitual routine since starting employment here.
Chewing on pink bubblegum in a quietly manner, I go through my routine of checking the red-wine booths for belongings that might've been forgotten to be simply thrown out in the dumpster. No need to save these items, Big-O's is located in a deadbeat road in nowheresville, Oklahoma- Tulsa to be exact. It's very likely people wouldn't come back to claim their lost items.
Tonight has been more empty than ever, Janice finishing serving both last customers that ordered and left a bit ago, she sits behind the counter. Her kinky curls, free from a tight bun and lightly blowing through the slight icy breeze. A cancer stick between her fingers, beauty magazine in her other hand, nervously tapping her foot to an off-beat rhythm of an ultimate goodie, Big Bopper's Chantilly lace. Sitting on the counter seats, counting down the ticking clock till my shift ends. I swallow my wad of gum, dreamily picking my nail polish off, the pale pink paint chips falling off onto the sparkly, grey counter top.
The sound of a car halting to an unexpected screeching stop, interrupts us both for a minute before resuming our meaningless tasks.
RING!
The sound of the door being opened, only meant costumers, in an agonizing wait for my shift to end. I sigh almost silently to myself, stand up and attempt to flatten out my dress.
"Hello, welcome to Big-O's, the onl-"
"Yous open all night, amirite?"
A deep, thick New Yorker accent cuts me through mid sentence causing me to look up. My cheeks slightly blush at the sight presented to me, but I quickly compose myself.
A tall white boy- with dark hair and cold, darkened deeply, hazel eyes is staring me down. He attracted of a funky, yet pleasant, scent of strong liquor and cancer sticks. His cheeks and jawline are heavily bruised, purple and blue hues color up his face, with dried, thick blood surrounding it. He looks awfully pale and an aura of sleaziness- mischief radiates off of him, yet he makes it seem so good.
He's wearing a beat old leather jacket and newly dark, stains now decorate it. His slightly tattered open shirt, which isn't doing a good job at covering his well toned being, looked to be covered in dirt or mud and a pool of blood is as well dripping down from his collar. His jeans in the same condition as his leather jacket, a few noticeable rips and a smudge full of blood on him.
Jesus did this guy come from a rumble of some sort? At this time?
His lips are also pasted with blood, as well as a lit cancer stick hangs off. Stained with his tangy, red copper liquid. I look at him bewildered for a second before responding quickly.
"Uh, yes we are. The sign outsi-"
"Good In that case, baby, gimme two coca-colas..Dammit I'm beat, man."
He says the last part to himself almost, except he looks me dead in the eye and the ghostly faint of a smirk is appearing. His hand rises up to run through his hair, which is matted with blood. "Well you aren't wrong about being beat.."
I softly mutter to myself, as he passes by me to take a seat in the red cushioned booths. The irritation of having shitty customers is now settling and causing me to say that unintentionally out loud.
He stops immediately, obviously hearing what I said and turns towards to face me, a devious glimmer in his stoney eyes and a violent, forced grin take over his previous sultry smirk. He removes his cancer stick and holds it put in his calloused blood smeared fingers.
"Didn't quite hear ya, sweetheart. Might want 'ta speak louder?"
He looks me down in a vulgar way that brought goosebumps upon my arms. Even Janice is looking on through the barrier of her magazine.
"You're getting blood on the floor, d-do you want a towel?"
I boldly say, hoping to avoid conflict. Even with my stuttering, refusing to look into his eyes. As attractive as he stood presented in front of me, his presence was ultimately intimidating and I was nervous to answer him. It was the truth though, specks of blood painted the recently new mopped floor.
His eyes leave my face after what seems to be eternity, and looks at the floor where another fresh splash of his blood is now placed. He shakes his head in a careless way, resembling of a wet dog, purposely letting the pasted blood on his hair get all over the floor and proceeds to go sit down. Sitting back, lines of gushy blood are now running down his face, making him appear sinister. He places the cancer stick back on his lips before speaking again.
"You wanna play nurse? Make me feel all good and better?"
He slightly mumbles in a clear tone that I'm not sure is either serious or not. A glass sharp smile taking over his features as well as a throaty chuckle to go along with it. I lightly gulp and ignore his statement.
"I'll go grab your cokes and a towel." I turn on my heels with a flustered face, and dash through the the counter to avoid the thick tension that seemed to build up upon his arrival.
The Rolling Stones' play with fire, began to blast all throughout the diner, giving it an eerie vibe to it. 'Oh the irony' I shook the thought off. I quickly glance at Janice as I reach for the cokes, she discreetly grabs my hand with her manicured, ruby red nails and looks up towards me and yells at me in whispers.
"You steer clear from him alright? That right there is that jailbird no good, delinquent- Oh in case you haven't noticed, white boy greaser Dallas Winston! If you have a single ounce of awareness, do yourself a favor and ignore him! He brings nothing but trouble! "
Janice spurts as she dramatically emphasizes when she mentions 'white boy'. I frantically nodded my head before looking up to see Dallas leaning against the jukebox, his jacket gone off and is placed messily on top of the table at his booth. He is selecting another Rolling Stones goodie (I can't get no) Satisfaction. His head slightly bobs to the rhythm and he looks up at me with no emotion In his eyes, with a devilish grin painted on his bruised, handsome face. I reach over and grab a white towel off the counter and soak it lightly in cold water in the sink next to Janice. Walking over to him and handing him the towel, along with the coca-colas, which he gladly gulps down easily never once breaking eye contact.
"It's cold, you seem to need it to wipe all that blood.." I trailed off as I looked up at him, his daring eyes looking more intense. He brings his hand with the cancer stick being held onto his lips once more and inhales a couple seconds longer than usual before killing it off. Grinding it up against the shiny table. He cheekily moves closer to me and my feet seem to remain to be rooted on the floor. I can feel Janice burning holes in the back of my head, oblivious to taking her advice.
He takes the towel and the empty coke can and effortlessly throws it onto the table counter where he's sitting. The coke rolls of onto the cushioned seats and is left dry without a drop. Dallas leans down to my level and huskily breathes
"You're real cute, ya know? Maybe after your little shift is over I can drive you home, or take you wherever you'd like ..."
I looked up at him with disbelief. I resist the urge to slap him on the spot and instead scold him.
"You don't even know my name, Winston!"
I spat at him in hushed whispers, giving away the fact I knew who he was. Keeping my voice low, to not let Janice hear to not give her the benefit of being right.
His facial expression changed to annoyance, with a slight roll of his eyes, his lips pressed in a firm line.
"Fuckin' Christ, woman. Loosen up yeah? It won't kill ya"
He mutters loudly towards my direction. Looking at the ceiling, he bites his raw lips, as if he's mentally planning his next move. He turns back to face me a moment later.
"Listen, baby, you're killin' me here! So why don't ya tell me it. No need to make this into a problem- 'Sides ya seem to know mine."
Dallas states, not letting the fact that I knew who he was go unnoticed. His thick accent sounded so suave and attractive. Dallas threw a charming, wolfish smile at me. Despite of the fact of what he last said wasn't oh so charming, and looked at me through hooded eyes.
He didn't wait for me to answer, he paced over to the booth he was sitting on, grabbed his overused leather jacket, downed the other coke up and crushed it down. Dallas then looked up to the clock hanging on the newly painted wall, hanging next to the poster of 'Liz Taylor. He sucked his teeth and breathed in.
"Listen doll, I gotta take off, but the offer is still on the table next time we bump into each other, yeah?"
I looked up, right as he was about to exit the diner, unbelievable.
"Hey you didn't pay for the cokes you drank!"
He spun back around with a clever smile, licking his rum colored lips and I right away knew what he was going to do.
He sauntered towards me in an entrancing way, and pulled my hips towards him before I could even hold onto him, he leaned in and interlocked our lips in a heated fashion. The taste of blood, coca-cola and cancer sticks swirling in and mixing together. Hitting my tastebuds immediately as well as the slip of his tongue entering my mouth. His lips and tongue moved expertly against mine in a very rough matter. A small moan slipped out of my lips and I mentally slapped myself, when I felt him smirk against my lips, for feeding his humongous ego. He pulled away and lingered for a couple of quick seconds before freeing himself from me. The kiss was anything but innocent or sweet. It was raw and vicious. The craving for his lips to be placed back onto mine was ridiculous.
"I'd give you a tip but, I'm in a hurry and I'd like to take my time for that."
He cockily whispers hotly into my ear before fully pulling away and walking out the diner leaving me breathless and bothered. The sound of an engine roaring and screeching tires and was all that was left lingering on the outside of the diner. The Marcel's blue moon began to blast. Once again bringing life to the lively, hip diner. I turned around with wide eyes and an irregular breathing pattern from the heavy kiss, to face Janice.
Her magazine long dropped and abandoned. The previous scene that had finished out playing before her clearly more entertaining than that ol mag. Her head shaking in a disapproving fashion and a slight frown sits upon her neat brows.
"Listen honey, those cokes are definitely not coming out from my paycheck!"
~
I hoped you like it! This is my first time posting anything on here!