Page 8 of Step Puck

This is so embarrassing, I can’t believe Momma is doing this. Drunk. Loud.

I can get fired. Doesn’t she realize this job is keeping us from the streets? She’s certainly not helping. Plus, it looks like she’s hitting on Billy. Now that is just wrong, I don’t know what to do about it. I know. I know. I’m a hypocrite. Sue me. Since we seem to have a new connection, the thought of her with him…well, it pisses me the hell off. What am I to do? She is my mother after all.

“I think you should go, Momma. I’m working now.”

A harsh, ridiculing burst of laughter explodes out of her mouth. I feel the burning heat of a blush surging onto my skin. What has happen to her? This is not the mother that raised me. This woman’s hair is wild and unbrushed. Her jeans have a dirt smear on the thigh, along with her shirt which is haphazardly buttoned, the top buttons undone.

Now the whole bar is watching the show that is us. Billy gets up and walks over, his hands outstretched. “Dena, how are you tonight? How bout a glass of water?”

“Water? Why would I want that? I want a margarita. A strawberry I think.” She winks at him, bends over, jeans stretched tight over her ass, and my embarrassment hikes up to an all-new level of uncomfortable. How do I get her out and not lose my job with the battle it will cause?

“Fine Dena. I’ll get you one. Why don’t you sit?” Billy takes her elbow in his hand and leads her to an empty barstool. She rests her shoes on the bottom rung of the stool, rising, leaning forward, pretending to look at the bottles of alcohol for a choice even though she had chosen a margarita, she’s close enough to him her boobs hang, almost falling out of her blouse, right into his face. He gives me a quick glance, rolling his eyes and sits back as far from her as he can.

She sits down cocking her head to the side, “Billy Boy, when we’re done here, why don’t you come home with me? I’m sure you’d rather have a cougar that knows what she’s doing than an innocent who knows nothing.”

Momma ogles him like he’s a male stripper at a strip club. I close my eyes and drop my head, giving in to my disappointment for one minute. I lift my head and get back to serving, pretending no awful, earth-shattering drama is going to take me down.

I think he can handle himself. I mean he’s thirty-five. I’m sure he’s had this happen with younger women before. Forcing themselves on him. He’s so handsome and virile looking.

The bartender, Mike, glances at me and I give a slight shake of my head. It’s a slight communication we’ve worked out. He makes the drinks taste like they have alcohol in them, and the customer is happy and not getting any drunker.

Billy sits back in his seat, Momma next to him with a self-satisfied smirk on her face, as if she won the lottery. I try to keep my eye on her as I serve and check on all the customers. It’s extra hard being the only waitress tonight, at least it’s not a Friday or Saturday night.

Mike sets the alcohol-free margarita in front of her, she sips and leans extra close to Billy rubbing her tits against his arm, talking animatedly at him, her voice still discordant, waving her arms as if she might take flight. “T…this drink is amazing. I can’t taste the tequila at all.”

He leans his forearms against the bar, giving my Momma a conspiratorial wink. “It’s special. Has a special tequila. Very smooth. I knew you’d like it.”

“I’ll have another. Keep them coming.” I’m still close enough to hear their conversations and want to sink into the floor in embarrassment.

“Aye, aye ma’am.”

I leave them to it, the two men trying to keep her from getting drunker, and keeping her hands off any parts of their bodies. Weaving about the room I talk, laugh and joke with the customers, making them feel as comfortable as I’m not, as I can. Further into the room where he holds court by the jukebox, Bud is getting ready to call it a night even though it’s still fairly early. “Hey Bud, ready to cash out?”

“Yeah it’s time. There’s a game on. Don’t want to miss all of it. Glad I came tonight. With the show your mother put on.” He pats my hand like a brother or favorite uncle would. That’s one thing I like about Bud. He never makes anything sexual with me.

“Let me get your tab ready. I’ll be right back. What game is it?” I pick up his empty beer bottles and set them on the tray, waiting to find out what game is going. Oh, yeah. Forgot. Bay City Wolves.

“Seattle against Bay City. This is a good game.” He sits forward, grabs his wallet out of his back pocket and waits.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll be right back. Hold on.” I fumble with my order pad, tears burn, my insecurities grab hold and twist my insides flooding my brain with and squeezing my heart with remembering pain of not being good enough. The only one who ever thought I was good enough was my stepfather, Jason. “Sorry Bud.” I lower my head starting to shuffle away, knowing it must have been the scene Momma caused.

“Fuck. Lorelei, I’m sorry. It’s not you. Really.” He gets up to give me a brotherly hug when a growl like a lose wild animal reverberates throughout the room loud enough for the customers to glance to see where it came from.

For some reason I gaze at Billy and he’s looking at Bud with death in his icy blue eyes.

8

BILLY

It’s all I can do to not run over there and twist his neck off, that friend of hers. The blood spray would be satisfying. He’s hugging her. I barely held it together when he touched her hand. Now he’s hugging her.

A sound like a growl from a wild animal fills the room even with the music from the jukebox and the people talking. I realize the growls come from me. I’m growling. I don’t pay attention to anything else. Not to the hand on my arm trying to keep me from leaving. Not from words coming out of the bartender’s mouth. Not even from Lorelei trying to hold me back from attacking this piece of shit like the wild animal I sound like.

“Billy? What the fuck?”

I’ve never heard Lorelei say that crude word. To me it’s attractive. It means she’s becoming confident, a I-don’t-give-a-fuck-about-anyone-else’s-opinion confident. I want to see more of this woman she’s become.

“Billy. Don’t ignore me.” She grabs my forearm, her fingers surprisingly strong, clutches and tightens trying to pull me and I let her. She shuffles to the side to face me, a more than pissed expression scowling her face.

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