13-Jun-2004
Title: The Worst Thing
Author: Sol 1056
Rating: NC-17
Warning: limish lemon, mild language
Pairings: no change since last chapter
Notes: many MANY thanks to those reviewing and asking for more. Sorry it took
so long between last chapter and this - RL was pretty much damn well
sucky for the past two or three days. But Q kept pestering, and here it
is... hope you enjoy. I don't own, but crits & comments welcome.
The apartment was dark, the mid-afternoon rainy gray seeping in past the blanket. I stared at the art supplies, feeling too numb to unpack them. I dumped my coat on the floor, kicked off my boots, and didn't move from my spot by the door.
I couldn't seem to do more than breathe.
Eventually I woke up from my stupor long enough to flip on the light switch, grab a notebook and a pen, and sit down at my pathetic excuse for a table. Everything I'd been so proud of... seemed less impressive, in the stark light of the overhead florescent. The card table, the cracked seat of the second folding chair, the second-hand dresser, the old mattress. I'd been so proud of my ingenuity, my determination, and the fact that it had been my own choice to find them, clean them, give them a home. And it really didn't mean anything, did it... not when I could've taken the emergency credit card and gone out and just bought something decent.
Lola dressed herself in cheap polyester, passing itself off as silk. I could believe in the illusion, as much as the illusion of my apartment being something worth my pride. But I'd grown up with silk, and linen, and the best of everything. I didn't just pretend to the people who'd befriended me; I'd lied to myself, too. How could I possibly be proud, when I'd achieved so little?
Professor Zimm didn't like my abstracts, but she never said they weren't any good. She just said they needed work. I looked at my apartment, and I couldn't even say that. It was as though all the words in the past five hours had shown me too clearly that what I had wasn't any good. All the work I could do wasn't going to hide that fact anymore.
I opened the notebook to a back page, and began writing out my expenses. Enough years of accounting, business, economics, ledgers, all those damned classes I took while my peers were learning about playgrounds and sandboxes. Just writing out the columns, adding up the numbers - such a second-nature thing, to me - and it made my stomach twist. I wanted to dry heave. Just the act of accounting itself was a resentful, hated thing: I am no more than what I was taught, am I.
I'm a cold-hearted, ruthless person. That's what you have to be, to be a good businessman. The money, the bottom line, matters more than the people, or even the product. You can sell anything, but as long--
Slamming a fist down on the table, I cut off the self-incriminations. It was done. It was no better or worse than anything else I'd done, but I couldn't go back and fix who I'd been. I could only promise myself not to do it again. I'd sworn not to kill without need; I could stop hurting those around me, too.
The list of numbers, expenses, needs, grew, and I tallied them up. Setting them against the cost of my art supplies, upcoming classes, and the income from my job, it was stark in black and white.
I couldn't afford school.
The pencil was left where I let it fall, and the numbers accused me, until I had to shove away from the table, pacing around the room. I ended up standing over the phone, and before I knew it, I had the phone card out of my wallet and had fallen to my knees, shaking fingers dialing a number I hadn't called in months.
The phone rang six times, seven, then eight. What time was it there? Did it matter?
"Tyll speaking, who the fuck is this and why--"
"Duo," I interrupted. "I need to talk to Duo."
"He's crashed," Tyll said.
"Wake him up. Tell him it's Quatre," I insisted.
Tyll muttered something, and the phone clattered. Several minutes later I heard the phone being picked up, even as I counted the time and tried to calculate how long I could speak with the money on the card.
"Quatre," Duo said, and yawned. "Where's the fuckin' fire? It's six in the morning."
"I... " I opened my mouth and closed it. I couldn't say anything. He'd been right all along, and I was just proving it. I wanted to try life on the other side, and I got it, didn't I... and I just couldn't fight past my pride to admit it. Instead, different words came out of my mouth, suddenly. "Duo... do you... "
"Do I what," he prompted, hoarse but not unkindly. He yawned again.
"Do you ever... do I ever make you feel like... like you're not good enough, or something?"
"Uh." Duo was quiet, and I could practically hear him scratching his head as he puzzled it out. "Good enough at what, I guess, I'd have to ask."
"Anything," I whispered. "Like... manners, or how you... how you dress, or maybe act, or something?"
"Quatre... "
I tensed.
"What... " Duo sounded irritated, but worried. "What's brought this on?"
"Just... just answer the question, please."
"Hunh." Duo grunted, and I figured he was settling onto the old sofa in his living room, getting comfortable while he considered the question. "Well... sometimes. You can be real particular when we're out eating. And you do get bossy about my grammar an' pronunciation." He chuckled.
"Oh," I said. "Sorry."
"Nothing to be sorry for, man, that's just the way you are. We all know that. You were... " He sighed, and I knew he was waving his hand around, the gesture he made when words failed him. "Y'know, raised with a different set of expectations. So we just kinda ignore it. I mean, Heero gets cranky if someone corrects his ideas about mechanics, and I--"
"But you've never made me feel like *I* wasn't good enough," I told him.
"You don't, either," Duo said, a bit sharply. "Well, not in the way you think. I mean, fuck, Quatre, it's too early in the morning to be asking me shit like this. Look, you do stuff, and that's just you, and we're cool with it. What's going on, anyway?"
I checked my watch. A minute before I'd run out. Earthside-to-colony calls were damned expensive. "Nothing, just... just been thinking about stuff."
"Quatre... "
"It's cool, I just was wondering." I forced a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant. "Look, you get back to sleep. I'm just being melancholy. Sorry I woke you."
"You can wake me anytime," Duo rumbled, and yawned again. "But it's still a bizarre question. Want me to call you back? We can talk. I've got the minutes saved, I was going to--"
He was saving his money to call Trowa. I knew it, I could feel it, and suddenly I realized just what an imposition it was to call with stupid insecurities when he probably had class in three hours and had been up half the night studying. I was an idiot, and that meant I had to solve my own idiocy. I couldn't go moaning to friends who'd just reassure me, when the hard truth was that it was not okay. The way I behaved around people was not okay.
"Naw," I said, and laughed softly. It sounded bitter in my ears. "Save your minutes to call him. Tell him I say hey, too."
"Quatre?" Duo's voice was baffled. "Wait a minute, it's cool, that's not--"
"Gotta go," I told him. Thirty seconds. "Out of time on the card. Sorry. I'll send you email or something, okay?"
"Yeah," but his reply didn't hold much conviction. "Quatre, are you--"
"Take care, I'll... I'll talk to you later," I said, and hung up.
I stared at the phone for several minutes before picking it up again. Reaching over, I grabbed the crate holding my bills, and dug out the number for the phone company. My deposit had been five hundred credits. If I waited the six months, I'd get that back, but I'd have to pay for the line in the meantime. To hell with it; not like the people I knew were going to be doing much calling, anyway, not with the way I'd treated them.
"Central Bell," a woman's voice said. "Billing department."
"Hello," I said, trying to sound professional. "I'd like to disconnect my number."
I stared up at the row of windows over the shops, noting the flickering light in Jamie's front window. Steeling myself, I opened the door and trudged up the steps. When I knocked, it was several minutes before he answered, and by then I'd run through sixteen different things to say and discarded all of them.
"Cat," he said, looking surprised. "You're not--" He stopped, looking at me closer. "Uh, how about you come on in."
I nodded, and he took my coat from me, but I didn't really pay attention. I was looking at the old wooden table, the scratches across its surface. The chairs were mismatched but sturdy, the mugs drying on the countertop chipped but colorful. It wasn't silk and linen, either, but it didn't look like my place. It all looked like...
It looked like a *home*.
"Cat," Jamie said, putting his hands on my shoulders and pushing me forward. I resisted, and he backed away, his hands still up in surrender.
"I'm not Cat," I managed to force out. My throat felt tight, and I couldn't look him in the eyes. I stared at the table, memorizing the marks of years, indecipherable graffiti of a person's life. "My name is Quatre Raberba Winner. I'm the youngest son of Achmed Winner, and the lucky bastard who's supposed to be running Winner International Conglomerate."
A chair scraped against the floor, and in the corner of my vision, Jamie sank into the chair. His expression was inscrutable, and when he spoke, it was nearly a whisper. "I see. Any reason you're not there, now, then? You've not exactly looked like you've been--"
"I'm in school," I snapped. "I'm not running--"
"Yeah, you are," he said, and sighed. I raised my head, and he waved a hand. "Never mind. So you're some rich kid pretending at--"
"I'm not pretending anymore," I said. "I really am--"
"I believe you're who you say you are," he interrupted. "I've seen the news vids, y'know. But that's not what I meant. I meant... if that's what you're supposed to be doing, why aren't you?"
I shrugged. "I don't want to," I admitted. "I... I want to be something different."
"Or someone?"
"Yeah," I said, as quietly as I could manage.
"Cat... " Jamie got up, and I backed up a step. "Quatre... " He laughed, softly. "That's going to take some getting used to. I appreciate you being honest, but I have to ask... why are you telling me this now?"
"Because I... " I shrugged, crossing my arms defensively over my chest. "I should have, before now."
"I don't blame you for not," Jamie said. This time when he put his hands on my shoulders, he didn't let go. Gently he pushed me towards the sofa, and shoved me downwards. I collapsed onto it and he knelt before me, taking my face in his hands. "Cat... Sorry. Quatre. Look at me, would ya?"
I frowned, and took a deep breath, raising my gaze to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"Shit, kid," Jamie said, and leaned forward, kissing me. I was so shocked, I could only open my mouth to protest, and he took the kiss deeper. When he finally released me, I was panting, and he chuckled. "I'm not sure I'd tell people who I was, if I had that kinda money, either."
"I don't," I said, feeling utterly miserable. I wanted him to kiss me again, so badly, but at the same time I kept hearing Felicia's words, seeing Lola's face, remembering my sister's ultimatum. "I don't have the money. I... I've been disinherited." I sighed. My fingers curled against the seams of my jeans. "And disowned, too, I guess."
"You guess?" Jamie let go of my face and sat back on his heels. "You don't know?"
I shook my head. "We... we argued. And I told her I didn't want to be part of the family anymore... I don't want to--"
"You *what*?" Jamie stood up, utter shock all over his bold features. "What the fuck kind of thing is that to say?"
"Hunh?" I stared up at him. "I just--"
"Cat--Quatre, it's your *family*." Jamie rolled his eyes, and stalked off to the kitchen. He yanked the fridge open and brought out two beers, opening them with sharp jerks of a can opener. "Family... man, you can't ditch family. Rich or poor, that's not what matters. What matters is that they're... sometimes, they're all you've got."
"Yeah, well, I've got too much of them," I muttered.
"Bullshit," Jamie barked, and suddenly he was at my side, putting the beer in my hand. "You need all the family you can get. Always."
"No," I insisted. "I don't need them. All they want me to do is sit behind some goddamn desk and sign papers and wear suits and--"
"I doubt it," Jamie said. "Yeah, family can have some crazy ideas about who you should be, but they're not going to throw you away like garbage if you don't--"
"There's a will!" I burst out. The beer spilled a little as I shook. "If I don't play the part, I don't get anything. And I don't want to play the part!"
Jamie sighed, and took a long drink from his beer. I just stared at mine.
"I want... " I shrugged, not really sure how to finish the sentence. "I don't know."
"Come on," Jamie said, putting his beer down. He took mine, and set it next to his. "Let's go to bed."
"I can't--" Again, I wasn't sure what I was complaining for, or why, or what I'd even meant to say. It just didn't feel real. Everything in the past few hours kept tumbling through my head; Victoria, Felicia, Lola, Duo...
"Come on," Jamie repeated, and tugged me upright. He steered me through the living room, into the small hallway, and we took a left into a small room. "Sit down," he ordered.
I landed on the bed in the dark room, unable to even fight back. Jamie turned on a lamp, and I just stared down at my hands.
"Quatre," Jamie whispered. "Shut up, and just let it go for a bit. You'll figure it out, but right now I think you're just going in circles. You haven't heard a thing I've said, have you... "
"Hunh?"
Jamie laughed, and took my shirt by the hem, pulling it over my head. I let him, unable to resist or to find the strength to even say anything. He undid my boots, slipping them off and setting them aside, and then removed my socks. Then he sat back and gave me a crooked grin.
"Jeans, too, Quatre," he said. "You can sleep in your boxers."
"Oh." I stood up, numb, and undid my jeans, dropping them without thinking.
"Ah," Jamie said, wryly. "I see the lack of underwear is a regular thing."
I blinked, embarrassed, and reached for my jeans but Jamie stopped me. He stood up and I had to raise my chin to look up at him. It was an odd feeling. He pulled off his shirt and stepped closer to me, the heat from his body almost intoxicating against the emptiness in my head.
"Less laundry to do," I breathed, unwilling to move for fear he'd change his mind, leave, back away...
"Lazy," he said, and leaned over, his breath ghosting across my shoulder. "But I'm not complaining," he added, a finger coming up to trail along my chest and tug at a nipple ring.
I gasped. The sensation shot down into my gut. I wanted to touch him, but something held me back. It was his touch, or the look in his eyes, or the tone in his voice. His finger trailed down across my stomach, and I held my breath as he scratched lightly at the blond curls around my growing erection.
"Jamie," I murmured, and flinched again. My voice sounded loud in my ears.
"Hush," he whispered, and licked my cheek. "I'm driving."
I nodded, my fingers curling at my side. I wanted to reach out, but a sudden fear shot through me. He'd said I was seductive, which I had supposed was flattering in a strange way. But his words had been waiting at the back of my mind: I pushed too hard, too fast. Felicia had said I was disapproving. Duo had said I was bossy. I grimaced, and Jamie kissed me on the forehead, then bent down to kiss me on the mouth, his tongue prying my lips apart. After a second he pulled away, frowning slightly.
"Hey, you... " He sighed, and put his hands on my hips, pulling me against him. His jeans were rough against my groin, but deliciously so, and I groaned under my breath. "It's better if you help."
But you're driving, I wanted to say. Instead, I only nodded, and when he kissed me again, I did my best to kiss him back without... without being... whatever I'd been. So I hesitated, waiting for him to take the lead. I felt strange, awkward.
We ended up on the bed, Jamie whispering things I couldn't quite catch, and then his jeans were gone and his body was against mine. I wanted so desperately to touch him, to roll him over and press myself against him.
Not running this show, I told myself. Don't be bossy, don't be demanding, don't be... His tongue was on my chest, and I arched into his touch and just as quickly pulled back. What's too much? What's too little?
I was achingly hard, and I wanted more touch, but... wasn't *wanting* what got me into all this crap in the first place? His fingers were running down my hips, a leg pressing between mine, and I could feel his erection digging into my stomach as he held himself over me, kissing me deeply. If I had been happy with what I'd had, and been willing to leave it alone... I clawed at the bed sheets. Could I touch him? If I touched him, if I moaned, if I...
"Quatre," Jamie said, sighing into my ear. "Here."
"Hunh?" I opened my eyes, blinking, and Jamie levered himself off me. I came up on my elbows, then sank back down, uncertain. What was I supposed to do?
"Roll over," he instructed. "On your side."
I nodded, and was startled when he slid into the space behind me. His body spooned neatly up against mine, and he draped a hand across my stomach, pulling me back against him. For several long minutes, we lay there. I was hard as a rock, and he wasn't moving, except for his fingers trailing in small circles across my hip.
"Go to sleep," Jamie whispered in my ear.
"But... "
"Your heart's not in it," he said, and kissed me on the shoulder. "We can try again later, when you're up to it."
I am, I wanted to say. Damn it, do you have any idea how up to this I am? But if I turned over and pressed him against the wall and ran my hands down him and around his cock and put my mouth on his chest and--
No. I sighed, and nodded, and Jamie pulled me even closer. I felt dead, even if my body was shrieking in protest. I wanted. I wanted so badly, but that full-speed-ahead, everything must be as I say... I'd been doing that all along, hadn't I? What perfect irony that when it was done to me, I couldn't handle it. That when my sisters told me what to do, I threw a fit. I was a hypocrite. Of all the things I'd never thought I'd be... and there it was... and I had no idea what to do about it.
Trowa isn't pushy, I thought, and wondered if that was another reason he'd never spoken up about his feelings before. Maybe Trowa didn't like the idea of having someone tell him what to do. A part of me knew he'd never stand for it; he was too strong. But then some other part--
"Quatre," Jamie whispered. "Stop thinking. There's smoke coming from your ears."
"I'm not," I mumbled. "I'm just... "
"It's okay," Jamie said, and kissed me on the shoulder again. "But it's more fun when you're ready to do your part. One person shouldn't do all the work... "
Work, I thought, and nodded. Yeah. It is work, isn't it... I opened my mouth, startled by the words that fell out. "Why do you put up with me?"
"Do what?" Jamie chuckled. "Shit, this insecurity don't look good on you."
"No," I said, staring into the room's darkness. "I'm serious."
"Ah." Jamie was silent a moment, but his fingers continued their gentle drift across my stomach. "You're smart... you're damn brilliant, actually. You make me feel stupid, sometimes, trying to--"
"Sorry," I said.
"Stop apologizing," Jamie replied.
"Sorry," I repeated, and winced.
"Don't apologize for apologizing, either." Jamie sighed, and hugged me with one arm, but I felt like I was falling, and he was only catching me for a second. When his arm relaxed, I could feel that spinning freefall again.
Jamie propped himself up on his elbows, and I could feel him staring at me. "You're handsome, and you've got a wonderfully dry sense of humor. You crack me up sometimes. And you can fight like nobody's business."
You wouldn't say that if you knew Heero or Wufei, I thought, and shrugged.
"And... you're unselfconsciously confident... even a bit brash," he added, softly. "Something happened today that just knocked the ground out from under you... " When I started to shake my head, he raised his eyebrows. "Don't even try to deny it. I don't know you that well, true, but this behavior seems pretty uncharacteristic."
I closed my eyes. "Not really confident," I whispered. "I just always... " I shrugged, and wished he'd stop looking at me. I'd always known that no matter what happened - school, war, life, death, murder, peace - I had *that* waiting for me. My role. My place. My money. My family name. Except for that rare time between leaving for Earth and coming back to L4, I was never truly risking anything. I had my safety net, Felicia's advice be damned. It was always there, even when I tried to throw myself off the high wire to see if I could fly. Because the truth is, having money gives you a damn good amount of confidence. No matter what happens, you can just drop that credit card on the table and money will make it all better. Usually.
"Just always," Jamie prompted.
"I've always felt like I just bought my way." I didn't really earn it. I got everything because of my name, my position, my father's money. I might've gotten my leadership with the pilots of my own accord, but if I hadn't had all that behind me, I never would've gotten the chance in the first place. It was the one thing upon which Duo and I had agreed, years ago. He always felt like no one had ever just given him freely what really mattered to him, what he truly wanted. He had to steal it. Me, I had to buy it. But he couldn't steal Heero's heart, and I couldn't buy Trowa's.
Jamie was quiet, waiting, his fingers resting on my stomach. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to explain the two years of my life, how so much now was rooted in those experiences... and, hell, I was also so goddamn hard, still. I flipped over on my back and scooted upwards at the same time, and his hand landed on my cock.
"Cat," Jamie growled, and his hand didn't move for a second. Then it closed abruptly around my cock, pumping a few times. "Let's get one thing straight. You didn't buy your way into my friendship, or my bed."
I nodded emphatically, gasping, my hips jerking a little, not caring as long as he didn't stop. He kissed me then, his tongue pushing into my mouth and I answered eagerly. My hands came up to hold his shoulders. His mouth was hot, wet, tongue pushing in and gliding against mine and I raised a leg, hooking my ankle behind his knee. He slid across to lie over me, his hips thrusting against mine.
"God," he groaned, and thrust again, our cocks pressing together. I arched under him, my tongue probing, body shaking. One of his hands was on my head, propping him up by the elbow, and the other hand was gone for a minute. I heard something fall off to the floor, and things rattling, something tearing, a snap of a plastic lid. Jamie rose, kneeling above me. "What do you want," he whispered, and ran a slick finger down my cock from head to base. "You gotta tell me."
"I want... " A million things ran through my head. World peace, but I don't think now is the time to ask... and I wanted to giggle, unexpectedly. Instead I opened my eyes and tried to focus despite the feeling of wet coolness slipping past my balls to run down my ass. "I want," I announced, and gripped the sheets tightly, "for you to fuck me into this mattress until I can't remember my own goddamned name."
Jamie laughed brightly. "Hell, I can hardly remember your name, Cat, or Quatre, or maybe you're really named Herman... " I rolled my eyes, and he stopped laughing, but his grin widened. "Flip over on your stomach... and I'll see what I can do."
I rolled over and was barely on all fours when his finger was in my ass. I arched, moaning, and he pushed roughly, slick and smooth, his free hand gripping my hip. The sensation grew, fuller, more, massaging and pushing and exploring and I rocked backwards, wanting more... he'd been right. I *needed* more. My body demanded it.
I don't know what I said or did but I could hear him chuckling over my incoherent mutterings. My hips were jerking, pushing back on his hand. When he pulled away, I nearly snarled. He came up behind me and I felt his cock sliding against my ass.
"Goddamn it," I growled.
"Easy, easy," he said, and ran a hand down my spine. It was sticky, trailing cool wetness, then his cock was pushing into me. Just the head, and I gasped, tensing. "Easy, slow," he soothed, and I took a deep breath... and suddenly he was in. "Oh, fuck," Jamie said, a low primal groan, and slid into me until I could feel his balls against mine, his thighs pressed up against me.
It hurt, exquisitely so, but the sharp flecks of brightness against my eyes were pleasure, too. I keened deep in my throat. Jamie pulled out, just a little, and rolled his hips. I shivered. He slammed into me, pulling me towards him with strong fingers at the same time.
I cried out, and he did it again, and again, and I just let go. I was reduced to fingers and cock and ass and muscles and nerves and the feeling pooling down in my cock. I was full, drowning in the sounds of traffic and groans and gunshots and mattress springs.
In... out...
Deep, so deep, and I moaned low as he pulled away. He grunted above me, a throbbing sound in time with his thrusts. Sharp, fast, and a slow withdrawal... picking up the pace, slamming, leaning over me, his chest pressed against my spine. I fell to my elbows, and reached for my cock, but he was faster, swatting my hand away and stroking my cock himself. I wanted to thrust into his hand, push back onto his cock. I shuddered, caught between the two.
Faster, and I threw my head back: so quick, blunt, ramming into me, piercing me. I could feel his movements in my throat, I swear, and I tightened around another cry. Then unexpectedly slow; gentle, hips swiveling against me, rocking, a sweet singing of muscle and palm and cock and ass and thighs and shoulders.
Time stretched out, my hands gripping the bed sheets like piloting throttles, thumb on the trigger: breath thick in my ears, liquid movement, flashes of light and pleasure. We were the deep, dark emptiness of space that envelops everything: reducing and diminishing to a single point of brightness behind the eyelids. His groans, my cries, the shift and draw and heat and thrust and wet and push and slick and clench and--
When I came, I screamed.
"Hey, you," Jamie whispered, and I smiled, sluggishly. He chuckled, and I felt lips against my neck, a tongue along my shoulder. "That's a good look on you."
"Mm," I said, unwilling and unable to move.
"I was thinking," Jamie said. He hooked his leg over mine, pulling me back until it felt like he was wrapped around me. "You're not really a Cat."
I groaned. "You're not going to get all introspective and shit on me now, are you," I muttered into the pillow.
Jamie chuckled; I felt it mostly through the reverberations of his chest against my back. "Naw... just that you aren't really domesticated, though I think you've spent your life trying." He ran a finger around my neck.
I elbowed him, half-heartedly.
He grunted, laughing. "Yeah, yeah, put the claws away."
"Shut up."
The only answer was a bite on my shoulder, but I couldn't be bothered to react, and he chuckled again. That was the last thing I heard before falling into sleep. When I woke, I realized it was the second time I'd slept well in a place not my own, and the first time I'd done it in someone else's arms.
I wasn't sure why, and I wasn't sure how I felt about that.
The next day I was back in studio, and my fingers wouldn't behave. The model was angular, with bare curves and jutting hips and I just couldn't seem to draw worth shit. I kept putting charcoal to paper and thinking: I can't pay for this. I have this much money, and this costs this much, and that costs that much, and I...
"Mister Winner," Professor Green murmured, startling me. "Staring at the paper doesn't make the picture come."
"Uh... " I nodded, ducking my head, and twirled the charcoal in my fingers.
Set it to paper, then just... I couldn't move. The music pounding in the background, the class's selection, wasn't doing anything for my nerves. The guitar solo had to have been going for at least five minutes, and I dearly wanted to instruct whomever's bright idea it had been that in order to play between the notes, you had to know the damn notes in the first place. I stared at the paper and gritted my teeth, fingers tight on the charcoal.
"Helps if you look at the model, too," the professor continued. He frowned at me, and I dropped my eyes, abashed. The professor made a huffing sound, and sighed. "Winner, if it's not coming, take a day. Go for a walk. But you're wasting air in here."
"You're kicking me out?" I barely breathed the words, stunned. "But I--"
"Just for today. You're not doing yourself any good. Go on, pack up, and take a break." He waved a hand at the model. "All this will still be here if you come back in an hour, or a day. Sit in on my Tuesday class, if you want to catch up the time that way."
I stared at him for a second longer, and his watery blue eyes didn't waver. I sighed, and nodded. "Yes, sir." Packing up my stuff only took a minute. I did my best to stride from the class as though I had some purpose for leaving, and not because I'd just been thrown out for being unproductive.
Mondays were my afternoon to spend with Lola, and I found myself heading towards the food court before I remembered. Halting abruptly, I spun on my heel and headed to my apartment. Nothing had changed since the afternoon before. I'd come back at a godawful hour just before dawn, when Jamie had to leave for work. No kiss at the door, nothing like that, just get up, get dressed, stumble home, go back to bed. I woke up ten minutes before class and was out the door without looking around.
Now I stood by the kitchen table, staring down at the paper on the table, and the careful accounting I'd done. Jamie's departing suggestion came back to me. Ignoring the first and last suggestions - which amounted to the idea that I stick my head in a bucket of ice water for walking away from my family - I did walk, but they slammed the door behind me! - but his middle suggestion had promise.
I took a shower and got dressed. Pulling on my coat, I tried to relax one last time into that confidence Jamie had said I'd had, however false it might be, and headed out for my errand.
I think I got the job only because I know the difference between an oyster fork and a shrimp fork. Or possibly because I know how a plate should be set in front of a person, or where the soupspoon goes when the soup is served. Etiquette in the dining room was a daily class, with practical application every morning, noon, and night, for the first thirteen years of my life.
And best part, uniforms were provided. The manager seemed skeptical about my lack of experience waiting tables, but when I glanced at the wine list, then read the menu and told him which wines I'd suggest with which entrees, his eyebrows shot up into his hairline. When I set the menu down and repeated the entrees verbatim, his mouth fell open.
Of course, none of that changed the fact that I've never actually *been* in a kitchen in my life. I did my best to cover my complete confusion as to who did what, and what was where, paying attention to what the manager said and ignoring the superfluous details. There were people running in all directions, and it was only the beginning of the evening rush. The cooks were yelling, and there were at least nine teenage boys underfoot, running in and out of a huge metal door at one end of the kitchen, bringing trays and metal containers. They ducked up and down the row, skillfully navigating the chefs' sharp knives and sharper tongues.
I felt completely boggled. Salt and pepper shakers to be refilled, silverware to be dried by hand from the dishwasher - a massive metal box that steamed and hissed - and a myriad other details I'd never known, all done in the back away from diners' eyes. Oh, I suppose if I'd ever thought about it, it would've made sense that dishes were washed and silverware set out with a napkin to prevent fingerprints, but it'd just never occurred to me. I'd only seen the results. I'd never considered the effort involved.
But learning yet another element of my ignorance was just one more price to pay, if I wanted to stay in school. And at four or five hundred credits a night in tips, it beat what I could make at the club.
The night was rainy when I left the restaurant, a soft springtime drizzled that softened the edges of the city streets and turned the streetlamps to a golden glow. I stopped by the club, turned in my notice, and strolled home with my hands in my pockets. I thought about stopping by Jamie's, but something kept me walking. The sex had been good, but I didn't need any more lectures.
Of course, what you need, I was learning, isn't always what you get.
End Part 9
(possibly later this evening or tomorrow afternoon - already have a good chunk of it written!)
(:./sol/worst9)
