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When I reach the diner, it’s to see the place is busier than usual.
The second Sylvia lays eyes on me from where she’s pinning orders up so Jaden, the cook, will see them, she orders, “Take care of Destiny’s section as well as your own. She’s not in today.”
“Okay,” I answer while I quickly walk to the back so I can stash my handbag in my locker. Grabbing my apron, I tie it around my waist before digging my notepad and pencil out.
I get to work, and for the next couple of hours, the place is a madhouse. The sounds of dishes clattering, burger patties sizzling, and orders being given and taken fill the air, along with the smell of old cooking oil.
I don’t know why I bother showering before coming in for my shift because I always leave feeling sticky all over.
As soon as there’s a lull between customers, I walk to the counter with an apprehensive smile.
Sylvia’s eyes flick at me, and with a frown, she says, “What do you want, Eden? If it’s time off, you can forget about it. We’re already short-staffed.”
“Then you’ll be happy to hear I need to work an extra shift in the morning.”
Keeping her attention on the cash she’s taking out of the register so she can put it in the safe. “For how long?”
“Permanently if possible.”
Her gaze darts to me, and I see a rare flicker of concern. “You work nights over at that dance place and afternoons here. When do you plan to sleep?”
I widen my smile and lift my chin. “Sleep is for the dead.”
She stares at me for what feels like a solid minute before she says, “I’ll let you work half the morning shift.”
“But –”
She shakes her head firmly. “Only from nine to twelve. I don’t need you dropping dead in my diner.”
It’s better than nothing.
A group of construction guys come in, and knowing I have to get back to work, I swallow my pride and ask, “Can I get an advance for the next two weeks?”
Sylvia’s eyes narrow on me, which has me adding, “Please. You know I’m good for it.”
“I’m not a bank,” she mutters as she takes the amount I need from the stack of bills in her hand.
I feel a flicker of relief, but it passes quickly because it’s only a temporary fix. At the end of the day, I’m still dead-ass broke, and no matter how hard I work, I can’t drag myself out of the poverty I was born into.
When Sylvia hands me the cash, I give her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”
She gestures with a nod of her head to the booths and tables. “Get back to work.”
I tuck the money into my apron’s pocket, and while I take orders, I do the math and hope that paying half of the gas bill will have them turning it back on.
At least I can pay Winston the overdue rent.
Just before my shift ends, I find a fifty-dollar tip at one of my tables. I do a little happy dance because it means I can buy coffee and the extra blanket I’ll need for winter and put the rest toward the gas bill.
I try to remember who was sitting at the table, but I’ve served so many people today I give up and decide just to be thankful for the customer’s kindness.
When I push the cleaning cart into the restrooms near the studios, a couple of dancers linger in front of the mirror.
After applying a fresh coat of lipstick, the one nearest to the door says, “I saw Madame Stafford and Mr. La Rosa heading toward her office earlier.” She wags her eyebrows at her friends. “He is H.O.T.”
Moving to the first stall, I get to work and scrub the toilet, not paying much attention to the conversation.
“You can say that again,” another girl sighs.
