With that, she turned on her heels and slipped out the door.
Chapter 8
The arcade was in chaos. The Sunday crowd was especially chaotic as they stuffed their tokens into the machines and filled the space with the shrill of bells, whistles and lights. It was Juliette’s least favorite of places to work, but it filled the Sunday gap that neither the diner nor the hotel covered. It wasn’t much in paychecks—barely anything at all—but it was still something, which was still better than nothing.
Some orange haired kid with an infestation of freckles was having his eleventh birthday party in one of the corners. He and his friends had taken over the place in a cacophony of noise and smells. One boy, Juliette was certain, had shit himself in all his excitement. Juliette wasn’t sure which of the twenty-five boys it was, but Wanda, the day manager, had taken one sniff and left Juliette to fend for herself, which honestly she could handle. It was the dads she wanted to stab with a rusted knife.
“Can we get another pitcher over here, sweetheart?”
No! Juliette wanted to scream at them. Get your own fucking pitcher. But smiles and friendly service was how she made her tips, which unfortunately sometimes also included having bored, horny men think she was one of the games.
“Sure.”
With a smile that hurt her jaw, she reached for the pitcher placed a bit too far on the opposite side of the table where the four men sat watching, waiting to get a peek down her top as she bent forward. She could feel their eyes burning into her, stripping away the tight black t-shirt and equally tight mini that rode uncomfortably high up her bare thighs.
The uniform, while not stated as such, was designed to entertain the male cliental over the age of sixteen. It was cut low in the bodice to reveal more cleavage than Juliette was comfortable showing and the skirt hem had a two inch slit up one side that made the bit of fabric even shorter.
The women that occasionally made the trip with their children eyed the outfits with raised eyebrows and pursed lips while shooting their husbands warning glares not to look. Juliette always felt bad for being the cause of all the friction that followed those visits, especially when they were there to have fun.
The men loved it—when their wives weren’t around.
“Coke, right?” she clarified as she dragged the pitcher to her.
“Unless you got something stronger,” one man said and laughed like he’d made the best joke ever.
Juliette chuckled because it was her job to do so.
“No, sorry,” she said and made her way to the kitchen, fully aware of their eyes on her backside.
Barely five feet with wiry black hair and intense brown eyes, Wanda looked up when Juliette pushed her through the swinging doors. A basket of fries sat clasped between her hands. Her dark, mocha skin was beaded with sweat from the deep fryer and the unnatural heat that never seemed to leave the cooking area. Purple lips pursed as she set the basket down on a tray already heaped with four other baskets and arched an eyebrow.
“I’m fine,” Juliette answered the unasked question. “Really. It’s not so bad.”
Wanda snorted and went back to her tray. “Don’t know what they’re feeding that child, but, Lord, he stank.”
Juliette laughed. “Well, hopefully they’ll leave soon.”
“Girl, ain’t that the truth. I got no more patience for them little bastards.”
It always hit Juliette as ironic that Wanda partially owned an establishment designed to cater to children and hate children. Wanda had none of her own and swore she’d hang herself if that unfortunate day ever came. It was unclear whether the woman had always felt that way or if it was something that deepened the longer she worked at the arcade. Whatever it was, it always made Juliette chuckle.
“I need another refill,” she said, waving the pitcher and rattling the few pieces of ice at the bottom.
“Another one? Jesus.”
Juliette shrugged. “Twenty-five kids. Four parents. It adds up.”
Leaving the woman to finish her task, Juliette headed for the freezer in the back. She dumped the melted ice out into the sink and refilled with fresh cubes before pouring in the pop.
While the machine gurgled and sputtered brown liquid, she busied her sweaty hands refastening her hair. Strands had begun to escape the elastic since her heroic crawl through one of the tubes after a girl of six who had gotten herself mixed up and frightened. Oddly enough, the mother had been more frantic than the child once Juliette had lured her out.
The soda machine clunked to a stop. The drink fizzed inside the pitcher and she waited a full heartbeat before forcing herself to pick it up.
One more hour, she reminded herself.
It wasn’t the greatest motivator, but it got her moving. At the kitchen doors, she sucked in a breath and plastered a smile on her face before pushing through.
“One pitcher of Coke.” She set it down in the middle of the table, wiped the moisture off her hands on her skirt and peered around at the group. “Can I get you guys anything else?”
The father of the birthday boy leaned forward after casting furtive smirks at his buddies. “Yeah, the time you get off tonight.”
It was a struggle to maintain her smile, but it was worse trying to restrain the urge to dump the pitcher down on his head.
“Sorry. I’m already seeing someone,” she lied, which usually was enough to deter further propositions but he seemed to be adamant.
“And we’re married.” He sat back and shrugged. “No harm in a little bit of fun, right? We could pick you up and check out that little motel down the block.”
Juliette couldn’t help it. Her brow lifted.
“We?”
Maybe he mistook her outrage for interest, because his grin blossomed wide. “Yeah, a little something extra.”
She looked over at them carefully, not because she was considering it, but because the very notion was hilarious and laughing outright would no doubt get her fired.
“Sorry. I’m very happily taken.”
Not waiting for a comeback, she started edging away, hoping to get the rest of her section cleaned up before her shift was over. Plus there was that kid with the mess in his pants she had to find before he got shit all over the play area and she had to clean it up.
“Well, how about you help us take care of our bill?” Birthday Boy’s dad suggested, drawing Juliette to a stop.
She had half a mind to get Wanda to take care of that, but there was a good chance Wanda might decide that qualified as an opening to share the tips fifty-fifty and Juliette had worked fucking hard for every cent. At least, if they wanted their bill tallied, that meant they were leaving and Juliette was more than happy to comply.
Smile tight, she turned back. “Would you like me to bring the debit machine to your table or will you be paying in cash?”
The man in charge stooped to the side and tugged his wallet free of his back pocket. His murky gray eyes stayed fixed on her face as he withdrew a wad of bills. One by one, they were counted out across the table in a row that crackled hot along her skin.
“That should about cover it, plus a little something extra for your troubles,” he said with an evenness that made her want to punch him. Carefully, he took each bill and folded them in half once and waved them at her as though she were some stripper on a pole. “Where would you like me to put it?”
Up your fucking ass! Juliette was about to tell him when another voice answered for her.