Page 1 of Diners, Damsels & Wolves

One

Clarissa

C larissa stuck the order slip onto the turntable, then rang the bell in the kitchen window. Heat wafted out, bringing with it the stench of cooking oil. Catching her in the face, it made her flush as her flyaway hairs danced then clung to the sweat on her skin. She tried not to shudder at the grease settling onto her skin and took inventory of the dining room.

The couple with the three kids were wrapping up, shoveling leftovers into their Styrofoam boxes. Jeff and Eugene had ordered their usual, and the first members of the old ladies’ book club settled in with a blueberry pie and a pot of coffee. She would be able to take a break soon.

“Hey, you see where Donna went?” Sylvia asked, coming in from the parking lot, tucking her phone into her uniform pocket.

“She went to do books.” Clarissa nudged her chin to the back office, grabbing a cloth. She eyed the family vacating their table. Three kids under ten, plus syrup and chocolate milk; it was bound to be a sticky war zone. “Everything alright?”

“One of the boys decided to do a Superman impression, fell and broke his arm at recess.” Sylvia frowned. “Teacher said the damn kid was trying to see how high his swing could go when he lost hold and went flying.”

“Oh no!”

“He’s alright, just a bit banged up from what they said. But hubby is at a construction site over an hour out, so I gotta go get him from the hospital.”

“I don’t think Donna will mind. She’ll probably send you home with a pie to make him feel better.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right. I just need to tell her before I go.”

The front door jingled as the family filed outside, waving their thanks. Clarissa waved back then rushed forward, rag in hand. Sylvia stacked the dishes while she tackled the spills.

“Thanks,” she said, tossing the sodden rag in the bin. “Hey, before you go, could you watch the front for me? I need to nip into the washroom, I’ll be out in a sec.”

“Sure thing.”

Grabbing her purse, Clarissa ran into the staff bathroom and locked the door. After washing her hands three times, she undid the zipper on her uniform. Pulling the pale blue dress down to her hips, she tugged her gray turtleneck off.

It was an athletic knit, so it was breathable. It hardly felt like she was wearing anything which was nice, as she kept it on under her uniform year-round. It wasn’t that the Donna’s Diner uniform was revealing, nothing like the skeezy dive bar, Spangles, across town. During her interview there, she discovered everyone wore bikinis—even the three-hundred-pound burly bartender, who sported an American flag Speedo with his Crocs. Quite the opposite.

Her pale blue dress had off-white accents and a little apron. It was very modest and old-fashioned, yet also practical, with multiple pockets and made from good material. No, she didn’t wear the turtleneck for modesty, she did it to avoid the stares.

Retrieving her cosmetic bag from her purse, she grabbed the vial of thick oil, pouring some onto her hands then massaging it into the angry and uneven skin covering her left arm, chest, abdomen, and neck.

She wasn’t ashamed of her burns, not anymore, at least. Guilt for that night left her years ago, her aunt made sure of that.

The events of the past were out of her control. Clarissa accepted what happened. Although she knew the oil would never heal the wounds left behind, it felt nice to care for them, to tend to her abused and scarred skin. Her little way of telling herself she was going to be okay. A reminder that she was resilient and able to take care of herself.

The turtleneck was just there to avoid the annoying stares and inappropriate conversations from nosey strangers. People had no manners or sense of privacy. She was sick and tired of telling people it wasn’t a birthmark or having someone try to pray over her. She didn’t need that hassle in her life. Putting the oil away, she righted her clothing then pulled out a bottle of face wash.

With her face cleansed and dried, she washed her hands three times again and sprayed herself with perfume. The scent of peonies chased away the undertone of grease in the air, if only for a moment.

Returning to the dining room, she scanned for new customers. There weren’t any. The diner was typically a hot spot in town, but they had lulls like every other business.

Donna’s Diner, the only diner in Fairville, sat on the edge of the small Kansas town. It was decorated in an over-the-top fifties style, with black-and-white checkered tile floors, a big counter with metal stools, and a revolving glass tower of pie. The walls were painted a pale pink, with a stripe of neon pink, and blue lights lining the ceiling. The vinyl covering the booths and chairs was blue, matching the bright countertops, free standing tables, and waitress uniforms. Posters of old Coke ads, Elvis, and Marilyn Monroe were hung on every wall.

Donna herself came out from the back room with Sylvia. Slightly stooped, her white-gray hair was piled high atop her head beehive style, and she dabbed tears from her wrinkled eyes.

“You tell that poor little thing to be brave, and be a good boy.” She sniffled. “I know it hurts right now, but it will get better. Pain is a part of life, no matter how much we’d like to avoid it.”

“Sure, sure, Donna, I’ll let him know. Thanks again for letting me go early, you really didn’t need to see me to the door.”

“Oh no! I insist. Here, take this with you, you said blueberry was his favorite, yes?” She pulled a pie from the revolving glass tower and shoved it into Sylvia’s hands.

“I did say that, yes. Are you sure, Donna? I can pay—”

“Absolutely not! If I can’t afford one little pie for my employee when her family is in need, I don’t have any right to be in business. Now you run along. Call me if you need any more time off.”

“Will do, thanks again, Donna. Bye, Claire.”

“Bye, Sylvia.” She waved as her coworker darted outside and rolled her eyes internally. It wasn’t that she disliked the nickname ‘Claire,’ she just felt odd when her coworkers used it. In her mind, cute nicknames, not chosen by the person being spoken to, should be reserved for immediate family only, like her aunty.

“Oh, I had a broken arm once,” Donna said.

“I’ve never had a broken limb.”

“No? Oh, the casts are awful, so itchy and cumbersome. I remember it clearly. I was twenty-four and, of course, it was my right arm. I couldn’t do anything properly, writing, driving, couldn’t jerk off my boyfriend. It was a nightmare. Oh well, back to the books.”

Watching Donna’s small frame shuffle into the back room, Clarissa was stunned by the comment, still not used to Donna after all these years. Blinking, she turned to see Jeff and Eugene laughing at the counter.

“She’s a little spitfire, that one,” Jeff said.

“She seems like such a sweet old lady, then she goes and says the most out-of-pocket things and doesn’t even bat an eye at it,” Clarissa said, topping off their coffees. “Has she always been like that?”

“Oh yeah,” Eugene said. “Momma went to school with her back in the day. She’s always been a little off.”

“Sure makes comin’ here fun,” Jeff said.

“Order up!” Adam set two hot plates on the kitchen window.

Clarissa transferred them to the counter. Waffles with strawberries and whipped cream, bacon strips, Canadian bacon, eggs, and hash browns. Jeff and Eugene arranged the plates, cutting everything in half and dividing it up.

“You two need anything else?” she asked.

“No thanks, Claire, we’re as happy as two fat men can be!” Eugene spooned whipped cream into his mouth.

“Speak for yourself. I ain’t fat,” Jeff said.

Eugene put a blotch of cream on the end of Jeff’s nose. “If you’re not fat then I’m the Queen of England.”

“You’re already the Queen of Fairville, you need to subject England to your attitude too?”

Clarissa left them to their bickering and went to the far booth to check on the old ladies’ book club. Three other women had shown up.

“Hello, ladies,” she said, “do you need anything else over here? More coffee, or some water?”

“Oh, no thank you, dear.” Mrs. Ethal smiled at her through thick glasses, her curly white hair peeking out from under her little pink hat.

“Alright, I’ll be back in a bit to see if you change your minds.”

She went behind the counter. The place was almost empty, which wasn’t unexpected for one thirty on a Thursday. Jeff and Eugene ran a bar, The Barrel, in the back of Donna’s lot. They were typically the only ones in here at this time, having a late breakfast before heading over to get things set up for the night. Every other week, or every three weeks, the old ladies’ book club came in, otherwise this time of day was dead.

Pulling out bottles of sanitizer and rags, she used the lull as an opportunity to clean. The scent of bleach stung her nose in a familiar way as she relished the task.

Pinpricks washed over her in cold waves. She froze. An ominous feeling crept up her skin. Panic settled into the back of her mind. Despite the sweat beading on her brow, a chill rushed over her.

A horde of burly, gruff, and rowdy men filed out of a green SUV in the parking lot.

Anxiety crept over her as the front bell jingled. She was used to loud or unhappy customers, especially when she worked night shifts and the drunks from the bar would stumble in for midnight pancakes. They didn’t bother her, she knew how to handle them, but something about this group made her uneasy.

Their movements didn’t seem normal. One second they were standing, the next they seemed to be across the room without having taken a step. And their eyes, they took in everything around them the way a tiger appraised a child behind the glass at a zoo.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up as they walked by. Her unconscious mind screamed at her to flee.

She shoved the uneasiness aside; they were just customers. Regular men in regular clothes, no need to get so worked up. Setting aside the cleaners, she grabbed a stack of menus. Frowning, she walked over to where they were pushing tables together for the eight of them. Usually customers asked before doing that.

“Welcome to Donna’s Diner, can I get you started with anything to drink? Coffee, lemonade, tea, water, or a fountain beverage.”

“I’ll take a beer,” one said to a chorus of laughter.

“I’m sure the little lady ain’t got no beer, this is a nice establishment. We’ll take whisky.”

They laughed louder and Clarissa molded herself into her best poker face. Going numb when dealing with problematic customers was best. “I’ll give you all a moment to look over the menu.”

“Aww see what you scoundrels did, you made the pretty lady leave.” A man with blonde hair past his shoulders reached over and smacked the one who asked for beer. “Apologies, ma’am, we’ll take a round of colas.”

“Eight sodas coming right up.” She left before they could say anything else. Retreating behind the counter, she took her time filling the cups and placing them on a tray.

Purposefully avoiding their eyes, she concentrated on her hands as she passed out drinks. She felt them. Lewdly, almost hungrily, eight sets of eyes tracked her every move.

“Are you all ready to order or do you need more time?” She thumbed her pad of paper absently. The sooner they ordered, the sooner they’d leave, and, hopefully, give her a decent tip.

“Oh, I think we’re more than ready.” The blonde one smiled at her, showing his teeth in a way that wasn’t entirely human.

Ignoring the cold chill on her skin, she pulled out a pen. “Go ahead.”

“Three meat lover omelets, extra meat, no vegetables.”

“Four quarter pounders, no veggies, no fries, extra rare.”

“Make that five.”

“Six eggs sunny side, and a heaping plate of sausage patties and one of bacon, rare.”

She wrote out the orders, trying not to think about how odd they were. It wasn’t uncommon in rural Kansas to get customers who didn’t like extra vegetables, but this was insane. Extra meat, no vegetables, in ridiculous quantities, and who ordered bacon rare ?

“I’ll go put that in for you.” As Clarissa turned to leave, something caught her arm.

Blazing hot and calloused, a hand gripped her tighter than necessary. It was beginning to hurt. The fingers flexed; she bit back a wince.

The blonde one stared up at her, his eyes fierce. Licking his lips, he showed his teeth again. Were they larger than normal? No, her mind had to be playing tricks on her. He yanked her down until she was at eye level.

“And sweetheart, we all like our meat more on the rare side. We prefer it bleeding, and maybe screaming a bit,” he said.

Her stomach rolled. The hand released her and she darted to the safety of the counter—the invisible barrier between her and the customers—comforted by the foolish notion that the workers were safe as long as they were behind it. Pinning the order to the turntable with shaking hands, she told Adam about the odd requests. He arched an eyebrow, then huffed under his breath about weirdos.

“Clarissa, darling,” Jeff’s voice came over the frantic pounding of her heart. “How’s Rachel doing? She’s such a sweet lady. It just makes me so sad.”

“Thanks, Jeff,” she said. “She’s okay, she has good days and bad days. So far more good than bad.”

“Are you having a nurse come to the house?” Eugene asked.

“Not yet. She’s mostly okay on her own, for now. I’m keeping an eye on her, looking out for the little changes that would show otherwise.”

That and she was doing more of her own research. She’d been harboring doubts about the ‘diagnosis’ for years now. The more research she did, the less she believed the doctors. Not that she was going to tell anyone that; the last thing she needed was people poking around their lives and deeming her incapable of taking care of Rachel and forcibly removing her.

“My niece, Elizabeth, is a traveling nurse. She’s got her own company,” Eugene said. “Have I given you her card? Here, I keep some in my wallet.”

“You keep your niece’s business card in your wallet?” Clarissa took the card, tucking it into her pocket.

“Oh, I keep all my nieces’ and nephews’ cards!” He pulled out six more cards ranging from personal trainers, to bakers, to dog groomers.

“He’s a very proud uncle.” Jeff placed a hand on Eugene’s arm and rolled his eyes.

“After that creep walked out on my sister, I practically raised those kids. I get to be a proud uncle.”

“If I ever have a need for dog grooming or cookies, I will let you know,” Clarissa said. “But honestly, thank you. You hear so many horror stories about abuse in the system, it’s hard to know who to trust.”

“I wonder who that is.” Jeff pulled out a ringing cell phone.

“Oh no, that’s the work phone.” Eugene frowned.

“I better take this.”

Eugene scowled as he listened to Jeff’s end of the conversation. Clarissa took the natural break in the conversation as an opportunity to check on the book club table. They’d finished their pot of coffee and wanted another round.

Walking back and forth, she kept her back rigid and eyes forward, ignoring the table of men. She felt them watching her. Not all of them, but rather the blonde one. He’d become fixated with her, angling his chair so he could see her no matter where she went in the diner. A shudder crept over her skin. His gaze was violating, if not predatory. It made her want to run home and take a shower.

Customers had hit on her before, but this felt obsessive, if not possessive. She tried not to think about it too hard. If it got worse, she’d ask Donna to pull their license plate from the security cameras out front and call the cops.

Back at the counter, Jeff had hung up his phone.

“Everything alright?” she asked.

“Our only waitress is sick,” Jeff said. “One is on vacation, and the other just had a baby last week and isn’t up on her feet yet.”

“Don’t bother her with our problems,” Eugene scolded.

“Who’s left to run the bar?” she asked.

“Us,” Jeff said.

“But we can manage,” Eugene cut in. “We’ve done it before, and we can do it again.”

“We did it in our thirties, not our sixties on a busy night,” Jeff said. “Clarissa, would you consider—”

“Don’t.”

“Hush. Clarissa, would you consider helping us out for a few hours tonight? It wouldn’t be for a full shift, and we’d pay you double.”

“Oh, I’m not sure, I haven’t bartended before,” she said, though the offer of double pay was enticing.

“You wouldn’t be mixing, Eugene and I would make all the drinks, we would just need you to run orders.”

“What time?” she asked.

“Six to eleven work for you?” Jeff asked.

“Of course, if your aunt needs you home tonight, we completely understand,” Eugene said.

“I get off soon. I can go home and check on her, feed her dinner, then be back here by six. If something happens, I’ll call you.”

“You are a lifesaver! Eugene, give her a tip for our waffles,” Jeff said.

“I ain’t paid the bill yet.”

“I don’t care, she just saved our asses, give her a tip.”

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it, I’m happy to help out,” she said.

“Order up!” Adam leaned out the window over heaping plates of burgers, eggs, bacon, and sausage. Meat charred enough on the outside it let off faint swirls of steam, but rare enough to be oozing juices onto the plates. “You need help with this one?”

“No, I’ll just take two trips. But hey,” she whispered to him, “you mind hanging out by the window? These guys were acting a bit rough earlier.”

His forehead creased and he nodded. Clarissa loaded up her tray with half the orders, careful to take the ones for the men sitting furthest from the blonde man first. On her second trip, she couldn’t avoid him. Saving his plate for last, she set it down, then took a step back, intending to pull her hand away as fast as possible. He seized it.

Blue eyes fixed on her. His hand felt like fire on her already bruised skin.

“Thank you, miss, everything looks delicious. Won’t you tell me your name? In case we need something extra, then I’ll know who to call for.”

Her heart stopped. His eyes turned from blue to yellow, the pupils elongating. The energy around the table changed, becoming heavy and charged.

Panic and warning bells sounded in her mind. What the hell was wrong with this guy?

“There a problem?” Jeff and Eugene got up from their stools.

The thing about Jeff and Eugene was, while they acted like marshmallows, they looked like they belonged in a biker gang. Both were covered in tattoos and piercings, with heavy riding boots and jackets. And let’s face it, growing up gay in the seventies in rural Kansas, you had to be tough to survive. Clarissa thanked her lucky stars their intimidating demeanor was enough to make the blonde man pause for a beat, his grip slackening for a fraction of a moment.

Seizing the opportunity, she slipped her hand from his grip, taking several steps backward. The door of the kitchen swung open.

“I suggest you boys eat your food before it goes cold,” Adam said.

The blonde man’s lip curled and he snarled.

“Alister,” another man at the table commanded, “leave it.”

Tussling his long hair, Alister leaned back in his chair, then winked. Clarissa startled. His eyes were blue again. Had she imagined it? Surely they were glowing yellow not moments before.

“Why don’t you go in the back, we could use some extra hands. I’ll keep an eye on the front for ya.” Adam glared at the table.

Without a second glance, she scurried off.

The table finished their food and packed up to leave without further incident. Alister came up to the counter to pay. When Adam handed him the receipt, he looked up. Even though Clarissa was on the far side of the kitchen, his brilliant blue eyes locked with hers. The way he looked at her made her feel violated, as if he saw more than any normal human should.

“I do hope to see you again.” He smirked.