He walked into my diner with an air of indifferent insolence and a cloud of smoke. He sat at my table, not waiting to be seated. You can't smoke in public anymore. So I watched in shock as he dumped the pink Sweet & Low packets on the table and flicked his ashes in the ceramic cup.
I stood there like a slack-jawed-ninny...my pen and pad frozen in my tiny hands.
He looked at me with those sarcastic, discontented eyes and ground his order out through coffee stained teeth. "Gimme some eggs, bacon, and a stack of buttermilk pancakes with real maple syrup. Got it, Toots?" I scribbled some nonsense on the pad and nodded, "Sure." He swatted my ass as I turned to place his order.
I hated working the graveyard shift. Nothing but the drunk and lonely came to call. Why should he be any different? Fame and fortune didn't stand in the way of general disquiet. I watched him from the kitchen...as if he were the most interesting exhibit in the zoo. Maybe he was. I noticed something in the sureness of his hands as he flicked his ashes. There was a calm beneath his armor. Sure he came off like a sexist prick who hated the world...but there was more to him than that.
He stood and stretched his skinny frame to it's full height and shuffled over to the jukebox. I expected something cool and seedy to flow from the speakers, but he played the Doors, Roadhouse Blues. "Hey Toots!" he bellowed.
I tucked my pad into my apron's pocket and walked out to him. He took my hand and spun me in a circle. I giggled as he dropped his bitchin' Fedora on my head. He brushed my curls behind my ears and danced low and dirty with me. It felt gritty and wrong. It was grounds for termination. I think I fell in love with him.
Carl yelled from the window. "Order up!" I smiled and said, "I better get your eggs." But he pulled me closer. Close enough to smell his cheap cologne and cigarettes. He pushed me back onto the table and wedged himself between my parted thighs. I felt the wildness of stampeding elephants rage across my abdomen. Roadhouse was nearing the end as his lips assaulted mine. I can't call it a kiss. It was a bruising battle of heat, sex, and wetness slipping from his juicy mouth to mine. I moaned and fell back on my elbows, my tits thrust up as if they'd been designed to do so all along. He leaned over me and ground his mouth into mine. His tongue rushed wickedly over mine and I squirmed.
He stood and hauled me to my feet by the lapels on my powder pink uniform. He claimed my mouth again. His calloused fingers rounded over the heavy swell of my breasts and he popped the first three buttons. I shivered as his hot breath and teeth scraped over the crease of my cleavage. "Toots has some sweet tits." He gruffly whispered over my collarbone and my knees turned to Jello.
I wanted him then. I wanted him like I wanted air--like I wanted to drown this shit-hole diner in gasoline and flip Carl the bird as it went up in flames. Sweet Lord I wanted him to bend me doggie-style over that 1970's yellow Formica table and fuck me senseless.
But he chose that moment to button me up and send me to fetch his meal. I bet he chuckled smugly as I wobbled over to the window. I carried his plates with shaky hands and sat down across from him as he lit another smoke. I'd spent $22.50 on blood red nails that morning and they glittered like rubies as I snatched his cigarette away and took a drag. Smoke burned my lungs and I coughed, but it tasted like him, and I so dug that.
He took his smoke back and dove into his eggs. I never saw anyone smoke and eat at the same time before. He spoke with a mouthful of yolk, "You need religion, Toots." I took a sip of his water and choked. "I need what?" He swallowed his bite, took a drag off his cigarette and laughed,"You don't need no holy roller dive to pray in. You just need little oral communion...on your knees, Toots."
My face burned red--I knew what he meant. I sat back and crossed my arms just under my breasts. "Pfft. As if I'd ever pray to you." He threw his head back and laughed. We sat in silence as he devoured his pancakes. Then he pulled out a little candy. He unwrapped the foil, and held up a chocolate Jesus. "Try this religion, Toots. See if you feel holy when the chocolate melts on your tongue."
I leaned forward and looked him in his bloodshot eyes. "You trying to save...or fuck me?" He grinned like an ungodly nightmare, reached out, and rubbed a knuckle over my nipple till it stood at attention and practically winked at him, "Both." My eyes closed so I didn't know he'd moved til he had me in his arms, his hands squeezing my ass, revealing the tops of my silk stockings. He took my mouth by storm one last time, took his Fedora back, and folded some cash in my fingers. He tipped his hat and said, "Thanks for the dance, Toots."
And then he was gone.
I sat down and looked at the money in my fist. Two rolled up fifties. I blinked. I looked again. They were still there. I looked at the green glass doors, popped the chocolate Jesus in my mouth, and whispered to his ghost..."Thanks for the tip Mr. Waits." And as that little Jesus melted...I heard a choir of angels sing...."It's got to be a chocolate Jesus..."