Last Olive Bistro ✓

Chapter 9: Day Off

"Did he take you out?" Rory asked as we stood around the kitchen. Morgan fixed herself a tea.

"No!" I replied, laughing. "He just gave me a ride home."

"Did he give you anything else?" Morgan asked, raising her pencil thin eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes at whatever she insinuated.

Well, they don't need to know about the tip.

"Was he good looking?" She directed the question at Rory. He fluttered his eyes and made a fanning motion towards himself.

"He's either just a nice guy or a total creeper, I don't care. I appreciated the ride home," I said, attempting to kill their joy.

"We didn't tell Morgan about the car!" Rory cheered. Morgan's semi-interested but exhausted look perked up and she sipped her tea.

"Let me guess," she said and tapped on her lips. "Lamborghini? Wait—if he's older—maybe a Rolls Royce!"

Rory dramatically shook his head. "No, ma'am, a Bentley. Although, Rolls Royce is sort of close."

Her eyes popped then landed on me. "Am I dreaming about you dreaming, or what? Is this really happening?"

I ran my fingers through my damp, freshly washed hair. "You guys are making way too big a deal out of this."

Morgan scoffed while she added more sugar to her tea. "It is a big deal. Trust me, I know a thing or two about sugar daddies. He wants you."

Rory and I unanimously gawked at her. "Excuse me?" he exclaimed, wild-eyed.

"I never told you? It lasted maybe, eight months? I just turned 21," she said. "He was pushing 46. But it all started very similar to what you're telling us, Clo. It's the little things first, but wait until it progresses because it will. Fast."

Rory was frozen with his furrowed brow and hunched posture over the counter. "I'm floored that this is the first time I'm hearing about this." He sighed then trailed off in a bout of self pity, "Everyone else gets sugar daddies. Where's mine?"

The water bucket was missing from the kitchen floor, yet it was bone dry. My eyes followed a trail of what used to be the drippings from the ceiling, but that was dry too. It was even plastered over.

"Did they finally fix the sink upstairs?" I asked, changing topics.

"No. Falcon still won't let them in, so they just patched it," Morgan explained.

Falcon was the nickname we used for the elderly man who lived above us. We didn't know his real name; all we knew was that he hoarded birds, among other things, mainly garbage. Hence why he never let any repairperson in.

"That's not going to hold," I said, gesturing to it.

It needed a fresh coat of paint to match the rest of the cream colored ceiling, but that was a longshot to ever happen, and the least of the work that actually needed done.

"Did you kiss?" Rory asked me, refusing to let the subject of Jacob go.

"Oh my God," I exhaled, fed up but jovial.

~ ~ ~

Saturday was a planned day off, which was the ideal day. They tended to be the most busy, however with the most tips, but I was going to meet my portion of rent so I didn't care.

I walked two short blocks to the corner store where I got my money order every month. It was sweltering hot, and against my 'nun-like morals' (as Rory always teased) I wore a tank top and shorts. Body confidence was never a strength of mine.