mari (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)

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summary: Jimmy meets a young waitress at the diner, but what happens when she unexpectedly discovers the truth about him at a Tupperware party where he's working?

warnings: none? lots of details into food, mention of the Tupperware Parties being exploitation, also a slight glimpse into the misogyny that was rife in the 50s.

word count: 4.1k

t was a quiet day in the diner for a Wednesday morning in Jupiter, but you didn't mind; there were worse jobs out there, and anyway, you were glad to put your cooking and baking talents on the back burner at the diner to focus on being a casual waitress. You were burned out from the continuous cooking and baking at home for your mother and father's local church group.

Last week, you spent hours making a gorgeous, rich coconut cream cake, and just yesterday in the early hours of the morning, you perfected a juicy upside-down pineapple cake for your neighbour, Mrs Draper, who recently started hosting Tupperware Parties.

Despite being begged to cook and bake for the diner by your manager, constantly reiterating "your place is in the kitchen!"  through harsh glares and pointed fingers, you always refused, but compromised enough to give your professional input on the new menus, and that was enough for now. 

You smoothed out the creases in your teal uniform and white apron, quickly looking at yourself in the reflection of the grill, rubbing your lips together to spread your lipstick evenly. Picking up a deep and thick ceramic white mug, you poured yourself a black coffee from the half-full and steaming pot and eagerly awaited your first customer, someone, anyone. Your co-worker, working on the flat-top grill, fried himself a beef burger and two frankfurters; you were grateful for the loud sizzling and smell of grease breaking you away from the constant silence. 

"I'm not used to it being this quiet," you hummed, adding a teaspoon of sugar to your coffee. 

"Tell me about it," your coworker replied as he chewed, enjoying his secret mouthful of food "It's gotta be the rain, why bother comin' out when you can stay in."

Just as you were giving up hope on seeing any regulars you had grown close to over the months, a new face pushed through the door of the diner: a tall young man with a slight tan, dark eyes, and a charming, wide smile that flashed his pearly white teeth as his eyes landed on you. His heavy boots hit the checkered floor with every step closer. He came right up to the counter and took a seat, still smiling and looking around the diner in excitement. A black leather hat covered his hair, and he sported a jacket to match, with the tiniest of raindrops slowly running down the fabric.

Eagerly excited (and admittedly attracted) to this new face, you hurried over to him with a beaming smile and a relaxed yet professional posture; chin held high and relaxed shoulders. Okay, take it easy, you don't want to scare him away, he's probably only after a quick bite or a coffee.

"Good Morning!" you welcomed him, quickly getting rid of any extra creases that once again crawled across your uniform "What can I get you today?"

The young man squinted at the menu below him, his eyes grazing over a wide variety of cold drinks and hot plates, from Cream Soda to Coke Floats, and American Cheese Sandwiches to a light Egg Salad Sandwich, before the many options of Sundaes and slices of cakes and pies. He hesitated for a moment before finally looking back up at you with his beautiful eyes. You noticed his gloved hands were in his lap, but put it down to him being more of a shy type. 

"I'll take a Coke Float, and could I get a straw with that, toots?" 

You were used to pet names like Darling, Baby, and Honey from elderly gentlemen, businessmen travelling far on the quiet roads, and from elderly women who were either incredibly sweet or condescending. But Toots? That was a new one, and you actually liked it. 

Pulling out your small slim notepad and pencil, you wrote down his order, nodding and sporting a tame blush that crept across your powdered cheeks. "One Coke Float with a straw coming right up!" Your tone is quiet yet chipper. "Are you sure I can't interest you in anything to eat?" 

"The Coke Float will be just fine for now, sweetheart," he winked, bravely putting his gloved hands on the marble counter.

Jimmy knew the consequences if he were caught here, amongst the 'normal' who would persecute a freak without thinking twice about it, but Jimmy couldn't live a lie anymore; his unhappiness at the freakshow became smothering at times, especially under Elsa with her empty promises, ruthless routines, and strict demands for her upcoming shows.

Experiencing what Jupiter had to offer outside the circus all felt within Jimmy's grasp; nothing felt impossible with his desire for a new start. He just needed to keep the gloves on (aside from attending his side job at those Tupperware Parties), and develop more skills that wouldn't separate him from the normies. But how could he ever make it? His mother wouldn't approve, nor would Elsa, and the others? The Freak Show was their only safe space and financial security within Florida. 

You pulled out a tall and chilled glass from the fridge. You placed it on your workstation, grabbing out the big square tub of Vanilla Ice Cream and slowly scooping two large, generous heaps of Ice Cream and letting it tumble into the bottom of the glass before carefully and slowly pouring a precise twelve ounces of the chilled Cola into the glass, at a forty five degree angle, just as you were taught over the summer. Slowly, you reminded yourself, don't want to make this thing overflow. Lastly, you popped in the straw and a long spoon before bringing the young man his order. 

"One Coke Float!" You smiled, placing the tall glass of cola and ice cream in front of him, watching his wide, dark eyes immediately light up.

He leaned forward in his stool and hooked the straw in the corner of his mouth, his gloved hands holding the base of the glass. You noticed his gloves resembled those of oven mitts, but you didn't question it; the young man had style. Slurping down the thick ice cream through the straw, he smiled up at you, nodding his head. "That's one gorgeous float."

"Well, now you know where to get another when you're in the mood." You smiled back, fighting the urge to lean over the white marble counter.

"Only if you're the one making them, when can I catch you in?"

The rain kept drizzling outside, and it became clear that this James Dean lookalike would be your only customer as you reached your busiest hour with no one else coming through the door for a greasy fry-up.

Fuck it, my manager isn't in. You leaned over the counter, "I'm here Monday to Wednesday, all day Monday and Tuesday, then just the mornings on Wednesdays. If you like what I make you next time, you could always give me a ride home when I clock off. You look like the type to ride a motorcycle in all that leather gear."

Jimmy grinned and let out a light laugh, "You're observant, aren't you, toots?"

You raised your eyebrows, "So is that a yes..."

"Jimmy, Jimmy Darlin'", he went to shake your hand, but quickly pulled his hand away, "the gloves are a little cold, the Coke Float in the chilled glass."

You didn't question it, the last thing you wanted was to get any crumbs or grease trails on his leather wear "So is that a yes to picking me up on your big, bad bike, Jimmy Darling?"

Jimmy slurped down the last of his Coke Float, some ice cream still clinging to his tall glass, and he nodded at the long spoon. Was he...

You picked up the long metal spoon and scooped up the ice cream, gently feeding him as the two of you didn't break eye contact, the smell of tobacco lingering on him mixing well with your scent of vanilla pod extract and flour from last night. Jimmy parted his soft lips and opened his mouth. You slowly placed the spoon inside his mouth, and he slowly sucked away the remainder of the ice cream. Carefully pulling the spoon out of his mouth, you noticed there wasn't a streak left of ice cream, and you could practically see your own reflection in the metal spoon. 

"Next Wednesday, I'll come and pick you up after your morning shift, how's that, toots?" 

You'd never get bored with Jimmy calling you that. You wanted more of it and him.

Jimmy licked his lips and pulled out the fifty cents he owed for the drink. He managed to scoop up the silver with his glove and held out his hand for you to retrieve, rather than placing it in your silver dish, or worse, the marble counter. 

"I look forward to it, Jimmy D." Your tone was sultry as you took the fifty cents over to the cash register. By the time you glanced over your shoulder, he had already left.

-

-

For the rest of the week, you couldn't get Jimmy out of your mind, from the way his feet came into contact with the tiled floor with a great thud, the way his dark and enchanting eyes spilt into yours, his soft voice repeating "Toots", his cheeky smile, but most of all, the interesting shape of his gloves and the way he scooped out the change he owed. You thought of Jimmy when baking for your parents' church group again, this time a Banana Split decorated with Maraschino Cherries, which nearly didn't make it out of the oven in time, you thought of him as you bathed and wiped away the days hard work with your Ponds Cold Cream and damp washcloth, before thinking about him even more as you go into bed. He occupied your mind like no one else ever had before. 

You were halfway through whipping up Shrimp Cocktails, Devilled Eggs, and Butterscotch Pie for another one of Mrs Draper's Tupperware parties. She needed all three done by tonight and delivered by tomorrow morning before your shift. You were starting to get frustrated with the lack of thanks and compensation received for all of the time, effort, sweat, and money you put into the dishes she shamelessly passed off as her own.

You would be satisfied with a thank you, a few dollars, or even being provided with the ingredients, but her husband would raise his eyebrows at the extra costs of the food shop that week. You were also slightly offended that you hadn't been invited to one of these parties. With how much you cooked and baked, it seemed obvious that you'd be open to spending your wages on innovative food storage products. 

Finally finishing the last of the Devilled Eggs, you wrapped clingfilm over the large oval plate and stored it in the fridge next to the Shrimp Cocktail on the shelf above the Butterscotch Pie. You were lucky that your father bought a top-of-the-range fridge, or there would be no way you'd get such a large request fulfilled. Closing the fridge door and wiping down your countertops, you yawned and finally retreated to your bedroom, excited for the day ahead; Jimmy D picking you up from the Diner on his Motorcycle. You were up that late, entertaining the swimming thoughts in your head that you were late for work, running out the door, sweating pinballs and forgetting to deliver the food to Mrs Draper.

The diner was busy again as the rain from last week finally dried up. You were enjoying serving your regulars again, who caught you up on the gossip from what shocking things they saw on the television or overheard from the younger housewives about a young man with peculiar hands who used them to pleasure many of the touch-starved and frustrated housewives in the area. You wish you could've been more interested in what they had to say, and even your quality of coffee wasn't up to standard that morning ("More sugar!", "Less milk!", "You didn't even stir it!") but you didn't care; any minute now Jimmy would walk in, put you on his arm and whisk you away from the smell of bacon fat and black coffee on his humming motorcycle. 

But Jimmy didn't show up. You waited and waited up to a whole half hour after your shift finished, when it became pretty clear that he wouldn't be coming. You tore off your grease-coated apron and stuffed it into your small pocket, storming out of the diner and forcing your co-worker who was stationed on the grill, to drop you home during the quiet hour. As he parked in your driveway, Mrs Draper hurried out of her house and frantically over to you with a face like a smacked arse. 

"Thanks again... I'm sorry about all this," you frowned at your co-worker.

He shrugged, turning down the radio, "These things happen, keep your chin up, sweetheart."

You were halfway through wiggling your key into the front door when the housewife next door jabbed her stubby finger into your side, causing you to jump and twirl on your toes to face her, startled. 

"When do you suppose I'll get my food! My party started half an hour ago, and you were meant to deliver the goods this morning! I've been waiting for hours!" She hissed, face red and blotchy from the wrong shade of powder.

You'd had enough. First being mugged off by Jimmy, and now meeting the demands of a very angry Mrs Draper. 

"Mrs Draper!" you huffed, "Look, I'm sorry I slept in, and I had to rush off to work, but I've come to notice that you don't appreciate my hard work! I cook everything you request, often baking into the late hours of the night and early in the morning, and you've never thanked me, compensated me, or even offered to provide the ingredients! It's not like I'm made of money! Even worse, you haven't invited me to these parties, which you know I'd spend my little wages on because I actually take food storage pretty seriously!" 

You were out of breath and frustrated, but slightly satisfied with your outburst, knowing that if you didn't have an immediate offer of compensation or newfound appreciation, you could slam the door in her face and enjoy the fruits of your own labour, guilt-free, before telling the town they've been eating your dishes and not hers!

She sighed and scowled, quickly looking over her shoulder at the other wives: her party guests, peeking through the window at you both. She met your gaze and sighed, rolling her liner coated eyes, "Alright, you can come to my party, I'll even give you a little discount... but under the condition that they don't know you're cooking for my parties I'll start to provide you with the ingredients, but please don't tell my husband about any of this, I spent the money he gave me for cooking lessons on a load of dresses for the spring!"

You thought for a moment, looking over once more at the other women in their different colourful dresses and stunning pin curls fashioned with expensive clips. "Okay," you gave in "you've got yourself a deal, just let me get freshened up and I'll be over."

"You'd better be quick, I had to tell those floosys my fridge broke, and you kindly offered yours to keep my efforts cool!"

You put your uniform in the washer and quickly brushed your hair, gently putting on another layer of powder before throwing on your best outfit that made you feel both comfortable and confident. Trying to push Jimmy from your mind proved difficult. Why would he lead you on and stand you up like that? He seemed so... genuine. Over and over again in your mind, you kept trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, maybe he got into a collision on the way to the diner, or maybe his job, whatever that was, changed schedule. The more you lingered on the what-ifs, the more you realised things were too good to be true. 

You should've turned around and left the moment you set foot into Mrs Draper's large and colourful home. The other housewives, all fashioned in stunning yellow, blue, and mint green swing dresses with their frilly petticoats underneath, stared down at you with disapproving looks on their faces, their eyebrows pulling together and their eyes hard. 

"Make yourself at home!" Mrs Draper patted her sofa, quickly placing the food you cooked for her on her decorative glass tables.

The women rushed to their feet, eyes widening at the Shrimp Cocktail, Devilled Eggs, and Mrs Draper wasted no time serving herself a slice of the Butterscotch Pie.

"Agnes!" The blonde and petite one spoke up, pulling her to one side, "I don't think this is appropriate!" 

Mrs Draper shook her head, groaning as she swallowed a bite of her pie "Oh stop! Unlike the rest of us, they're actually here for the Tupperware! They aren't going to tell, I'm giving them a pretty good discount!"

The other women excitedly ate your hard work, complimenting Mrs Draper's ability to create dishes with such flavour that burst onto the tongue. You forced yourself to hold back your laughter and thank the women for their raw feedback.

You were confused. What exactly were these women here for if not food storage products? 

Before you were left to speculate, Jimmy walked out into Mrs Draper's lounge, wearing a white tank vest and blue denim jeans, his larger-than-average hands stuffed deep in his pockets, his dirty-blonde hair short and combed forward to the front of his head with beautiful curls. Your jaw hung open, and you stared at him in disbelief, your hands bunching into tight fists. He didn't spot you amongst his regulars, not at first.

So he's been here the whole time when he was meant to pick me up? 

"I wonder which of us is next!" Mrs Draper said excitedly, lighting up one of her Lucky Strike Cigarettes. 

You couldn't stand for this; you wouldn't allow Jimmy to get away with humiliating you. Standing up, you bravely stormed over to him, pushing through the large crowd of women, the smell of your late nights and early mornings lingering deliciously in the air and hanging off their lips and fingertips. Staring up into those intense eyes, now full of panic and realisation, he stumbled over his words, and you pushed him back out of the lounge with your fingertip, pressing into his chest. 

"We need to talk," you were firm but not rude, ushering him into the closest room, which of course had to be a bedroom.

Jimmy sat on the bed, looking guilty with his wide eyes and red face, swallowing hard as he watched you pace up and down the cosy and minimalist bedroom. 

"You stood me up today," you hissed, "Completely embarrassing me in front of my regulars and co-worker on the grill who had to drop me off home, come to find that you've been at my neighbour's house this entire time!" 

Jimmy became even more embarrassed. You live next door? He took a deep breath and slowly removed his large hand from his pocket, placing it on the empty space next to him. Your eyes fell on his hand, noticing how it resembled that of a lobster claw or flipper; you weren't horrified or put off, you were fascinated. 

"Toots," he said softly and sweetly, "please let me explain." 

Chewing on the inside of your cheeks, you forced yourself to sit down, without saying a word, sinking into the soft mattress. 

"I'm sorry for not picking you up today, believe me, I meant to and tried to, but Mrs Draper.. she.." Jimmy sighed and cleared his throat, "It's my hands, see," he lifted them up into the ceiling light "I was born this way, a freak, and my life... my work is defined by my hands."

You took his hands in yours, running your finger over the unique length of his fingers, his skin still surprisingly soft.

"I've been put to work since I was a little boy for these hands, for people to gawk at; it's meant that I could always keep food on the table for my mother. We hopped from one Freak Show to another, our most recent being here in Jupiter."

He continued, "But I don't want to be in the Freak Shows anymore, I don't want people to gawk at me, I want to work other jobs as every other Florida man does. Then these stupid parties came along, it beats the Freak Shows, but then I met you... and I know that just by being here I could ruin it."

It suddenly dawned on you that these parties weren't all about selling products to bored housewives who enjoyed cooking and baking as much as you did; the comment one of your regulars made earlier echoed in the back of your mind.

"You're the young man who's been pleasuring these women, with your hands, aren't you?" Your heart pounded so hard in your chest that you felt like gasping for air. You were desperate to pull the curtains open and open the windows to let in some air, but doing so would put everyone in Mrs Draper's house at risk of being found out, and worse, reported. 

What would that mean for Jimmy? Incarceration, public shaming, being beaten and hunted down by the many husbands in the areas where he's found himself local fame. 

Jimmy slowly nodded his head, "Yeah, I am, and I'm sorry." His voice cracked slightly as light tears sparkled in his eyes. "I didn't mean to make a mug of you, believe me, I just..." he sighed, "I really need the money."

You were quiet for a moment, not knowing what to say or how to say anything at all. You were in shock, you were confused, angry even, but above all else, you felt sympathy for him. He had no choice and managed to convince himself that this was the better option out of two methods of exploitation; you didn't even think he realised that this was exploitation, even if it was on his terms. 

"I'm angry at you for standing me up," you finally spoke, throwing yourself on your back, looking up at the ceiling ", but I'm not angry at you for what you do for work, if you had other choices, I doubt you'd even be here right now."

Jimmy sprawled backwards on the bed too, turning on his side to face you, his eyes watching yours dance across the bedroom ceiling. 

"Are you kidding?" he replied softly, "I'd love to be a mechanic or a barber, hell, I'd love to do anything with a good pair of hands! But this is what I've got, and I've gotta make do."

Turning yourself on your side to look at Jimmy, you stared into his deep eyes and then examined his curly, dirty blonde hair, truly handsome.

"You were here the other week, weren't you?" you asked quietly.

Jimmy nodded, "Yeah, I'm here once a week if Mrs Draper demands it, usually I don't get booked as often under the same women so quickly," he quickly cleared his throat when he realised it sounded as if he were bragging. "I enjoy Mrs Draper's cooking, though, it's better than what I get paid."

Your cheeks started to burn, and the sensation ran up to the tips of your ears. "Let me guess, you enjoyed the upside-down pineapple cake?"

Jimmy couldn't stop the smile that plastered across his face, "How'd you know?" 

"Because I made it," you whispered, giggling slightly. 

Jimmy's eyebrows scrunched together, his smile turning into a grin, "Wait a minute-"

"I've been baking for her! All the food out there on those tables was made by me! The Devilled Eggs, Shrimp Cocktail, and a frigging Butterscotch Pie! Her husband gave her money for cooking classes, and she spent it on dresses! Those women are eating dishes I've made, all thinking it's hers!"

Jimmy's grin faded when he realised that you were here for the illusion, how innocent, kindhearted, and open-minded you were... his stomach dropped when he realised the impact of his no-show had on such a person.

"I'm really sorry for standing you up," he apologised again, "I'm even more sorry that you had to find out about me here... this way." he brought his hand to your face, carefully pushing a stray hair back with his incredibly long fingers, mentally noting that you didn't flinch or gawk. 

"You need the money," you sighed, "I'm lucky enough not be in such a dire situation." 

Jimmy paused for a moment before another cheeky grin splashed across his face, "Why don't we blow this joint? Huh? I owe you a ride on my bike, remember?" 

Not being one to argue, you mirrored Jimmy's grin and nodded your head, "Yes, you do."

-

It’s his birthday 🥳

oh baby it is completed

I’ve been thinking about redrawing some New Horizons screenshots for environment practice for a while and I’ve finally gotten around to playing with the idea. It’s actually really fun! This is such a pretty game, tbh.