What does the Foxx say?

On the Waitressing Rotation

“You’re right, I didn’t come here t’ watch you dance, as much as I enjoy hearin’ “pour some sugar on me” for the hundredth time.” He got to his feet instead, offering a hand down to pull her to her feet. “Come on, you’re gettin’ more than a drink.” It sounded sexual to those who would hear it, probably to her included but the only obvious bulge in his pants right now was the large wad of cash in his right pocket. He moved to the bar, motioning for one of the bottles. “I think we need t’ take this chat somewhere a li’l more private, huh?” He placed a hundred down on the bar, still glancing at Viv rather than the girl passing him the champagne. “My old room free?” He asked with a little laugh, god he’d spent a lot of time in those rooms over the years, if he wasn’t so in love, maybe the temptation would’ve won out.

When he mentioned going back to ‘his old room’ Viviane flashed a wide toothed grin. “I don’t know, Cara might have that one booked, but I’m sure we can make an exception, just for you,” she flirted back, before turning and heading towards the back of the club. Despite her mannerisms--and the way she sashayed her hips as she led the way through the club--Viviane knew that Trevor wasn’t there for sex. Which truly was a pity, because he had to be her favorite client. Certainly he was the most fun. The back of the club was always the seediest but Viviane had given up long ago wondering what invisible substances coated it all. After working here for so many years, she was sure they coated her too. Once the door was closed firmly behind them, she leaned against it, watching Trevor to take her cues from him. She was almost certain he was here for something other than sex, she wasn’t going to be the one to shut down the possibility. 

Trevor sat nursing his drink, the vibrating bass of the club was doing nothing good for his killer headache. Cutting back on the drugs lately was tough, he hadn’t know how much withdrawal could really suck but he wasn’t who he was without a near superhuman endurance, he mused smugly. He was waiting for his girl to finish up her song patiently, kicked back in one of the chairs as he did his best not to think about the fact that a black light would show stains that looked like a fucking child’s finger painting just about everywhere he sat. He did his best not to watch the little vixen, reminding himself that he had a girl back home that he’d done his best to be faithful to. But Viviane made it hard.

After what felt like eternity of temptation, he sent one of the bar girls out back to fetch her. When asked for a name, he laughed a little. “Tell her it’s her favorite old dog with’a bone.” He grinned, polishing off the drink. The girl’s here were attractive no doubt, he knew better than most considering he basically lived here for a good portion of his twenties, but Viv was and had always been something else entirely. He leaned back expectantly, smirking at the door she emerged from with a playful wave.

After this many years, standing almost naked in front of Walterton’s seediest was a piece of cake. At least with all lights on her, she couldn’t see their faces. Backstage, Viviane tossed the cash in her bag, to be sorted and counted later, and set about pulling back on her black and red dress. Low cut and short, the mini dress hugged tightly in all the right places, and showed off the rest. It was tacky, but then again, these men didn’t want to see classy; they wanted to see her tits, in all the glory that a push-up bra could afford. She’d just about finished straightening up when one of the new girls walked in. She was a shy one, poor thing, knock-kneed and in way over her head. Marnie? Missy? Viviane couldn’t remember her name. It wasn’t important though; Pete would chew her up and spit her out. 

What was important was the message she carried. Though the mousy girl delivered it with confusion, Viviane could read it loud and clear, and wasted no time stepping out into the loud club once more. “Trevor,” she grinned at the sight of him, dropping down onto the seat across from him. “Fancy meeting you here. I haven’t seen you around this place in a long time. Was starting to think your girl had you on a leash,” she challenged, though she kept the smile to show her words were teasing. Leaning back, she stretched in a way that allowed the tops of her breasts to spill a little more out of her dress, before settling back with a gleam in her eye. “I know you didn’t come all this way just to watch me dance, so why don’t you buy me a drink and tell me what’s on your mind?”

He shook his head, frowning. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, Viviane–” he scolded gently, he was a prick the majority of the time but right now, it didn’t feel right to use his natural reaction to everything and be a prick to her. He couldn’t do it, “My room is unoccupied, you can sleep there.” he replied, not quite remembering that it was merely a bed and a couch in there, the man having boxed his things in the past few weeks and moved to an apartment of his own downtown finally. 

He lead her to the stairs, moving towards his old room with a sigh before pushing open the door to the lone bed and couch. He indicated to the couch, “I’ll just crash there–” he muttered, not wanting to admit he wanted to be near her should James come home unexpectedly, something he was renowned for doing. 

She shrugged at his words. “Didn’t want to steal your bed,” she explained, before adding, “I was waiting for you to be the gentleman and offer, so thanks”, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Dutifully she followed him up the stairs, noting instantly the changes that his room has undergone since the last time she’d been there. It looked like he was moving, but she thought better than to comment on it just then.

Instead she moved to the side of the bed and drew back the covers before sitting down on the edge. “If I’m not sleeping on the couch, what makes you think you are?” Viviane raised an eyebrow. “It’s your bed. And its not like we’ve never shared a bed before,” she pointed out, before remembering that might not have been the best of arguments to bring up. Swallowing, she added, “Please?”

He folded his arms across his chest as he stared at the glass of whiskey warily, wishing that for one moment he could drink without it becoming a problem. Without him becoming so intoxicated that he ended up doing something he regretted, his promise to Isabella all those months ago stuck in his mind so vividly, yet the itch to grab that glass was strong. He fidgeted a little, keeping his arms firmly against his body so his resolve wouldn’t break. 

His eyes flickered to her face as she spoke, hurt still evident in his eyes. “With James as a father, what do you expect me to think?” he replied, his eyes flickering towards the floor of the kitchen. He was silent for a few more moments as she mentioned the not talking, “I trusted you–” he replied quietly, “I trusted you, then I heard about you and him, I–” he sighed, “He is the one person in this world I can’t stand and that’s saying something–” 

He returned his gaze to her face at the word blackmail, “With what?” he replied, eyes flashing with anger as he pushed himself off the counter. He was over James getting every damn thing he wanted, getting his way whenever he wanted. “I don’t think I want to talk about this tonight..it’s late you should sleep–”

I expect you to think the worst of me. I expect you to hate me. “I would expect you to think exactly what you do,” she admitted, picking at the sandwich again. She managed to finish one half but then pushed the plate away a few inches. Maybe it was the heaviness of the conversation but she couldn’t bring herself to eat. How could she when he was looking at her like that. “I know,” was all she could reply in a small voice. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t nearly enough, but it was all she could say. She sighed and placed her elbows on the counter, resting her forehead in her palms. “My past, what else do people ever use as blackmail?” she quipped bitterly. It wasn’t something she wanted to talk about, something she wanted to think about. Truthfully she didn’t want to think at all. Suddenly she was tired. When he changed the subject and suggested sleep, she nodded. “Yeah me either,” she admitted, pushing herself up off the kitchen stool. Her half-eaten sandwich was still on the plate but she couldn’t bring herself to finish it. “Probably...I remember where the couch is.” 

He snorted, he had sort of forgotten that she was a college girl now – though the pride he felt as he remembered was hard to handle, the pressure in his chest as the two emotions fought for dominance. Pride, wanting to hate her yet in all honesty he really couldn’t. He was too proud of her to truly hate her, even if he was hurting right now. 

Watching her joke around, albeit weakly, hurt him even more, yet the fury for whoever had done this too her coursed through his veins as he tried to keep a grip of his emotions, resisting the urge to force her to tell him who had hurt her before finding him and making him pay for what he had done to her, what pain he had caused her. She’d done some bad things, but no one deserved to be treated the way she had, no one deserved to have that done to them. 

He kept his eyes on the pan as he added more bacon and removed the cooked ones, placing them carefully on the buttered bread as it became a bacon sandwich. He slid it across the bench to land in front of her without looking, unable to look her in the eye. “So when he told you who he was, you still kept doing it…” he began, his eyes still steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze. “You still kept spying on me… telling him what I was doing?” 

He paused as he finished off the second sandwich and added it to her plate before turning the cooker of, leaning against the counter to look at her as he folded his arms across his chest. “Why?”

Viviane could feel the awkwardness in the room, the way that their jokes moved through air that was heavy, and were followed by smiles that only ever made it halfway. Still she was grateful to him for being there, in whatever capacity he was able. She knew he was still mad at her, but he had stopped for her, invited her in and for that she was grateful. She hated being weak, but if it had to be in front of anyone...somehow she believed that he would be the one to judge her least. Distantly she wondered what that said about the rest of her friends.

When he started to ask her how she could continue once she knew who he was, Viviane bit her lip, uncomfortable, but the end to the question was not what she’d been expecting. Immediately her eyes snapped up to his face at his words. “No--I never--Garrett I never spied on you,” she shook her head adamantly, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders as she leaned forward. Did he really think...? Had he thought it all this time? “The second you got back, that was when I came to you to talk to you, remember? I wanted to warn you that I was going to have to...But then we stopped talking...and I never did. I bet he was pretty angry at me then,” she barked a laugh at the thought, though there was nothing funny about it. One problem at a time Viviane. 

When he slid the plate towards her, she picked up the sandwich and took a bite. Though she was sure he’d made it well, between the awkward conversation and everything else the food was tasteless to her. Still she forced herself to take another bite--she’d asked him for food after all--before setting the sandwich back on the plate. Why? She supposed she owed him that much of the truth, so she didn’t hide her gaze, but rather looked him straight in they eye. “He threatened me. Blackmail.” 

He gave her what he hoped was a stern look, stern enough to take him seriously at least as he forced the blanket a little tighter around her. “Wow Vivi, when did you get your medical degree?” he replied in a gentle sarcastic way, his eyes flickering across her face with concern yet he tried his hardest to hide it from her as he made sure the blanket was secure. 

A smirk graced his lips at her gentle teasing, “I’m Walterton’s naked chef– Jamie Oliver has nothing on me–” he replied easily, grabbing bacon from the fridge and a pan from the cupboard. Before he began to cook he grabbed the most expensive looking whiskey from the cupboard, the real good stuff that his father saved for special occasions. Fuck James he thought to himself as he opened it and poured generous measures for both of them and slid one glass across to the red head. 

As she began to talk he froze, abruptly turning towards the cook top and starting to fry the bacon. “You don’t have to explain–” he said finally, his eyes fixed on the pan. “I was a job, nothing more I get it” he muttered dully, his vision blurring from focusing so hard on the task at hand. As the bacon was cooking he moved to butter bread, finding the fact he had something to do with his hands comforting considering the situation. 

“You really don’t have to explain anything to me Viviane” he finished, preferring to not here the gory details about what his father had done. 

Viviane snorted at his sarcasm, but gave up fighting as he fussed over her, fixing the blanket. “Same place you got yours. Don’t forget I’m a college girl now, I know things,” she joked back, appreciating their banter and the way it felt so easy. She needed easy right now. 

Slipping onto the stool she leaned her elbows against the counter, watching him cook her breakfast--at god knows what time in the early morning. The club closed at 2 so it was probably 3? How long had she been walking? How long had he-- She shoved the thought from her mind, and with perfect timing Garrett set the whiskey in front of her. Immediately she lifted it to her lips and finished it in three swallows. “Cheers,” she joked weakly, setting the empty glass on the table before he’d even touched his.

She didn’t know why she brought up his father, aside from the fact that it was one less secret she wanted in the room right then. He wouldn’t meet her eyes, and she didn’t know if that was a sign of anger or discomfort. Equally awkward, Viviane picked at a fuzz on the blanket while she gathered her courage to continue. “I do...” she trailed off, not taking his offered conversation ending, much as she would have preferred to. “I just want you to know that...I...I didn’t do it to hurt you,” she mumbled weakly. Absentmindedly she resumed picking at the blanket.