Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
The reply was a string of angry and sad emoticons accompanied by half a dozen question marks. Z didn’t want to explain how badly he needed cash. The cost of living, even in his rat-infested two-bedroom crap hole, was higher than a rent boy on Molly. Dancing one show a night with the Sassy Boyz barely provided enough for his makeup kit and shoe addiction. And the tips had been meager lately. Two of his regulars had gone and gotten hitched, the pansy-asses.
Stupid fucking marriage equality, messing with my income.
But there was no reason to share all that shit with the boys, so he ignored Ansel instead, shoving his phone in his bag. With that done, he grabbed his makeup kit and went to work toning down his sparkle.
The light above the mirror always made him look sickeningly yellow. He eyed his smoky eye shadow critically. Had it been the makeup that had shocked Hot Fudge so badly he hadn’t been able to speak? Or was it the boots he’d pulled on that morning as a much-needed mood boost?
Maybe it was the whole package. It wasn’t like Hot Fudge had ever seen him in anything other than his standard waiter garb before.
Why did he care? Yeah, the guy was one of his favorite regulars. He was a great tipper. Plus, he was easy. He had a weekly pattern. On Mondays he always ordered a grilled chicken sandwich with extra mayo. On Tuesdays it was the meatball sub, on and on for the whole week. And every single day he ate a sundae for dessert.
He knew exactly what he liked and saw no reason to change. Z respected that.
Too bad that would end now. Hot Fudge had gone as yellow as Z’s reflection when he’d gotten a good look at him. Just another example of why Z removed his glorious paint and did what he could to butch himself up every shift even while his stomach clenched in revolt.
He carefully peeled off his lashes and stored them away for later, then he took his wipes and cleaned off his eyes and lips. A couple of pumps of his favorite travel facewash and a few rinses later and his face was as naked as ever.
When he’d first started working at Sal’s he’d donned his heels and lashes as usual. That was just who he was, and at first he was stubborn enough not to care what anyone thought. Sal had never said he couldn’t be dolled up at work, and most of his coworkers took their lead from the boss. But Z learned the hard way that most people preferred their servers invisible. Normal waiters got bigger tips.
It was the only part of working here that he hated but he needed this job and he didn’t want to let Sal down. So he tamed his inner diva even though it went against everything he stood for. Each time he heard his mother’s voice telling him to shine bright and never let anyone control him.
And each time he convinced himself it was okay, as long as he made the decision himself.
Pulling his long hair into a tight bun at the back of his head, Z sighed. Maybe it wasn’t okay, but was sleeping in the cold any better? His mother had been a dreamer. She’d died thinking that the world would protect her son just like she had.
She’d been wrong.
Z wasn’t anything like her. He was a realist.
He pulled off his heels and changed into his standard uniform of black slacks and white shirt. To keep warm and fed, he’d do a lot more than pretending he was normal. That was what survivors did.
Anything necessary.
He was pinning his name tag onto his apron when Becca came in.
“Z, what are you doing here this early?”
“Taking Jimmy’s shift. He’s on vaycay. Again.” He added emphasis into the last word because Jimmy’s escapades were always the topic of conversation at Sal’s.
She laughed. “Of course he is. What’s he doing this time? Swimming with sharks?”
“I didn’t ask, but knowing him it’s gotta be something like that.”
“I wish I could be mad at him, but really I just envy his guts.”
“Must be nice having a family who’ll pay for all the crazy shit you want to do.”
“That too.” She was much faster getting ready than he was and they left together to check the table assignments.
“Of course, Jimmy would get the tables near the door,” Becca complained. “Even when he’s not here, he’s still getting the best pick.”
“I’ll switch if you want.” The tables nearest the door had a tendency to be full and more people meant more tips. Z could really use those tips. But Becca needed the money too and he’d feel guilty all day if he didn’t offer.
“Nah, but I will be talking to Sal later.”