This is the first of the tales of Juliet, a runaway-turned-waitress who reluctantly tries the world's oldest profession with a kindly older man who is not what he seems. Actual non-consensual sex means a date with Cletus Throatripper, yadda yadda, rape should be kept as a fantasy, only try this at home with someone you really trust.
Juliet held her face in the sink full of cold water until she could no longer hold her breath. Her arms trembled on the cold metal edge of the sink as she stared into the hazy mirror above it. The rounded, girl next door's features that had been happy once were now drawn from exhaustion. Working a shift and a half six nights a week would do that. The strawberry blonde hair that was more gold than rose that framed her face had lost much of its former bounce. Although that stupid cowlick in the middle jutted up like it always did. Green eyes stared out into the world with a haunted expression. Drying her face with a paper towel, Juliet took a make-up kit out of her apron in an attempt to fix some of the damage. She never had been much good with the stuff; the results were more cheap whore out on the corner than anything else.
Well.
Truth in advertising, wasn't it?
Juliet washed it off. Just a little bit of lipstick and some shadow around the eye to hide the bags. On went her golden wire-rimmed glasses. She plastered her fakest "trying to keep the entitled customer from getting me fired" smile. It would have to do. Anyway, it was her body that he would be interested in. She smoothed down the white blouse that she had shrunk in a dryer in the laundromat around the corner last night. It clung tightly to her curvy body. What had once been a chubster's figure had tightened up into an hourglass after a year of cheap and constant work. The only bits that had not shrunk were up front and out back. Even though she was a tall girl, the size of her bust had always made her uncomfortable. God, she still remembered being called "Grand Tetons when she had sprouted in 6th grade. The swell that filled out her shortened black pleated skirt in back got lots of "more cushion for the pushin'" comments. No wonder she used to wear oversized jeans and hoodies.
Trembling fingers stripped off pantyhose and the chunky sneakers that she usually worked in. On went some three inch strappy heels that she had picked up from a thrift shop across the street from the laundromat. They would be absolute murder to work in for the rest of the shift. Of course, if this went south then she would be on the street anyway. Juliet took a few experimental steps around the tiny janitor's closet. She wobbled a bit before the rhythm came back. Don had made her walk in them for hours when-- She gritted her teeth. Don't think about him. The heels did do great things for her legs. They had been toned by countless hours of walking to work and waitress duty.
Showtime. Juliet ignored the ice in her belly as she walked the short distance into the diner. It was a typical type of its breed: counter with stools, banquettes along the windows across from them, a hatch where waitresses could pass orders to the trolls in the kitchen. That old hag Madge was chatting with the head-cook owner. She was too busy jawing to actually serve the customers. Not that there were very many in the place at this hour. There was one homeless guy nursing a coffee in a corner booth. There was an old woman dozing with head on folded arms with a half-eaten burger and fries shoved to one side. Then there was him.
Juliet took a quarter-full pot from the machine. Of course, Madge was too lazy to actually change it out for a fresh pot. It would have to do. Heels clicked on worn linoleum as she walked over to the booth where Mr. Carabus always sat. She discreetly opened up her blouse several buttons to show off her breasts once her back was to Madge. Her vision narrowed to a tunnel while ringing started in her ears. It was all she could to stay focused on him. The short man with dark skin was intent on the miniature chess board before him. She had once heard him claim that playing on a virtual board was not the same. The buzzing fluorescent lights above him shone on his bald head bordered by a tonsure of salt and pepper hair. Emphasis on the salt. His three-piece suit was a cut well above the usual customers. He said he came here because he was a night owl who had a taste for terrible food.
He did not look up when she refilled his cup. He glanced at the smartphone to one side of the board before moving a knight on the opposing side with a sigh.
Juliet shifted from foot to foot.
He reached out to a rook.
"Mate in three, sir," Juliet said.
"I know. I am off my game of late." Mr. Carabus sipped from his cup. He winced. "The barista is spectacularly awful tonight. Of a piece with the special, which was not."
"Then why do you even eat here, sir?" Juliet asked. "I work here. And I don't use my discount."
"Because of my insomnia, my twisted need to punish myself--" Mr. Carabus pushed one more piece before toppling over his king and texting his defeat. "--the fact that owning this building means the owner lets me linger as long as I want, and of course the--"
He finally looked up.
Dark eyes behind moon-spectacles widened at both her altered attire and the expanse of bare breast on display.
"--lovely and intelligent wait-staff." Mr. Carabus leaned back. "New uniform policy?"
"Just one for you, sir." Juliet tried The Smile. "You're so kind and you tip well and you seem lonely. And."
Juliet hung her head.
"I--I was wondering if you needed. Um. Companionship." Juliet's knees buckled. "T-tonight."
Somehow, she ended up sitting across from him.
"Juliet, what's wrong?" Mr. Carabus asked, his hands leaving her shoulders.
"I'm getting kicked out of my room," Juliet said, tears dripping onto the cheap wood veneer of the tabletop between them. "It's just some shithole. But it's all I have. And no matter how much I work, it keeps going up and up."
"I see," Mr. Carabus said. He steepled his fingers before him. "I am not one to question your choice to engage in the oldest profession. But I believe there are websites and agencies."
"I'm scared of trying this with a stranger." Juliet shredded a napkin into thin strips. "You've always been nice to me. Good tips. And uh...well, I see how you look at me sometimes when you think I won't notice."
"Yes. I have been off my game." Mr. Carabus coughed once. His gaze lingered on the opened blouse. "May I ask how old you are?"
"I'm legal," Juliet said. "Eighteen, last week."
"And what services are on offer?" Mr. Carabus asked.
"What I need to do," Juliet said. "Nothing with, ah, fluids or feet or that sort of thing. But you can f-fu--"
"That's enough." Mr. Carabus took out his wallet. He tore a one hundred dollar bill in half before handing her one piece. "You receive the other half when I am satisfied."
"Yes, sir." Juliet slipped the bill into the breast pocket of her blouse. "Thank you, sir."
"You finish in an hour, as I recall," Mr. Carabus said. "Leave as you usually would, then circle around to the apartment entrance to the side. Go down to the basement apartment."
He gestured at her half-open blouse.
"Do button up, though," Mr. Carabus said. "Wouldn't want to catch a chill."
Juliet flushed with shame as she buttoned up her blouse to the collar. She looked about wildly to see if anyone had noticed. Madge was jawing away with the short order cook now. The homeless guy was gone. The sleeping woman was snoring away. On shaking legs, Juliet fled into the janitor's closet. She sank down amid the mops and brooms while rocking with hands clamped tight over her lips. Oh, god. She was actually doing this. She had tried so hard never to resort to this ever since she had run away after he had dropped her off at school. For nearly two years, she had worked every shitty legal job an underage girl could get with no documents or references. This waitress job was the best after a long line. It simply was not enough.
The end of her shift was a blur. Soon, she was outside the diner in the rain. Buttoning up her cheap trench coat, Juliet hunched under an umbrella as she headed east towards the elevated tracks that would take her home. She walked three blocks before turning right into a side street. She glanced nervously about her at the mouths of the alleys she passed by. The diner was not in the best of neighborhoods. On the main street it was somewhat safe. Off it? Juliet's heart rose into her throat at the idea of a hand clamped over her mouth and an arm about her body. She might be dragged into the dark, unlighted alleys to become some homeless man's cumrag before she ended up unmoving in a dumpster. It might be the man from the diner who had left before she did.
Those damned heels that she had not changed out of click-clacked on the cracked sidewalks. Juliet almost turned an ankle when a heel caught in one. Limping, she stumbled through the blocks of tenements like the final girl in some slasher movie. Her heart was hammering between her breasts when she rounded the corner onto the block where the diner was. Juliet hugged herself as she slowly approached the slim brick building at the corner. The diner occupied the ground floor with apartments above. At the base of the wall below the diner's front window were small windows half-covered with trash that were the only evidence of a basement apartment. She hadn't even realized one was there.
She ducked into the door just to the side of the diner entrance. Inside was a claustrophobic lobby with mailboxes and buzzers for the apartments on one wall. She was trying to figure out which button to press for the basement when she found the inner door propped open. Dim lighting from wall sconces provided little light in the narrow stairwell leading up to the apartments. There were also stairs leading down. Juliet shivered. It had to be her imagination. Still, "basement" conjured up ominous images in her mind. She still started down the stairs. The lure of the other half of that hundred dollar bill was too strong.
There were two doors at the bottom of the stairs. One had "utilities" on a plaque above it. The other faced the street side of the building. Juliet absently noted the steel door and frame when she opened the unlocked door. This was a rough neighborhood, after all. Within was a tiny space with hooks on the wall above a shoe bench. Hanging up her coat, she turned to face the door in the wall opposite the bench. This was it. Time to earn her money. Her palm was slick with sweat as she tried to turn the knob. It gave a little despite the slippery grip.
She couldn't.
