Made of Glass Chapter 1

First chapter introducing Dolly! Enjoy!

I try very hard not think. I’d say 95% of my energy goes into keeping deep thoughts out of my over crowded brain. I understand it’s a generally accepted idea that thinking is a helpful thing; it’s good and necessary, but truthfully it also causes a whole hell of a lot of problems. Here’s a simple example of when I hate to be in my head. I was sitting in the back of a taxi cab. Immediately my mind went to a dark place. If I estimate conservatively I’d say this car was maybe made in 1985 so in the twenty years it’s been driving people around let’s say ten people a day that’s already 73,000 people! Now when you take into account the percentage of Americans who don’t bath on a regular basis and how often cab drivers clean out their cars (which judging by the excess of McDonald’s bags in the back I had to go with once a year) then the amount of contagious diseases back there was breaching on the millions. There was probably cancer shoved way down between the cracks and the Ebola virus blowing out of the air vents. Basically I was sitting in a pile of filth and death.

So I try hopelessly to banish my thoughts and not allow myself to wallow in that horrific land. No good can come of it. Positive thoughts only. At least that’s what my therapist said. Taking a page from his book I placed myself in the shoes of the cab driver. I had no idea what it’s like to drive a cab. It was wrong of me to jump to any conclusions. Maybe he unloaded an entire can of disinfectant after each passenger. That might be able to kill any pathogens that can do any real damage. Probably. Maybe.

Well I couldn't blame him. This cab driver was probably thinking the same bad thoughts about me. He saw a skinny little blonde nineteen year old girl that looked like she couldn’t afford meals this week let alone a cab drive. Dressed in ratty jeans and the same flats I had been wearing since I was twelve I couldn't have looked like a promising customer. I could see the driver constantly glancing back at me through his rear view mirror but darting away when he made eye contact. I wondered what he saw in my big bright blue eyes. First glance might give the image that I’m a sweet innocent cute girl with never a care in the world. But this guy looked like he understood people a little better than that. The way he was clearly uncomfortable looking at me told me that he saw what is really behind my eyes: anger, frustration, and torment. Oh and sarcasm. Mountains of it.

I hoped my musings weren’t as accurate as his were.

I pulled the corners of my mouth up the next time he looked back to try and change his opinion of me. It didn’t appear to work.

We were both thankful when he pulled up in front of my final designation. He seemed especially thankful when I pulled out a twenty and told him to keep the change. I may be poor but I’ll go without before I steal from another person. He responded this time to my departing smile but didn’t offer to help me pull my duffel bag and trunk out of the back of his car. He sped away as soon as I was clear.

I needed a bath.

So there I was standing on a curb in front of a bar just off the campus of the University of Washington absolutely alone and dying of Ebola.

I decided to go to school on the west coast because my old life was on the east coast. If my past could find me an entire country away I might just have to give up and face the problem. Until then I was going to sprint like my life depended upon it in the opposite direction. Or move to the Caribbean. Although I doubt I could afford that. For now being this far away from my stepfather would have to be good enough.

It was the first day of my college experience. I knew for a fact I couldn’t survive in the dorms. I would probably m16 the entire floor of sorority wannabes within the week. But the problem is I’m on my own out here so how does a girl get the money to make it through college and then med-school on top of that? First, I fill out about ten thousand scholarship applications. Thanks to my anti-social tendencies in high school I had a very impressive GPA which came in handy when trying to get other people to support this impossible dream. I had managed to get a full ride but that wasn’t going to put food in my belly. So step two: I get this job. Only problem it happens to be a job with the most amount of human contact as possible. A waitress at a bar. And I try to avoid contact with people just as much as I try to avoid the thoughts in my head.

Mrs. Westen is a tiny little old lady with a beehive of grey hair piled up on top of her head and layer upon layer of make-up trying and failing to cover up the laugh lines covering her face. She has an annoying laugh that she feels the need to throw into every sentence that comes out of her mouth. She offered me this job along with a cheap apartment above the bar.

Yeah, not only do I spend my entire day down there with people but they’ll keep me up all night too.  

Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. Happy thoughts. I have to be thankful I got a job at all.

I only stood outside of the bar for a few moments wondering where to go since the bar was clearly not open yet when Mrs. Westen emerged from the bar and greeted me.

“Welcome to the Blue Flame! nha ha!” she said in a familiar nasally voice I recognized through our telephone conversations. “You must be Veronica?”

“Everyone calls me Dolly,” I shook her hand and pulled the corners of my mouth upward.

“Isn’t that just precious! Nha”

I wasn’t going to get along with this woman.

“Well come in come in, It’s fancy, no?” She gestured to the building before us.

“Yeah fancy,” I said drily to Mrs. Westen. She laughed pleased that I approved.

The outside of the two story building is completely covered in brick. It’s squeezed between two larger ones like a skinny little guy in the middle seat of an airplane between two truck driving food eating contest champions. Its large front door squeaks so badly that the bell that hangs above it is completely unnecessary to warn people when others are entering. I questioned the structural integrity of the ancient building as I cautiously stepped over the threshold. It even smelled decrepit. My nose was instantly assaulted with worn down wood and the reek of old beer. I looked around at the distressed table tops the bar stools that badly needed new upholstery, the holes surrounding the dart boards, and the pool tables, all of which were missing their eight ball. I felt unclean.

Probably a shower followed by a bath just to be on the safe side.

The main room was separated into two parts by a slightly raised floor. The lower part directly in front of the door was spanned by a wide dark wood bar. The other half was scattered with booths and tables as well as a little rec area off to the side of that.  

The name, Blue Flame, didn’t fit in the slightest. It’s like Mrs. Westen wanted it to be a super hip club where all the college students dance the night away, but in reality it was just another run down dirty bar.

I tried not to count the number of chairs that would wobble or the missing beer glasses that set the pyramids of glassware wear behind the bar all caddy-whompas. I told myself not to notice the wear patterns on the floor in front of the most popular tables but the overloading sensory detail that comes with walking into a new place that I was doomed to spend every day in kept pushing the thoughts into my main consciousness.

“You’re room is upstairs,” Mrs. Westen thankfully interrupted my cataloging of the room. She led me behind the bar to a little hallway exposing the stairwell. “Let me get your bag for you! Your little arm looks like it’s about ready to fall off! Nha ha!”

“Thank you but I’ve got it,” It’s an automatic response for me to turn down help when offered. I learned a long time ago it’s best to learn how to do things yourself. When you have to use a crutch it's only a matter of time when someone kicks it out from under you and you fall on your face.

I followed my hostess upstairs and she showed me my little two room apartment. It had dark stained wood floors throughout the entire place and plain white walls. Only two small windows which I very much doubted would open. The kitchen wasn’t modern by any standards but it looked new enough to work and bonus the bath seemed clean enough to bathe in. It would be all I needed.

“When’s your furniture coming dearie?”

“Umm it’s on its way,” I lied. Everything I owned was in the bag I was carrying and the trunk full of books sitting on the curb outside. Not a piece of furniture anywhere. I did think ahead and buy myself an air mattress at the grocery store outside the airport. Is it just me or are grocery stores ridiculously over stocked these days. Why when looking for food to buy would you think you needed an air mattress?

“And do you have a car?”

Ha. Yeah right. If I couldn’t afford a bed to sleep on there was no way I could buy a car.

I shook my head.

“Oh that’s alright the bus stop is just a block down that way. It’s better for the environment this way isn’t it! nha ha ha!”

“Yep!” I laughed with her for no apparent reason. This woman was going to grind my nerves into nothingness.

She stood in the doorway for a little while longer watching me look around the place expecting me to say more, but I had absolutely terrible conversational skills so it was just uncomfortable for a few minutes.

“Alrighty then! I’ll let you get settled in and give you the run down about the bar tomorrow. Shifts start at four,”

“Alrighty then!” I gave her a thumbs up and tried to be happy until she left. I shut the door behind me before rolling my eyes and slipping to the floor.

 

After a seven and a half minute shower (it would have been longer but the hot water ran out) I set to work on my bed. Unfortunately my planning ahead didn’t include a pump to blow up the mattress so I only got it half full before I got light headed and had to stop. I tried to look at the positive facts. I had so much practice sleeping on floors and outside on rocky lumpy grounds I could basically sleep on anything. Especially with a little help from a handful of ambien.

The next morning my back was sore but barely a stubbed toe compared to some of the other pains I had woken up with before. After another short shower and throwing my hair up into a pony tail I carefully arranged my features in a smile and popped in a couple of what I like to call happy pills before heading downstairs. I was hoping this move would move me away from the crutch of antidepressants but in general I keep my hopes to a minimum to avoid disappointment.

Good first impressions I thought to myself and skipped downstairs. The fourth one creaked something awful. I would be sure to skip that one from now on.

I was instantly greeted by a college girl who stood an entire foot taller than me with long perfectly straight sandy blonde hair. She wore goo-gobs of make-up but not in a completely unattractive way.

“Name’s Monica,” she said in a businesslike manner.

“It’s Veronica isn’t it?”

“Dolly, actually.”

“Oh. Well isn’t that cute.”

Nope. We weren’t going to get along either.

“It’s my middle name after my grandma.”

“Uh-huh. I’m chief hostess here most nights. I’ll be seating people and telling you when you’ve got someone at one of your tables. They are numbered clockwise from the door.” She drew an imaginary circle around the tables. “You’ll get five to ten tables a night depending on how busy we are. You’ve got to get drinks first, get orders, bring um to Elaina in the back or Bucky whoever’s working the main grill, carry out the orders, cater to their every whim, and get the checks and clean up after them just like any other waitress. That’s after you do your side jobs and then after that you do your closing jobs if you work that late. Ashley will give you the run down on those. She’s been here the longest so just do whatever she tells you. Got it?”

I should have brought a paper and pen.

Monica didn’t give me a chance to respond.

“Do you own a black skirt, sweetheart?” she raised a questioning eyebrow at my torn up jeans. I was confused by people who used affectionate nicknames with people they don't know. She can't possibly know if I have a sweet heart at this point in time, and she can't care about me enough to be completely oblivious to my failings and therefore assume I have a sweet heart. Was there some alternative motive to the use of this term like trying to put me off guard to make me think we were friends that were supposed to care until she lures me into a dark back room and bashes my head in with a blunt object?

What were we actually supposed to be thinking about? Oh yes a skirt. I hadn’t owned a skirt since I was four. I grimaced at the idea.

“Well you’ll have to get some. You’re so tiny I would just say borrow from some of the other girls but I’m not sure you’ll fit.”

“I know she might just blow away! Nha ha ha!” Mrs. Westen appeared out of nowhere behind me and placed an arm around my shoulder. I restrained the flinch that came whenever anyone touched me.

“I’ll be sure to get some of my own,” I said while casually wiggling out of her grip.

“Any style’ll do, and heels are preferred although I’ll just let you slide for a while on that front. Nha! This place is murder on your feet! Ha Ha!” Her laugh always caught me by surprise by its sheer volume and grating noise. She brought to mind Nanny Fine.

“And any nice top will do. You’ll see what the other girls wear! And always remember to smile! That’s the most important accessory.”

I pulled my lips up to reveal my teeth and she smiled motherly back at me.

“Did you have anything to eat this morning, dearie?”

I responded with an affirmative before thinking it over thoroughly. It definitely would be an easier day if I had some food in my belly but resistance to any aid was too deeply in grained in me that I reacted instantly. Oh well. It wouldn’t be the first day I’d gone without breakfast.

“Alrighty then! You two girls have fun!” She waved before disappearing back the way she came.

“She’s a sweetheart and all but does that laugh drive you up the wall! Mainly she just sits back in her office and gets drunk though. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t actually know anything about how to run a bar. We do it all for her. But the best part is she’ll do anything you ask. If you need a little time off she’ll never turn you down!

“Anyway where were we?”

Monica walked me through the rest of the small room and showed me how to fill orders and work the cash register until Ashley showed up. She was a dark skinned pretty girl with perfect curls and immaculate style. Monica immediately bowed out of her way whenever she walked by. It was very clear who was calling the shots here. She went through the unglamorous tasks with me. I never imagined so much cleaning went on in this place. Seriously it looked like it hadn’t been cleaned since the civil war but my hands were all pruney from the cleaning water before the other girls had even arrived. The entire staff was made up of attractive college aged girls except Bucky who was a Hulk of a man with a voice like a freight train. When we were introduced he gave me a grin with a couple of missing teeth and a wink. His looks were very intimidating but when he smiled I could see how sweet of a guy he was on the inside. Maybe that is just what I wanted to be seeing because I really needed to like this guy. I didn’t know how I was going to handle all of these girls on a daily basis. It was probably a good thing I didn’t have any contacts to the black market.

Fifteen minutes before the doors opened just after I had finished the training a handful of the girls pulled me off into a corner of the kitchen.

Lauren, the bartender, started the whispering in a conspiratorial tone.

“You know that you are sooo lucky to get this job as a freshman. Every girl on campus wants this!”

I doubted the truth of that statement. The Blue Flame didn’t seem sanitary enough to be that popular.

“Seriously,” Ashley butted in with her nose in the air “this is the most popular bar amongst the students because of one reason,”

All the girls were leaning in closer and closer so their heads were practically touching in a circle. I stood just outside of it unwilling to be in so close a vicinity to that many people. Ashley pulled me into the circle anyway. They were really building this up. I hoped it was something good like a curse or a cult.

“It’s because of the game,” Ashley put all the emphasis she could must onto the last word like this was going to be something like Jumanji. But then they just looked around at each other and said nothing.

“What’s the game?” Was that really all the information they were going to give me.

All the girls giggled. I almost gagged.

I’ll spare you the explanation they gave me. We were twenty minutes late in opening the bar because they felt the need to explain it so thoroughly. Basically they try to get guys to ask them out and guys try to get them to say yes. Yeah totally disappointing. They had a whole scoring system with different points for different guys. They wore huge heels, totally impractical for such a job, skirts so short they were constantly being tugged on to conceal their tush. Their shirts all showed indecent amounts of cleavage all so they could get some guys to bid on them. I was surrounded by s***s on the verge of prostitution or slavery. Yeah I could definitely see killing myself here.

 

Apparently the long explanation I got before the bar opened wasn’t even the frosting on the cake. Elaina who clearly didn’t get enough social contact working in the kitchen felt the need to explain a little more to me every time she even caught a glimpse of me walking by the window.

“That’s Ryan. He asks a new girl every night so he’s only worth one point and that’s Tyler-“

At first I felt bad about leaving her in the middle of her gossip to go do my job but soon I learned she didn’t care. She might have continued talking the entire time I was gone too without noticing there were no ears to pick up the words. It really didn’t matter much whether or not I listened. She had absolutely nothing of importance to say. How anyone can talk for five hours straight and not say one worthwhile thing is beyond me. Poor Bucky. How could he stay back there with her for so long?

Or maybe she did say something important I just missed it because I was so distracted by the random grease bullets that were flying off the grill and nailing her in the gut or arms. It was a wonder she didn’t feel any of that. I shook my head to break off the train of thought and headed back out to the floor.

“Well what do you think?” Ashley nudged me from behind. “See anyone you like? Bonus points if you get anyone on your first day!”

I mostly ignored her while I was figuring out the complicated notepad they used to take orders but when she gave a little annoyed cough I looked up and scanned the room for anyone who caught my interest.

Mostly they were typical college students who had too much money so they spent it on brain cell killing drinks. The girls were giving me the run down for each guy and how many points they all were but I was only half listening. Only one guy caught my interest. I couldn’t see most of his face because it was hidden behind a book which is what brought my attention to him in the first place. Above that was a mop of dark red messy hair. Luckily Elaina happened to be chatting about him at the time. I only caught the end of what she was saying

“Gorgeous of course but off limits,”

“Why?” I asked her.

I looked directly at her waiting for her reply. I suspected that I wasn’t the only one who didn’t bother to pay attention to her dribble. Being a fry cook put you a notch down from the waitresses and thus she wasn’t used to the attention a direct question provided. She looked away from me and mumbled the rest.

“Uhhh . . . never plays. Nobody ever gets him. S’like a gazillion points now. You win him, you win the . . like the year.”

“He’s never asked anyone?” maybe that’s why I was instantly drawn to him. He’s as antisocial as I am.

“Nope. Never. He’s the only one too. Everyone tries. It’s not fair. He’s the most attractive one here!” Ashley moped.

“Only because you can't have him!” Monica teased.

“Is he here a lot?” I asked still curious.

“Oh yeah, a couple times a week at least. Rumor is he lives in like this super fab mansion at the top of the Morco Hill with his creepy family, and . . .” she leaned in closer to emphasis the point that this was something not supposed to be known by the common person “they do not get along.”

“You know his family?”

“Well no, this is just what I hear, ya know,”

Yeah I could have guessed that.

“Anyway so he just hangs out here all the time instead of going home. He orders a beer but rarely drinks very much of it and doesn’t ever talk to anyone,” she shrugged like that was the most normal thing ever.

“You’d think the library would be a better place for him.”

“But then we couldn’t soak in all his glorious deliciousness.”

“He’s not a piece of meat, Monica.”

“I know! A piece of meat would have given in by now!” she giggled.

A giggle slipped out from me too. The atmosphere was so different from anywhere I had ever been before. Never before had I experienced a place where the biggest problem was only getting asked out three times in a week. It seemed like such a joke. Didn’t everyone know that the world was going to hell? But maybe this was exactly the kind of place that I needed. I guess I needed to turn my back on the darkness of the world for a while and just be a little goofy ordinary girl. Sounded pretty impossible to me.

Reviews

[Ana Drake]

This story is really great, I'm glad I've gotten to it so late in the chapters so I won't have to wait to see what's coming next. I love it :) I've started a piece of twilight fan fiction of my own, so when you get the time plz check it out and tell me what you think.

[Summer]

Okay, this book is so cute. I love it. Keep it up. Thanks for writing this. (: