Chapter 1: The Hooters Interview
The application form was a joke, just lines on a cheap photocopy, but Suki treated it like a stage. She leaned over the high-top counter, the polished wood cool against her forearms, and deliberately arched her back. The denim of her micro-skirt pulled taut.
From the corner of her eye, she saw Dave, the manager. He was pretending to check a keg line, his gaze stuck to the way the fabric strained. Suki hid a smirk and bit the end of the pen, making a show of puzzling over ‘Previous Employment.’
The place was dead. Neon buzzed overhead, casting a pinkish glow on the empty tables. The air smelled of fryer oil and lemon sanitizer, undercut by the stale, sweet smell of spilled beer. A cooler hummed monotonously from the back.
“You, uh, need help with that?” Dave’s voice was closer now, gravelly.
Suki straightened up slowly, turning to face him. She let the pen drop to the form with a tiny, deliberate clatter. “Just wondering what to put for ‘special skills,’” she said, her voice light. She tilted her head, her platinum hair falling over one shoulder. “I’m a really good listener. And I’m great at… customer satisfaction.”
Dave was a big guy, his Hooters polo shirt straining over a soft middle. His eyes, quick and dark, darted from her face to her chest, where the white tank top left little to the imagination, and then down, lingering. He cleared his throat. “Right. Well. We’re more about the vibe here. Personality.”
“I’ve got plenty of that.” She smiled, wide and innocent, while her eyes told a different story. She saw him swallow. “The uniform’s pretty tiny. That’s not a problem, is it?”
“It’s standard,” he said, his voice tightening. He crossed his arms, trying to look authoritative, but his posture was defensive. “You fill that out, I’ll get you a shirt. We can do a trial shift. Lunch rush is slow.”
“Perfect.” She turned back to the counter, but this time she didn’t just bend over. She planted her hands flat on the surface and leaned forward, reaching for the fallen pen on the far side. The movement was fluid, athletic. She held the position for a three-count, knowing the view she presented was pure, undiluted provocation. The skirt was practically a belt.
She heard his sharp intake of breath, the subtle scrape of his shoe on the floor as he shifted his weight.
When she stood up, pen in hand, his face was flushed. “Shirt,” he mumbled, turning abruptly toward the back office.
Suki completed the form with quick, slashing script. Orphan. Trust fund. Boredom. Those were the real answers, but she wrote ‘student’ and ‘customer service.’ The inheritance was a dull, heavy fact in the back of her mind—a safety net that felt more like a coffin. This, the grease-slicked air and the hungry eyes, this was life. This was proof she existed outside of a bank statement.
Dave returned with an orange tank top. It looked small. “Restroom’s around the corner. Change, then you can shadow Melissa on the floor.”
The bathroom was a closet of cracked tiles and sharp chemical air. Suki locked the door and faced the mirror. Her own reflection–striking, foreign, hers. She pulled the white tank off, the cool air hitting her skin, and pulled on the Hooters top. The fabric was cheap and clingy. It showcased every curve, the deep neckline plunging. She fluffed her hair, wiped a smudge of lip gloss, and smiled at herself. The smile didn’t touch her eyes, which remained watchful, calculating.
When she walked back out, Dave was by the service station. A blonde waitress named Melissa, with tired eyes and a professional smile, was filling salt shakers. She looked up, gave Suki a once-over that was both appraising and weary, and nodded.
“Hey. You’re Suki? Just watch how I work the tables. Greet, smile, upsell the wings. Keep the drinks full.”
“Got it,” Suki said, her voice sweet.
The lunch “rush” was two tables. A pair of construction workers in dusty jeans, and an older man in a suit reading a tablet. Melissa moved with efficient grace. Suki watched, but her focus was on the men watching her. The construction guys had stopped talking. One elbowed the other. Their attention was a physical touch, a warmth on her skin. She leaned against the wait station, one hip cocked, and met their stare. She didn’t smile, just looked back, letting the silence stretch until the one in the red hat finally looked down, suddenly fascinated by his menu.
Power, thin and sweet, shot through her.
The suit man was subtler. His glances were over the top of his tablet, quick and assessing. When Melissa went to the kitchen, Suki glided over, picking up the pitcher of Diet Coke. “Refresh that for you?” she asked, her voice softer now, intimate in the near-empty room.
He looked up. His eyes were a pale, cool blue. “Thank you.”
She poured, leaning in more than necessary. The scent of his cologne, something expensive and woody, cut through the fryer smell. He didn’t stare at her chest. He looked at her face, at her mouth, then back to her eyes. It was a different kind of hunger, more controlled, which made it more interesting.
“Just starting?” he asked.
“First day.” She set the pitcher down slowly. “Hopefully I make a good impression.”
“I’d say that’s guaranteed.” He offered a small, tight smile before returning to his tablet. A dismissal, but a polite one. A challenge.
Dave called her over to the register, his earlier unease replaced by a nervous, proprietary air. “You doing okay? You’re not, uh, bothering the customers?”
“Just being helpful.” She blinked at him, all false sincerity. “Like you said. Personality.”
He reached out as if to adjust a stack of menus next to her, his arm brushing against the side of her breast. It wasn’t an accident. The touch was a test.
Suki didn’t flinch. She turned her head toward him, her lips a breath from his ear. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Careful, Dave. The health department might not like you touching the merchandise.”
He jerked back as if burned, his face mottling red and white. He stammered something about checking inventory and walked away, his shoulders hunched.
Melissa appeared beside her, shaking a bin of ice. “He’s an idiot,” she said, her voice low and flat. “But he signs the checks. You play with fire, you’ll get this place burned down. Or you will.”
Suki just shrugged, the movement making her ponytail sway. “Maybe it needs burning down.”
The afternoon light bled through the front windows, harsh and unflattering. The suit man left, leaving a crisp twenty under his glass. The construction guys lingered, ordering more beers they didn’t need, their jokes getting louder, aimed at her.
She delivered the fresh bottles, her fingers deliberately brushing the one in the red hat’s hand as she placed it down. “Anything else I can get for you guys?”
“Maybe later, sweetheart,” the other one laughed, his gaze locked on her backside as she walked away.
The game was simple. It was a loop of attention, a hit of validation that quieted the numb hollow feeling for a few minutes at a time. She was in control. She decided the glances, the breaths caught, the clumsy touches. The money in her trust fund was silent and passive. This was loud. This was real.
At the end of her shift, Dave handed her a wad of cash for the trial. “Same time tomorrow,” he said, not meeting her eyes.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” She took the money, her fingers briefly trapping his. He flinched again.
Outside, the sun was blinding. She peeled off the orange tank right there in the parking lot, standing by her car, not caring who saw. She tugged her own shirt back on, the soft cotton a relief. The cash felt dirty in her hand. She shoved it in her glove compartment, next to the registration for a car that cost more than Dave would make in five years.
She started the engine, the roar satisfyingly deep. As she pulled out onto the main road, she caught a last glimpse of the restaurant in her rearview mirror—a tacky, glowing symbol in the fading daylight. A stage. A trap. A playground.
She smiled for real this time, alone in the car. Tomorrow, she’d wear a different lipstick. Tomorrow, maybe the suit man would come back. Or someone new. The possibilities were endless, a buffet of reactions to consume. It was never enough, but for now, the hunger was quiet. She turned up the radio, letting the bass vibrate through the seats, and drove toward the empty mansion, the night still young and full of potential.