DEMERITS, (c) By Jolie du Pre’, Copyright 20002
joliedupre@hotmail.com


“Brian’s gone.”

“What do you mean gone? Fired?” I asked as I clocked in for my shift.

“Yeah,” Sue continued, “I guess he’s been ripping the place off for months.”

Brian was the General Manager of Maria’s Restaurant for the last two years.  twenty something, comical guy, who made me laugh, but who had to be one of the laziest men I’ve ever known. If he could bribe someone else to do his job, he would. His engaging personality made me want to trust him, even though I knew I shouldn’t.

Before Maria’s, he worked for the Board of Trade, and he would sell cocaine, on the side, to the traders. He had quite a lucrative business going, but I heard he was hooked on the stuff. I imagine that’s why he stole from Maria’s. He got away with it for a while.

“So, now what are we supposed to do?” I said.

“Tom’s gonna take over until we hire someone else. Guess it’ll be chaotic around here.”

“No more than usual,” I responded.

So the weeks went by with Tom, our District Manager, in charge and no GM. It was the same old shit for we wait staff. Customers expecting full refunds on half eaten meals that they claim they disliked. Shitty tips. I couldn’t decide what was worse. Shaw’s, where I worked before Maria’s, where most of the customers were rich, and I’d walk out with tons of money, but was treated like a servant. Or Maria’s, where the ghetto mentality among some of the patrons was so strong, you were lucky to make 10 percent.

What was the appeal of working at Maria’s? I guess it was my friendly co-workers, and the five minutes walk from my apartment. And despite the struggle for a decent tip, I made enough to survive. Besides, what else was there? I’m 24 years old, with three years out of college and no plans for the future. I majored in Sociology, but I’m not sure why. “Are you going to be a social worker?” They’d ask. But social work never appealed to me. There was always law school, but that didn’t hold much appeal either. Dad’s dead and my mother considers me a big disappointment, so we rarely speak. I was one of the few people in my family to graduate from college and what had I done with it?

I managed to swing a small apartment on my own, and I’m able to keep up with my bills. Once in a while, I’ll meet a woman that I like. But, I’m not in a relationship, and I haven’t been for a long time. There’s only one gay bar around here, and I get tired of that place. I’m bored, depressed and lonely a lot of the time.

About five weeks after Brian left, she appeared. Ultra short blond hair, stocky, no make up, plaid oxford shirt, Dr. Martens. I know lesbians and she screamed it.

I was alone in the dining room of Maria’s, doing opening work, when she came in. She looked me up and down really slow. She had strange hazel eyes. I got a chill.

“Hi. I’m Debra. Are those chairs placed correctly?” She said.

“My name is Corrine,” I said. “Are you our new General Manger?” I wasn’t going to acknowledge the question about the chairs, didn’t feel like being bossed around without proper introductions.

“Yeah, I’m taking over for Brian. I understand he was quite a character. Make sure those chairs are straight. And by the way, those pants of yours are awfully tight.” She started writing something in her notebook, and then she went upstairs to the office.

I was pissed. Why was she looking at my ass anyway? No manager has ever told me my pants were too tight. I ignored it. I wasn’t about to go out and buy new pants, especially since rent was due soon.

After work, walking home, I should have stayed mad at Debra, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the penetrating gaze of her hazel eyes. As the days went on, I could feel myself becoming attracted to her. I don’t know why. I mean, she was at least ten years older than I, and she rarely talked to me. All she ever did, it seemed, was write in her precious notebook.

One night, I was putting a salad together for a customer. She was standing next to me, with her notebook, so I decided to question her about it.

“What are you writing?” I asked.

“Demerits.”

“What?”

“Demerits. You’re really filling this thing up.”

“What do you mean?”
“Every time you make an infraction, I give you a demerit. You were late last Thursday. You didn’t finish your side work last night. Oh, I could go on, but you need to take that salad out to the customer right way.”

“I just want to know why I’m getting this shit...I mean stuff. What about
everyone else?”

“I wouldn’t worry about everyone else, Corrine. I’d worry about you. You’ve gotten nine demerits so far. The tenth one, and we’ll have to have a meeting.”

I wanted to quit, but I need my job. I couldn’t cry racism, because lots of servers here are minorities, and she’s fine with them. And, I know they fuck up as much as me. I checked around, and I discovered that none of the rest of the wait staff knew about the demerits.

So, I decided to go over Debra’s head and go straight to Tom to complain about the situation. I know I’m not the perfect waitress, but I was being singled out.

Before I was to do this, however, she said to me one day, “Corrine, you got your tenth demerit. I need to meet with you to discuss this.”

I agreed to it, because at least she couldn’t say that I didn’t go to her first. We’re closed Monday, so she wanted me to come in on a Monday evening. Which sucked, because that’s when I watch my favorite television show, and I don’t have a VCR to tape it. I was really going to get her for
this.

When I arrived at Maria’s, the Monday evening, one of the maintenance workers was in the dining room, so he let me in. I went upstairs to look for her. Everything was dark, except for the light that came out of her office. I could smell food.

I walked in. She had placed a small table with a red table cloth, and two chairs, in the center of the office. On top of the table were two empty plates, two wine glasses, two place settings, and a lit candle.

“I figured you’d be hungry,” she said. “Thanks for coming. Have a seat, and would you like some wine?”

I nodded yes and sat down, but I didn’t look at her. My heart was beating fairly fast and perspiration was beginning to form on my brow.

“Do you like pasta?” She said. She had no idea that I loved it and that it was one of my favorite foods.

I said I did, and then I did look. Her hazel eyes change color depending on the lighting. Now, they looked almost blue. I wiped the wetness from my brow, but could do nothing about the wetness now between my legs.

She served me penne with marinara and vegetables and a nice green salad. I hadn’t had a meal that good in months.

“Here, let me give you some more wine,” she said. She placed her hand on mine while her other hand poured the wine. “I didn’t know how to get you up here,” she said. “You’re so beautiful, but the last black woman I approached turned me down flat. It was a hard blow.”

“Well . . . shame on you for assuming I would.” I said.

“Yes, shame on me indeed.”

“So, this whole demerit thing was just a con, huh?”

“Yes, do you forgive me?” She said.

We stared at each other. Her hazel eyes held me in a trance. She leaned over the table and kissed me, with lips as soft as velvet.

Then she got up from the table and locked the door. She took my hand, led me from the table to her desk and lifted me on top of it. Her arms were strong. They reminded me of the arms of the only guy I ever dated, except she was stronger.

She fell to her knees. Before I knew it, my pants and panties were on the floor, and her hazel eyes had disappeared into the obsidian curls between my thighs.

I stared at my half-eaten food and my glass of wine on the table in front of us. Then I closed my eyes and forgot they were there.


ABOUT THE AUTHOR: I have fallen in love with the world of Erotica. My
stories have appeared in Venus or Vixen?, Sauce Box, Satin Slippers and the
Feature Gallery of the Erotic Readers and Writers Association.