The Death of Dorian

Jacob.

Shick-bang. It was 5:59 a.m. and he was a minute early for work.

He’d even beaten Frankie here, which was fine for the peace but bad because Frankie would assume Dorian had shown up between six and whenever Frankie showed up. Which meant the morning was going to suck.

And it did. Almost as bad as the afternoon.

Frankie arrived sometime after the first customer finished his omelet and before the second ordered a glass of orange juice to chase his coffee. After a cordial greeting of “pussy-lipped ankle-grabber” and a short one-way about Dorian’s lack of testicles, Frankie contented himself to lean against the doorframe to his office and stare at Lara’s ass until she threw a packet of creamer at him.

She was nice, and oddly the exception to Frankie’s waitress rule at nineteen years old. While filling up a fresh pot for the last old mobster alive and free, she eyed Dorian.

“Frankie sucks.” This was the beginning of the morning suck ritual.

Dorian nodded. He was paying more attention to the scrambled eggs on the grill.

Lara huffed. She still didn’t seem to grasp that Dorian only spoke to announce orders. “You know, he won’t fire you for talking and I’d like not feel like I’m talking to the walls,” she said.

Dorian nodded again.

“Oh fine. You don’t wanna talk, then don’t. Whatever.”

She grabbed the pot and stalked off. Her ass shook hard enough for Frankie to grunt.

“Hey sexy, leave the fucktard alone,” he said. Dorian hated it when he said something almost nice. “It ain’t like he’s got a dick to get hard, poor shrivel-shit got it sucked off by his daddy!”

And that was why.

“Hey ugly, lay off Dorian for once in your life,” she replied. Dorian loved how they talked like he was out of the room.

“Only if I can lay on you, sweet cheeks.”

“Hah! You couldn’t find it even if you could afford it, Frank.”

Frankie grew dark and shut himself into his office, much to the humor of the morning patrons. Everyone here had seen this exact scene play out every day for since they’d come here. That was part of the fun of Scum’s. You got free entertainment with your meal, adults only. The audience knew, to the minute, how long Frankie would be in his office and what would happen when he came out.

He’d yell at Dorian. Again.

“Blueberry short stack with browns and Benedict with extra hash,” Lara said. Dorian didn’t understand why she had to read each ticket to him, she didn’t write like Jessica or Bethany. Hell, he could even read Hillary’s seizure-written tickets without too much problem.

“Order five is up.”

She delivered the plate of eggs and toast to haggard man sipping coffee and reading a small notepad.

She threw out her best give-me-a-good-tip smile. “My, you look worn out honey. How about I freshen up that coffee, hmm?”

“Thanks,” he said. “You’d better hurry, though. Frankie’ll be out in about a minute.”

“Wow, you must come here a lot to know that.” Giggle.

Haggardman stretched another sip of coffee. “A bit. ‘Sides, it’s a side effect of the job.”

Before she could ask, and Dorian could eavesdrop, what his job was, two things happened. A short, solid man came into Scum’s wearing a goatee and bright expectations, and Frankie cascaded out of his office toward Dorian.

“What the fuck do you know about anything, you no-dick-whore-cunt-ass-vacuuming-biker-broad!”

Dorian couldn’t help but ghost a smile. Biker broad? What? Frankie must be tired.

“Order six is up.” This, too, was in perfect synch with the every morning. Probably planned by the customers. Oh well.

“You must be Frankie,” said Solidman. “I’m looking for a job.”

“Sorry princess steroids, I’m full up on waitresses,” Frankie said. “You should check with Lara and see if The Spot needs another dancer. I hear ol’ Buck’ll take anything that can get up to the stage, ain’t that right ‘Desire’?”

“Oh, shut up, Frankie. Buck runs a respectable place, unlike you.” Dorian found Lara sticking her tongue at Frankie as she walked by especially convincing.

Solidman raised a hand. “No no, I’m looking to cook. Moved here a week ago and everyone says this place has the best general fare.” He shrugged. “Figured I could learn something.” Like how to be insulted and fired after a day, just like the rest of the cooks.

“Fuck me a with sledgehammer, are you serious?” Frankie said. Dorian almost didn’t imagine it. Almost.

“Real serious, sir,” Solidman replied.

Then he made a mistake and ruined Dorian’s already shitty day.

“Heard Dorian was a helluva cook.” Damnit.

Dorian faced the grill and focused on cleaning it. Frankie faced Solidman and focused on going insane with hate.

“Dorian… fuckin… cook… fuckin… FUCK!” Was as far as he got before part of his brain melted. Frankie was so pissed off that even Dorian saw red and Lara took an early break.

Solidman waited.

Two years passed for five minutes before Frankie returned to his normal insanity.

There was a dark light in his eyes.

“Fine, asshole. Dorian’ll train you for the next two days and you’ll get minimum wage,” he said. “Ain’t that right, shitnose?”

The grill sparkled, but Dorian kept cleaning. No, training required talking. Talking equaled fuel for Frankie. No.

“Sure thing, boss,” Solidman smiled.

In far too short a time, Solidman stood beside Dorian wearing an apron, hairnet, and an annoying smirk. Dorian ignored him until the Death hour.

“I need four burgers with fries and rings, a BLT extra mayo no side, two chicken strips, one with ranch the other with barbeque, both with tots, Dorian,” Lara said. She spread a stack of tickets on the counter, then turned to Solidman. “You’re an idiot for working here, guy. Don’t talk to me, you won’t be here long enough for me to want to care.”

Solidman was still wearing his annoying smirk.

“No problem, girl. We’ll catch up tomorrow,” he said. Wow, he was annoying.

“Whatever. Just stay out of Dorian and Frankie’s way.”

“Sure thing.” Annoying smirk.

Lara rolled her eyes and went to deal with the next wave. Dorian reached for the closest ticket.

“Don’t worry D. I’ll take that one,” Solidman said. Then he held out his hand. “Name’s Jacob Kenton, glad to work with ya.”

Dorian set the ticket down and started grilling.

“My name is Dorian, and Lara’s right.” He hoped.

“No it ain’t.” Shit, Frankie. Forgot about him. “It’s dickbreath, D for short. Right, Dickbreath?”

Jacob opened his mouth and luckily closed it again. He must really want to work here.

Dorian waited until Frankie went to do whatever it was he did in his office before he spoke for the second time that day.

“The grill runs hot, so put the burgers a minute on each side unless Lara says different,” he said. He dressed two patties from the grill and moved to the fryer. Jacob followed him.

“How long for fries and tots?” No smirk. Good.

Dorian raised and latched a basket of chicken while he thought. He never paid much attention to this stuff.

“I guess whenever the burgers are done or so.”

Lara slammed three more tickets on the counter and chewed non-existent bubblegum at him. “So, you talk to him but not to me, huh? Figures,” she said and walked off to grift more tips.

“Wow, I wish I had your lady skills D,” Jacob said. The smirk was back. “She really a stripper?”

“Finish up these orders, I need to piss.”

Dorian kept his mouth shut until Lara clocked out at two and the statutory club arrived.

He had to hand it to Jacob, he learned fast on the line. Now he just had to learn to shut up around Frankie.

“Hey Frankie, what do you do when you’re in your office?”

“Work, dipshit. You know, that thing I hired you to do and Dorian never does,” said Frankie. He leaned in toward Jacob. “That pussydick can’t keep me outta his wet daydreams, the herpe-faggot.”

Dorian handed a club basket to Bethany. No reason to call attention to himself.

Jacob was smirking again.

“Aww, come on Frankie. You don’t have to lie to me,” he said. “You got some dirty mags in there, don’t you? Anything good? Please tell me it ain’t Heavy Hitters or anything like that, otherwise I won’t want to borrow them.”

Frankie pulled away from Jacob, awkward smeared on his face. “What the fuck, boy! You better clean up that mind real quick. I won’t have you circle jerking Dickbag behind the counter here. One drooping asshole is already too many for this fine establishment.”

At that moment, Jacob seemed like an all right guy. Too bad he was making ready for a pink slip.

“Omigod, did you see Frankie’s face?” Jessica asked. She ignored Jacob as hard as Dorian ignored Frankie. Dorian didn’t like it, and he really didn’t like her shirt. It reminded him of the ride home.

“Yeah, I think he really does read Heavy Hitters in his office.”

“Uh, who was talking to you, guy?” Jessica turned towards a random table. At least this time there was someone sitting in it. Bethany.

She said, “Wow, what’s up with that new guy? He’s, like, totally trying way too hard.”

Jacob faltered. His smirk didn’t. Damn that smirk.

“Just making conversation, ladies. Don’t get all huffy,” he said.

The girls looked at each other and rolled their eyes. It was like watching synchronized vomiting. They went to wipe down tables at the far side of the diner.

Jacob continued to smirk and talk too much until four, when Frankie got fed up and sent him home for the day. Everyone, including Frankie, was surprised he wasn’t fired.

Frankie met his quota of insults to Dorian around seven, and by seven-thirty Scum’s was dead. Frankie found the lack of audience boring, and decided to close early. By eight everything was cleaned up, cooled down, and turned off.

Dorian clocked out, washed his hands and found his keys. Everyone else was already gone. Almost.

Leaning against his car was Jessica. No coat this time.

Crap.

“Hey, mind if I like get another ride?” She batted her eyelashes. Again. “My friend Lindsey, well, she’s not like, my friend friend, but kinda like just, you know, this girl I know at school. Anyway, she was all like telling me about this other girl, she had some strippery sounding name, but like, whatever because she got raped or something late one night in town by some gang or something.”

“Sounds like a reputable source for local news.” He really didn’t want to deal with this tonight.

“Oh totally, her dad reads the paper every day.” Then she must know what she’s talking about. Sigh.

“Does she read the paper?”

“Whatever, don’t change the subject, Dorian. I like really need a ride home, okay?”

Dorian massaged the bridge of his nose. The headache wasn’t bad, but he just wanted a night of peace for once.

“Fine, the door’s unlocked.”

She looked at the passenger door. “But the lock thingy is like pushed all the way down.”

“Trust me.” He got into the car while the passenger door fell off.

“Dammit, not again.”

He got out of the car and worked on getting the door reattached. Jessica was twirling her hair and Dorian was praying to no one that she was just reminding herself to breathe.

“You know, if you’re, like, gonna be giving me rides and stuff you totally need a new car. This like really needs to stop,” she said.

Crick, bang! And the door was back on. Dorian got back in the driver’s seat. His door groaned a warning as he pulled it shut. Don’t you dare, door.

It didn’t.

“If you don’t like it, find someone else to take you home,” he said. The car farted to life on the third try. Sounded like he would need to get a new car. Later. “You’re the one who asked me for the ride.”

Jessica vented some head-air. “Look, I told you forever ago that Beth can’t give me a ride, okay? Geez, Dorian. What’s going on, I thought you were cool.”

Something that might have been talk radio slurred through a lake of static in the car speaker, and the emergency brake was stuck. Great, stuck in a vengeful car with a bubbly idiot.

“I’ve just got a headache coming on. And I think my car is stuck.” The Beatles played to a screaming riot now, or maybe it was still talk radio. He couldn’t tell and didn’t care.

The brake was still stuck and they couldn’t move.

“I could like, try to help, you know.”

“Fine. I’ll pull, you push the button.”

“Kay.”

It took three tries, but Jessica finally got her part right. It took another two tries for the brake to release, and they crawled to the front of Scum’s.

Dorian felt a tap at his shoulder. He was determined to stare straight ahead to dissuade any shirt buttons from wanting to undo themselves.

“Um, Dorian? Can we, like, just, you know, drive around for a little bit? I don’t really want to go home yet.” Again with the eyelashes.

“Something wrong?”

“No, not really. I just wanna like, talk and stuff.” No stuff.

“Let’s just stick with talking for now.” He turned right down the street. He hoped she was just restless. He really did.

They drove for a few minutes in silence. If she thought Dorian was going to talk first, she really hadn’t learned anything. Oh Oh It’s Magic made another attempt to be heard.

Finally, “You don’t like me, do you?”

What?

“I’m giving you a ride, aren’t I?” Please don’t be that kind of like.

She cranked her hair-generator for a bit and looked out the window. “Yeah, I guess. I just, I dunno, nevermind.”

“Something wrong?” Third gear groaned into place.

“Hey, are you hungry? There’s an awesome place up ahead. I’ll like, buy, Dorian.”

“I’ve already eaten today, but might as well.”

She giggled. “You can eat more than once a day, stupid. That’s like, what normal people do.”

“I’m not normal?” Thanks.

She eyed him and adjusted herself. “You’re, um, like almost normal.” She smiled. It was nice. “Don’t worry, though. I’ll totally help you be normal. Ugh, I’m starving!”

They went through the drive-thru and sat in the parking lot to eat. The night was warm, so they tried to roll down the windows. Dorian’s got stuck a quarter down, Jessica could only crack her’s.

“So… whaddyou do when you aren’t at work?” Jessica was eating her burger in parts. Lettuce, tomato, pickles, leave the onion on the wrapper. Weird.

“I go home, same as everyone.”

“Wow, this must be like a totally new experience or something for you! You don’t go out at all? Like, how are you gonna find a girlfriend?”

“Well,” he chewed. The burger was dry and greasy at the same time. “I did go to a bar the other night, but it turned out to be a dump.” To put it nicely.

“Ew, bar’s are gross and smell mega-bad. That’s why there’s like, never any cute girls there.” She wrinkled her nose at the remnants of her bun. Dorian paused to look at her. Her shirt was low-cut and he couldn’t figure how she could have self-respect wearing it.

“How would you know?”

“TV, duh. Geez, Dorian. I’m not like that.” She was tearing the burger to pieces and popping them into her mouth like popcorn.

“Hmm. Sure,” he grinned. He wasn’t used to it and stopped.

“Aww, why’d you stop? You look way normaler when you smile.” She smiled burger at him.

Something felt odd, besides the seat spring in his nutsack.

“Jessica, --“

“Yes, Dorian?” She was facing him. He didn’t like it.

“Tell me why you don’t want to go home.”

She crumpled back into the passenger seat and sipped her soda while twirling her hair. Dorian felt his hackles prepare to rise.

“Look, I just, like, wanted to hang out for a bit, okay? I thought you could use a friend, but whatever. Just take me home. Jerk.” She crossed her arms and stared out the window.

“Alright.” He shoved his soda into his crotch and started the car.

She didn’t say anything the entire drive to her parent’s place, and was so angry that the passenger door opened without a fuss. She stormed up the steps and went inside without looking back as Dorian drove towards his own place.

Oh well, the hot air should be cooled off by the time she shows up for work tomorrow.

Dorian wished he knew what he said wrong.

And that was why he didn’t have a girlfriend.