Baby Doll Ch. 02

"Jessa and I are going for a walk," Jenny told Rebecca the next night. The curvy woman was holding a folded up blanket, a flashlight, and a cooler. "Don't go out for a walk until we come back."

Rebecca looked up from her phone, then she put the phone next to her on the living room couch. "It's dark out. Are you guys going to be okay? And why don't you want me to leave?"

Jessa's grin was a bit too confident. "We do this all the time. Don't worry. Just stay here."

Rebecca stared at her. "Uhm, okay." Maybe they were worried about someone breaking in while they were gone?

And they left. Rebecca decided it probably wasn't any of her business anyway. She heard a lot of howling, though, and she was almost uncertain about it. Her first thought was that a wild dog was out there, but then she thought that it might be a wolf or a coyote, if coyotes even howled, and she wasn't sure about that.

Why was it so loud, though? It was almost like the animal wasn't more than a few feet away. Curious, she peeked out a few windows into the backyard, but she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. The edge of the forest was nearby, but nothing crazy was going on there, unless the dark colors of the night were hiding something. She hoped the happy couple wasn't in any danger.

Her attention went back to her phone. She was idly looking up Lolita styled clothing. She used to wear that stuff a lot.

"You'd better fuck my Baby Doll's little pussy, nice and slow, there we are."

That voice again. The memory of it was jabbing her mind.

She had enjoyed the various kinds of Lolita styles because they were cute, and wearing the outfits made her feel like she was in a fantasy world. When she had shown her mother the outfits, the dear woman said, "It's sexy! It shows off your legs!" That had made Rebecca laugh. She was pretty sure the point of the Lolita aesthetic wasn't to be sexy at all, even if it did happen to share a name with an old novel about some sick and twisted creep.

When she had shown the fashion style to ... him ...

Rebecca took a breath. She pressed her thighs together. She was ashamed of herself. There was heat there, right there, right at her labia and into her clitoris.

And the taste of watermelon hard candies ... moist from his saliva, just ... shoved into her mouth as if she had no choice in the matter ... no ... NO! She had to stop these disgraceful thoughts! He turned out to be ... something ... she shouldn't think of him that way anymore!

She was trembling.

She was whining.

She was weeping.

It wasn't fair. As weird as he was, she had loved him so wonderfully, so openly, and he turned out to be ...

She didn't want to wear a Lolita outfit ever again, even if they were charming and fun, and oh my gosh this pair of Mary Jane style shoes were on sale! She impatiently slid her finger on her cell phone to see more information.

You know what? Rebecca decided that it wasn't good to let bad memories dictate what she did. She didn't have to think about him while wearing those outfits. All she had to think about was how cute she'd look. She still had a bit of savings anyway, and she pretty much had a job. She wasn't going to purchase an entire wardrobe, just enough for a single outfit. There was no need to panic. She needed to enjoy herself.

Hopefully, she'd end up feeling the same way about other things, like candy and cunnilingus.

***

It was early morning on her last day of training. She was glad to know she'd be official soon. It was practically guaranteed by the Boss, as he was often called during work hours by her roommates. Other times, he was just Cliff to them. To Rebecca, he was Mr. Miller, or Sir.

A fog was playing around with the summer morning air. She admired it from a window for just a moment as she listened to Mr. Tommy Tatum, the manager, explain something to her. She listened and nodded her head. Mr. Tatum was pretty chill, but he didn't like slackers. That thought was in her mind as she went to find a coffee jug. She went back to the dining area and scanned what few customers they had. It didn't get very busy this early.

She was pouring coffee into an old man's mug when the main entrance's bell sounded. Rebecca looked up, ready to greet the person, and she realized it wasn't a customer at all. It was Mr. Miller, looking like he had been born of the fog, cradled by it, and had risen from it like a placid ghost.

"Good morning, Mr. Miller," she said to him with her best perky tone, and she watched him nod and smile.

"Good morning," was his response. He poked around for a few minutes, asked the manager about something, and then he left. After the fog had faded away an hour or so later, he returned, wearing a jogging suit, a gym bag, and a thick film of sweat. He didn't even talk to anyone. He just went to the soda fountain and helped himself to a tall glass of water. Vaguely, Rebecca wondered if this was a health code violation, not that she would have complained to anyone if it was.

Rebecca happened to squeeze by him. She shouldn't have sniffed at him, but she did, and he smelled just as sweaty as he looked. It made one of her knees buckle just slightly. Luckily, she hadn't been carrying anything other than a pad and pen. She reminded herself to not freak out over the hotness that was her boss and swiped up a menu for the newest customer. It was getting a little busy. She needed to concentrate.

Even if he wasn't her boss, he probably had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, maybe even a spouse. She hadn't asked about him, and her roommates didn't go on about his life very much, so she didn't really know.

From a corner in her stupidly wandering eye, she noticed him go into the men's restroom, probably to clean himself up. Apparently, that gym bag had a fresh change of clothes in it, because when he emerged he was in a clean shirt and black pants. Even his shoes were different, fresh black sneakers instead of dingy white. He went into the kitchen; Rebecca assumed he was still checking on things. Then, he went into the dining room and asked a few customers if they needed anything. He even refilled someone's glass of sweet tea.

Rebecca saw him shake the hand of a very friendly toddler and introduce himself as if he was talking to someone very important, beaming all the while. The toddler's parents proudly cooed about him, telling Mr. Miller how old he was, how smart he was, and how well behaved he was for a boy his age. It was then that the toddler decided that we was going to reach up, make a fist into Mr. Miller's thick cloud of hair, and yank as hard as he could.

"Aaagh!" Mr. Miller's eyes shut so tightly that they might as well have been sealed. His hands floated at his side, trembling. He was probably doing his best to keep from touching the boy. While one instinct demanded self defense, a much stronger instinct also demanded precaution when dealing with the smallest of children.

Rebecca had to serve someone a large tray of food to a full table. By the time she had given everyone their plates, she saw that Mr. Miller was free, rubbing a sore spot on his scalp. His mouth was an open smile, and he was laughing. The little boy didn't seem to have any idea that anything inappropriate had happened, and he was blissfully looking at his mother's face. His father was apologizing, but he didn't really need to. Mr. Miller wasn't mad at all.

Once her shift was over, Mr. Miller called her into the office. It was an itty-bitty room full of papers and things. He sat down in the only seat, a desk chair. She left the door open by only a crack. Gosh, the man took up more space than the various office supplies ever could. There was barely a foot between her small feet and his great ones, and he still smelled like pine needles and steak cooked just the way she liked it. Damn it.

"You did good, Rebecca." He was already writing out a check, but he had to use his thick thigh to hold up the pad because there was no room on the desk. "I'm giving you your paycheck now, because you really need it, but that's the only special treatment you're getting around here, got that?"

Yes! Money! Money was good. She liked money. Her attitude rose to something truly cheerful, and not that fake sort of cheerful that she had to put on while working. She almost didn't feel tired anymore. "Yes Sir," she said, nodding. "Thank you very much, Sir." She used two hands to take her paycheck from him. She glanced at the amount and saw that it was exactly what she had expected to make. "I look forward to working here, Sir, if you'll have me."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand at her like he was dismissing her, but she was pretty sure he wasn't. "Hey, you doing anything later tonight?"

Rebecca froze.

The man had the audacity to continue. "This has nothing to do with your job, okay? No special treatment allowed, but I was thinking you might like to go out sometime."

Her nostrils flared. Something like betrayal was gnawing at her brain. She had hoped that this wouldn't happen, hoped that he'd just see her as a hard worker. How ... the fuck ... dare he?! She slapped her check onto the floor. "I can't believe you!"

She didn't care if anyone in the cafe heard her. She didn't care if she was embarrassing him. "I've worked my ass off and all you wanted from me is a wet dick?! Fuck off!" She was so angry, so impulsive, that she didn't even bother to remember that she really needed this job. She turned and was about to leave both him and the paycheck behind, but his steadfast clamp of a hand latched onto her arm and kept her from proceeding.

Insanely, she held onto her fury. Her eyes shot imaginary flames at his strangely crestfallen face. "Let me go right now!"

The door opened a little more. Mr. Tatum peeked in. His voice was like cat litter on carpet. "What in the hell is going on here?" He noted the position the two were in. "Why you got her arm like that, Cliff? That ain't like you. What did she do, hoard tips?"

"It's all my fault, Tommy." She was shocked to hear him say that, and right at his employee, too. She looked back at him with a hanging jaw as he said, "I went and did something retarded."

"Well maybe don't do it again? You don't need a kick in the balls." His eyes narrowed. "And if you don't let her go right now, you'll lose a manager and a nice waitress, but you'll get a black eye."

As Mr. Miller complied silently, Rebecca decided to say in a soothing tone, "He didn't hurt me, Mr. Tatum. We just had a little misunderstanding." Her lack of income was banging in her memory at that point, and she thought she should reapply her sweet demeanor. She couldn't rush away the redness in her face, though.

She pressed her knees together, crouched down, and picked up her paycheck. "I don't think we'll have anymore misunderstandings." She smiled up at Mr. Miller, trying not to cringe at the twitching in his jaw. "Since that's out of the way, Sir, if you and Mr. Tatum agree on it, and it wouldn't be any trouble to anyone, I would love to work here. The waitresses are nice, the work is fun and challenging, and I just love when the regulars put money in my hand and say nice things."

That wasn't an exaggeration. That had literally happened several times, and every employee in the cafe knew it. Rebecca had to quickly learn how to balance tasks and move with care, but she never needed to learn how to charm the pants off of a customer. It didn't matter to Rebecca that she had to put the tips in a jar to be divided later on. The fact that they took the time to personally slide bills into her fingers, look her in the eye, and compliment her, rocked her mind with pride and satisfaction.

As she slid back up into a standing position, she folded her paycheck into her purse. She was so pleased to hear Mr. Miller say, "I'd be glad to have you."

Then Mr. Tatum said, "Good, then."

***

That evening, Rebecca was asked to join her roommates for dinner. It was a lovely setup. Jessa had cooked up some baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and sweet peas. Once Rebecca had her fork in the poultry, Jenny said to her, "You know people are talking, right?"

"I figured as much." Rebecca grumbled after giving a long sigh. She cut into the chicken.

Jessa's voice was sprinkled with choler. "I'm sorry about that, Tiny. I don't know what got into him." Rebecca felt the woman pat her shoulder. "Look, I don't think he would've refused to hire you if you said no, but you didn't know that. He can be a selfish ass sometimes."

"Definitely not a good time to ask a girl out. He could have least waited for you to get used to working there," Jenny added.

"Don't you worry, Tiny," Jessa's rough voice insisted. "Nobody thinks you did anything wrong. Tommy set everybody straight. It's all Cliff's fault, and everybody knows it."

"You're going to have to knock him into next week, you know that, right?" Jenny was talking to her wife that time.

"Yeah, he's going to get one hell of a black eye the next time I see him, stupid ass." Jessa said all of this so casually, so calmly, that Rebecca didn't know if she was being sarcastic or not.

"Hey, Jessa," she started, giving up on trying to eat her chicken, "Who's older, you or Mr. Miller?"

"We're twins, Tiny. He came out first, but I was grabbing his ankle."

Huh. That was cute. Rebecca shrugged at the knowledge.

Then she heard howling. She looked up at her roommates. "Are there wolves out there?"

Jenny took a swig of her drink. "Uh, probably. I hope nobody shoots them, poor things."

"They're good for the environment, believe it or not," Jessa pointed out. "They mostly hunt for the weak and sick animals. So they end up keeping those species pretty healthy."

Rebecca agreed. "Yeah, I think I read that somewhere." She winced at the howling. "Damn, sounds miserable."

"You know what, Tiny," Jessa said as she scooped up some potatoes, "you don't sound like a kid right now. You sound like your age. It's kind of weird."

"Oh, good." Rebecca was too distracted by the howling to think too much on that.

Dinner was lovely, but it was marked by that damn howling. Rebecca suffered through it even as night crept along, even as she tried to sleep. Soon, it seemed that even Jessa was tired of it. She heard the great woman swing the back door open and bellow out, "JENNY, GET MY SHOTGUN!!"

And that was when the howling stopped.

On the start of the following week, Rebecca made a plan to keep her strength up. Throughout the week, she made a habit of walking around and around the house, paths of circles and ovals. The best time to do it was around six or seven in the evening, or maybe eight in the morning, depending on her work hours. The summer heat was too unbearable. She just kept walking and walking, daydreaming or figuring out some stupid problem.

She preferred to do this without an audience. She didn't care if her roommates knew what she was doing, but she didn't like being stared at. She had mentioned at one point that she wished she had a bicycle, but she secretly knew that actually going on the road was practically an act of bravery.

One day, Jenny approached her and said, "There's a forest back there, you know. Some parts have enough space for a truck to pass through. Make sure you can see the house at all times, or at least see the way back to the house."

Rebecca didn't like having company when walking like this, but she didn't want to go into the woods by herself. She was afraid of getting poison oak or poison ivy or something else on her skin, and she had a great fear of spiders. The thought of wild animals didn't scare her, though. They tended to run away at the sight of people, she assumed. She explored maybe three feet into the woods and went back to the house, earning a frustrated groan from both her roommates.

Near the end of the week, Jessa brought home a bunch of old, rusty, kid's bicycles; they were apparently from the local dump. Rebecca didn't ask about it, didn't think it was her business. She found out it was her business, though, because Jessa went to her with a slightly adjusted bicycle and told her she needed to use it for the sake of her mental health. It had the words "girl power" painted on it in a delicate script.

Green eyes firm, smirking, Jessa also handed Rebecca a woman's bicycle helmet and told her not to thank her. Rebecca ended up hugging her. She buckled the helmet on, took the bike, and rode circles in the backyard, right on a bare concrete slab. She had to kick away underused lawn chairs to make room. Twenty minutes later, when she went back into the house, Jenny told her that she needed a, "big ass hamster wheel." Jessa told her that the house faced a, "god damn road" and she needed to, "try going somewhere."

Rebecca admitted to the two that she didn't have the courage for that, and they just stared at her.

During this week, work was uneventful, or as uneventful as working at a restaurant could be, except for one incident that happened early on, around the time she had decided she should go on walks. When Rebecca trotted into the cafe, she heard a slamming noise in the back, which startled the customers, but they were too polite to get up. They remained in their seats with questioning looks.

Tying her apron up, she went into the kitchen and saw the reason behind the noise. Mr. Miller was against a large fridge, as if he had been pushed against it. His hand was covering an eye. Jessa was asking someone to fetch her a first aid kit. "I can't cook with a bleeding hand," she had said.

This was unprofessional, ridiculously so. Rebecca's instincts pulled her to Mr. Miller, and she asked what was going on. One of the dishwashers blurted out the truth in a rush of amazement. Jessa had punched her brother right in the face.

Why in the world did she have to do that during work hours, in the kitchen, in front of employees?! Jessa was a much more seasoned professional in the working world! She should know better!

Rebecca's hand reached up to Mr. Miller's great shoulder as Jessa was patching up her hand. "Mr. Miller, hey, you need some ice?"

"Probably," was the man's reply. His hand lowered. He was definitely growing a black eye. Mr. Miller looked around at the concerned employees and barked out his next words. "Hey, this was nothing! Everything's fine now! Back to it!"

The strategy most people sort of agreed on was to simply ignore the problem. As soon as Jessa's hand was bandaged up and covered with a glove, she went back to work, and she didn't explain her assault to anyone. Mr. Miller didn't explain anything either. If anyone asked a question, he'd assert the need for everyone to forget about it. Rebecca didn't want any part of it at all. She just wanted to get through the day and get as many tips as possible.

***

She was going to do it; she was unwavering. Rebecca was going to ride her old bicycle on the road. There wasn't anywhere special she could go to, since it took a fifteen minute drive in a car to get to the nearest town. Still, she thought she might as well do something she had never, ever done before, especially not as a child. She was going to get on that road without the imagined safety of a car.

It was an almost sleepy road, a road that had an occasional car, but was never busy. Rebecca thought she should keep to as close to the edge of the road as legally possible, and to look back every few minutes. One of her worst fears was being hit by a car.

She chose some casual jeans and a cotton T-Shirt, comfy old sneakers and no bra to hold in her bosom's sweat in that nasty, disquieting way she had always hated. She pulled her long hair back with an elastic band and popped the helmet on, making sure it was comfortable. A fanny pack was about her waist, containing her keys and her phone.

It was around evening time. The sun wasn't anywhere near as cruel as it had been hours ago. The air still had a warmth to it, though. She wasn't planning on riding very long. The last thing she wanted was a long trek home in the dark. Trees stood left and right, giving a crisp but sweet aroma to the air. The bicycle's wheels felt smooth against the pavement. She was zooming faster than she had ever remembered. It was delicious.