“This is the place,” she said. “I’m going to go in there and nail it. Are you coming with me?”
“Yes, but I’ll hang back. Knock ‘em dead, girl.”
“Thanks.”
Amanda strode in, head held high, flashing her pearly whites. She went straight to the register and waited for the man to finish with his customers, a mother and small child. The man wore a bow tie and apron.
“May I help you, miss?” the man said.
“Yes, sir. My name is Amanda. Are you the manager?”
“Even better.” The man grinned. “I’m the owner Sam Plum, as in Sugar Plum.” His belly jiggled as he chuckled.
“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Plum. I noticed your sign out front and I’d like to apply for the job.”
“Are you a hard worker, Amanda?”
“The hardest.”
“Can you smile while scooping ice cream?”
“It’s impossible to scoop ice cream without smiling, sir.”
“True. Very true. The position calls for someone available each Saturday and up to three evenings. Tuesday through Friday shifts start at four p.m. The grill is closed Sunday and Monday.”
“Sounds great, Mr. Plum.”
“Ah, but what about transportation? If hired, how do you expect to arrive on time for your shift?”
“Well, I can take the Jo, but I don’t live far from here. School’s out at three. I could walk and still be here by four.”
“You wouldn’t be pulling my leg, would you, young lady?”
“Oh, no, Mr. Plum. I promise.”
“Amanda, you certainly seem like a perfect candidate; however, it’s been my experience that nobody is perfect.”
Amanda didn’t quite know what to make of the comment. She said, “I’ll do my best. Truly I will, if you’ll give me the chance.”
“Well, that’s all I can ask, isn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Okay, then.”
“Okay?” Amanda asked. “Do I get an application?”
“Can you start Tuesday?”
“Yes, sir.”
“It won’t be as busy on Tuesday.”
Amanda noticed the next customer was ready to pay, and the line had grown for ice cream.
“Thank you, Mr. Plum. I won’t let you down.”
“Oh, one thing.”
“Yes?”
“Please bring me the sign from out of the window.”
“Gladly.”
She returned the sign and Pammy suggested they take the bus to Oak Park Mall to flirt with guys. They played games at the arcade, then ate at the food court before catching a movie.
It was the most fun Amanda could remember having.
CEREMONY OF PRENATAL TRAUMA—MOTHER
“… Disrobe, whore. Let Lucifer cast His eyes upon you, so that He may witness the progression of your pregnancy …”
“Bring in the cage …”
“Lucifer demands punishment to His spawn in the womb. The fetus is not yet ready so the whore must endure the punishment. So says Lucifer.”
“Hail Lucifer!”
“The whore shall endure and pass along pain, strife, concern, and anguish to the fetus until such time that the fetus can withstand its own trauma. Let the Ceremony of Prenatal Trauma begin!”
“… Halt! Do not kill the bitch. Cage her.”
“No. Please. Don’t do this.”
“Silence, whore! Or these men shall silence you. Can you feel it?” the Ceremonial Father spoke. “Can you feel the fetus growing within you, child..? Good. Lucifer shall be pleased.”
“Hail Lucifer!”
“Thus ends the first stage of the Ceremony of Prenatal Trauma. Wheel this breeder away.”
* * *
“… Wake the whore with urine …
“Can you feel the child within you move?”
“No, Father. Food. I need food.”
“Have you felt it move lately?”
“No. It doesn’t move. I’m starving. Please, give me something to eat.”
“Silence! Let the Ceremony of Prenatal Trauma conclude. May these elderly fucks have their way with the whore. Wake the fetus but do not damage it or kill the girl or there will be hell to pay.”
“Yes, Father. Praise Lucifer!”
“… Does the fetus stir within you, whore? Is it alive?”
“It moves.”
“Excellent. Take this filthy whore from my sight. Clean her, bathe her, and clothe her. Lucifer has no further need for her now. Take her home—and take the cage with you.”
“Yes, Father. Praise Lucifer!”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Another scoop of mint chocolate chip ice cream went on the sugar cone. “Would you like sprinkles?” Amanda asked.
The little girl bounced with excitement. “Please, Mommy?”
“Sure, sweetheart.”
“Yay!”
Amanda added the sprinkles, and then, with cone in a holder, scooped chocolate into a cup for the girl’s mother. Amanda loved her new job so much she could hardly wait for her school day to end.
“Any sprinkles, fudge, or whipped cream for you today?” she asked with a beaming smile, upselling the toppings as Mr. Plum had trained her to do.
“No, thank you. I’m trying to watch my figure.”
“Okay, then. I’ll ring you up at the register.”
Yesterday had been taxing, with its new-hire paperwork, training in policies and procedures, and meeting co-workers. But today, though, Amanda felt confident enough to work without constant supervision which Mr. Plum allowed her to do. It really wasn’t hard: scoop ice cream, take grill orders, ring up sales. She also served food as a courtesy and wiped tables clean in the dining area during downtime.
Things seemed to be going good with the Hennings, too. Amanda, wanting to stay ahead of the game, had spent extra time Monday after school doing her chores and even helping Mrs. Henning with her herb garden. Although she still felt uncomfortable around her foster mother after last week’s incident, the two did talk, and Mrs. Henning had offered Amanda her bike to ride to work, since she and Mr. Henning rarely used them anymore.
“How is everything?” Mr. Plum asked as he pushed through a swinging door from the kitchen.
“Plumb dandy,” Amanda said, a sort of impromptu joke which had sprang up between employee and employer.
“Sweet. Business may pick up in a half-hour or so.” His eyes swept the small dining area and stopped to linger on the front door. “Jill hasn’t arrived?”
“No, sir. Just me.”
“Well, hopefully she shows soon—she’s always late. Then you can meet her. Don’t hesitate to ask if you have any questions or need any help.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Plum.”
He disappeared, and Amanda, spray and towel in hand, went into the dining area to spot-check the tables. She had just finished her tour of the dining room when bells sounded. She saw a curly-haired teen push through the door.
“Welcome to Sugar Plum Grill,” Amanda said cheerfully.
The girl just scowled at her, her eyes as dark as her hair. Only when she rounded the counter and retrieved an apron from under it did Amanda realize who she was.
“Hi, I’m Amanda. You must be Jill.”
With a roll of her eyes Jill said, “Whatever.”
Amanda put away her cleaning supplies. After a moment of awkward silence Amanda felt compelled to tell Jill “Mr. Plum is looking for you.”
“So?”
Bells rang as a family entered the establishment.
“Welcome to Sugar Plum Grill,” Amanda said alone.
“I’ll work the register,” Jill said. “You scoop ice cream and bus tables.”
Amanda, smiling brightly for her customers, felt her Sugar Plum cruise to paradise beginning to sink. What was Jill’s problem? Well, whatever it is, let Mr. Plum deal with it, Amanda thought.
She did her job as trained, enjoying the customers, ignoring her self-absorbed co-worker, who M
r. Plum eventually noticed had decided to show up for work. After a few minutes discussing things behind closed doors, Jill reappeared.
“I hate that fat fuck,” she muttered under her breath.
Amanda tried to ignore Jill but Jill, now wanting a sympathetic ear, said, “Can you believe he’s docking my pay? Sheesh. I wasn’t that late.”
“You can’t expect to be paid for time you aren’t here.”
Jill looked Amanda over. “What do you know? You just started working here.”
Amanda may have just started, but logically, how could anyone expect to be paid for time they weren’t at work? She wanted to say something but instead kept her mouth shut. Luckily, business seemed to pick up but Jill, who only wanted to man the cash register, primarily stood off to the side while Amanda was left to do everything else. When the line of waiting customers grew long Amanda said:
“Jill, can you help me, please?”
“Fine.”
Scooping so much ice cream for customers led Amanda to anticipate her upcoming fifteen-minute break. Double-fudge brownie was calling her name. As she placed the final scoop of strawberry on a cone Jill said:
“Ring them up. I’m taking a break.”
It wasn’t fair, since Amanda had started her shift a half-hour before Jill. Amanda didn’t say anything, though. She could wait another fifteen minutes.
A few minutes later, bells jangled at the front door.
“Welcome to Sugar Plum Grill,” Amanda said. The smile on her face continued to linger as a guy her age with short-cropped blond hair returned the smile. He strode in, hands buried in khaki cargo shorts, white sneakers squeaking on black-and-white checkered floor tile. The dark blue T-shirt he wore accentuated his lithe but toned physique.
“Hi,” he said. “Are the burgers good here?”
“I haven’t tried one yet. But I’m told they are wonderful, and customers seem to like them.”
“In that case I’ll take a single patty with cheese, fries, and vanilla malt.”
“Do you want everything on your burger?”
“You know it.” He flashed his pearly whites and Amanda felt spotlighted by his attention.
“How about whipped cream on your malt?”
“Hm …” He pretended to contemplate the option. “Do you recommend whipped cream?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. It wouldn’t be the same without.”
“Okay. Give me whipped cream.”
“Coming right up. I’ll bring it out to you when it’s ready.”
“Great. You don’t mind if I watch you make the malt, do you? I’m curious to see how it’s done.”
“It’s pretty simple, really. Just a second.” Amanda called his grill order back to the kitchen through an order window. Then she started scooping ice cream into a blender pitcher.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Is it that obvious?” Amanda said.
“Oh, no. Not at all. I come in here sometimes for ice cream, and I’ve never seen you before. I’d remember if I did.”
Amanda felt herself begin to blush, so she turned to busy herself with adding milk and malt as she sputtered a Thank you.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” he said. “I’m Brad, by the way …” —his eyes darted to her name tag— “Amanda.”
“Who me? I’m not embarrassed.”
Brad grinned. “Your cheeks are a lovely shade of red.”
“Are not.”
A mechanical whirl of the blender silenced his flirtatious behavior. Although Amanda attempted to avoid his gaze, she did spy him watching admiringly as she poured his malt and applied a signature curlicue of whipped cream to the top, a technique she had been perfecting and was proud of. She even added a few multi-colored sprinkles to the top, just for fun.
“Great job,” Brad said. “It almost looks too good to drink.”
“Almost,” Amanda agreed with a smirk. “I can ring you up at the register.”
Brad paid then took a seat near the window, positioned such that Amanda could see him cut his eyes occasionally in her direction. She tried to stay busy and discreet with her own glances while she awaited Jill’s return and Brad’s burger.
They both arrived within a minute of each other.
“Your meal, sir,” Amanda said, sliding it onto his table. “How is your malt?”
“You knocked it out of the park, Amanda.”
“Thank you. May I get you anything else?”
“No, thank you.”
“Enjoy.”
Amanda, still smiling, allowed their gaze to linger as she turned. She went straight into the kitchen, looking for Mr. Plum.
“How’s it going, Amanda?”
“Plumb dandy. May I take my break now? We’re caught up in front.”
“Go right ahead.”
“Thank you, Mr. Plum.”
Amanda informed Jill of her break before scooping herself ice cream. She went into the dining area to sit down.
“Break, huh?” Brad said.
“Yes. I love the ice cream here.”
“You don’t have to sit alone. Join me. My dad is working late and Mom had a thing. She left me a note and some money and told me to get something to eat for dinner. My buddy Tony was busy having dinner with his family, so, well, I came here. Now I feel sort of lame sitting alone, you know?”
“Okay, sure. Besides, you won’t bite, will you?”
“No promises.”
Amanda joined him and found herself diving into his beautiful, bright blue eyes as they made conversation. He had two younger sisters and didn’t live far from here. He had a license and a car, and ran track at public school.
“I go to Monarch Prep. It’s an all-girl school.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it.”
“It’s been nice talking to you, but my break is over.”
“Can I have your number? I could give you a call, we could go out sometime.”
Amanda could barely believe her ears. “Sure,” she said. “I’ll write it down for you.”
She discarded her ice cream cup, found her purse under the counter, and wrote the Henning home number on a napkin and gave it to Brad before he left.
Jill, casting a dirty look at Amanda, said, “What was that all about?”
“Brad wanted my number.”
Jill huffed. “Why?”
“Look, what’s your problem? You’ve been a ‘B’ since you got here. If you’re upset that he never asked for your number, that’s your problem, not mine.”
“I’ve never seen that dude before. Where do you go to school, anyway? I’ve never seen you before, either.”
“Monarch Prep.”
“That explains it.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“All the girls there are sluts.”
Amanda let it drop. She tuned Jill out as best she could for the remainder of the shift. Which proved easy enough to do with her mind alternating between focusing on her work and occasionally drifting to Brad. She thought more about Brad on the short bike ride home.
Amanda went inside planning to take a shower before bed. It was slightly after ten p.m. and the downstairs dark. Upstairs she could hear the television news playing in Mr. and Mrs. Henning’s bedroom. Amanda, with robe, nightgown, and fresh panties, went into the bathroom and showered. As she opened the bathroom door she heard footsteps and turned to find Mr. Henning leading Amy by the hand up the stairs. Mr. Henning said nothing but glanced at her as he passed. He raised a finger to his lips to thwart any sound. Amanda at first didn’t know what exactly to make of it. However, the glazed, straight-forward expression on Amy’s face frosted Amanda’s freshly showered skin.
Mr. Henning led his daughter into her room and Amanda darted across the hall to her own. She sat on her bed and listened to his retreat down the hall only moments later. She rocked on her bed for ten or fifteen minutes before trying to read a book. Her mind jumped from the odd encounter to her conversation with Brad. Guilt crashe
d over Amanda for thinking such a thing. She didn’t want to come out of her room until she turned eighteen and could leave. She also knew that would never happen. In fact, she didn’t want to truly do that. She wanted Brad to call her, for them to go out sometime. It just seemed so selfish and wrong. And bad. This entire place stank of sweet, spoiled perfection.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mr. Plum handed change to a mother treating a gang of boys in soccer uniforms to frosty treats. “Enjoy your ice cream,” he said.
“We will. Right, boys?”
“Yeah!”
Mr. Plum’s smile faded as Amanda returned from a cleaning tour of the dining area. He said softly, “If Jill doesn’t show in the next five minutes I’m going to put the Help Wanted sign back in the window.”
“I’ll try to work faster, Mr. Plum,” Amanda said.
“No, Amanda, I didn’t mean to imply … You’re doing a wonderful job, but you can only do so much. It’s just … I’m behind on my paperwork. Sometimes there isn’t enough hours in the day.”
Amanda frowned.
“It’s not your worry, kiddo. I’ll probably just come in for a few hours Sunday or Monday to get caught up. I do appreciate all that you’ve been doing here. Especially considering this is your first week. You’re a Sugar Plum natural. Truly you are.”
“Thank you, Mr. Plum.”
“Oh, by the way, I’m putting next week’s schedule together. I realize I asked you to work three days during the week instead of the usual two this week for training. But do you think you could do the same for me again next week? I’m afraid things just aren’t working out with Jill. Fudge frosting and brown sugar but I do believe I’ll need the help.”
Chores at the Henning house were keeping Amanda busy, along with her homework. By putting in extra effort Monday and Thursday everything seemed to be working out okay, so far. She didn’t want to push her luck, though.
Amanda said, “I’d be glad to, Mr. Plum. Truly I would. I have to make this part-time job work for my foster family … If my chores or grades start to slip …”
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