Tonight’s the night. I’m really going through with it
this time.
They always say write what you know, so I have to do this if I want
to be successful. Here I go. On the count of three.
Take a deep breath. One, two, three…! The bra’s off and
under the car seat.
This is my first step toward becoming an erotic fiction writer. It
seems a logical evolution for an unsuccessful romance novelist. I
can’t write what I want to write, I’ll write what sells:
sex. I don’t want to spend my life slinging margaritas and shots
of Jose for a living.
Okay, time for me and my ruffled, scoop-necked, restaurant-issue senorita
blouse to brave the public.
“Carolina! Thank God you’re here.”
“Hey, boss.” Does he really think his cocktail waitresses
will get here sooner if he stands around in the parking lot looking
for them? “Ugly in there, huh?”
“Fabio’s swamped. You’re going to have to bar back
until Jeff gets here.”
“Got it, boss.” Into the kitchen.
“Hey. Hey, Carolina!”
Wow, that smile from the cook is a little bigger than usual today.
“What’s up, Rod?”
“Want to see my new tattoo?”
“Depends. What is it?”
“The word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s the longest word in the dictionary.
Guess where I had them put it.”
“That’s disgusting, Rod. Sounds painful.”
“Worth every ounce of anguish. Wanna see it?”
“You’re going to have to show it to some other lucky girl.
I’ve gotta get out on the floor.” I think this braless
thing is working a little too well. At this point I’m feeling
more embarrassed than erotic.
Damn, no wonder the boss was hanging out in the parking lot; there’s
a of ton people out here. Standing room only at Fabio’s end
of the bar, as usual. Wonder which girls he’ll take home tonight?
He’d make a great character in an erotic fiction piece.
“Carolina!”
“Fabio!”
“Here, start your shift out right.”
“Sauza Gold? Right on.” I think he’s looking at
my nipples. Wow. Okay, not feeling erotic right now. Feeling naked.
Time to get to work. “What can I get you?”
“Top shelf margarita on the rocks, no salt.”
I think that customer saw down my shirt. I guess that’s the
point.
“Here you go, sir. Seven dollars, please.”
“Thanks. Keep the change.” Whoa--twenty bucks on a seven
dollar tab! Damn! Maybe being erotic has its benefits.
“Caroliiiina! Caroliiiina!”
Oh, shit. These drunks come here every Thursday night and get tossed.
They’ve arrived a little earlier than usual tonight. God, I
better take another shot.
“Be right with you guys.”
Sauza is my best friend on nights like this. Helps to be drunk when
dealing with drunks.
“Hello, guys. What can I get you?”
“Round of Tecate.” They’re staring at me. Leering,
actually.
“Starting easy tonight, huh?”
“If we start with tequila we’ll never make it to closing
time.”
“God knows we can’t have you guys cop out before closing
time.”
Okay, I’m gonna lean just far enough over the bar so they can
get a quick peek. This is for my writing career…This is for
my writing career…This is for my writing career…
Another twenty dollar tip! Damn, sex does sell! Goodbye
romance, hello erotic fiction!
“Carolina, can you check and see if an order of guac is up for
my customers?” When Fabio is smirking like that, it means he’s
working his charms on at least two women. “Rod is slacking back
there.”
“No prob. Keep an eye on the regulars. They’re going to
plow through that Tecate pretty fast.”
Sideways canter through the press of drunken flesh, straight toward
the kitchen, avoiding all customer eye contact.
Oh my God, look at all the tickets hanging out of the printer! Why
are all the cooks huddled around the walk-in?
“Guys, what are you looking at? You’ve got order tickets
hitting the floor! What’s going on--?”
I am so out of here.
Back to the bar. “Fabio, your guac is going to take a while.
Rod is giving the new girl a taste of his tattoo. In the walk-in,
with all the cooks watching.” I know this would make great story
fodder, but I don’t know if it’s so much erotic as it
is perverse. There’s got to be a distinction between the two.
“Carolina’s your name, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me.” I’ve never seen this sleaze
bag before. Check out that stack of hundreds in his hand!
“I’m interested in making a business arrangement.
What time do you get off?”
All right, you know what? That’s it. I’m done. The bra
is going back on. Forget erotic fiction.
“Fabio, I need another shot!”
Camille Picott's X's and O's story can't appear in
this issue of Bust Out because it is being considered by another magazine
which does not allow simultaneous submissions. "Erotic Fiction"
was also written for this workshop.
Camille lives in Sonoma County, California, with her
husband and three cats. When she's not writing she's outside working
in the garden. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bust
Out, flashquake, and Devil Blossoms.
