“So if you don’t know, this is a pizza parlor and arcade for kids all rolled in one.” There was pride in his voice. The dark carpet with neon geometric shapes practically glowed.
“Aren’t all arcades for kids?” I asked, looking back at the animatronics. There was a drawn-out moment of silence. I looked over at Gus and he was giving me the most scathing look I’d ever seen. My eyes bugged a little and I wondered what major offense I could have accomplished in my statement.
“No,” he finally said with a very long sigh, mumbling under his breath about respect and gaming.
“Right, okay, got it.Kidsarcade plus a Pizza Hut.” Then I mumbled, “Plus whatever nightmare fuel those are.” I looked at the empty spot. It wasn’t empty anymore. How had I…the dim lights and the neon carpet were playing tricks on me because there was no empty spot now, there was Frankie himself—a tall, humanoid coyote wearing a trim-fitted business suit of all things like some wall street banker who was rolling in cash. Broad shoulders, a thin waist. A smirk was on his face and his tie was rainbow striped. Christ, who designed him? Why’d they make him so…so…
Don’t fucking say attractive, I growled at myself. He wasnotattractive. He was a fucking robot coyote and his eyes were oversized and practically lidless. I shivered, some archaic part of my lizard brain really disliked his almost but not quite human-like features.
Whoever thought that design screamed kid-friendly probably had the Night Stalker news reports recorded to video tapes to watch on repeat.
2
Iwas wearing the slutty clown outfit and it was even worse than I anticipated. Worse than anyone probably could anticipate. It was as if they intentionally thought of all the ways an outfit could make a job harder.
Some parts were sort of cute, maybe. The white collar that hung over my shoulders was okay until I realized it ended in points that had jingling bells attached to the ends. The rainbow thigh-high socks would be cool if they didn’t keep rolling down my thighs.
“Shouldn’t work outfits, I don’t know, be convenient for working?” I asked Maureen the bubble gum chewer as I held up my arm and saw the six inches of extra sleeve hanging from the tips of my fingers. It was a loose-knitted turquoise sweater that went over a pink tank top that covered little more than my chest. “Won’t this drag through the pizza?”
“And cake, yeah,” she said, popping a bubble.
“How do I grab things?” I asked in exasperation. My arm flapped around and I watched the extra half-foot of fabric sway back and forth.
“You have to roll them up every time. It’s a pain in the ass but you get used to it.”
“Howdo I get used to this?” I asked then my feet slid and I nearly fell on my butt because, of course, we wore roller skates. Of course. As I twisted around, trying to not fall, my rainbow-striped shorts crawled further up my ass.
“These are underwear, not shorts,” I hissed, trying to grasp the locker door through the sleeves. I eyed my own clothes inside the locker with longing. My mom’s purse was bursting with Avon products that wished for freedom. Dealing with that seemed like a piece of pie compared to my work outfit.
Maureen stood up and slammed the locker shut, making her point that complain-time was over. My arms spun around like windmills as I watched her glide towards the locker room door. Her blonde hair was blown out with a dreamy feathered look, her layers and bangs fluffy and with bounce. Practically a Farrah Fawcett stunt double, especially with how she skated with ease backwards, watching my arms spin around with both fascination and apathy. An expression I’d never seen anyone able to pull off before.
“You’ll get used to the skates too,” she offered.
“And what about the shorts?” I asked. Her ass was half out too but unlike mine, her butt was petite. Mine had underbutt cleavage and a jiggle. “This place is for kids, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Kids love the outfit,” she said. “Disturbingly so,” she mumbled as she flipped around and glided down the hallway. I groaned and stumbled after her, half falling, half rolling the entire way.
“Ramona!” My mom’s ex barked out. He was seated at one of the long tables in front of the stage wearing a thick golden chain, a sweater, and chunky sunglasses. None of these things were appropriate for the location. It was hot, dim, and kids were notimpressed by gold chains. A half-smoked cigarette clung to life on his bottom lip as he talked.
“Ray,” I growled, falling after Maureen. She turned and eyed me up and down, looking at me with a more critical eye now that she knew I knew Ray. He was ruining my reputation before my job really even started.
He scanned my outfit, glass blue eyes squinting, and barked out a laugh that was far too loud, spittle flinging from his lips and his face turning red in delight. His cigarette leapt from his mouth and landed on the table, sparks and ash flying out and dying quickly on the table.
“What are you doing here?” I grumbled. He had to wipe tears of laughter from his eyes before he could talk. The cigarette continued to burn unperturbed on the table and I watched as a small blackened mark appeared before he finally plucked it back up.
“This is my haunt, me and my buddies like theaesthetic,” he said with a weaselly little smile. Aesthetic? I looked around at the kid arcade and aged animatronics in horror. Then I looked back at Ray and finally gave the two guys with him a brief glance. They wore matching windbreakers and also sported the sunglasses and gold chain Ray wore. Whereas Ray had black hair, these two had hair so golden it had to have been bleached.
“You all look like criminals,” I commented. Ray spit out the soda he had been drinking from the yellow Frankie Funhouse cup. “Oh god, you are criminals,” I groaned. In theory, I had already known that. Ray was a drug dealer but I had not expected him to run his ring out of a kid’s funhouse in the mall.
“You need to learn to keep that pretty little mouth shut, Ramona.”
“Okay that was gross,” I practically threw up the words on the floor. “Is this why Mom finally dropped you? Because you sell coke at Frankie’sFuckingFunhouse?”
“Your mom couldn’t handle the fact that she didn’t put out enough.” He slapped one of his buddies' backs with a bark of laughter. “Hansel and Lars get it!” The two blonde men didn't give any indication they were part of the conversation. I’d learned not to be surprised by any crass or stupid remark from Ray’s mouth. The man was a walking joke of a human, an infuriating one that I thought about strangling regularly.
“You’ll learn this one day sweetheart—”
“Don’t ever call me that again,” I grumbled.
