INB 4 - It's Her

Jesus finally meets his girl! But there's a catch...

I walk through the restaurant doors, to the toilets. I magic "Biff" up some clothes. He excuses himself while I dress; waiting outside the stall, "Can you still back out of the deal?"

 

"I'm not planning-" I hear something. I know not to speak so people don't think I'm crazy.

 

It's the main toilet door, swinging. Heavy footfalls make their way to the stall next to mine, a deep voice breathing heavy and grunts coming from the other stall.

 

I quickly grab my robe and make my way out the stall, tossing it in a bin on the way out.

 

A waitress leads a family to a table as I wait behind a podium.

 

Cutlery clinks on plates and people merge together as they walk past each other. The crowded restaurant has an atmosphere of a romantic dimness, with chandeliers and candle lit tables. Despite happy young couples, families fill the room. Their children try to blow out the candles when their parents aren't looking.

 

Water fall wallpaper contrasts with the white, clean tablecloths and origami napkins. Glasses filled with champagne are lifted by large groups of people, celebrating. A waitress in a black uniform and white apron happily leans over a customer, filling their wine glass.

 

The kitchen is off to the right, a door with a small round hole for a window on it. Backing out of this door, is another waitress, in a uniform matching the others, brown hair tied back into a ponytail. She shuffles backwards, her chin on a pizza plate as she turns around.

 

It's her.

 

She comes out at me like a bulls-eye, a bright yellow target. Her oval face is perfectly in proportion, a cute button nose with a sloped bridge, narrow, heart shaped lips and green-grass eyes.

 

She begins dishing out the plates, smiling at customers. She puts down the last one at a table, nodding and laughing. She puts a hand to her chest, looking to the sky as she chatters away. Every so often she lifts a shoulder, putting it to her cheek.

 

A waiter walks past her, looking as if he's telling her off. He taps her on the shoulder and points at me. She nods enthusiastically, turning on her heel and heading for me. Another waitress gets to me first, the one that led away the family.

 

I frown on the inside, but this one acts as personable as the green eyed angel. I smile. That's going to be her nickname, Angel. God's little angel, perhaps?

 

"Have you made a reservation?" The waitress turns a page to a list of small names written on it.

 

"No."

 

"Mmm, shall I escort you to the bar whilst you wait Mr...?"

 

"Benson." It comes to me suddenly. I like it. Mysterious, manly, straight forward.

 

She smiles, but it's not as sweet as Natalie's. I smell her breath and it reeks of smoke. It reminds me of the Devil, "Woops, I guess I'm starting another forest fire."

 

No, this woman isn't the Devil. She's too perky. She's attentative and hardworking and she asks what I'd like to drink and remembers to bring it to me. She's not the Devil. The Devil couldn't know already. She couldn't be watching me right now, could she?

 

Biff comes from nowhere, poofing up on the bar, "So?"

I jump, choking on my drink.

 

"Sorry, right, can't talk. People will think you're nuts." Biff looks excited. He knows. "I would've thought you'd pick a 7 or higher, but a 5?"

 

She's not a 5. He knows he can get away with it though because I can't talk back. I'll get him later.

 

He flies up behind me, patting me on the back, "I really thought you'd get a makeover and think you were too good for everyone. I thought this would make you see that you could maybe have a real life, like a human? Maybe not have to be under the Devil's thumb? I'm still really worried about this." 

 

He's right. But if the Devil hasn't come for me, then maybe there isn't much of a deal at all. But, my moment of freedom is ruined.

 

A crackling like fireworks fills my ears. A puff of pink smoke comes out of nowhere, slowly rising up past my head. As it disappears, Biff and I are back up in the clouds. A loud thud comes from the Devil's red heels as she lands on one of the clouds. She stands before us, flashing a sly smile, a hand on her hip.

 

Her soul snatching eyes grab me, "Grab a seat." She doesn't break eye contact. In fact, her attitude's changed. She looks me up and down, raising an eyebrow, "I see you got a new look."

 

"Yep."

 

The Devil snaps her fingers; making bamboo chairs around a matching table appear. She leans over the table and strokes it, "The pandas won't these. They're going extinct anyway."

 

Biff flutters over to a bamboo chair his size, on the table and sits down on it, quietly, hands in his lap. He looks over his shoulder, expecting me to take a seat.

 

I stand tall, addressing her coldly, "Hello."

 

"God, please, come sit down," she caresses the table, softly, back and forth with her hand. Purposely, she lifts a hand and places a fingertip in her mouth. She pulls it out, her finger nail dripping black, like the tip of a quill pen. "Let's discuss the deal."

 

"I'm listening."

 

 Would you like to sign a contract?"

 

"It depends..."

 

She snaps her fingers, a contract falling from the sky rapidly, then floating down to the table like a feather.

I come to the table and hunch over the contract, skim reading it.

 

"She's an... atheist?" My pitch rises.

 

"Carry on reading," she prompts.

 

"You need to make her believe in you...na na na na...a week or I'll have you!" I whip my head up, gaping at the Devil, "This is insane!"

 

She tilts her head to the side, eyes burning, "If you don't sign it, I'll take you now. And I'm sure you wouldn't want to make any more mistakes. Picking that girl was one of them."

 

"Oh I thought you meant me creating Justin Bieber."

 

The Devil squints her eyes angrily as if I insulted her idol. Miraculously, she ignores the comment, rather than challenging me. I like to think it's because she's gained respect for me being casual. Unfortunately, I know what she's like. She thinks she will have me in a week's time - and that she can overlook one thing. It doesn't matter anyway, she'll have her way.

 

She just doesn't need to know that she's wrong.

 

 "So, tell me, why the change of look?"

 

"Why? What do you think?" I stare blankly, still a distance between us. I still refuse to sit at the bamboo table.

 

She shrugs her shoulders, "It's okay." It's not. She's got this glint in her eye, some weird flirtatious look. I can't shake the image of her torturing me if I fail. I can't waste my time wondering what perverted things are running through her mind.

 

"Will you sign the contract? Or...will you spare us the time and hand yourself over?" She flicks her head over her shoulder, confidence brimming.

 

I sigh. The contract. I have no choice.

 

"As per usual, God, we've settled on an agreement." The Devil bites her lip and pushes back from the table, coming up to me. She shakes my hand, but as her thumb strokes mine, she still has that look. She pulls my hand, so that our foreheads touch. Beads of sweat start dripping from my forehead.

 

She whispers, "Don't think you've won yet." Another puff of smoke pops out of nowhere and she's gone. In her place is a green and blue clouded portal.

 

I look at Biff, "Why's she acting like that?"

 

Her looks confused, "She always acts like that. I told you she was a freak. So, do you want to see that girl? We've only got a week!"

 

"Hiya," A high pitched voice chirps, a small finger nail poking my back.

 

Within seconds, I've gone from the skies to miles below, back at the bar. So has Biff - who stands on my left shoulder. The voice isn't his, it's cute.

 

"Would you like to be shown to your table, sir?"

 

Clutching my glass in one hand, I spin round on the stool. "Yes, sure." I look up, a nametag saying 'Hello, my name is Miranda.' She scratches her long, pale neck with slender fingers, her brown hair slightly curled at the bottom of her ponytail, it's her.

 

"Mr. Benson, you will be seated at table 9," she gestures to a table with two seats by a window. She gives me a menu as I sit down. "What would you like to order?"

 

"Some champagne, chicken and a chocolate mousse for dessert, please."

 

Miranda walks to the kitchen, hips swaying.

 

Biff glides down from my shoulder and onto the table, "Make a move!"

 

"I'm a bit rusty," I face the table, speaking through my teeth like a ventriloquist.

 

"I'll talk you through it. Oh, she's coming."

 

Miranda asks me if I'm enjoying my meal, so repeating everything Biff says and instructs me to do; I manage to get her to sit with me just by asking, "When does your shift end?"

 

She looks around, spotting a clock on a far wall, "In...half an hour."

 

"Great." I hear Biff mutter, "Banter."

 

Staring down at my plate, I stop her just as she turns to go, "This chicken's a bit undercooked."

 

She leans over, inspecting the perfectly crispy outside, "It looks fine, sir. How do you like it cooked?"

 

"Uh, call me Guy. I like to be on a first name basis. And, I like it shaken, not stirred." I raise an eyebrow; Biff slapping his forehead with his hand.

 

"Excuse me?" Miranda's eyebrows come together, her lips twitching as if about to snigger.

 

"I mean, well cooked. Almost burnt."

 

"Okay, Guy, I'll take that for you," she picks the plate up, my knife and fork strewn across it.

 

Sipping the champagne, my eyes keep darting to the kitchen. Miranda emerges, carrying my plate with black, charcoal on the surface.

 

Miranda gently places it down.

 

My smile's fake, "Just what I wanted, thank you."

 

She smiles back, "Always glad to see a happy customer!" She winks playfully, heading on to another table.

 

"There you go! See how easy it is to get a 5?" Biff says enthusiastically.

 

"Will you stop saying that?"

 

"She's a 5?"

 

"Yes. How is she possibly a 5?"

 

"Uh well, there's nothing great about her face. If she weren't a 5, don't you think she'd be an actress or a model?"

 

I wonder why he's saying this. She's not a 5. Maybe he wanted me to be with Natalie, so he could embrace his Tinkerbell obsession. Or to be with the married shop assistant that he didn't know was married. She could've been a model.

 

But then, they both had average jobs didn't they? Being curvier, Natalie was not going to a model and that gorgeous married woman must've had children; something must've tied her down. I couldn't see her as the kind to not chase modelling.

 

"Maybe she is. Sometimes models and actresses work in restaurants too."

 

Biff shakes his head, "No - she's not one. She can't be. You'd never notice her in a crowd."

 

"I noticed her. Now, now..." I feel anger being evoked in me, a passionate stirring never felt before. "Now shut up!"

 

Biff looks taken aback, and retreats into my pocket, "Moody sod," he mutters.

 

Later, I dab my mouth with the napkin, after shaking it out from an origami swan.

 

Miranda comes back over, "Hey, I spent forever making that!"

 

"That's what napkins are for." I put it down in a clump on the tablecloth, "Is your shift over?"

 

"Hmm-mm," she plonks herself down on the chair opposite mine, "I'm just so sick of them making us fold those things and then people like you come in here and just mess them up!"

 

"Yeah, I'm sorry," I force myself to make eye contact with her, those green eyes penetrating me, a stronger, more intense feeling than that of the Devil's stare. Those round eyes blink, a one-two pattern as she pulls her hair bobble out, her ponytail swishing free and down. Brown, ocean like waves cascade down the left side of her face. She looks stupendous, an angel. Seeing her, the sweetest woman in the restaurant, sitting opposite me makes me smile.

She has a youthful glow, an innocence, a naΪvety. The playful winks, the way she takes so much pride in her appearance.

 

Miranda asks, "I bet your girlfriend would've loved this. Where's she tonight?"

 

"She doesn't exist."

 

"So she's imaginary?"

 

I smirk, "I see why you're a waitress."

 

"Hey, you need to give me a larger tip for that!" She playfully shoves me.

 

"I was always going to give you a large tip," I beam, having fun at her unstable manner.

 

"Good. Because I have-" her phone rings from inside her apron, a mission impossible theme, "Excuse me." She scoots out the restaurant, talking into her phone.

 

I watch her from my seat. I try to guess who it is. She holds it up to her ear, a shy smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Okay, not a woman, she'd act stronger, like those crazy women in the clothing shop. Mm, pigeon toed. She's staring at her feet, swinging her foot on the pavement. Definitely not business related, which I would've guessed already.

 

She almost nestles the phone, leaning her ear down toward her shoulder. Every so often she laughs, eyes closing and sighs afterwards. In a big smile, I notice how large her mouth is, containing perfectly straight teeth. She must've had braces when she was younger. Her posture changes, she sort of hunches into the phone, a private conversation. There are a few giggles, her eyes crinkling shut. She paces a little, nodding what looks to be "hmm mmms." The hmm mmms. Kind of like how she did for me. Maybe it's someone around her own age and male - like a close friend or brother.