Indigo Fields was the love child of small town bad-ass Veronica Fields and small town mayor's son Jeffrey Silverman. Though no one outside the three of them knew that. She was born into a family of one in the back of her mother's "borrowed" pickup truck in the middle of- you guessed it- an indigo field. Her mother always said her name was destined for her. 'The stars were aligned like a good shot in pool that night,' her mother would say. Indigo was born at noon. Raised as Brimstone's star bastard, Indigo's life consisted of harmlessly wreaking havoc on those that shunned her tiny family. Her favorite past time was sleeping with the respectable men of the town. Single or not. Every decent woman avoided the Fields women, but that was not the case for most men. They could not resist the lure of the untamable auburn-haired duo. Indigo had the time of her life bragging about her conquests with her mother in their cozy mobile home at the edge of town. They would often times smoke a joint and discuss their adventures over freshly brewed cheap coffee.
That was before Veronica Fields died of an intracranial aneurysm at the age of thirty-nine, leaving Indigo alone at only twenty-two. That was two years ago. Now Indigo held three waitressing jobs just to make enough to be broke. And heartbreakingly alone. She had immediately stopped shamelessly sleeping with men and focused on straightening her pathetic life out. That was her mother's wish. 'Don't be a decent woman. Be a woman that could rattle the stars and paint the sky indigo for me.' Veronica said over ice cream just a week before violently exiting the stage of life. Indigo believed her mother knew she was going to die when she said those words.
Indigo choked on the memory as she sauntered into the neon box known as Poppy Seed's Diner. The establishment was modeled after the 1950's. Everything from its pristine black and white tiles, to its headache inducing pink neon lights, to the cutesy 50's black and pink waitress uniforms. Indigo loved it all. She greeted her boss, Mrs. Fairfax, in the hectic kitchen with a kiss on the cheek and a bag of homemade pot brownies. The older woman smiled with youthful glee as her gray eyes landed on the white paper bag. They exchanged small talk before Indigo's shift began. Tying her waist length hair into a sloppy ponytail, Indigo walked out with her signature cocky smile slipped into place.
Poppy Seed's was full as usual. The other two waitresses were late. As usual. It didn't bother Indigo. In fact, she thrived on nights like this. There were no free moments for her thoughts to wander or for her heart to remember. Someone selected an upbeat tune on Duke, the jukebox. Indigo danced from table to table like a star in a music video. She put her special status as Mrs. Fairfax's favorite to good use.
Since Brimstone was a small town, Indigo knew all of the regulars by name. Most simply knew her their favorite waitress. Others knew her as the waitress without a family. But some knew her for her shameful past. Those would usually antagonize her relentlessly. Like Head Witch Mrs. Cloverlock.
"I would love to give this diner a lovely review online, but I find their wait staff to be lacking. Dignity." The aging blonde PTA member sneered as Indigo placed her glass of cucumber water in front of her. The two blonde lackeys she brought with her snickered behind freshly manicured hands. Indigo continued to smile and placed a glass of lemon water on the table. She could ignore weak comments like this one all night long. The lack of reaction seemed to spur Mrs. Cloverlock on. Perhaps she was feeling especially vile tonight.
"But I suppose she is better than her mother would have been. Had Veronica worked here, half of the kitchen staff would be leaving her shed every morning." She said loudly. One of the lackeys gasped while the other nervously giggled. Indigo stopped breathing. A heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Then her mouth opened.
"Maybe you're right. My mother had an insatiable appetite. Your husband 'Five Inch Charlie' would agree. As for my lacking anything, perhaps your son Ian would argue in my defense. Especially after he asked me to finger his asshole once during spring break our senior year. Did you know he has a bat shaped birthmark on his left ass cheek? It's kinda cute actually." The words left her mouth with a sickly sweet voice before she could stop them. It felt like she was watching herself react. Mrs. Cloverlock turned an outrageous shade of red and looked as if she were about to shriek something nasty. After placing the last glass of water, Indigo gave a little curtsy and sashayed to another customer sitting two tables down. The truth slithered around in her belly. If anyone was the victim, it was Mrs. Cloverlock. Her only son and beloved husband really were just more notches on their bedposts.
Indigo reached her next table. It was a man that she had never seen around before. With his looks, she would have remembered him. Or at least his dick. The man was in his early twenties, though the laugh lines around his eyes made him look a few years older. His tousled ashy blonde hair and soft blue eyes seemed to glow against the contrast of his black cardigan and wrinkled navy blue t-shirt. He sat defensively in his seat, with his fingers interlaced on the cherry-red table and legs facing away from her down below. Her mother had trained Indigo to read men's body language so many times that it became second nature. Like inspecting produce at the market. This man was what the Fields women called, a herbivore. A weak willed man that would submit to almost anything with little opposition. They were not necessarily bad men. Herbivores had been some of Indigo's favorites. They were kind and gentle and always emotionally available. This one looked like a sweet scholarly one.
'He heard all of that just now,' Indigo thought with a grimace.
