I have a whole series of these stories written. They all revolve around Tucker Sims and his studio. Most of them work as stand alone stories, but some things will make more sense if you read them in the order they were posted. They are all fairly short, easy reads. I hope you enjoy them. As usual, the people and places are fictional. All characters are over eighteen.
City Diner
Ginny. A good old fashioned name, perfect for a waitress at a diner. She walks the worn out linoleum of one of those old joints that looks like a shiny, stainless steel train car. CITY DINER is the name lit up in neon. Not very original. It's a small place, on a corner lot, on a gritty street in a mid-sized rust belt city. It's a city up North, so it snows a lot in the winter. The summers are nice though. Warm and green.
It's summer when our story gets going. A summer that's extra warm and a little less green than usual. Ginny's at work. She's taking a quick break out on the back steps behind the kitchen, smoking a cigarette...
"Hey Gin, what's up," a young man said. He'd just jumped out of a faded old Mazda Miata that had seen better days.
"Slow tonight," Ginny said. "You on 'till mornin'?"
"Yup. The fun's just startin'," he said.
His name was Ralphy. He didn't look like a Ralphy, but what are you gonna do, everybody's stuck with their names. He looked more like a Brett, or a Clint, or maybe a Jude. Not because he resembled anybody, just because the name Ralphy didn't do his handsomeness any justice. But Ralphy it was.
"You think you could find any tighter pants?" Ginny said sarcastically. "Jesus Christ, ya know the women can't see ya below the waist right? It don't help the tips none."
"What are you, my mother now?" Ralphy asked jokingly. "You don't like lookin' at me?"
"I never said that," Ginny said with a little smirk.
"You know it's all for you," Ralphy said, gesturing with his hands at his body. "Just say the word Gin. You and me. All this is yours baby."
Ginny smiled. Ralphy and the others at the diner kept her sane. Life at home was the shits for her. The low-down, brown and stinky shits. An abusive husband and a worthless low-life son both lived off her waitress pay and made her life plenty miserable. She'd had enough five years ago, but felt trapped, like she was locked up in a cage. She knew she wasn't, of course, but damn, it sure felt that way most of the time.
She threw her cigarette butt down, twisted the sole of her ugly white waitress shoe on it, and followed Ralphy inside.
After fifty-five years of humdrum life, Ginny was tired. Walking the floor of the old diner night after night would have been torturous if it wasn't for the younger folks on staff keeping the atmosphere upbeat. Just about everybody was younger. Ralphy was twenty-nine. Max, the owner of the joint, was thirty-five. The day shift waitresses were all in their low twenties, the kind of youth that was too depressing for Ginny to think about much. When she was low twenties she was hot too. Long legs, nice tits. Guys were all over her for a few years there. Then she met Gary and the rest is unpleasant history.
Ralphy though, he could still see it in the old girl. Max made sure the uniforms fit his waitresses kinda tight, and Ginny, tired looking as she was, still looked good, especially when you squinted a little. Ralphy, he must have had a permanent squint, because he had to stop himself from looking sometimes. Back in the hot kitchen, looking though the opening where he put up the orders of two-over-easy-hash-browns-and-toast, he often did that old fashioned thing men sometimes do, that undress-her-with-your-eyes thing. And Ginny, yeah, she undressed nice. Ralphy's mom was younger than Ginny, which sometimes made him wonder what the hell was goin' on inside his head, but damn, yeah, she undressed nice.
"Order up," Ralphy yelled.
———————
Five in the morning. The city's empty. Ginny loves that time of day. Shift over, a nice quiet cigarette that she doesn't have to snuff out if she doesn't want to, a quiet hang with Ralphy, or whoever the night cook is. She likes it best when it's Ralphy. Nick, he doesn't hang long. He's polite and chats a while, but Ralphy, he lingers as long as Ginny does. She has to force herself to go sometimes, because Ralphy, he knows how her home life is the shits. He'll stay and talk as long as Ginny wants. Ralphy's home life, it's not so bad. Quiet a lot of the time, but two sorta kinda girlfriends try and keep him busy. They're fun, but not settling down material. Early in the morning though, at five o'clock, there's nothing for him at home, and Ginny, she loves the morning hang, so Ralphy does too. How could he not, after undressing the old gal with his eyes all night long?
"You wearin' those pants tomorrow?" Ginny said as Ralphy got in his old Miata after she'd decided it was time to go.
"You want me to?" Ralphy asked.
"They're not so bad," Ginny said. She pulled the cigarette out of her smirk and twisted it under her tired foot.
Ralphy's Miata needed a muffler. Ginny smiled a little as he roared away.
———————
"Order up," Ralphy yelled.
It was another hot night in the kitchen. He had his tight pants on again, and a tight white t-shirt that showed off his guns. He did push-ups in the morning to keep 'em big, except morning was afternoon for guys like Ralphy who worked nights.
"Thanks hun," Ginny said. She picked up the plate and shuffled off across the well-worn linoleum. Ralphy watched her go, his eyes just South of her belted waist. Long legs and asses. Yeah, he liked 'em. He liked 'em a lot.
"Slow tonight. Take a break honey, I'll call ya if I need ya," Ginny said.
Ralphy went out and sat on the back steps. It was twenty, maybe thirty degrees cooler than the kitchen. Ginny, she sat down on a stool at the counter, taking a load off her tired feet.
"Who's the boy," the only customer in the place said, as he finished up his fried egg sandwich. Ginny turned her head.
"The boy?" she said.
"The cook. What's his name?"
"Who wants ta know?" Ginny said.
"Tucker's my name. Tucker Sims." He pulled a nice little leather business card holder out of his pocket, flicked out a card, and set it down on the table next to him. "Think he'd be interested in doin' some modeling?"
Ginny scowled and smiled, both at the same time.
"Modelin'?" she said. "I don't know Mister, you'd have to ask him."
"How about you, you ever think about it?"
"About Ralphy modelin'? Nope, can't say I have," Ginny said.
"No, I mean you. You're a good lookin' gal Ginny," he said. He'd read her name on her uniform earlier.
"You drunk?" Ginny said. "Where you been, down the road at Joe's hittin' the whiskey?"
"Give him this, will ya," Tucker said, pointing at the card. He tossed a twenty on the table and turned to leave. "I'll stop in again."
"Yeah, come again Mister," Ginny said, admiring his expensive clothes as he walked out.
She walked over and picked up the twenty. A fourteen dollar tip on his six dollar snack. She left the card and went back for it after she cleared the dishes and wiped her hands. She was standing there reading it when Ralphy came back in.
Tucker Sims T.S. Productions Photography, Film, Video
"Hey Ralphy, you ever do any modelin'?" Ginny asked, smirking because she already knew the answer.
"Yeah, I was on the cover of Playgirl last month," he joked.
"I thought that was you," Ginny said. "If you wanna give it a try a guy was just here askin' about ya." She handed him the card and waited for his reaction.
