NEW START

OLIVIA'S POV

It's been sixteen years of being away from this city but it still feels like yesterday. Every bit and fragment of the memories was fresh and strongly implanted in my head. The city hasn't changed much – the thick wildlife that looked alive, the clean air and the gorgeous Victorian houses could still be felt and seen. The only dominant change was the establishments, it wasn’t night already but multicoloured neon light were already shimmering here and there.

As I drove down the street, several thoughts reeled in my mind. Clinton just froze my only hope of surviving, leaving me penniless. I thought of going to my father for help but erased the idea as fast as it came, it wasn’t worth it.

"Fuck!” I rested my head on the steering wheel, forgetting I was still on the street road.

A horn blared from behind and I jolted, quickly giving way as a flashy convertible overtook.

“Are you drunk or something!!” A young guy with long, shoulder-length hair yelled and glared at me.

I parked by the side. Although it wasn’t an ideal place to park, I just needed to think. While entangled in my thoughts, I turned my head to the side only to see a job vacancy poster. I unbuckled my seat belt, pressed my window button to slide it down and peered closer. It was the poster of the same eatery displaying it. They needed a waitress.

"It isn't so bad. Maybe I should go give it a try,” I shrugged.

I started my car and drove slowly, looking for an ideal spot to park. I came across a cul-de-sac not far from the eatery, which was probably their parking spot because of the line of cars I saw. I found a suitable space and wriggled in.

Stepping into the building, I was welcomed by an audio jazz ensemble, just what needed to unwind. Fancy, decorative lamps were hung from the ceiling and the floor was covered in a crisp, manicured lawn that could be mistaken for a natural one. Colourful booths were beautifully arranged and there was a mini bar at the far end of the room.

I made my way to the counter and was greeted by a teenage girl with a freckle-splattered face.

"Good Day madam, welcome to Jackpot. Did you make any reservations?” She asked, her smile as bright as a solar flare.

“No,” I chuckled. "I'm not here to eat. I saw the job poster outside and decided to come apply.”

“Ok, you're here for the post of waitress?” She raised her eyebrows, looking rather amazed.

I nodded but felt a bit embarrassed at the way she looked at me.

"Just hold on, let me inform my manager,” she said before disappearing to the back.

I played with my wedding ring as I waited, and it still baffled me as to why I haven't thrown it away yet. Maybe because it was one of the most beautiful and valuable little thing I still owned. I mused over it on my finger and my eyes softened.

The diamond stud at the centre reflected and flashed before my eyes, taking me back to the time I married Clinton. We married in a flower garden, just the way I wanted it. It was a joyous day in my life but sadly my marriage turned out to be euphoric.

“Hello… Hello,” A deep voice called out and I flinched, standing at once.

The man was in his the early forties, tall, hairy and somewhere between fat and slim with a fearsome look. Judging from the authority he carried, one could easily tell he was the manager.

"Good day… I’m so sorry,” I apologized, smiling awkwardly.

His hickory eyes examined me and I got nervous at some point.

"Have you done this work this before?” He asked, not looking so convinced.

Part of me wanted to lie because I desperately needed this job but before I could, my head already shook itself from side to side.

"But it's anything the problem sir?”

He sighed, "Two things are the problem, it's either your overqualified for the job or too old for it?”

Those words landed heavily on me. When that Clinton’s whore called me an old hag, I thought she only said it to get on my nerves but that didn't seem the case at the moment. It puzzled me, have I grown that old because of marriage or was it something else?

As for the over qualification, I scoffed. I never went to college, guess I wasn't the book type but if I did, I would have studied Law. It will surely please me to defend the weak and oppressed.

“Can you cook?” He asked.

To be honest, I couldn't remember the last time I cooked. Clinton and I always ate outside and never even bought groceries to begin with.

“A few dishes,” I finally lied but it’ll be worth it if I got the job. After all, you have fake it till you make it.

“Well, we don't normally see pretty ladies like you come around for this kind of job,”

Red splattered across my face, it's been long someone called me 'pretty’.

“So I’m giving the job.” His wide lips curled to a faint smile as he darted back inside.

I smiled uncontrollably and the teenage girl who had been staring all this while came out to embrace me and I responded wholeheartedly, embracing her back. For some reason, she smelt of chocolate and vanilla.

The manager came out and handed me an apron with the name and logo of the eatery boldly printed on it. He called out a name,

"Blake! Blake!!”

A tall, charming, skinny boy of about twenty-one rushed from the table he was serving.

"This is-- "

"Olivia.” I couldn't believe I forgot to tell them my name.

“Blake, this is Olivia and Olivia this is Blake. From now on, she’ll be helping you out with the deliveries and you’ll be teaching her everything you know. Is that understood?” Blake jerked his head and shook my hands briskly.

Blake and the manager walked the into back and Blake came out with a tray containing fried chicken, French fries, tomato sauce and a bottle of coke.

"Ok Olivia,” he drawled and handed me the tray. "Take it to booth 10 towards just in front of the last window.”

I nodded and got going.

Being a waitress couldn’t be as hard as envisioned it. I never thought I’ll one day work as a waitress, it seemed rather strange and just off the track for me but life has a way of manipulating and twisting our fates to suit our current need and condition. Often times in a way we wouldn’t  want.

I scanned around as I walked and sighted booth 10. On way to it, I bumped into a man in a t-shirt and a baseball cap. I stumbled with my tray but he was quick enough to hold me tight in his strong arms.

I swallowed a recoiling gasp, still holding the tray tight in my hands. My heart folded in my chest, making my breath still the moment I looked into his eyes, only to realize it was the hunk from the bar two days ago. The one I slept with at the hotel.