24 Haviland Street

Clara pulled the heavy suitcase out of the trunk of her glistening sports car, moaning ever so slightly as she strained to lift it.

"Can I help you with that?" a passerby asked, moving his cigarette to his lips.

She watched for what seemed like a long time as he inhaled slowly, eyes intently burning into her own.

"No, no, I have it," she said quietly in a feigned British accent.

"Well someone this beautiful shouldn't have to struggle with anything," he said slyly. His grin seemed to send shivers down her spine, as the attention of any attractive man did.

"Well, if you insist," she said with a smile.

The man reached forward and pulled the suitcase out with ease, gently brushing against Clara's tightly curved waist. His luxurious, dark brown hair was pulled back precariously, and a few small strands framed his chiseled face. She immediately noticed his cheekbones, how strong and prominent they were.

"There you are," he said flatly as he closed the trunk of her car.

"Thank you," she said softly. She looked down to the ground, and then lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Would you like me to help you carry this upstairs?" he asked with that same intoxicating smile.

"That would be wonderful," she crooned, gazing into his sparkling--

"CLARA! TABLE FOUR NEEDS YOU!"

The sounds of the bustling kitchen suddenly came crashing into the beautiful girl's ears, snapping her out of her reverie. She'd been sitting in the walk-in refrigerator atop a box of shredded cheese. The girl who had opened the door was the same age as Clara, but stress beyond her years showed on her face.

"I'll be there in a minute, Daisy," Clara replied. Her head between her hands, she looked as if she were about to cry.

"Well, they said they haven't seen you in almost 15 minutes, you need to get out there!"

With that, the pain-faced brunette turned and rushed off, presumably to either tend to one of her own tables or possibly to get a manager involved. Clara hated the managers at her restaurant, and even more than that, she hated the other servers. She was so tired of playing servant to her "guests," and constantly wished for another job. It wasn't that she wasn't qualified for anything else-- she had a college degree and a wealth of other skills-- she had just grown so accustomed to restaurant work that it seemed so much easier to simply stay there.

With a long, distressed sigh, the slender girl stood up, shrugged off her daydreams, and prepared to go back into the dining room.

***

The next morning, Clara sat at the breakfast bar in her small kitchen reading a newspaper and eating cereal. Her boyfriend entered the room with a yawn, sunlight spilling over his face.

"Morning," he said. His pale skin and blonde hair seemed to glow in the morning light.

"Hunter S. Thompson killed himself," the girl said sadly.

"Oh man, that's too bad," he said coolly.

Slightly distraught by his lack of compassion, Clara furrowed her brow.

"I'm really upset about this," she said angrily.

"Yeah, yeah, it sucks," he said as he took a swig of orange juice out of the carton.

With a frustrated sigh, she decided to let it go. A few moments of uncomfortable silence made her finally speak again.

"What do you think it means when all your heroes commit suicide?"

"Uh, I don't know."

"One final, terrible demonstration of power and control."

"Don't say it like that, you make it sound good or something."

"I don't mean to make it sound good, John. Hunter taking his own life wasn't good, he rid the world of one of the most incredible writers of our time."

"Well..."

"Never mind," she sighed. John would never understand, just like none of her boyfriends ever understood her.

"Okay. Well, do you want to come to my place tonight to watch the game?"

"I have to work."

"You work too much. How many hours did you work last week?"

"62."

"That's way too much, you need to cut back."

"That's not very much, and I need the money. Some of us have student loans to pay off."

The coldness in her voice was beginning to grate on John. He shook his head and walked out of the kitchen. Clara could hear the sound of the shower being turned on, but she had no desire to join him the way she always had in the past.

***

Keep your eyes here for the next installment of 24 Haviland Street!