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She drinks the boy with her eyes, he looks… worn, exhausted. He looks shell-shocked really, like he’s tweaking off post-traumatic stress disorder, alone. Trauma deep in his veins and snorted up his nose. (It’s almost the same look she gets after a bad night out in town, a bad bedroom in the crystal palace, a bad hit or taste in a stranger's passenger seat.)
Wendy doesn’t know what the hell happened to him, and doesn’t know why she just had to get dragged into it, she’s learned not to ask questions about her clientele, everyone here is familiar with the motto of ‘Shit happens’ by now, ain’t they? Besides, she’s got her prize, a hit of something so sweet, she’s remained hungry for more of it. God knows Wendy is also hungry for a real meal by now, after all that stress, she’s starving. From the looks of it, Jesse’s been restless all day, since long before the whole questioning thing, since before he even came to her door, likely. So who knows what Jesse must be feeling? He's all shaky and disappointed looking now that he’s unclipped himself from her phone; his parents must’ve said no. He throws his cigarette with a vengeance.
Speak of the devil, he’s crawling back at her now, returning the phone with an apologetic smile, like it’s the glass slipper and he’s Prince Charming. “Hey…thanks.” His voice shakes, she doesn’t know if it’s genuine after all he’s been dragged through, or if he’s playing at seduction. “So, what’re you doing now?”
“Waffle House?”
Warm meal and company.
He nods, gratefully, with excitement that’s been softened by how tired he is, “Yeah, Waffle House is good..” and he walks with her, and he hits his hand on a parking machine. It’s almost like it’s all casual.
Wendy sighs, tired. Her shoes are killing her feet, He looks apologetic, “I’ll pay you back, maybe we could really have that party sometime?” Wendy considers him, looks around at their surroundings, her eyes glazed over like a storm.
She probably shouldn’t, and he also probably shouldn’t. “I don’t know…maybe give it a while, Jesse.”
He smiles, “Yo, that’s like…not a no?” So satisfied with himself, he claps his hands together, talks in a low voice, “It’s a date then, huh?” If this is what comforts Jesse, she lets him have it. Maybe he really does need a three-day party, just as much as he needs someone to sit and eat with him at a Waffle House to get him going again. He’s sick of rejection, lonely. No wonder he pays her.
“Sure.” She’s getting hungry for more crystal too, anyways. She's trying really hard to focus on the food craving, and not that one. He has a little skip in his step now at least, she’s satisfied her client, while she wobbles on her high heels walkin with him.
She doesn’t mind Jesse, usually. He always gives his payment, he’s always good for it. And he’s prettier than the other men that call for her, he’s more boy parts than manly. He’s not a client she dreads to see, doesn’t bite her in the ass. He respects her. Jesse knew she was smart enough to help him out of the mess he was in. She’s pretty self-satisfied, her alibi put that asshole cop in his place, sick man. He ain’t got shit on her. She stuck it to him, it’s what he earned for hassling her that time.
Jesse sniffs, wipes his nose with his sleeve, he’s out of it. It’s surprising really, a low-level wannabe gangster like Jesse, ending up in trouble like this. All those cops banging at her door, with their big guns and big men, just for a little tryhard boy like him.
He’s also given her one of the best hits she’s ever had recently, ‘All hail the cap’n.’ She can hear him sayin. He’s never been in deep shit like that before, She guesses the game’s really changed now, Jesse’s in deeper, maybe deeper than she’s ever been. He’s this…’Heisenbergs’ little sidekick now, or somethin. She shrugs, lights another cigarette.