Here is the first chapter of Publicity Stunt, which introduces our protagonist, hopefully creates sympathy for her, introduces the setting and tone, and foreshadows conflicts to come.
Chapter One
“Two eggs, a side of bacon – extra crispy – and a cup of coffee. Black.”
The middle-aged man in the sunglasses rubbed his temples and wiped a strand of floppy grey hair out of his face. He shoved the faded plastic menu behind the napkin holder.
“How would you like your eggs?”
“Over easy.”
Abigail jotted down the order on the worn notepad, watching out of the corner of her eyes as he drummed his fingers on the speckled yellow linoleum table. Songs from sweet crooners of the fifties piped through the speakers overhead. In a few hours, the place would be at capacity, and the music would be drowned out by the clatter of dishes and the chatter of customers. But at six A.M., Gil’s Diner was still quiet.
She tapped her pen and stuck it behind her ear.
“Alright sir, I've got two eggs over easy, a side of crispy bacon and a cup of coffee. Anything else?”
He flicked his hand, his gaudy gold ring catching a bit of reflection from the windows.
“Just bring the whole pot.” he called after her as she padded towards the kitchen. She pretended not to hear him.
After four years in Los Angeles, she knew the type. They came in wearing rumpled mid-priced suits and contempt towards the wait staff written on their faces, then gobbled down their greasy spoon hangover cures and chugged pots of coffee. She grinned and tried to make small talk while they responded with grunts and glares. On the way out the door, they left a poor tip – if they left one at all. These were the same people who were beating her at auditions and moving up the Hollywood ladder while she was stuck waitressing. It wasn't what she had imagined when she left home. Her one-year plan had turned into her five-year plan, and if something didn’t change soon, it would become her ten-year plan.
Abigail plunked the brown ceramic mug down in front of him and poured the coffee. An article on his phone that caught her attention.
FIVE YEARS WITHOUT CARRIE SUMMERS – WHAT IS ACTOR BRAEDEN WALLACE DOING NOW?
As the coffee reached the top of the mug, he slid his sunglasses down his nose – his brown eyes rimmed in red. Definitely hungover.
“Cream and sugar.”
He was baiting her. She could see it in his oh-so-punchable grin.
“I can bring you cream, and there’s packets of sugar right next to you.”
He tapped his knuckles against the table.
“Leave the pot.”
She flashed a honeyed smile – the one she saved for ridiculous requests – and leaned into the sweet, southern accent she otherwise covered up.
“Oh, I am so sorry, but I'm not allowed to do that. Don't you worry, I'll be around plenty to keep you topped off.”
He shoved the sunglasses back up his nose and turned his head towards the window. Abigail walked back towards the kitchen clutching the pot of coffee. With two write ups this quarter, she couldn’t afford to tell this asshole off, no matter how she was tempted.
One of her co-workers - Samira, stood in the kitchen, arms crossed. Samira had been working at the diner for over ten years and had more than her share of customer horror stories. Surprisingly, she wasn’t looking for a way out, but actually enjoyed waitressing - even if it had caused her to go prematurely gray.
“Do you want me to take the a-hole at table seven?” Samira asked. “It’s a bit early for you to be in over your head.”
Abigail placed the pot of coffee back on the burner. “I can handle this one. Thanks though.”
Samira nudged Abigail’s shoulder. “Remember, they’re just insignificant little pricks with nothing better to do. It’s not worth losing your job.”
“Alright you two, stop gabbing.” Larry, the cook, pointed his spatula at the women. Melted butter dripped onto the metal counter.
Samira grabbed the rag next to her. “Don’t make me clean up after you too, Larry.”
“Well don’t make me wait on you.” He scooped scrambled eggs onto the plate and handed it to Abigail. The salty smell of bacon hit her as she walked over to the booth. She suppressed a gag as she set the plate down in front of her hungover customer.
“Here you go. Two eggs and a side of bacon. Can I get you anything else?”
He looked down at the plate and pursed his lips.
“That bacon isn't crispy.”
She glanced at the offending food. If the bacon were any crispier, it would shatter.
“Oh, I'm so sorry about that, sir. Would you like me to have it remade?”
He picked up his fork and pierced the yolk of one of the eggs. It oozed out and covered the bacon. So much for crispy.
“Don't bother.”
Abigail took a deep breath, keeping her voice pleasant and even. “If there's anything else I can do for you, please let me know.”
He picked up his mug and slammed it down on the table. Coffee sloshed onto the table.
“More coffee.”
She marched to the counter, grabbed the pot of coffee and filled his mug to the brim.
“Aren't you going to clean that up for me?” He looked at the pool of coffee with disgust.
She reached into her apron pocket and tossed a few napkins on the table. He flicked his finger against the mug, causing more coffee to spill over the top.
The man shoved a piece of soggy bacon into his mouth, shoved his sunglasses down his nose and ran his eyes over her body.
“You’re too beautiful to be working in a place like this. Why haven’t I seen you on the big screen?”
It would be so easy to reach across the table and slap him. Instead, she grabbed his order slip from her pocket and slammed it on the table.
“I can take that up whenever you're ready.”
The bell over the front door jingled, and in walked a couple of her morning regulars – a pleasant couple of retirees. Before this man could abuse her further, she scurried over to her new customers. When she finished taking their order, the jerk in the suit was gone.
Great, she thought, another dine and dash.
She went over to the table to collect the dishes and saw the crisp one-hundred-dollar bill. She reminded herself that it was probably a fake, even if it was a very convincing one. Tucked underneath the bill was a listing for an audition later that afternoon.
“Gross.” she muttered and shoved it in her pocket.
