Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(172)
“No, no. No scone for me. Carbs.”
“OK! One large Cup of the Day and no carbs. $2.02, please.”
The woman swiped her debit card, moving politely aside as the next in line took her spot.
“Hi! Can I help you?” I asked.
“Hi! Welcome to AmpedUp,” came a voice as a body edged me over. “Can I get a drink started for you?”
My mouth fell open a little bit and I looked up at Dave, Assistant Manager in Training. I kept a subservient grin plastered on my face and stepped half to the right so he could take over, ignoring Melita’s triumphantly pursed lips.
“Great!” he finished, and the small, bookish older lady moved on to the order pickup counter. Then he turned to me, his big pregnant belly nearly pushing me out of my official station. “Like that. Like we talked about, OK?”
I looked up at him and nodded politely. “Sure, Dave,” I said, smiling through my gritted teeth. “Thanks for the reminder.”
Dave hiked up his trousers under his beer gut and ambled away, and I finished the rest of the line without a hitch, even remembering my script.
When the line was gone, Melita folded her arms on the counter and sighed dramatically.
“Another morning rush, done and done,” she groaned. “I feel like death. Let’s quit.”
“OK,” I agreed as I filled up the metal tin with hot water.
“No, I mean it this time,” she groaned into her folded arms.
“I know you do, sweetie,” I said, dropping the stainless steel pieces into the scalding water.
I edged behind her, walking back and forth and working mechanically through the list of things that had to be cleaned every morning.
“Hey why do you let Dave get all up in your face like that?” she sighed, her voice barely audible.
I shook my head and blew my bangs off my forehead. “You know,” I said wistfully, “I am not sure why I tolerate the Wisdom Of Dave. I have these daydreams where I tell him off in a spectacular, life-changing fashion. He slinks off, sniffling into his ugly-ass tie, and I’m promoted to coffee diva of the universe. And angels sing.”
Melita rolled her head back and forth on the counter. “All right, fine…” she moaned. “I’m just saying he never does that shit to me, because he knows he would get an earful of Melita Wisdom.”
“You don’t look like you’re giving anybody an earful of anything. And can you remove your face from the serving counter?”
“No. It’s cold and nice and makes my head stay still.”
“Ugh, fine,” I said, wiping a big circle around her.
“He just doesn’t even know you,” she continued. “He just thinks you’re some wage slave, right.”
“Well I am some wage slave,” I reminded her as I sprayed glass cleaner on the back doors of the pastry case.
“But you don’t have to be, is the point,” she insisted. “Which I am not sure you always remember. You could be, like, anything.”
“If I wasn’t such a great girlfriend?”
She sighed, her breath puffing out her cheeks as she finally raised her head. Her eyes were all foggy with sleep.
“Yeah, right,” she nodded, lips pursed. “If you were not such a great girlfriend, you would probably be using your fancy ass college degree to be running an art gallery or some shit instead of letting Dave mansplain to you because your boyfriend owns the joint.”
“Right.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, her eyes narrowed into slits, “what happened to Mr. Wonderful last night anyway?”
I shrugged. “He fell asleep. Long day.”
“Oh really? He fell asleep.”
“Yup,” I said, ignoring her tone of voice and swiping the bleach mixture bucket. I dropped it behind the pastry case. “Why don’t you do something, hangover girl? You wanna let me do everything?”
“I thought that was how you liked it,” she said snottily, then checked herself, scowling. “Yeah sorry that was a bitch thing to say.”
“Yeah it was. I forgive you.”
Melita choked out a half-laugh and let her head fall back on her arms. I started breaking down the espresso bar for cleaning during the mid-morning lull. Banging out the coffee grounds against the side of the plastic garbage can, I dropped the empty cups into a carafe filled with disinfectant to soak.
I took some pleasure in the simple task of disassembling the machine, cleaning its parts with steam and bleach black to gleaming, and then putting it all back together.
“Love the smell of bleach,” I muttered to myself.
Dave skulked around the front of the coffee house looking for something to criticize, and I just kept my head down and worked diligently at being busy. After the espresso bar was pristine, I vacuumed the low-rise carpet in precise, parallel stripes. Melita disappeared behind the pastry case, but I wasn’t sure she hadn’t just fallen asleep back there.