There’s a plank door thingy where the counter meets the wall, like at Gary’s bar. You’re supposed to lift it to pass, but this one is piled high with coffee mugs, so I duck under, as low as I can, staying hunched a little longer than I need to because I have visions of sending the mugs flying.
I clear it, stand, and play with a loose thread on my glove while Carly makes the coffee machine hiss and spit.
“You’re short on details,” Carly says, and I can’t tell if she’s talking to the customer.
“Me?” I ask.
She nods. “No address, no phone.”
“I’m new,” I say. “I don’t have everything figured out yet.”
“Let me know when you do.” She gives me a hard stare like my math teacher would when I told her I did my homework, but my dad spilled his beer all over it.
Carly is wearing a blood-red velvet beret, a navy nylon dress like something Mary Tyler Moore would wear, torn fishnets, and combat boots. The points of her blue inked tendrils peek out from the high neckline of her dress. I wonder what they are. Moonbeams? Snakes? Octopus arms?
She shouts, “Half-caff hazelnut cap,” and hands the travel mug back to the newsboy man. “You know how to use a cash register?” she asks. It takes me a sec again to realize she’s asking me and not him.
I nod.
“It’s two seventy-five,” she says. “Ring him up.”
I don’t understand how that cup of coffee could possibly cost two dollars more than a regular cup of coffee, but no one else seems to think it’s a problem. The customer hands me a five, and I thank the gods of new jobs or coffee or whatever, that this register is the same as Margo’s.
“Do me a favor,” Carly says. She’s already on the next order. “Take those mugs to the kitchen, and while you’re there, stick your head outside to tell Bodie his break is over. Tell him I said to stop smoking up and get his ass in here.”
I duck under the plank and grab as many spent coffee cups as I can. There are piles of dirty dishes by the sink, so I put them wherever I find space.
Outside, the blond guy who was behind the counter yesterday is leaning against the wall, balanced on one foot, smoking a small squat cigarette. He’s not wearing a jacket and he doesn’t look cold. He’s sunshine. His blond stubble catches the light and makes it look like his face is glowing.
“You’re that girl who wants to help,” he says, taking a deep drag, holding his breath before he lets it out. The smoke smells like a dead skunk and reminds me of Lion Boy. My face flushes.
“Bodie?” I say.
“Yeah.” He sighs. “Let me guess. Carly wants me to get my ass in there.”
“Pretty much.”
“April,” he says, smiling so wide that his eyes turn to slits like a cat. “That’s your name, right?”
“Yeah.”
He takes another drag. “April showers bring May flowers, but what do Mayflowers bring?”
“Huh?”
“Pilgrims, man.” His top lip all but disappears when he smiles. “Pilgrims.” He stubs his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe, pats me on the back, and says, “Let’s go before Carly’s head like totally explodes.”
* * *
I take my first break at one. Carly sends me to the kitchen to tell Bodie what I want for lunch and says I can eat up front if I promise to be chatty with the customers, because that’s what they’re going for. Everybody knows your name and whatnot.
Bodie makes me a turkey sandwich, snacking on potato chips as he piles them on my plate.
“Onward, Pilgrim,” he says, handing me the sandwich. He leads with his chin when he smiles and even though he’s got this perfectly chiseled face, he still manages to look dopey.
I carry my plate and a plain cup of coffee to a table in the corner. The sandwich has green mushy stuff on it, and Bodie made it, so I’m skeptical, but it’s actually really good. Maybe it’s just because I’m so hungry for real food, or maybe it’s that guys make better sandwiches because they aren’t dainty about it.
I’m so focused on chewing, on the taste of food, I don’t even look out the window. I’m just eating.
“This seat taken?”
I jump. My knees hit the table and I spill my coffee. It’s the guy with the newsboy cap from this morning. He has a bowl of soup in one hand and his coffee mug in the other.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He puts his bowl down, pulls a napkin from the table stand and wipes up my coffee. “I’ll get you a refill.”