I thought that I couldn’t give myself off just yet. I was barely here mentally while I worked. I cooked burgers, fries and reuben sandwiches on auto-pilot, goddammit! I did everything like a robot, without much after thought, and it was pretty easy to stay on top of things, if I didn’t get too distracted. That was how I went through the day to do a good job, keep Carlos happy and stay in this gig long enough to pay off my apartment, my car and gather enough money to, eventually, get the fuck out of this town…
I had to deliver. I couldn’t let this chick sidetrack me, even though she seemed to check all my boxes. Looking at her style, I was convinced she even listened to the same type of music as I did. Tool, Mastodon, Slipknot, Static-X, name it… Of all things, this would most likely get me seriously infatuated towards her.
*Sigh! I guess the hardest job now was going to be keeping my mind focused.
The first week went like a breeze. She was so busy being shown around by Carlos and I, getting comfortable with her duties. All our conversations were plain, straight to the point. I noticed that quite often, when she’d look at me, she would squint, and nod slightly. She kept a straight face and only replied in short-form sentences when necessary. It was as if she was putting up some kind of shield in front of her. To be honest, I liked that about her, she looked like she had nerves of steel. And that was understandable, I mean, there was quite a lot of work to get done. Our busy season was just getting started, and flocks of tourists, on top of our regular locals, were already swarming us.
One thing I found out about her later was that she loved coffee. Or, should I say, she craved it. She had it straight up and black and she’d make sure she always had a piping hot cup ready within her reach at all time. She asked about it when she saw me getting my own usual morning coffee, so I told her it was one of the perks of working here. I explained: since the diner always needed the freshest pot possible on the burner, this meant that whoever contributed in getting another one to brew was welcome. Even from the slightest losses from our own staff drinking the coffee, Carlos still made crazy profits from it. So let the coffee pour!
As I was shaping up scenarios in my head of how I was going to take this anywhere with her, I thought that coffee was going to ease my way in. After all, coffee is a simple, convivial, comforting beverage, but also a familiar and harmless way to approach someone.
The plan was to bring her outside coffee in the morning, on my way to work. It wasn’t the worst cup of joe here at the diner, but nor the best, so I thought she could only appreciate the gesture.
On some Thursday morning, when I arrived at the diner, Emery’s old 1998 beat-up white Civic sedan was already there. I stepped into the bus, all jolly and confident, and I saw her, already prepping up her station. She was wearing a short sleeve button-up plaid shirt. Since she was turned against me, I was graced with a view of her exquisite and generous rump, basking in the morning sunlight, clad in a pair of tight low-waist denim capris with a studded leather belt. She looked amazing in her grunge outfits, which truly was like my napalm in the morning. And I had noticed her back view more than once, from across the hot tables, when she bent down to take orders through the bus window, but not as appealing as I was seeing it this morning.
‘Here, Emery. Um… I stop by this café downtown every thursday,’ I lied. ‘So I thought I’d get you a nice french roast to start your day right.’
She turned around with a straight face, until she looked down at the cup I was handing her. Then, she made that squint with her eyes, again.
‘Oh… Thanks, Brian.’ she finally replied with a tiny smile.
She took it and placed it on the counter before turning back to prepare coffee for the diner.
…So much for conversation, I thought. At least, I think she drank it all later.
Well, that was it. That was all I had in mind for a first shot, and it was over already. How was I supposed to come up with something else? Maybe it was just a sign that I should let go, and just carry on with my work?
I started thinking that all hope was lost and that she was nothing but a dead-end, a trap, just like this fucking job in general. But was it too soon to come to conclusions?
Well, I had to admit, after that, Emery became a little more… communicative. I knew she had it in her. Yes, she was already giving good, efficient customer service in her own slightly bold and forward kind of way, but she was not doing it exclusively for them anymore. She started spreading that same mood back in the kitchen. She gave compliments, managed to crack a few jokes here and there, actually saying more than just work related stuff. She was growing comfortable.
And, I swear, sometimes she would start dancing around between taking orders. Just shimmying her butt in rhythm with the swing soundtrack playing outside. That sure helped making her look a little more playful than she was letting it show. Whenever she’d do that, I’d fall in a brief trance, thinking how her generous ass in those tight jeans looked just as hot as those huge boobs of hers.
Indeed, those were all but short glimpses that I caught among the rest, because I was so swamped most of the time. I rarely had a chance to send back any of her little attempts at being nice with us.
She never missed an occasion to flaunt her body and allow you to take a peek. I guess she had that kind of nature, her special magic touch. She’d walk around her station and strike a fleeting pose for the simplest of gestures, like pouring water or typing on the cash register; she would arch her back and stick her ass out whenever she picked up something; she squeezed her boobs to the maximum between her arms when she bent down to take orders, shaping up this mind-blowing cleavage. She strutted around this way all day by never letting it look too intentional.
******
One day, I stumbled upon her at the staff picnic table. Stranded among piles of dirt and weeds behind our rusty and smelly dumpster, that table was all beat-up and sun-bleached, the kind you’d sit on and risk getting splinters on your ass. It was late afternoon and our lunch rush was pretty much over. With a coffee at her side, she was leaning on her elbows and tilted back her head to catch some sun, which was still very hot at that time of day. Her position caused the whole mass of her breasts jutting out, reaching back at the sun, on the verge of bursting out Emery’s shirt.
I made sure I made a racket by throwing my garbage in the dumpster to make myself heard and not scare her, but she never even moved in the slightest to shift and make her chest a little less obvious.
No. She just stood still, letting it all out. Shamelessly.
‘Geez, what a day, right?’ I said, clearing my throat.
She scoffed and looked away to nothing in particular through her sunglasses.
‘Yup.’ she simply replied, raising her eyebrows.