Chapter Six
"I would like… coffee."
"You're going to need to be more specific," the woman behind the counter told the customer, a young fellow with purposefully messy hair and square glasses that looked a little too plastic to be a real prescription.
"I just want coffee. Regular, normal coffee. Is that too hard to understand?" the young man pressed, sounding proud of himself for his request, like he had just told the Barista the greatest paradox that could ever fall upon her ears, because Heaven forbid someone go into a coffeehouse and order plain coffee.
The woman was less than amused by his attempt at pretentious humor. Her eyes, a brown so light they almost appeared golden, flashed at the challenge he attempted to pose.
"You probably think you sound very clever," she started, her voice carrying an air of bored sophistication, a sign that she was much better than anyone within a mile of her radius, and not because that's what she personally thought, but because it was an actual fact. "Coming in here, convinced you live on a plane of existence superior to everyone else because you can see through the corporate conspiracy of elevated coffee beverages –which, by the way, isn't actually a thing– but you aren't. You don't sound clever at all; you sound like a child trying to prove to his parents that he's intelligent, when he actually has no idea what he's talking about. Now please, state your order in specific terms or I'm going to have to ask you to get out of line."
"And what she means by that is your next two drinks are on the house," Rick said, interjecting himself into the conversation, trying to recover the ground his superior just cost them. While no one ever could flat-out tell their manager her customer relations were… in need of work, they could try and make up for any offense she caused on the rare occasions when she worked out front of the shop.
That afternoon was one of those rare times, and Doug had the misfortune of being scheduled to work until closing. After his conversation with Virgil that morning, he had been extra careful to get back to work for his afternoon shift on time. He took every precaution possible, buying three cups of their strongest dark roast and spending his early afternoon curled up in the corner of the shop, too tired to focus on passing the time with a book but too wired from the caffeine to actually fall asleep. And on the off chance that he did, he had very meekly requested that Wheatley wake him up before leaving at the end of his shift. The young man had the afternoon off since the manager came into work, and her position had usually been the only one he was ever allowed to work, the register.
Having miraculously made it on time, and somehow still alive on his feet, the afternoon shift had so far gone smoothly for Doug. The manager never once approached him or questioned him, only needing to interact with him to question about the validity of certain orders (she was always on unreasonable guard against customers trying to pay less than what they actually received). But this did little to quiet his nerves. Virgil had been beyond kind to go out on a limb for him, especially without any solid excuse on Doug's part for his tardiness. Doug knew he was going to need to make it up to him, and if it meant not sleeping for seventy-two hours and doing everything possible to stay on the manager's good side, he would do it.
"Now I know you know what you're doing, ma'am," Rick was saying, trying his best to make his tone as polite and level as possible. For him, such a task wasn't terribly strenuous. "But customers generally don't like it when the help snaps back at them. I know, kid probably deserved it, but we don't need some poor sucker going around spreading bad information about us."
The manager, standing at a height even more unreasonably tall than the walking telephone pole that was Wheatley, stared down at Rick with an expression that to anyone else would have meant immediate death. Even someone of Rick's generous stature looked small and insignificant in her wake, but he didn't shrink back. It took a lot more to scare Rick than it did most other employees at the café.
"If someone is going to make such a childish fuss over being an insufferable know-it-all, his business was never of value to us to begin with," the manager stated, her words icy enough to freeze the hot drink Doug just finished preparing. It took every ounce of his willpower to set it safely on the counter without shaking out any of its contents. Just being in the same room as her was enough to make Doug consider finding the largest cabinet and hiding in it.
"I know, I know, I share that sentiment," Rick assured her, trying to mend any mistakes he might've made in his last statement. "But we probably shouldn't voice our frustration to the customers faces, if you know what I mean."
Doug never ceased to be impressed by Rick's bravery. He could barely get out a 'hello' or 'yes manager' to her without his hands shaking violently and his heart beating so fast if felt like it was ready to burst out of his chest. But Rick… Rick could speak to her with the courage of someone who knew when and where they were going to die, and that no matter how close they got to death it would never even think to touch them. In short, he was the polar opposite of Doug.
"If we don't tell it to their faces then where are we supposed to tell it?" the manager questioned, though it didn't sound like she actually required an answer. "If you're insinuating I should sugar-coat my frustration—"
"No, not at all!" Rick said quickly, holding up his hands in a sign of peace. "I'm just saying we gotta… be tactful in the way we show our frustration, you get what I'm saying?"
The manager narrowed her eyes, their bright sunny glow far too cheery for someone of her nature. "I see…" she said, carefully considering Rick's words. "Then the next time something like that happens, I'll leave it to you to take care of."
"That'd be swell, ma'am," Rick said, fully appreciating the responsibility she was handing him.
Things returned to a relative state of calm, Doug remaining in his corner making the orders Rick passed on to him from customers and the manager manning the register. Doug remarked to himself the wonder that they still had any business after days when the manager worked out front. He could only attribute the fact that people weren't instantly scared away to that, while the manager was indeed terrifying, she was also strangely intriguing. Even with the high levels of fear that accompanied being in her presence, no one could help but feel drawn to her, much like a moth is drawn to a flame. Everyone could watch in terror and wonder at the inferno standing before them, but anyone who dared get close enough to touch was instantly burned.
That is, everyone but Virgil.
When Doug applied to work at the café it had only just open. There were only two people who were actually employed at the time, and they were the manger and Virgil. From day one Doug had seen that their relationship was one unlike anyone could have shared with her. For one, Virgil never cowered in her presence, or even showed the faintest signs of discomfort. He also had the ability to speak freely with her, a feat that if attempted by anyone else would have resulted in immediate removal from the shop, and very possibly a number of threats chasing you on the way out. The reckless abandon that Rick displayed in his interactions with her were small in comparison to Virgil's own. Rick could speak to her eye-to-eye because he was probably braver than was reasonable. Virgil could speak to her eye-to-eye because he knew her.
No one dared to ask how, or why, or when, or any other variation of inquiry. It was a fact that no one could bring themselves to question. Even their part-timers had learned (some of them the hard way) that some secrets were better left unasked.
But this didn't change the fact that Doug would often wonder about it. Virgil was friendly enough to all of the employees, but he had always shown an extra patient side to Doug -for whatever reason was still unknown to him- but even he didn't have permission to ask such questions. There were things you learned while working at Aperture Café that you never did. One, question the manager, or even look her directly in the eye. Two, deny Virgil his morning coffee. Three, let Wheatley near anything that could possibly be made into a fire hazard or would be served to a customer. And four, never question the mysteries that surrounded the origin of the shop, whether it be to wonder about the owner (a faceless man that even Doug still knew nothing about), or it be to ask about whatever past Virgil and the manager shared.
Even Wheatley knew not to question those rules.
"I need two white mochas, large, and do some of that fancy latte art as well," Rick called, snapping Doug out of his thoughts.
He made a small huff at the order. Speaking of pretension…
"And make sure you use the sugar free stuff," Rick added. "Oh, and she wants the art to be of a puppy or something."
"This order is for one person?" Doug asked, wondering if he had misheard Rick earlier.
"Don't worry, she's a regular," Rick explained. "Can't spare any expenses on this fine lady."
His attention now caught, Doug turned around to see who exactly was this customer.
The first thing he noticed were her auburn locks, falling delicately against her rosy, freckled cheeks. She gave Doug a grin that could possibly even chip the ice of the manager's heart.
"Mel?" he asked, caught somewhere between elation and surprise.
"Hello Doug," she greeted, her voice just the right amount of sugar and spice and everything nice. "Long time, no see."
A long it had been. Almost four months now. To say that Mel was as much a part of the café as everyone employed there was an understatement. She had been a reliable customer since the beginning, almost never missing a day to come by and order a drink and lighten the atmosphere whenever the environment got too overwhelming. Her and Virgil had been almost inseparable since the beginning, and he still insisted on offering her a full-time job every time she stopped by. Not that it would have been hard for her. Even the manager regarded Mel with a certain level of respect. Doug half believed it had more to do with their mutual relationship (still of a nature Doug was unsure of) to Virgil, more than it did to any amount of business Mel provided them.
But no amount of persistence on Virgil's, or even some of the other employees' parts was enough to convince her of a career change. Mel was well on her way to becoming an Olympic athlete, and trading that to work in the food industry, however sophisticated, didn't strike her as a step up in life.
"Long time indeed," Doug agreed, giving her a welcoming nod. It was good to see her again.
"How's the weather down south?" Rick asked, leaning casually against the counter and giving Mel one of his signature crooked grins. Though he knew full well none of his charms worked on her. She didn't particularly go for his type.
"Very warm," Mel responded, lacing her fingers together and resting her chin on them. "Though it was nice two months ago, now it feels like I was right outside of the sun's front door."
"Price you gotta pay to run for America's greatest," Rick mused. "When did you get back into town?"
"Last night," Mel answered, trying to hide a yawn. "Late."
"Explains the two larges," Rick said, nodding to himself. "Speaking of which, you got those ready yet?"
"One down," Doug reported, holding out the first mug for Rick to take.
"Here you go, miss," Rick said, passing her the warm beverage.
Mel took a large sip, clearly not phased by the temperature. "Where's Virgil?"
"He's off this afternoon," Rick explained. "Usually just works mornings now, actually, since we hired a few college students."
"Yes, working, kind of like what you two are supposed to be doing right now," the manager suddenly interjected, not even acknowledging Mel's arrival.
"Gladys! How are you?" Mel asked, her face lighting up at the sight of the manager. Doug thought Mel was the only person who could actually sound happy about seeing the manager without lying between their teeth.
The manager gave her a sideways glance and a nod as a response. While she might've had a degree of respect for Mel, she still didn't see any need to show outward signs of approval, especially not while she was trying to work. Besides, most people didn't get away with referring to her by her first name and live to tell the tale. Mel was an exception.
"And how have you been, Doug?" Mel asked, directing her attention back to the Barista.
Doug gave her a shrug as a response, still finishing up her second drink. "Same as always," he responded, feeling a need to give her a verbal response, but not necessarily one that had to be true.
Mel had known Doug for a long time now, and while not nearly as well as Virgil, still well enough to know when the man was lying. If they had been anywhere else, Mel would have pressed further, but realized that this was probably not the best place for such conversations.
After her second drink was emptied, Mel got up from the counter. "Well, I'd love to stick around and chat, but I think Gladys would chase me out with a broom if I kept you two from your work any longer," she said, a giggle threatening to escape her lips.
"Just as long as you're back at your regular time," Rick told her, winking in his perfect way that would have most girls, and some guys, swooning.
"You can count on me," Mel assured him, still not taking the bait. "I'll see you fellows tomorrow. Bye, Gladys!"
The manager ignored her enthusiastic wave, pretending to be too busy organizing receipts.
"Well, I'll be," Rick said when Mel had left. "We're gonna have busy early mornings again with Mel back around town."
Doug nodded, perhaps as equally happy about it as Rick, but not outwardly showing it to the same degree. At the very least, he now had a stronger motive to get him to work on time. Not just because seeing Mel was always a pleasantry, but because he didn't think he would survive Virgil's wrath if he dared disturbed Mel's morning by showing up to work late.
Doug shuddered at the mental image.