The Meeting Point by Olivia Lara

Twenty-Eight

I’m staring into the distance, trying to come up with an idea, and I see a piece of paper taped to the café’s front window. So this is what that man was looking at. Oh, well, my story was better.

The paper is facing outside, and I’m making an effort to read it backward.

Help Wanted: Seasonal employment, June–August

Flexible Schedule and Shifts 8 AM–12 AM

Inquire inside.

OK. OK. I could try. This could be an option. No crazier than my other ideas. After all, I need the money and it would justify why I’m here, plus she’ll surely mention her brother at some point.

Celine is cleaning the table next to mine.

“I saw you’re looking to hire,” I say, pointing at the window.

She nods. “Haven’t had much luck with seasonal staff. Had a girl here for a couple of weeks, but it didn’t work out.”

“I’m actually looking for a job. A temporary job.”

“Really?” she says, sounding as surprised as she looks.

“I’m in town for a little while and I need to make some money, while I take care of some personal stuff,” I say, realizing how shady that sounds. It’s not a complete lie, more like a lie by omission. I do need to take care of personal stuff and I do need a job. “I could help out until you find someone better,” I say, trying to convince her because she seems to hesitate.

“That’s not why I didn’t jump up and down when you told me,” she says, with a wide smile. “It’s just that I usually only get students or drifters showing interest. Obviously, I’d love to get some help, but do you have any experience?”

I smile innocently. “I used to work at Starbucks in college. That’s about it.”

“More than all the other candidates I had this season,” she says, laughing. “I’m in dire need of help, to be honest. My brother has been pestering me to get someone here for ages, but it’s hard to find qualified personnel once the season starts. I’d do it by myself, but between Memorial and Labor Day it’s a bit brutal. It’s good for business but hard to manage alone.”

I smile. “So, I’m in?”

“You most definitely are. If you want to.”

I am tempted to hug her, but instead I just thank her maybe a few too many times.

“The pay is—” She pauses. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid it will offend you,” she says.

“Why would it offend me?”

“It’s $25 per hour plus any tips you make.”

“It’s better than I thought,” I say and I’m honest. I do quick math; it’s just a bit shy of my fancy journalistic job in New York. And there were definitely no tips there.

“Good to hear,” she says.

“I assume there is a test on the job,” I say.

“Just a few hours. And paid,” she says. “Half a shift. Anyhow, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’m not as sure as she is, and I don’t know about great, but I’ll definitely do my best.

“When would you want me to start?”

“Now? As in, today? Or tomorrow? Whenever you want.”

“I can start now,” I say.

“Perfect. We can finish the trial period this evening. If it all goes well—which I’m sure will happen—do you know for how many hours a day you’d like to work? Four? More?”

“How about I work for however many hours you need me?” I say.

I don’t have a reason—yet—not to be here all day. When that reason shows up—hopefully soon—we’ll discuss this again. Besides, I want to make sure I’m in Celine’s good graces.

Her eyes widen. “That’s too good of an offer to pass up. Be careful, I might take you up on that and decide I need you here from 8 AM to midnight.”

I laugh. “That’s fine.”

No difference versus my job in New York. I wasn’t making coffee for sixteen hours, but I was up on my feet for just as long in a job I loathed. This can’t be any worse.

She seems excited, and that makes me feel even more guilty. She seems like such a kind person—her only fault is that she’s related to Ethan Delphy—who doesn’t deserve being used like this. But I plan on giving this job my absolute best, and hopefully, she’ll soon find someone who’s here to stay for the summer.

Celine is explaining everything with patience and a permanent smile.

“Is there a uniform or something I need to wear?”

She smirks. “Look at me. Do you think you need a uniform?”

She’s wearing a long purple and green tie-dye dress and sandals to match it. Celine and Carmel make me think of the flower power movement and Scott McKenzie’s song, and I’m tempted to put a flower in my hair and dance on the street. What’s gotten into me?

“I’ll just need an ID and some info for the paperwork, but we can deal with that later. It’s all online anyway. Should be painless.”

“Sure,” I say and give her my driver’s license so she can make a copy.

“Alright, just so you know, people here come for dinner as early as four. We have a couple of hours now before it gets busy again. It’s the perfect time to show you the ropes.”

My phone rings. It’s David again and I reject his call. A minute later he texts, asking me to stop ignoring him. I was strong enough to leave, but I don’t want to have to hear promises and excuses, because undoubtedly that’s what he’s going for. Although I haven’t officially left him before, we’ve had plenty of fights and all of them ended with: ‘It will be different. Let’s give it another try’. Every single time.

“Everything alright?” asks Celine.

I put my phone away and nod.

She takes me in the back and walks me through the kitchen, where everything is made from scratch with fresh ingredients. She shows me where things go in the walk-in pantry and fridge and assures me she won’t ask me to cook anything—unless I want to. I’m sure I won’t because I’m beyond clumsy around sharp or hot things. She shows me the baking area and finally the espresso and coffee machines. I pay close attention to all the details, although I don’t think she’ll ask me to make coffee. Probably just take orders, serve customers, and clean tables.

It’s been seven years since I’ve done this and I’m a little nervous, but Celine is doing a great job of sharing all the details and reassuring me she will help me with anything I need.

“You’ll do great and our customers are easygoing so you won’t have any problems. There is the odd tourist who has a short temper or doesn’t have patience if the line is long, but I can take them on. And if anything, just keep your cool, stay calm, and if you can… smile.”

I show my teeth like a monkey.

“That should do it,” she says and bursts into laughter.

It’s now four o’clock. I think I’m ready. Let the games begin.