Chapter 6
CHAPTER
SIX
CINDEL
Iwas in a surprisingly cheerful mood today. Could be because I had a day to recharge my batteries, or maybe it’s from the two sprinkle donuts I put down with a regular on my way to The Black Sheep.
Unlike Star Mart, The Black Sheep has no compulsory uniform, so I am free to have fun with my outfits.
Today, I chose to wear one of my upcycled pieces.
At first, I had debated whether or not to sell the Ozzy shirt from 92’, but instead I adorned the sleeves and bottom edging with lace trim.
Then sort of forgot about it until I sorted through my closet on my day off.
I paired the oversized top with cobalt tights and my standard, black combat boots, I knew as soon as I saw my reflection that Mr. Osbourne was a keeper.
It screamed, casual rocker with a hint of city chic.
A small braid snaked down the right side of my head, making me feel like a badass Viking lady.
Usually, I opt to wear my hair down. It was easier, safer, and allowed me to blend in.
Right now, I feel confident, and I could care less what anyone thinks about me, or my hearing aids.
I like how I look, and I’ll dress however I damn well please.
I pull open the red wooden door, to find Jada drying glasses behind the bar and Brittany removing stools from the tops of tables. A woman in her late forties is behind the cash register, making sure the drawer is in order and we have enough change for tonight’s crowd.
Cassie runs a tight ship. When she is on the floor, everyone does their best. She doesn’t take any b.s.
from the crew. No excuses. No slacking. If she caught you chewing gum on the clock, you would be in charge of scrubbing graffiti off the bathroom stalls that very night.
A little unreasonable of a punishment if you ask me, but I respected her, nonetheless.
Even the customers are wary of her. If someone got fresh with her or anyone under her watch, she had no problem throwing them out on their ass.
She is a firecracker. Not quite as spirited with her outfit choices, I noticed she stuck to skinny jeans and a company shirt, embroidered with a tiny black sheep.
I quickly make my way to the back, tossing my coat and bag in the backroom with the rest of the girls' belongings, before jumping in to help with opening tasks. I’m not late by any means, but I’m not super early like everyone else seems to be.
Cassie walks over to where I’ve started refilling the ice bin and places something down.
I look at her, then down at a black box, then back up.
She watches with a raised eyebrow. My gaze jumps back to the dark package.
The box has a purple ribbon tied around its sides, with a neat bow atop.
I’m at a loss for words. The gesture reminds me of a beloved pet presenting their owner with a grotesque gift, like a dead bird or half chewed up squirrel.
How could you deny their present when they’re just trying to please you?
My mouth opens and closes without a single utterance.
“This was left for you,” she informs me, pushing it closer with a red painted finger.
Words finally tumble from me. “Di-Did you happen to see who left it?” I stare at her mouth, unable to blink, ensuring I don’t miss a single syllable.
“No, sorry. It just had a wrinkled note with the letters of your name. Wanted to get it to you before one of the delivery guys made off with it.” My teeth rake over my top lip as Cassie tilts her head to the side.
“You're not sure who it’s from? Probably just some fella that fancies ya. I used to get plenty of gifts in my younger days. Enjoy the attention, dear.” She pats my hand that rests beside the uncanny black box, before striding off to check on the rest of the staff’s progress. Right. Enjoy being stalked. Sure.
Pulling at the purple velvet ribbon, I opened the box to see the same creamy, folder paper as before.
I open the note slowly. My hand trembles.
Finding various fonts extracted from magazines, just like last time.
You left this behind. Beneath the note, I find exactly what I suspected.
From the moment Cassie put down that black box, I knew what was inside.
The ever-looming white earbud nestled within purple tissue paper.
I close my eyes, taking slow even breaths before opening it again.
I should put the lid on the box. Tuck it away and go on with my work tasks, but I don’t.
Instead, I reach into the box, lift the tech by the long part, then rotate the item within my fingertips.
The star. How? I threw the note away… even buried the box in my closet!
Is this some kind of twisted game? Is a creepy suited puppet going to roll out from a dark corner on a tricycle and ask me to play?
My hand continues to shake as I rotate the damned thing, trying to rationalize that maybe it’s not the same one.
Maybe someone has lots of right earbuds and they simply keep sending me a new one.
That still doesn’t explain the star. I drew that in my room.
In my bed! Is some perv watching me? I feel light-headed, realizing I stopped breathing somewhere between examining my purple Sharpie work and having a full-blown panic attack.
I set the device back in the box and scurry to the backroom to have a moment to think.
I chance taking a seat in Cassie’s chair within the cramped storage room.
Beyond the icemaker, there’s barely enough space back here for a desk, filing cabinet, commercial dishwasher, and mop bucket.
Sitting in the tweed chair, the box before me, I recall my breathing exercises from therapy.
Count back from ten, focusing on your breath, while using your sense of touch to ground you.
Ten… nine… eight… What if he watches the whole apartment?
Shit… seven… is Andrea in danger? Six…there’s no getting rid of this.
I’ve tried that already. Fuck counting. This isn’t helping.
What if… what if I played along? Would they leave me alone if I comply? Could doing this keep my roommate safe? Will we be okay?
Completely abandoning all calming techniques, I decided, then and there to just play the stupid game. I just wasn’t too sure I wanted to win the stupid prize that came along with it.
“Fine! Message received,” I whisper-shout at the inanimate object.
I flip the rocker switch on my exposed ear, remove the receiver, and place my hearing aid within the little black box.
Whether I truly want to or not, I consciously make the choice to replace my medical device, with a potential gateway to a stalker.
With my hearing aid now in the box, I place it with the rest of my belongings ahead of going back out to the floor.
There’s still much to do before The Black Sheep welcomes patrons, so I need to move quickly to finish any remaining tasks.
I carry a bucket of ice with me, hoping that no one noticed I was gone in the back for a little longer than necessary.
Only being here, a little under six months, I wanted my coworkers to like me.
“Cindel!” Cassie hollers to me, just as I finish filling the underbar ice bin. “You're on the floor tonight.”
I nod with a curt smile. If I had a choice in the matter, I prefer to be behind the bar.
My back toward shelving and storage, I only had one direction to interface with customers.
Although I do make better tips when I’m moving around serving tables, it can also be extremely overwhelming.
So many moving bodies and sounds that I don’t even realize when a party may be trying to get my attention.
So, I rotate. Regularly. My attentiveness was usually rewarded with a fat tip.
By nine o’clock, the bar is packed. I find myself scarcely able to weave through the crowd with a tray full of drinks.
The horde is becoming rowdier by the minute and making it that much more difficult to decipher each customer’s drink order.
Balancing a multitude of drinks, each a different size and color, I warily navigate my way back to table six.
Without warning, I start to feel my foot slip on something wet beneath my shoe.
In slow motion, the tray I’m holding begins to tilt, while my body ambles forward.
I try to regain my footing, scared I am going to lose all the drinks, when a hand shoots out and steadies my tray.
Spring colored, clover eyes look back at me, as I clumsily right myself with the extra support.
His perfectly chiseled face appears regal, and his intense stare bores into me.
Rising to his full height, he rolls his shoulders, while effortlessly saving the whole table’s order. No drinks tipped, but some liquid now dances around the ring of the tray. I look from his face to my hand resting upon his, like some kind of debutante at their first ball. Neither of us speak.
Move your hand, Cindel, I scream internally. I do just that, clearing my throat, I stammer, “Mr. Neat.”
He bows his head, as if pleased I remember our previous interaction. Taking the tray from him before Cassie noticed, I was not about to scrub toilets for allowing a customer to hold my tray of drinks.
Casually, he settles his hands into the front pockets of his jacket. As if he didn’t just save me from an embarrassing situation.
“Thank you for the hand,” I offer.
When I turn back toward the direction of the table, I feel a large hand curl around my free wrist. I freeze on the spot and turn to look at him. The extremely handsome customer points to my ear.
“Do you like music?” he asks the words slowly, as if he already knew it’s hard to hear in here and wants to make sure I can read his lips.
Suddenly remembering I have the troublesome device in my ear, I respond, “Yes.”