Steady On the Mic (Cinema School #2)

Chapter 1 Kris

This is it. Rock bottom. I thought it would be in the alley behind a club, face down against the blacktop, while sirens blared in the background. But no. My rock bottom is in the back of a closed coffee shop where I’m putting my hair in a bun and tying my apron that says, “The Rough Cut.” The polo shirt, green cap, and rainbow name tag affixed to my chest, are nails in my coffin. And it totally tracks that some smooth jazz version of Metallica is playing in the background.

I should be grateful. With my record, jobs are hard to come by. I’ve been an “independent contractor” most of my life, picking up gigs as a roadie, promoter, and studio tech, before purchasing my own venue. I foolishly sunk everything I had into my club, so when it got damaged in a fire, I wound up back at square one. The insurance should kick in eventually, but now I need money. Reliable, steady income, not to mention health insurance for my bad back. Hence the soul-killing job.

I jab my finger on the stupid name tag button and am tempted to smear the blood across it. My pronouns are: Terrifying. That would give it a little flair, at least. But I’m not going to do that. I’m going to suck it up and be the good little wage slave I’m supposed to be.

“Oh great, you’re here!”

I turn around to find Ari, the store manager, walking into the employee room with another man behind him.

Ari’s a big, friendly, young guy who seems decent enough, but he’s already told me he’ll be too busy to manage me day-to-day. Besides running the cafe, he bakes all the cafe’s goodies and is overseeing renovations. He’s a real go-getter, I guess.

The dude behind him must be the senior barista who will be supervising me. A bristling sensation runs through me just thinking about it.

“Looking good, new guy!” the man says, and I give him a good look from head to toe. I can’t believe even one shred of my wellbeing rests in this pretty boy’s hands.

He's about half a head shorter than me, with shiny dark hair and warm brown eyes. His name tag says “Dave, he/him” and he looks genuinely happy to see me. We’ll see how long that lasts.

“Thanks. You can call me Kris,” I say, trying not to growl.

“Kris it is.” He smiles wider.

“Great! Is everything okay with your uniform and paperwork?” Ari asks. I try to put on my most polite face when I respond.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

A banging noise from the back interrupts us.

“Sorry about the noise. There’s a full kitchen and performance space in the back that need fixing. It’ll be a whole new place in a few months.”

“Cool deal,” I say. I mean, whatever. I don’t plan to be here in a few months, but I make a mental note about the performance space. “It’s always like that in the mornings. You get used to it,” Dave leans in conspiratorially.

I grunt in response, and Dave grins at me. It’s a blinding white movie star smile. I don’t know what it is about LA people. Why are their teeth so bright and perfect? It’s almost creepy. But on Dave it works.

Ari nods.

“Yeah, most of the work gets done early in the day. But you won’t have to worry about the evening clean up. Shar and Emilio take care of that. And don’t worry if you see an older gentleman wandering the halls. That’s my Gramps. He’s mentoring me here.

“Alright.” I’m starting to wonder how long I can keep up my good employee act. I’m already getting restless.

“Cool, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you in Dave’s capable hands.”

My gaze flicks down to Dave’s smooth hands, then back to his eyes. He’s watching me just as closely as I’m watching him.

The next few hours are a blur of espresso machine mechanics, coffee drink mixology, and self-loathing, punctuated by happy smiles by Mr. Handsome here. Total rock bottom, like I said. If I make it to the end of the day without punching Dave or walking out in disgust, I’ll count it as an epic win.

“Any last questions before we call it a day?” Dave asks as he wipes his already clean hands on his apron. Dave’s hands look like they’ve never touched anything rougher than a coffee filter.

“No, except when do our benefits kick in?” I ask.

Let’s be real. I'm not here out of a love of lattes.

“After thirty days of employment. You’re lucky they offered you a full-time gig”

“Yeah, well…” I don’t know what to say. The owner is a good guy and so is my friend. So here we are.

“Anything else?” He starts untying his apron.

My eyes snag on his hands again. I don’t know why I’m watching them. They’re not a working person’s hands. They’re frivolous hands, but they have a nice shape anyway. There’s strength in them. Beauty. Holy demons above. I will not allow myself to get hot and bothered over the damn barista’s hands. I have too much self-respect. This is supposed to be my rock bottom, not my cruising ground.

“What about the music?” I ask. Dave scrunches his nose like he doesn’t know what music is. “Do we have to listen to this…” I try to find a polite word for the corporate shit pop that’s being piped through the café.

“Uhh, I’m not sure. I can check with Ari, but I don’t think he’ll care as long as it drowns out the construction.”

“Can I see the sound system?” I ask quickly, interested for the first time. I also want to see that performance space. Maybe I can book one of the bands I rep back there.

“It’s over here. Just don’t break anything.” He leads me back to the break room where we started the day.

He puts his hands on his hips and looks around for the control panel. I notice he has some kind of tattoo on the inside of his bicep. If it’s a cartoon character, I’m bailing. But as I look closer, I think it’s more of a symbol or something. I have no intention of asking him its meaning. I tear my eyes off Dave and spot the music system next to the cabinets on the wall.

“Found it.” I brush past him and stretch up to inspect the old machine. Dave smells like vanilla syrup and my mouth waters just a little.

“You probably shouldn’t…” Dave starts, then trails off when it’s clear I’m ignoring him.

The sound system is probably about ten years old, but it’s something I can work with. I know there are rules about what music you can play in a business, but I’m sure I can find something in this hunk of junk to make this place bearable. I look over the knobs, levers, and input jacks. I’m already feeling better. Energized.

“Rock n’ roll man,” I say to the machine. I can sense Dave hovering nervously behind me.

“Ari didn’t say we could mess with the machine.”

“Did he say we couldn’t?”

“No.”

“So, we’re golden.” I turn to him. “It’s easier to ask forgiveness than ask permission,”

“Is it?” He sounds suspicious.

“Yes.”

Dave looks kind of nervous but not alarmed, which is all the permission I need. Not that I’d stop anyway, but it’s good to know that hot Dave here isn’t a total narc.

Good music is what this place needs. Guitars. Drums. Volume! Yes. That’s what is missing. That and customers. But I don’t really care about that. I find the tuner on the machine and switch off the pop, then land on smooth jazz. No! I switch again. Classical. I flip again through various options until I reach the last choice: classic rock. Relief floods through my body. Even grandpa rock is better than no rock at all. I turn the volume up. Way up. Then take a deep breath and let the music vibrate through me. I smile at Dave and he kind of flinches.

“This is music. This is what I’m talking about.”

Dave leans closer, like he’s having trouble hearing me.

“When there are customers here, we’ll have to turn it down or we won’t be able to hear the orders.”

That’s what I think he says. It’s hard to be sure over the music. Good thing the cafe is closed. I give him a thumbs up.

“I really think we should turn the volume down now. I can’t train you over the music,” Dave yells.

“What’s that?” I yell back. I’m kind of just messing with him, but it is hard to hear.

“Turn the music down!”

“You don’t have to shout.”

“I do! The music’s too loud! Turn it down now.” Dave’s cheeks are pinkening attractively as he gets flustered.

“Fuck. Fine.” I lean forward and turn it down a few notches. I can still feel it in my chest, but it’s at a more reasonable level.

“Thank you. Christ.” He rubs his hand over the back of his neck. “Now let’s talk about disinfecting food preparation surfaces.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” I try my best to smile obediently, but whatever he sees in my expression makes him shake his head and turn away.