Following My Toes (13 page)

He said he’d call, but I figured I would hear from him about as soon as I’d hear from Ethan, as in, the week after never. If things didn’t turn around soon, I was doomed to be alone for the rest of my life. All of my friends had left me, no guys were interested, and to top things off, I couldn’t even get a job interview.

I resolved to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. My big summer paycheck was not going to last forever, so I decided to get a job doing something other than teaching. Maybe when the school year started I would sign up as a substitute teacher, in hopes of landing a permanent job through the back door. But for the time being, I needed a routine. I needed somewhere in this city I could call my own.

I’m amazed it took me so long to think of it. But one morning when I went into Cafe Panoply for my regular cup of coffee, Sally made her usual comment about how she needs someone for early morning shifts. This time I responded differently.

“Sally,” I said, “you don’t have to sell the place. I’ll work the early morning shift.”

She stopped filling up my cup mid-way, and turned to me. “You? You want to work here? Do you know how to work in a coffee shop?”

“Yes!” I said, with more bravado than necessary. “I have all sorts of experience from when I lived up in
Duluth
.” So what if my experience was limited to what I learned from Peter working in a similar setup; Sally didn’t have to know that.

She looked as if she didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know Faith. Are you sure it’s what you want? You’re a trained professional. Don’t you think you’re a little beyond working here?”

I laughed. “Sally, I could kiss you for calling me a trained professional. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone refer to a teacher that way!”

She was obviously flustered, and started to arrange the pastries on the shelf below. “Well, you are a trained professional. You shouldn’t think so little of yourself.”

For a moment I thought I was going to cry. It had been a long time since someone had been so nice to me. “Sally, all I know is I feel more at home here than anywhere in
Minneapolis
. I need a job, and you need someone you can rely on. I can’t promise you I’ll stay forever, and I’ll need a few days off in July for my parents’ stuffing convention, but I do want to work here. So, how about it? Will you give me a chance?”

Sally raised herself back up, and when she looked at me, it was with a grin on her face. “I thought you’d never ask.” Then she walked out from behind the counter, and gave me a hug. We were in the middle of our embrace when Bill walked in.

“Sally!” his deep voice boomed, “do I have competition? I thought I was your favorite customer!”

She let go of me and smiled. “Don’t worry, you still are. Faith is going to start working here, so she’ll no longer be a customer. Do you know Faith?”

He placed his laptop down the nearest table. “Oh, yes! Faith and I go way back. Welcome to Cafe Panoply, Faith.” He held his hand out to mine, I assumed to shake it. But once our hands made contact he drew mine to his mouth and kissed it lightly. All I could do was laugh at his goofiness.

“Don’t mind Bill,” Sally said. “He’s a huge flirt.”

Bill responded. “That may be true Sally, but you’re always my favorite girl.”

I walked back to my apartment, my dark mood partially lifted. At least someone wanted me, even if it was only to work behind a counter. Besides, maybe I would meet people working there. Things were looking up.

When I got to my door I found something had been left outside of it. It was a nightlight, the cheap kind you can buy at the drug store. There was no note, but it was obvious by the way it had been propped up against the door that it had been deliberately placed there.

Then, when I got inside, there was another message. “Hey, it’s me. I hope you like your present. Maybe it will help to shed some light on all your issues.” It was the same voice as the last two times. Determined not to freak out, I told myself it had to be a friend of Missy’s. Yet I wasn’t sure if Missy had any friends.

I went and sat down on the couch, still holding the nightlight. Maybe if I sat and stared at it, holding it in my hand, I might pick up some sort of vibe. I figured it was worth a try. I studied every angle of the light – its cheap plastic construction, its Walgreen’s label, the way the upper part was modeled like a miniature lantern. I felt nothing, though. My skin didn’t hurt, my toes didn’t itch; no visions came to me. Oh well, even when my powers were at their strongest I’d never been able to pick up much through objects.

When Missy got home a few minutes later I asked her about it. After playing her the message, and showing her the nightlight, she had no real insight into the situation either. Missy had been using the line I put in for her personal calls, in order to keep her “telemarketing” separate, so she had already heard the messages.

“I figured those messages were from someone you knew,” she said, fiddling with the nightlight. “Hey, do you mind if I keep this? I was going to buy one for my room anyway.”

“Keep it – that’s fine. But Missy, are you sure? You have no idea who it could be?” She shook her head. “What about your customers? Could it be someone you talk to on the phone?”

“No,” she replied cheerily. “The agency I go through promises complete anonymity. There’s no way my customers can trace me.”

“Then who is it? Don’t you think it’s a little creepy, this guy is calling, and he knows where we live?”

“I wouldn’t worry about it Faith.” She seemed to be in an aw-fully good mood. “It all seems rather harmless to me. Anyway, I have exciting news!”

 
“Oh, yeah?” I said, reluctant to change the topic of conversation.

“I found a new job!” she announced, and for a moment she looked like she was going to start jumping up and down. “I’m a dancer! Can you believe it? I’ve always wanted to be a dancer, and now I am one! I started last night. I went in, and they said they’d try me out, and so I stayed and danced that night, and at the end of the evening, they hired me!”

 
Hmmm... I knew Missy wanted me to be as excited for her as she was, but something was off. Still, I tried. “That’s great Missy, I’m glad that you’re happy. But... where did you say you’re going to be dancing?”

“De Ja Vu.” she said, and her face glowed. De Ja Vu was a popular “gentlemen’s club” downtown. Their slogan, painted on their door, was “1000 pretty girls and three ugly ones.”

“So, um, when you say dancing, you mean you’re going to be, uh, stripping.”

Her smile faded. “Well, yeah, if you want to put a label on it!” she snapped. “But have you ever tried it, Faith? It’s not as easy as it looks. It takes a lot of skill, and a lot of strength.” Then she paused for a moment, as revelation spread across her face. “Hey, you’re looking for a job! You should try it! You can make good money, and we could work together! It would be great! Do you want to go down there with me tonight? I’ll introduce you...”

I cut her off. Thank God I could now say this. “Actually, I got a job. But thanks anyway.”

“Oh, you got a job? Where?”

“Right down the street, at Cafe Panoply.” I said this with a smile, but apparently Missy was about as happy for me as I was for Missy.

“You’re going to work at a coffee shop? But you’ll make next to nothing there! You won’t believe the money you can make as a dancer. Why, last night I got over a hundred in tips alone.”

“I know, but this is temporary, until I find a job teaching.”

“Why not work temporarily as a dancer?”

“Because,” I retorted, “no school will hire me to teach children if they knew I took my clothes off for money!”

With that Missy’s face fell, and I instantly regretted my words. “I’m sorry Missy. I didn’t mean... It’s not the right thing for me, that’s all.”

“Never mind,” she said. “Tell me, why is serving people coffee so much better than dancing naked?”

Perhaps she had a point, I mean, who was she hurting by being a stripper? Before I could articulate my thoughts, she went into her room and slammed the door. My eyes glanced down, and I noticed she had left the nightlight abandoned on the coffee table. In a half-hearted gesture of apology I picked it up and left it propped outside of her bedroom door, much the way I had originally found it.

* * *

The next morning I was trained in at my new job. Sally walked me through all of my responsibilities. She went through everything from watering the plants to taking out the garbage. Most importantly, I was to double check that the drawer in the cash register was starting out at an even hundred by counting all of the money. I was sure it was all fairly simple, but Sally went through it all so quickly I was afraid I would forget something important.

I had never actually worked in a coffee shop, but I knew a lot about it after being with Peter for two years. He talked about his job all the time, and one night for fun, he snuck me into the shop after closing to teach me to make drinks on the espresso machine. That fi rst morning I tried hard to remember what he taught me, while I tried to forget the memory of slinging milk foam at each other, and how he had grabbed me, and then we kissed all of the spots on each other’s bodies where the milk landed. “Move on,” I told myself. “Focus. All you need to do is forget about love for a while, and focus.”

Actually, I was handling my first morning rush quite well. I was keeping up with the drink orders, and maintaining a pleasant attitude, even when customers were rude. Of course, since it was my first day Sally stayed to help me, which I was glad of. That is, until Ethan happened to walk in.

I didn’t notice him at first. It was around 8:30, and I had just finished serving a customer a scone and a double skim cappuccino when I heard his trademark drawl. “Faith,” he said. “When did you start working here?

I looked up and there he was, standing before me, with a shocked but not unhappy expression on his face. He was as cute as ever in his work shirt, worn jeans, and dark rimmed glasses. His hair was still wet from his morning shower, and it was slicked back from his forehead, with one stray curl hanging down. He was freshly shaven, and I could smell his aftershave from where he was standing.

“Hey Ethan, what’s up? What can I get you?” I plastered a fake smile on my face, aware of Sally watching me.

His smile seemed more genuine than mine, but I wasn’t buying it. If he wanted to see me, he could have called, and he hadn’t.

“When did you start working here?” he asked again. “I’m here every morning, and I’ve never seen you before.”

“This is my first day.”

“Wow,” he said, “So what about teaching? Have you given up on that?”

I wanted to answer. Engaging in friendly conversation with someone who understood me was something I desperately needed after the week I had had. But flirting with a man at a coffee shop was too familiar a feeling, even if I was the one now standing behind the counter. I had to avoid the inevitable pain I knew would come from associating with Ethan.

My voice was like bright blue antifreeze. “I’ve given up on a lot of things.” I said this as I looked long and hard into his eyes. “Can I get you anything? I’m very busy, so I actually can’t talk.”

He stepped back as if he had been slapped. But he recovered quickly, and handed me his stainless steel travel mug. “Fill it up with the French Roast, please.” I did so, and handed it back to him. As he dug into his pocket for some change there was this seven and a half hour long silence between us. He paid for his coffee, but before he turned to leave, he said, “Good luck, Faith. See you around.”

I assumed that meant goodbye. That was spectacular. No more waiting around, wondering if he was going to call. Now I knew he wouldn’t. And as I’d already told myself, if he wasn’t the wrong guy for me, this was definitely the wrong time.

I worked in a daze for the next five or ten minutes, too consumed with my own thoughts to notice much around me. “Miss! Excuse me, I’m in a hurry here.” An impatient customer pulled me out of my rev-erie: a skinny woman in her early thirties, dressed all in black. From her dark hair done up in a French twist, to her manicured burgundy nails, everything about her appearance was impeccable and composed. She looked like the exact antithesis of how I felt.

“Sorry. What can I get you?”

“I need a large skim half decaf latte. Double on the espresso. Lots of foam, but don’t over-heat the milk. I hate that.”

“Sure.” I went over the to espresso machine. Now, lets see, how did Sally say you make something half decaf? I looked over to ask her, but she had gone in the back.

“Is there a problem?” said my customer, tapping her nails against the counter.

“Not at all!” My reply was all sugar. Forget the half decaf thing.

This woman was already high maintenance enough, so I decided to save myself, and the people whom she worked with some trouble, and I made her latte all decaf. As I did this I made sure that my back was covering the espresso machine, but it was impossible to prevent her from having a perfect view of me steaming the milk.

Her eyes interrogated me, and then her voice did as well. “Don’t you think you’ve steamed that enough? Remember, I don’t like it too hot!”