April Loves Black Coffee: First Impressions

by Solangel, T. B.

  Son doesn’t answer me. Instead, his eyes focus towards the front entrance of The Trax. I follow his gaze to see two figures entering the restaurant. The woman is walking briskly with the man following her heels closely. The two are dressed business casual. The man is wearing khaki pants with a dark blazer while the woman is wearing black slacks and a white blouse. Even at a distance, I see her red nails curling over a dark manila folder. Her dark eyes are scanning the room. When her keen eyes land on Son, the blood drains from his face. I can almost see the hairs stand on his arms.

  Son stands abruptly from the bar and mumbles, “What are they doing here?”

  “Who are they?” I ask.

  “The Bosses.” Son leaves without clarifying if I had heard him right.

  I’m alarmed by his abrupt departure. I have never seen Son react this way. In fact, I have never seen even one Boss much less two of them. There is something unsettling about them. A couple of co-workers stop in the middle of their tasks, shell shocked at the sight of Son scampering after the two unfamiliar figures. When Son reaches them, the woman gestures toward the long hallway as though to indicate why she is here.

  “She doesn’t look like a health inspector.” His breathless voice breaks my concentration.

  I jump slightly at Tailor’s phantom appearance. He is in full bartender gear, complete with the Fedora hat. Tailor’s usual grin is not apparent on his face. He looks worried, reflecting how I feel inside.

  “Son says they’re the Bosses,” I mumble, well aware that I am lighting a fire under the gossip log.

  “Bosses?” Tailor lifts up an eyebrow. “I’ve never even met one Boss. I’ve worked here for three years.”

  Right? I feel another chill ripple down my spine. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

  I get up from the barstool and head into the bathroom to wash my face. Thoughts of my conversation with Son travels back to my consciousness. The thought of Choi Sangwoo green lighting someone’s execution traumatizes me. I don’t know what to think about all the rumors. It seems as though the more I try to figure out these gang lords, the more rumors and tainted truths I am coming across. There are too many grapes marching through the grapevine.

  At some point between running the cold water under my fingers and thinking, I decide to give up. There is no use dwelling on something I cannot settle on. I will probably never get to the bottom of the truth. The only conclusion I am sure of is Choi Sangwoo, and his dangerous counterpart Mayhem, will remain in shrouded mystery. People who dedicate their entire lives to investigating gangs may never obtain the type of information I am asking for. Who am I, a nobody, to be pursuing such truth?

  Talk about positive thinking, May. My conscience is all sarcasm when I leave the bathroom.

  I go back to work with a buffer mindset. I put the rest of my efforts into a happy appearance and customer service mannerisms. Fortunately, time speeds by and before I know it, The Trax is nearing its closing time. Because Sunday nights are never much at The Trax, the venue closes two hours earlier than its usual time.

  Son is still missing in action. A couple of the co-workers start to whisper that Son is in trouble for his management executions while others speculate he is getting an award for his czar-like pursuits.

  As the remaining customers trickle out of The Trax, I head to the bar to drop off some empty glasses. Tailor is in the middle of stacking bottles back on the shelves when he greets me. “Staff meeting,” he states. He motions towards the hallway where a couple of co-workers are heading.

  “Staff meeting?” I don’t even disguise the surprise in my voice. Our staff meetings are usually at the beginning of the month.

  Tailor shrugs his shoulder in an I-don’t-know fashion. Seeing Tailor’s worried facial expression concerns me. He leads the way to the back room where the meeting is taking place. I follow with a heavy heart. I don’t know if I can take any more surprises.

  There is only one meeting room at The Trax. It is behind the kitchen, tucked away from wandering eyes. There is a wooden plaque on the door that says Meeting Room in dishevel marks. Tailor reaches the door first, and I can hear voices rumbling inside when I approach it next.

  Tailor knocks on the door and the voices inside die down.

  “Come in,” a curt female voice answers.

  Tailor glances at me briefly before he opens the door. I take a deep breath and follow him in. The meeting room is hot, stuffy, and small in the claustrophobic sense. There are wall-to-wall paintings of nightlife depictions that range from an artistic replica of a bar to photographs of city lights. The brown furnishings, coupled with the beige walls, convey a gloomy room. In the middle of the room is the large, oval table. Son is sitting at one end of the wooden table next to Joolie. Son has a dreadful look on his face; Joolie gives me a small smile when we make eye contact. Three other co-workers are already sitting around the table. The chef and his assistant sit across from Son and Joolie, looking equally disturbed.

  The Bosses are sitting at the front end of the table. Their eyes are unrelenting when they focus on Tailor and me. There are two empty seats next to them, seemingly reserved for us.

  I can feel the hair on my arms standing up. These people are definitely not here to give any raises.

  “Have a seat.” The female extends a long manicured hand. Her red nail polish dance in front of my eyes again. Like a viper. She reminds me of Medusa, if Medusa is hauntingly beautiful with long spiraling red hair and lacquered black eyes.

  The male sitting next to Nailpolish reminds me of a vampire with his pale white skin and long, flowing hair framing his face. His facial expression remains emotionless as he watches Tailor sit down next to him. I take the seat next to Tailor.

  “Now that everyone is here, we thank you for attending this meeting on such a short notice.” Nailpolish’s dark eyes flick from one Trax employee to the next. “We are the owners of The Trax. The sole proprietors. My name is Naili and this is my partner.”

  Naili only introduces herself.

  Oh, this can’t be good. My intuition digs in her secret stash to count how much money she’s saved. I fidget in my seat as several co-workers do the same. Son is looking down at the wooden table. He already knows what this meeting is about, so he is trying to hide the emotions associated to it. Joolie is the only one who cannot contain her emotions. Disbelief colors her face as she gives me a look. I want to shrug my shoulders at her.

  “We have been running things behind the scenes. The Trax is not the only venue that we own,” Naili continues as though she is explaining some known fact. She looks at each of us. When Naili’s eyes land on me, her gaze lingers.

  Quit imagining things May. She doesn’t even know you. I bite my bottom lip in a nervous manner. I break eye contact with Naili and look down at my hands.

  “With that said,” Naili continues. “The Trax has been active for three years now. Business has been good, but not great. We have been calculating, adjusting, maintaining, and striving to improve. But I am afraid the time has come for us to move on. We are closing in a week.”

  A ripple of shock and surprise travels throughout the table. Son finally looks up and makes eye contact with me. His eyes are dark and brewing with emotions. Joolie has her hand covering her mouth; a horrified expression wanes on her face. Tailor is sitting as still as a stone, carved indefinitely in some ancient substance. The chef and his assistant look as though Nailpolish just ran them over with her car. The other three co-workers are murmuring under their breaths.

  “Closing in a week?” Joolie finally speaks up. She lowers the hand covering her mouth. Leave it to Joolie to speak up first. “So this means we’re all getting laid off?

  “We’re letting you all go, yes,” Naili repeats with a frown crossing her delicate facial expression. It is as though Naili is assessing whether Joolie is mentally competent.

  “But everything is going great.” Joolie does her best to save The Trax. “Shouldn’t you give a two-week’s notice? One week is hardly a
ny time to turn around.”

  “No. We are an LLC.” Naili narrows her eyes at Joolie in a fashion that send chills down our backs. “What that means,” she adds with impatience, “is we’re a limited liability company. We’re a flexible enterprise, which also means we are not a public company, but rather a private entity. We are allowed to exercise sole rights, especially since there was no contract when you signed to work with us.”

  Joolie is giving Naili a look that says, “Who are you people and what gives you the right to fire us? You’re going to hear from my lawyer!”

  “You may be upset enough to garner a second opinion, an attorney perhaps. But let me give you some advice. By the time you succeed in bringing us to court, you are better off saving that time, money, and energy into finding another job. Just because our appearance at The Trax has been . . . limited . . . doesn’t mean that we are fools. Behind every enigma is the force that creates it.”

  She knows her shit. But she’s also threatening us! My conscience is shaking her head over the newspaper she is reading, scouring for another job already.

  “So what will become of this place?” My voice is a whisper.

  Naili turns her attention to me. There is light dancing in her eyes. It is quite alarming to have such a remarkable woman look at me like that. “The new owner will see fit it to his liking.”

  “It’s been bought over?” This is news to Son. He speaks up for the first time. The concern is apparent in his face. “Who is buying it?”

  Naili gives Son a look that signals he is crossing the line by asking. “That is a matter of private records.”

  “We have a right to know,” Son refutes. He looks around the table at all of us. “It’s like we’re getting hit by a bus.”

  Naili nods her head, but there’s no sympathy bone she is willing to toss at us. “That is why we are giving you a week’s notice in advance. The new owner has taken it upon himself to release severance checks as well.”

  Tailor whistles under his breath.

  Who will be the new owner? Why is he paying us a severance check to kick us out? My scalp prickles. The onset of a migraine is coming on.

  “We will be handing out written notices tomorrow. Any further questions or comments may be conducted with us in a more personal form.” Naili ends the brief meeting. She scans the room at our blank and disquiet demeanors. “You are all excused.” As if we’re errant children, Naili dismisses us quickly from her sight. The man by her side watches us with a lazy and almost bored expression.

  Slowly, I get up from the table with Tailor. My knees feel like noodles and my head feels like a puddle. Son and the chef remain seated, undoubtedly wanting to discuss this matter in further personal detail with Naili and her quiet vampire. Joolie is the first one out of the door with us following in her wake.

  “It’s gangsters!” are the first word out of Joolie’s mouth when we travel down the hallway. She turns to us with eyes too bright.

  “Gangsters?” Tailor asks with an unconvinced tone.

  “Remember that Crist member?” Joolie takes the liberty of reminding us.

  I am never going to escape Choi Sangwoo, am I? Nope! My intuition grins passively. There is something seriously shady about him.

  “You think Crist bought this shit hole?” Tailor asks. I have never heard him curse. Tailor’s eyes are scorching from the news, mirroring Joolie’s upset expression.

  “He probably bought The Trax. I warned you guys about this!” Joolie hisses. “He came here twice on two separate occasions. He is probably getting revenge on us throwing him out when he was drunk!”

  Not true! I took him home and took care of him! My conscience shakes her head in defense. There is something inside of me that wants to negate the idea altogether. Sangwoo doesn’t seem like the type to do petty revenge. It is not his style.

  “He can’t possibly have enough money or power to do this. Besides, if he’s a true gangster, he’ll be too busy to do something like this,” Tailor refutes. “Besides –”

  “Shhh!” Joolie’s shush comes just in time as the door to the meeting room opens again.

  Son exits with an angry look on his face. “Finish closing up. Why are you guys gossiping?” Son snaps at us.

  Joolie shakes her head at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were in on this too.” She points an accusing finger at him.

  “How am I in cahoots with this when I’m losing my job like you all?” Son shoots back at Joolie. “I’m just as surprised. But, there’s no point standing here and talking about it. Transfer your gossiping energy to finding another job.” He shoulders past the three of us and disappears down the hallway.

  “Why does he always have a stick up his ass?” Joolie snaps at Son’s retreating back. “He definitely knows something!”

  Tailor lets out an agitated sigh. “This was definitely not how I thought my day would end up like. Maybe we can talk more about this when we’re all clear headed. I’m leaving.” Tailor holds up a hand before he saunters down the hallway.

  Joolie shakes her head at Tailor’s goodbye. Joolie turns her fervent energy on me. “Come on May, don’t tell me you don’t see anything fishy about this. Our Bosses, who we’ve never met before, are telling us we have a week before the place closes down because it’s been bought over. Everyone knows that The Trax is in no way, shape, or form a good investment. I smell underground and black market money all over this.”

  What are we supposed to do Joolie? Pick up sticks and boycott? I don’t have the mindset or the energy to go through this with her. I simply shrug. “Things happen for a reason Joolie. Maybe it’s time to move on.”

  “Move on?” Joolie scoffs. “Naili will hear from my lawyers.” She emphasizes lawyers with a finger gesture.

  With her usual dramatic exit, Joolie disappears briskly down the hall. Whether or not Joolie can truly afford a lawyer to fight this, her can-do attitude fascinates me.

  Laid off. The words swim in my head. I am feeling defeated and exhausted, first Sansachun in the morning and now The Trax. My life is taking unpredictable turns at every corner. I am not sure I can take much more before I cave in. I just wish for my warm bed and some time to absorb all this. Tailor is right, we can discuss this when we’re all levelheaded again. Everyone is riding on high emotions right now. We need to get off it.

  I LEAVE THE TRAX FEELING empty and dark. The Trax resembles a ghost town now that most of my co-workers have left in a hurry and anger. The entire building is dark, except for the bar and main dance floor. Soft, neon yellow and purple lights roam the designated areas. I stop by the meeting room on my way out. Naili and her vampire are gone, leaving in their wake the void their troubling news created. It is fascinating how one person is able to change the course of others’ lives.

  My shoes make a soft noise when I push open the entrance door. The cool summer air greets me as soon as I am outside. As I climb the steps that lead to street level, I look for my cell phone in my tote bag. The dim street light isn’t much help as I ransack my bag for my cell phone. I want to call Lina and talk to her. I want to call Eunhye and cry. I feel like a child who is in desperate need of attention, love, and care.

  My phone lights up and I realize I am staring at an incoming call. I don’t recognize the phone number when I answer.

  “Hello.” My voice is scratchy and unfamiliar.

  “Hi.” His tone is clear and precise, but all at once commanding.

  A wave of emotion comes over me. Shit. I am too sensitive from all the events today. My memory runs like a rolling train and reminds me that I, Maybelline Lee, have a dinner date with the underground gang lord tonight. Well, to my credit, I was busy getting fired.

  “How did you get my number?” I swallow hard. Very cool May.

  The trademark smile is in his voice. “I have all the information I need to know about you May.”

  Stalker . . . and somewhat flattering. Stalker because he probably knows what I ate for breakfast this morning; flatter
ing because someone as mystifying, striking, and contagious as Sangwoo is interested in me. I feel like a walking poster for advocating how dangerous romanticism can be sexy. I need to snap out of this.

  “Are you off work?” Sangwoo asks, ultimately breaking the silent void between my rampant thoughts and us.

  “Yes,” I breathe into the phone.

  “Good. Are you ready to go?” Sangwoo presses on.

  I am partial to his voice. I sink into the slow and deep sand. For some undemanding reason, I lift my head up. My footsteps come to a full stop when I see a white, gleaming Mercedes SLS550 parked at the end of the dark tunnel that divides The Trax from the rest of the world.

  Choi Sangwoo is standing near the driver’s side. He is dressed down in a black dress shirt that showcases the muscles spanning over his broad chest; the sleeves are rolled up to the creases of his elbows, showcasing developed arms with healthy muscle bars that wrap and twist from disciplined workout sessions. A pair of aviator sunglasses folds into the crest of his front shirt. Sangwoo completes his look with black jeans–casual and camouflage in the night. He is darkly handsome with his tousled hair styled away from his face. He is everything that gang leaders should not be and definitely should not look like.

  What should I say to him? All thoughts dispel from my mind. I slowly hang up my phone while he mirrors my movement from only a distance away.

  Choi Sangwoo, leader of the dark underground world, is picking me up in a flashy car. Oh my. This is going to take some time to digest. I am more nervous now than if I had never seen him throw up. It is funny how memories can fade when current reality is overbearing.

  Sangwoo looks at me with speculation. “Hi,” he says again when I approach him slowly. “I decided to pick you up from work since we never got to work out the details about tonight, last night.”

  How does he make complex thoughts flow so simply? Say something May. My intuition is gaping at him with her mouth formed into a perfect circle. He makes her task very tough. “Uh . . . you didn’t have to.” I feel as though the balloon above my head deflates in disappointment.