Inside, things looked pretty slow. It was a small store. Along one side of the building was a large coffee bean display that covered the entire wall. It was still before nine AM so the shop should have been busy with a line snaking out of the door. Instead, there were only a few customers at the counter line with all of the machinery needed to grind, foam, and brew the products. There were a few more in the rest of the space was taken by tables and chairs.
Lou was running the register. Eddie was working the counter with him. The two made an odd couple. Lou was small and round with his plaid shirt. I’d never really asked Lou how old he was but his shiny bald head with a fringe of salt and pepper hair around the temples told me he was no spring chicken. Eddie, on the other hand, couldn’t have been more than 25. He was tall and lanky with dreadlocks that had changed colors twice in the last month. They were red right now. As odd as they looked together, Lou and Eddie worked well together. They had been working together at Cranky Beans longer than anyone else. The rest of the staff had only been hired within the past few months.
In between taking an order and yelling it to another barista, Lou acknowledged my presence. “You’re late!”
“I’m not late. I told you I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. Remember?” The lie slipped out easily. I liked Lou a lot but it wasn’t like I could tell him that the minute something better showed up, I was gonna leave. He wasn’t a fool.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he grumbled. He pushed another customer’s change at her before gesturing to the front window. “You see what that asshole did today?”
“Yeah. This the third time, huh? How come you didn’t clean it off?”
Lou shot me a dirty look. “Because we were shorthanded this morning and there were already customers here. But you’re here now so you can go out there and clean it up.”
“Yay for me,” I mumbled under my breath. I stashed my bag in the back, grabbed a bucket of soapy, warm water and a sponge before heading back out front. As usual, the paint came off pretty easily. It was just annoying as hell. Maybe that was the whole point.
Once I was done, I joined Lou and Eddie behind the counter. I spent the next two hours grinding, brewing, and pouring. The nice thing about Cranky's is that the time mostly flies. There's usually something to do and the pace is fast enough to make you feel like time doesn’t matter.
There are a ton of coffee spots all over the island of Manhattan. New Yorkers love coffee. But the secret to Cranky's is the beans. We import the finest and rarest beans from all over the world. We’ll grind them and then use them to make whatever your poison is--drip, espresso, cappuccino, iced, frozen.
But all of those beans take up space, which is where the display wall comes in. When the customer chooses their bean, the baristas climb the wall to get them. It’s a physical job--much more physical than anything I’ve ever done before. My clothes were usually soaked in sweat by the time I clocked out.
Someone ordered a macchiato made from an Ethiopian bean. I climbed the bean ladder and grabbed the right ones. Then I scrambled down and put them in the grinder. Just as I was taking the grounds from the grinder to the espresso machine, I turned and ran into Eddie, who was holding a container of scalding hot milk. We both yelled out--him in surprise and me in pain.
“Arrrrgggghhhhh!” I growled. It came out as a guttural sound that only partially matched the pain that was shooting through my forearm.
Eddie tossed me a towel. “Watch it, Audrey. Mistakes cost money.”
The towel hit my arm and I felt another sharp vibration of pain. I looked down. It was already turning colors and the skin was bubbling. It looked bad.
I passed the coffee grounds I was holding to Eddie. “Here. Make this a macchiato. I’ll be right back.” I sprinted from behind the counter and rushed into the unisex bathroom, locking the door behind me.
My arm was swelling already. The skin was broken and turning black. But I wasn’t concerned. This wasn’t the first time I’d been burned. It wasn’t even the first time I’d been burned while working at Cranky's.
I sat down on the toilet and slowed my breathing. Even though I knew I’d heal in just a few minutes, it still hurt like hell. Had this have happened to any of the other baristas, it would have been an automatic trip to the emergency room. I just needed a fifteen minutes in the bathroom and I’d be good as new.
About ten minutes in, I heard a knock at the door. “Yeah?” I said.
The voice that answered me was low and gravelly, like its owner had been drinking coffee and smoking cigarettes since birth. “You almost done in there?”
I looked down at my arm. It was still a little swollen and bright red. Not so bad. “Uh, yeah. Hold on.”
The voice on the other side of the door groaned. “I can try but I can’t promise anything.”
I splashed some water on my face and opened the door. Standing on the other side was an elderly white-haired man with big dark glasses and a cane. He was a regular customer who came in a couple of times a day. He must have lived in the neighborhood. “Thank God,” he said as he pushed past me. “When you get to be my age, you can’t always predict whether you’ll make it the bathroom or you’ll need a mop.”
As the door slammed closed, Lou looked over to me from the counter. “You okay, Audrey?” I nodded. “Good. Now get back to work. I need a cappuccino and two drips.” I hurried back behind the counter.
*****
Cranky's did most of its business from before noon. After that, it died down to a slow trickle until eight PM when we closed. After noon, Lou disappeared into his office to count down the register while Eddie and I started cleaning up. When that was done, I popped my head into the office to tell Lou I was going on break before Eddie left for the day.
Lou motioned for me to come in. “Before you go, come in here for a minute, Audrey.”
I sat down in the chair on the other side of his desk. “Are you about to fire me?” It wasn’t a shot in the dark. I’d been fired from just about every job I’d ever had.
Lou shook his head. “No. But I have to cut your hours.”
“Why?”
“Business is slow. Ever since we started getting vandalized, things have slowed down. Even the morning business is less than it used to be.”
“Don’t you have a security system? How come it’s not catching the Graffiti Bandit?”
“Because it’s a cheap piece of shit and it only goes off when a door opens or a window is broken. I don’t even have cameras and with the way business is going, I’m not going to have enough money to get any, either.” Lou took a sip of his coffee. “So we’re back at square one. For now, everyone’s going to get less hours. And if things keep going the way they’re going, I’m going to have to fire someone by the end of the month.”
I felt my face blanch. This wasn’t the job I wanted but I didn’t want to lose it before I found something else. “Okay, Lou. I got it. Thanks for keeping on for at least a few hours a week.”
“Well it’s going to be even less if you can’t get to work on time.”
I felt my face grow hot. “I told you I had a doctor’s appointment today!”
Lou opened the safe and reached in. When he turned around, he held my paycheck in a white envelope and slid it across the desk to me. “If one of those ‘doctor’s appointments’ hires you, make sure to give me notice. Because if you quit, I won’t have to fire anyone.”
Chapter 4
Money makes the world go around. And yet, Supers are supposed to beat back the chaos for free. It’s not a job; it’s a calling. And callings don’t pay. So if money is so important, how can something I do for no money also be important?
That’s what flew across my mind as I tore open the envelope with my paycheck. I grimaced at the numbers on the check before stuffing it into my bag. Not enough. I walked back to my parents’ place faster than my feet actually wanted to go. Now that I was living back home, family dinners happened more often than not. It’s not like I could pretend
I lived too far away to show up anymore.
I opened the front door of my parents’ three story brownstone and threw my bag on the floor in the foyer. My mother’s voice drifted in from the dining room. “Is that you, Audrey?”
“No, it’s a burglar with a key,” I yelled back.
She ignored my sarcasm. “You’re late, dear. And you’re not funny. Come into the dining room. We’re all waiting for you.”
In the dining room I found my mother, father, and sister sitting at the table with a nice spread in front of them. They all looked annoyed at me. “Sorry.” Even I could hear that my tone telegraphed how not sorry I was.
As I took my place at the table, the dishes of food were passed around and we each began filling our plates. I piled mine high with meat, potatoes, and gravy. If I was going to have to endure the next hour, I would need my strength. We settled into a comfortable silence punctuated by chewing noises.
I looked up from my plate to see my sister Ella staring at me. Immediately I knew she was going to start up with me. Ella and I may sport a family resemblance but there were a few key differences. Mainly, I didn’t have a brain that worked like a computer, I didn’t have my life put together, and I wasn’t annoying as fuck. “So how’s the job going?”
“Fine. How’s your job going?” I learned a long time ago that the best way to avoid having anyone pry into my life was to ask them about their own.
Ella’s big ass brain helped her run the astrophysics department at NYU and write a series of bestselling novels about an astrophysicist who solves mysteries in her spare time. She should have had plenty to talk about. But Ella wasn’t having it. “Oh, everything is just great. But it’s really not that interesting. I want to hear more about your job.”
“It’s okay, I guess. But I think they’re going to cut my hours.”
My dad spoke up. “Why? I thought things were going well there.”
“Well, they’re going well for me. I don’t know how well they’re going for Lou, though. Coffee isn’t really an all-day business. And we’re having problems with whoever is vandalizing the store at night.”
“So what does all of that mean?” my mother asked.
“It means that I’m going to about twenty hours a week. And that’s if I don’t get fired.”
Mom and Dad exchanged a look. “But Audrey,” Mom started. “How will you move out without a job?”
I looked around the table at everyone’s worried faces. “Jeez. Don’t look quite so confident guys. I thought you were happy to have me home.”
Dad snorted. “Why would we not be happy to have our thirty-year-old daughter living back at home, making messes, playing loud music, and giving us attitude like she’s fourteen.”
“That’s not fair. I’m definitely moving out. It just might take some time. I’m already looking for other jobs. I had a promising interview just this morning.” I decided to not to mention that the interviewer had threatened to call the cops on me. They didn’t need to know that.
Mom and Dad exchanged another worried look. Mom spoke this time. It seemed like she was choosing her words carefully. “Audrey, you’re our daughter. We created you and we nurtured you into the semi-adult you are today. You’re always welcome in our home. I mean, as long as you start paying the rent you agreed to pay,” she added.
I paused, mid-chew. “What’s that?” I said, through a mouthful of food.
“Your rent,” she clarified. “The money you promised to pay every month for living here.”
I vaguely remembered signing something when I first moved back in with my parents. It said something like I wouldn’t cook or have guests. And that I would pay rent after the first month. “Ooooh yeeeaahhhh,” I drew out. “Yeah, I’ll definitely have the rent. When does it start again?”
“Let’s see. . . you’ve been here for two and a half weeks.” Dad made a big show of counting his fingers. “So that adds up to. . . soon.”
I did a mental inventory of my finances. Working at Cranky’s for the last couple of weeks, I had managed to put aside some money. I probably had enough to pay rent to my parents. But if my hours were cut, I couldn’t make the next month’s rent. Even if I could scrape up the cash, I’d never be able to move out if all of money was going to rent. And I still had bills piling up. I was behind on my cell phone bill. I still owed on my car insurance even though my car had been stolen weeks ago. My Super Council dues were so far behind that I wasn’t even bothering to open the notices anymore. None of that included the number of loans I needed to pay back to family and friends. The math wasn’t adding up and the only thing that would make it work was another job.
“I’m definitely on that. I’ve got it all figured it out. Don’t you guys worry.” If I thought my words might have been comforting, I could tell I was wrong. Three faces stared back at me with varying degrees of disbelief. No confidence there.
I took one last mouthful of mashed potatoes and pushed myself away from the table. “It was great having dinner together but I have to get going. I need to catch up on a little Super work over in my district.”
“How is that going these days?” asked my dad. He and my mom had been retired for a long time but he still kept his ears open.
I thought about the fact that I hadn’t even been in my district in a couple of weeks. And then I thought about how I was behind on my Council dues. And then I thought about those thick envelopes from the Council I’d been getting in the mail and ignoring. “Everything’s going just great,” I lied through my teeth.
Dad looked doubtful. “Well, you’ve been getting a lot of mail from the Council lately. Two letters in two weeks sounds important. They’re on the kitchen counter.”
The last thing I wanted was to open those letters. Supers had to keep our licenses current and paying dues was a requirement. Even though I’d been sending money in every now and again, I was still months behind on my dues. I didn’t want to talk to them about that, though.
“Oh, it’s probably just the newsletter or an invitation to my Super school reunion. You know, how these things add up.” I stood up and threw my napkin onto my plate. “I’m gonna go. Thanks for dinner, Mom.”
She stood up, too. “Before you go, Audrey, please take care of the dishes.”
“Mom!” I whined. I sounded like a fourteen-year-old to myself now, too. “I have to get going. Can’t the dishes wait?”
She smirked. “Maybe when you get your own place, they can wait. But as long as you live under my roof--”
“Okay, okay, okay. You don’t even have to say it. I’m going.” I grabbed some plates and stomped off to the kitchen.
*****
“This feels familiar.” I was standing at the sink with Ella to my right holding a drying towel. She had offered to come help me so I could get it done faster. That was unlike her but I was in a hurry and I had to take whatever help I could get.
I washed and rinsed a plate and handed it over to her. She started drying it and then put away in the cabinet. “Yes, it does. High school all over again.”
“At least you get to go home after this. Not that it matters. They always treat you like an adult.”
Ella snorted. “They treat me like an adult because I am an adult. And they treat you like you because you’re you.”
I didn’t have to ask what that meant. Three years older, Ella always seemed like an alien to me. I didn’t understand what made her tick. While she walked the straight-and-narrow path, I zigged and zagged. It seemed like we lived in different worlds. It was hard for me to understand where she was coming from most of the time, but I’d recently made a promise to try to be nicer to her.
Ella pointed to the letters from the Council my Dad had mentioned at the table. “Don’t forget your mail. Newsletters, huh?” The look on her face said that she knew I was lying and she was just waiting for it to blow up in my face.
I changed the subject. “Hey, so how is it going with your boyfriend? What’s his name again? Rodney?”
Ella side-eyed me. “We broke up. And you already knew that.”
I smiled in what I hoped was an innocent way. “Oh yeah. That’s right.” I went back to washing dishes and thought I can start being nice to her tomorrow.
*****
Supers have districts assigned by the Super Council. The number of Supers assigned to a district is determined by how populated it is. Small districts only have one or two Supers working them. Big ones may have dozens. My district was Brooklyn. If I were a good Super, I would live and work in my district. But I had never lived in my district and I’d only worked there until I’d been fired from the Brooklyn Paper Company a couple of weeks ago. Since then, I hadn’t been back. I guess that makes me the opposite of a good Super.
I shook it off as I got off the F train at the Hoyt-Schermerhorn stop. Taking the stairs to the street level, I checked out the scene. It wasn’t even nine o’clock. People were still trying to figure out what to do with their night. I started walking east down Atlantic and blended in with the crowd.
If you go by the movies and TV, saving the world is all about keeping evil super villains from taking over. In real life, that’s a rare event. Even when it does happen, it’s for not small potatoes like me who aren’t even up to date on their dues. But for the most part, being a Super is about keeping the peace. Chaos is the enemy of justice--or at least that’s what they told us over and over again in Super school.
So I did my usual thing for a couple of hours--blended in and kept my eyes and ears open for anything that needed peace. If I saw something that made that little voice in the back of my head start talking, I checked it out. But two hours in, nothing was jumping out at me. No muggings. No stolen cars. Nothing. Everything seemed to be business as usual.
Crossing Bond Street, I found myself outside of Lil Muenster, a gourmet grilled cheese sandwich restaurant that smelled like heaven. Damn, I thought. I could really go for a grilled cheese sandwich right now. Never mind that I just ate dinner not too long ago. But then I remembered that my financial prospects were not very good and I probably couldn’t afford a twenty-dollar grilled cheese right about now. The closest I was getting to it was the smell.
Super (Novella): Super Search Page 2