Nesi
My shift finishes quickly after Arlo leaves. I saw that strange man give him a card, and I can't help but be curious. I thought he was always here to stare at me and being registered on a list, but perhaps not. Maybe he wants to offer me a job, too? Damn, that'd be nice.
Near dusk, I walk through the parking lot, having grabbed all my things from my locker. Every shift feels much longer than eight hours, and today was no different, considering all the assholes I dealt with. I rarely dwell on people I meet while working, but I keep thinking about Arlo and my interaction with him. He seemed scared of me and I liked that. He didn't try to record me or pull a phone out for views like the other Karen customers before him. He only focused on me.
That alone turned this day into something worthwhile. Though, to be sure, I scan the parking lot in case any of those assholes from earlier lingered to fight. I frown when I see no one. I'll even take Arlo.
"I don't think you'll find anyone to attack out here," a familiar voice says behind me.
I whirl back around and recognize the man who gave Arlo the business card. Day after day, this gentleman enters the restaurant, orders a coffee, and sits in a booth. He's nicely dressed, with a red tie, a white shirt, and a suit jacket. His pants are black to match the rest of his attire. He looks freshly shaven with an impressive jawline and I'm surprised he isn't modeling somewhere.
His regular order is a small coffee, and that's all I know about him. He always thanks me, takes his small cup of brown water, and sits in the dining room for hours. I never see him on a phone, computer, tablet, or anything, and it's a tad disturbing in the modern electronic world.
I tilt my head a bit at the man. "Small Coffee?"
He laughs. "Is that my nickname?"
I tense my shoulders. "Might as well be. What did you give Arlo earlier?"
Small Coffee gives me a warm smile. "Oh, my business card. Our company's been scouting him for a while, and I figured I would make the first impression."
I move my hands into my pockets. "Have you been watching me, too?"
Small Coffee raises both hands in the air. "I don't mean any harm. I want to offer you something just like I offered Arlo."
Is this the invite I've been looking for? An invitation out of this hellhole of a job? "Offer me what, exactly?"
The man digs into his pants pocket and I bite my lip. What if he pulls out a gun, knife, or other weapon? I brace myself to react, but he reveals another business card. He extends it to me and I relax upon realizing no harm can come from that. "Here," he urges.
I grab the card and examine it, noticing it differs from the one he gave Arlo. This card is black with bold white lettering. I look up at Small Coffee. "O.O.S. Entertainment? What the hell is that?"
Small Coffee chuckles. "The name of the company, obviously."
"Are you offering me a job?" My eyes pop open wider.
Small Coffee smiles but ignores the question. "An interview."
I flip the card over and find the same white lettering, but smaller and tucked into the lower right corner. Although I'm unfamiliar with the address. I don't see the harm in going even if I'll be in a bad part of town. What am I risking? My potential future career as a cashier or a hamburger flipper? I'm open to anything to get out of the hell that is minimum wage. "What kind of job is this? This card tells me nothing."
"I guess you'll have to wait and see," he says with a shrug.
I wave a hand in his direction. "Can you give me a direct answer?! Your answers are riddles."
Small Coffee laughs. "Sorry, I wish I could be more specific, but I'm under strict instructions."
He's laughing about it. So, how serious can those instructions be? "From whom?"
"You'll find out if you pass and advance from the interview. I'll see you soon, Nesi." Small Coffee strolls by me and further into the parking lot. He walks slightly limp on his right side, which isn't very noticeable. Then he stops and turns around, looking at me, the restaurant, and then at me again. His finger rises, and he points, bending his elbow to point repeatedly. "I have a feeling about you. I think you'll do great." He shrugs before continuing. "I'd rather not tell you how to live your life, but you could probably quit this job now."
"Seriously?! Don't tease me with a good time," I snap.
Small Coffee cracks his knuckles. "I wouldn't say that if I didn't have faith in you."
I nod and he gets into an Oldsmobile, starting the engine so loud that it can probably be heard many blocks away. He waves at me and then drives off. I tuck the business card in my pocket and walk the dreadful path back to my apartment.
This has to be too good to be true. Some creepy guy comes in for weeks, gives me a business card, and then praises me, saying I can quit work because he has faith in me. Should I be asking the internet if this is a scam? It certainly sounds like it. All the hallmarks are there, and I'll wager he'll ask me for gift cards next. I need to find Arlo to see what's on his business card and compare the two. The only thing I know for sure is that both cards are different. The one he got was white. The one I got is black, so I'm curious if we received the same job offer.
I've gotten used to walking alone at dusk, even in the pure darkness of night. Luckily, I'm not some defenseless girl. I'm not a registered lethal weapon, but I've had martial arts training and can protect and care for myself and others if needed.
After turning a few more blocks, my apartment building comes into view... well, what's left of it, that is. The building sits in the middle of a near-deserted part of the city. It's old and run-down; some construction company should demolish it and put it out of its misery. As long as the frame remains standing and usable as housing, the demonic landowner continues to suck the money out of all the miserable saps who live here.
There are only three floors with four apartments on each. Mine is on the top floor because I didn't want an apartment on the ground level. Multiple cracks mar each concrete step leading to the building's entrance. One of these days, the stairs will give way. Only half of the handrail stands on the right side, untouched by the wind. I use my key to enter the building. The musty smell hits me in the face since I'm still not used to it, nor do I wish to be.
"Nesi!" someone yells.
With a foot on the step that leads upstairs, I lean over and peer down the hallway. One light flickers before finally staying out, but I don't need the light to see who speaks. The demon. I mean... the landlord. He walks toward me from the middle of the hall and disappears briefly where the hallway light is out. As he gets closer, the shine of his baldness reflects up on the ceiling. He has some hair on the sides of his head but nothing more. All he wears is a T-shirt, shorts, and sandals. He must have left the door open to his place because I hear a game show. That's a loud television. Maybe he has hair in his ears, too, considering he needs the volume that loud.
"What?" I ask when he gets closer.
"Do you have my rent?" Eddie demands in a nasty tone.
"No."
"Didn't you get paid today?"
I put my hands on my hips in an attempt at sass. "No," I repeat.
"When do you get paid?"
"I'm sure you know my schedule, don't you?"
"I thought so. That's why I asked for my rent."
I glare at him. "You ask for the rent every day."
"You're behind two months!" Eddie yells, pointing a finger at me.
I shrug him off. "I know. I'll give you what I can whenever I get paid. I have to eat, too."
He shakes his fist in the air, making me shift my stance. Maybe he's about to throw a punch. I wouldn't put it past him. "Get me my rent, or I'll evict your ass and find a tenant who can pay it."
I laugh. "Yeah, you won't find anyone else to tenant in this toilet of a building."
"Get the hell out of my sight," Eddie snaps.
"With pleasure!" I give him a brief salute, then put one foot in front of the other and stomp up the stairs to my apartment, much like how that bitch stomped out of the restaurant earlier.
Once inside my third-floor apartment, I throw my things on the table near the door and turn on the light. While not a studio, it sure feels like one with its small size. It's a one-bedroom, but the bedroom is attached to the living room and kitchen. The only bathroom and shower are in the bedroom as well. There is not a lot of space, but then again, only I live here.
The floor is hardwood throughout the apartment, but the wood is old and desperately needs replacement. Shockingly, I haven't gotten a splinter by walking barefoot. It needs a good polishing and that costs money either Eddie doesn't have or doesn't want to spend. I bought the cheapest furniture I could buy. Essentials include a couch, television, a little table by the front door, and a small shelf for books and belongings.
I walk into the kitchen and open the refrigerator to see empty shelves. Only milk, water, cheese, and expired items that should be discarded sit inside. When money is tight, discarding anything expired is a waste. I close the refrigerator and open a cabinet to grab some bread. There are only two pieces left. That's enough for a peanut butter sandwich with a glass of water.
I take the plate and glass to the couch and sit down. It's not comfortable, and it doesn't even recline. However, this is still a place to relax. I turn on the small television to the news. It only gets local channels and whatever the antenna picks up since that's all I can afford. I can't buy any of the streaming services that keep raising their prices. So, I need to rely on old-fashioned methods to get networks, and I'm cool with that. I pull my phone out and the card that Small Coffee gave me earlier.
I scour the web for the name on the business card, O.O.S. Entertainment. Instantly, the search results show nothing, and that's... alarming. Almost every business has some digital presence, especially today when technology is readily accessible. A company with no results is shady, so I try other search engines that produce the same result: none.
Time goes slow as I mindlessly watch TV. It's one of those occasions where my eyes stare at the television, but I'm lost in thought and not paying attention. I open my social media, and surprise myself by typing Arlo into the search box to show which profiles populate. There aren't many. But there's one whose profile picture matches the guy I saw in the restaurant earlier. "Arlo Atonal..." I say out loud to myself. What a strange last name.
My phone rings, and that brings me back to reality. I tap the green button and put it on speaker. "Sara? What are you doing? Just send a text..."
"Nesi! Did the coffee guy finally talk to you?"
"Small Coffee?"
Sara laughs into the phone. "Is that what you call him?"
"Well, yeah. He talked to me after my shift."
"It's about time."
My lips purse together. "Yeah, we spoke in the parking lot."
"You got his business card, right?" Sara asks in a flat tone.
"Yeah... wait, you were still working your shift when I talked to him. How did you know that?" I look over at the business card sitting on the couch. Sara is silent, but she's still there. I hear her breathing through the phone. "Sara?"
"Are you going to interview? Have you made a choice?" she finally asks.
I shrug, unlike Sara can see it. She's being weird all of a sudden. I'll play along. "Why not? Anything is better than working at that place."
Sara cackles into the phone. "Great! Thank God! I don't have to go back to that shitty restaurant. My job is done."
I lean forward and sit on the edge of the couch. "What are you talking about?"
Another laugh, but this time, it sounds more like a deranged cackle from a jokester or a creepy dark figure in an alley. "Good luck, Nesi. You'll need it. Talk soon..." She pauses again and whispers. "If you survive..." The line goes dead.
"Sara? Sara?!" I pull the phone away from my ear and look at it.
When I call her back, I'm greeted by an automated recording: "We're sorry, but the number you dialed is disconnected or is no longer in service. Please try your call again later."
I move the phone away from my ear once more. "What the hell..." I type up a text message and send it to Sara, but it bounces as undeliverable. This goes against my rule of not talking to my boss outside of working hours, but I'm confused. I hate this feeling, or maybe I loathe being the rat in someone else's maze. I call Bill, my manager. The phone rings twice before he answers.
"Calling to apologize?" Bill asks rather than saying hello.
My nose twitches. "No, I just wanted to know if Sara is scheduled to work tomorrow."
"Sara?" Bill asks.
"Yeah."
"Are you high? There's no Sara that works for us."
My face turns white in the reflection of the dimly lit television. "There's no Sara... That works for us?" All I can do is repeat what I just heard but as a question.
"No. There's never been a Sara since I've been a manager, and I've been here for years."
"O-okay... Thanks." I hang up, and my phone shakes in my trembling hand.