RED SOX: You gotta believe, again!
YESTERDAY WAS SUNDAY
by Phair
Ash could feel the trembling in her hands increase with every footstep she took closer to the Coffee Shop. She was dreading what this morning’s breakfast rush would look like. After all, yesterday’s All Day Sunday Brunch had been a total disaster.
Apparently, a good number of Mr. Deming’s patrons read the Sunday Editorial page before attending their weekly worship events. Usually, the little thirty seats and six counter stools shop was busting at the seams with a line out the door on Sundays at 10:30 am. Both, the Catholic and Methodist Episcopal Churches, had 9:30 am services. However, yesterday there was no waiting line. Several tables remained vacant all morning. The tip jar was barely half full when the noon chimes rung from town hall.
“Small minded, tiny pricks, big assed townies,” Ash muttered remembering the glares of a few of the patrons.
She rounded the corner and saw the familiar letters of the Coffee Shop’s hand painted sign over the door. The ‘closed’ neon light was still flashing in the front window. This was no surprise as the 6 am opening was still forty five minutes off. Yet, Ash could see the inside lights were lit. Mr. Deming had already arrived at the shop.
“Bet he has a few choice words for me today,” Ash ground her teeth as she tried to dry her sweaty palms on her jeans.
She stood at the door and took a deep breath. Trying the knob, Ash found the entrance was open to her. She stepped in and saw Mr. Deming sitting at the counter. His shoulders were hunched over the counter and his head was forward. Ash winced when she saw he was reading the newspaper. Mr. Deming never read the paper at the shop.
He glanced over his shoulder at her before asking, “Anything you need to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“For what?” He continued to stare at the page before him.
“For wrecking yesterday for you, for the newspaper guys, for not telling you…,”
“You knew?” As even as it was said, the question sounded like an accusation.
Ash hung her head with her shame. “I found out about the newspaper thing on Saturday. I should have told you so you could fire me before Sunday got wrecked. I’m sorry. I need the money from this job to pay my rent. So, I didn’t say nothing.”
“Obviously, I was going to find out about the editorial. Why didn’t you tell me yourself? Instead, you leave me hear it whispered around town or read it in the paper for myself? Lindsey, we’ve worked together for a couple of years now. You should’ve told me.”
“I was hoping I wouldn’t have to.” Ash licked her very dry lips with an equally dry tongue, “I thought something else would happen and they’d find something different to write about. I mean, please, there’s the war and terrorists and cancer and some guy stomped on some goslings…, I thought something more important would happen that was better to write about than me.”
Ash pressed her hands to her eyes trying to shut out her own stupidity. Her explanation was even more ridiculous than her desperate hope Mr. Deming wouldn’t fire her until she found another job.
“Lindsey, you are so very young. You got to learn this now, there is no news ‘better’ than local gossip.” Mr. Deming gave a heavy sigh and spun around on the counter stool, “Carol, my Sunday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday waitress quit yesterday. She wanted me to fire you but I wouldn’t.”
“You…you wouldn’t?” Ash could barely believe what he was saying. “Why the Hell not?”
“Those sanctimonious old fucks at the Voice want to hold you out for criticism when it’s them, us that deserve ridicule. Any guy in this town could be your Daddy.” Mr. Deming gave a swipe to his tear heavy eyes, “Any guy but me. 1973, was the last year I could…be a husband to my wife. Shrapnel cut up any chance of me being that man again. But, plenty of guys took advantage of your mother. She was young and available and…inexpensive.”
Ash smirked at the description and thought to herself, “Nice way to say my mother was a cheap whore.”
“Anyways,” Mr. Deming shrugged, “you and I got a lot more work for ourselves. You’ll be pulling the whole Sunday to Friday 6am to 3pm schedule with me. Everything after forty hours is time and a half for you.”
Ash shook her head. “You don’t really want to do that, do you? I could cost you money. Some of your regulars are already staying away.”
“Let ‘em!” The little man gave a bear sized growl. “I’ll let you in on a secret, kid. I’m well off. My grandfather started this business and invested in real estate. My Dad did the same. I followed their lead. My wife is the only reason I keep this dive open.”
“Your wife’s hasn’t been in here in the last two years,” Ash said.
“Wrong. She hasn’t been here in the last thirty one years. And, that’s the way it’s gonna stay,” Mr. Deming let out a laugh. “A man’s got to have his own space. Anyway, I’m looking to make some changes here. Could use the tax deduction this year. Maybe we should redecorate. Make it more of a cyber café. You know, a place where college types hang out.”
“College types?” Ash repeated as the whirlwind of information engulfed her.
“Yep, people in college on one side of the counter and people heading to college on the other side,” Mr. Deming softened his tone with each word.
“What…are you…you going to college?” Ash was totally confused by her boss’ sudden plans. She wondered, “Maybe he’s really so mad at me he’s having a stroke and doesn’t know it.”
Mr. Deming smiled, “You are very young, Ash. You got a lot to learn and I’m going to make sure you get a good start.”
