There's not a single mirror in sight, but I can tell exactly what my face looks like right now: one eyebrow raised, my chocolate brown eyes narrowed, and a frown--just the perfect mix of annoyance and confusion. In front of me, the customer pretends not to notice the problem with entering a coffee shop in the middle of the night wearing sunglasses, a sunhat, a veil covering most of her hair (and no, this is not a hijab case), and a mask.
"Ma'am," I say carefully because I cannot afford to be killed right now, "I'm sorry, but you cannot enter this establishment covering your face like that. I'll have to ask you to remove at least the mask and sunglasses."
"I-I know," she answers, sounding flustered. "I'm sorry, I know it's weird, but can't you make just a little exception? Please."
I take a deep breath. My immediate thought is that the woman in front of me is some kind of Interpol-wanted criminal, and I'm terrified that she might try something. To top everything off, my coworker bailed today, so I'm alone, but there's no way I'm letting her know that.
"Ma'am, I'm calling security," I say as confidently as I can manage, because actually, there's no security.
"No, no, please," she says quickly. "I'll take it off."
Hesitantly, the woman removes first the mask and then the sunglasses. Standing in front of me isn't, thankfully, a wanted criminal. Instead, I find myself face to face with Ellie Carter, "The Angel" to her fans--a rising pop star who has been drawing attention all around the world. Her songs have been on Billboard's Hot 100 all year, and her face is stamped everywhere in NY.
She stares at me carefully, eyes wide, and I know she's praying I don't make a scene and attract others' attention. Lucky for her, I won't do such a thing, but it takes everything in me not to break out laughing at this insane situation. I take her order and head to the other counter to make it, just feeling relieved she wasn't a kidnapper.
"Here," I say, handing her the iced coffee. She takes it a bit shyly.
"I'm sorry about," she motions to her crazy disguise, "all of this."
"It's okay," I answer, giving her a reassuring smile. "But it's not a good idea to walk around looking like that. You'll draw more attention, and security will be all over you. Plus, you scared the shit out of me."
"Yeah, I know. I'm so sorry, it's just," she takes a deep breath before finishing her sentence, "I'm still figuring this out. I'm sorry I scared you."
"You've already apologized like three times," I say, leaning into the counter. "Everything's fine, I mean it!" I give her a reassuring smile, and finally, her face shifts from the worried/embarrassed look she had to a tiny smile--a beautiful, honest one.
"Thank you," she says. Instead of leaving, she keeps staring at me, and finally, I can't help but laugh.
She laughs a little along with me before I get myself under control.
"So, I need to get back to work," I say, quirking an eyebrow at her, and she snaps out of a trance.
"Yeah, right. Sorr-- I mean, bye," she says and rushes out of the store, not remembering to put her sunglasses back on.
•••••
Ever since that day, Ellie comes to the coffee shop religiously at least four times a week, wearing a simple hoodie that does a good job of hiding most of her strawberry blonde hair, false glasses, and brown contacts to mask her iconic blue eyes with green streaks--a hell of an improvement compared to her last disguise. She always comes during my night shift. I don't even have to ask for her order anymore: an iced latte and a smoked salmon bagel, which she eats very slowly at the table closest to the cashier, sneaking periodic glances at me.
Since there aren't many customers during my night shift, I always take a bit of time to lean against the counter and talk to Ellie--or more accurately, she talks to me about music, shows, her life, and how everything is changing so fast. And that's just what she needs: someone to hear her.
"Rosa, I'm going on tour next week," she says, not sounding as cheerful as someone going on a national tour with all tickets sold out should be.
"Yeah, it's all anyone has been talking about these last few days," I answer as I clean the table next to hers. "I think I'll go to the park to watch you. They'll be streaming your show there on Friday, so you better do a good job!"
I joke, but Ellie doesn't even giggle, so I turn around to look at her and can immediately tell she's nervous as fuck.
"Hey," I say, crouching next to her. "What's wrong?"
"I-I want to ask you something," she says, playing with her fingers the way she does when she gets anxious, which is pretty much all the time. "Maybe, if you want to. It's not like you have to, but I thought maybe--"
"Spit it out, El!" I say, a bit more angrily than I intended because her anxiety is starting to make me anxious too.
"Please come to my show!" she says quickly, too quickly, like she was scared that if she thought too much she might lose the courage to ask.
I just look at her in silence for a bit, processing before answering with a very smart "Huh?"
"It's just that you've never seen me perform, you know? Well, at least not live, and maybe it would be fun. I'll have two shows in New Jersey; it's pretty close to you, so I don't know, I think you should come, if you want to, that is," she blurts out nervously.
"The tickets are sold out, El. They have been for a while," I say, sparing her the fact that even if they weren't sold out, I wouldn't be able to afford one.
"You can be my guest!" she says, grasping my hands.
"Are you sure? Isn't that kind of a big deal? Surely you have someone else you'd like to invite, not me. I'm just--"
"You're my friend, Rosa," she says, and I can see that's a soft spot for her. "And I don't have many of those, so please, I want you." She says this, and I stare at her, frowning a bit, confused, until her eyes widen comically and she finishes her sentence, "I want you to come to the show, I mean, you know, come to the show."
I can't help but break out laughing. I bet none of her fans imagine how cutesy awkward El really is. She sells this powerful woman image, but ever since we've met, I've thought she's kind of like a cute rabbit--nervous and easily scared. So I just shrug.
"Okay, since you want me to go so much, I'll go."
She lets out a squeal of joy and hugs me tightly.
