Erin stood at the cash register and tried to focus on taking the girl's order. Looking at her customer, though, she a rising tide of anger. The blonde girl carried a real Chanelle bag, had elaborate makeup, and looked like she came from some frivolous blowout salons to get her hair styled professionally. She was exactly the kind of person that Erin didn't want to have in her cafe, but ever since Julia had taken over this was their new clientele. Still, Erin was thankful that she was only working the cash register today. There were a lot worse jobs that Julia could have assigned her.
She glanced at the door to see her old friend Winter (who, at Julia's insistence, now called herself Annie) working the 'reception' area. As though a coffee shop needed a receptionist! Dressed in a pair of sharp-looking high heels, a pencil skirt and a white blouse, Annie looked more like a hostess at an upscale restaurant than a barista. Erin thought back to Annie's old style of dress: torn leggings, clunky black boots, and a comfortable T-shirt with some band's name on it. Between all that and her dark eyeshadow, she gave off a "don't mess with me" vibe. Now she was meek and docile, fawning over every one of the spoiled bitches that came into the shop.
The only holdout of Annie's former goth image was all her piercings: three in each ear, one in her nose, and one on her right nipple that was very obvious against the tight fabric of her blouse.
The bell rang, and a single girl came in the store talking away on her cell phone. She ignored Annie, and took a seat on the inside bench. Annie beamed a radiant smile, and said, "Welcome to Romm's Coffee! Thanks for stopping by. Here, let me help you."
Then Annie knelt before the much-younger blonde girl, and lovingly removed the girl's strappy pearl-colored high heels, putting them in one of the cubby holes behind her own podium. The girl ignored Annie for the most part, smirking as she enjoyed the treatment.
It was one of Julia's rules that guests were not to wear shoes in the cafe - only the staff would do so. She said this was inspired by Japanese tea houses, and that it would make customers stay longer and spend more money. So far, that hadn't been the case. It mostly just made it more natural for the customers to get luxurious foot massages while they were enjoying their beverages. Right now, Erin's friends Cami and Ali were doing just that: going between tables and offering to massage girls' feet. Julia demanded they ask for nothing in return: it was simply a way to ensure customer loyalty.
Right now, Ali knelt in front of a young 30s brunette woman in a tailored pantsuit who was on her laptop in one of the cafe's sofa chairs. She was dutifully rubbing the older woman's bare feet, with her head downcast so she could totally focus on her duty. Erin looked at Ali's bone-straight black hair and her tan complexion, remembering the Chinese girl used to be a rising star at her college dual majoring in Chemistry and Physics. Now, most of the women at Romm's Coffee treated her like some domestic attendant who barely spoke English. This was worsened by the fact that Ali had recently, seemingly overnight developed a thick accent and serious anxiety. She wandered around the cafe in mincing steps with her head downcast, quickly following the whims of their demanding clientelle.
Today, Ali wore an expensive orange silk kimono that was wholly impracical for a food service job. But then, Erin couldn't remember the last time Ali was behind the counter.
"Did you get all that?" Erin's customer asked her, shocking her to attention.
Erin felt darts of fear run up and down her spine and she nearly started hyperventillating. She hadn't listend to the customer at all! Even a small mistake like this was an excuse for Julia to harass her.
"I'm sorry, could you repeat it?" Erin whispered, her hands resting on the counter to hide their shakiness. But it was too late.
She felt Julia approaching, like a great white shark was swimming up to bite her.
"Oh my goodness, Erin. Are you daydreaming again?" Julia said, loudly enough for most of the cafe to hear.
"I'm sorry Miss Romm!" Erin squeaked, turning to the older woman. Julia was maybe six inches taller than Erin- a pale German beauty with harsh blue eyes and high cheekbones. Erin whithered under her gaze, painfully aware of how weak she looked in front of all her staff and customers.
On paper, it was Erin who owned the cafe. But she doubted Julia would let her keep it much longer. The woman had taken nearly everything else from her already: her car, her shot at college, her boyfriend. But Erin immediately stopped that line of thought, because if she kept thinking about it she would cry.
"I'm sorry for airheaded Erin," Julia said to the customer, who snickered at Julia's cruel nickname.
"She just daydreams a lot. Erin, I can handle this. Why don't you go up the street and see if my dry cleaning is done?" Julia said casually. "Oh and get me some sushi from the Cut. Bluefin roll, with brown rice. Can you remember all that?"
Erin resented the implication that she was some assistant who couldn't run her own coffee shop. But the worst part, her secret shame, was that she was starting to get aroused. For some bizarre reason, whenever Julia humiliated her in front of people, Erin felt butterflies in her stomache. Worse, she got a little wet. Her embarassing state sapped all of her willpower to stand up for herself and she usually just took the abuse in stride.
"Yes Miss Romm," Erin said, heading outside as quickly as she could.
On her way out, she saw her childhood friend Camille (Cami now) standing behind the booth where Kathryn, one of the new regulars, was seated. The blonde bitch reclined in her seat with a blissful smile on her face, as Cami massaged her neck and shoulders. Was it only three months ago that they had asked her to stop using their cafe as a meeting place for her conservative-leaning political group? Now the young Republican had practically turned their cafe into her own headquarters, using Erin and her friends to keep their coffees topped off and to give them free massages to keep them energized.
"Oh yeah, we're definitely going to win against Measure M.. How could those people honestly expect free buss passes? Maybe if they spent their money better, they wouldn't need to leech off the government," Kathryn said into a video chat feed on her laptop. Cami blanched for a lot of reasons.
As a young activist, Camille had spearheaded the Measure M initiative - a half cent business tax increase with the funds dedicated to helping the extremely poor afford transportation. Now she was so busy massaging the shoulders of the bitch who was its primary opponent, that the Measure's momentum had died. And because she was on a video call, Kathryn's friends could see that the former champion of the poor was now just a servant to the rich girl she once defied. Kathryn called this an "inspirational story," and never tired of finding ways of putting Cami to work. In spite of her family's fortune, Kathryn was a notoriously bad tipper.
