Summer. The absolute worst season of the year. It's too hot, too bright, the bugs come out, it's too hot, and you can only take your clothes off so far before you're indecent or you want to tear your skin off. At least in winter you can layer on. But summer, you can only layer off so far before nothing helps.
So, I found myself stumbling off the final bus of the day, the heat still over 100 degrees even as the sun was setting. I grumbled, seriously angry that the closest I could get to my apartment on the bus was almost a whole mile of walking. In the heat. Twice a day. I wanted to get a car so I could flip the city transportation the bird, but I hadn't been able to save that much yet.
Well, truthfully, I hadn't been able to save anything. Living in the city was expensive and I made just enough as a telemarketer. Surprise, surprise. Yeah, that was sarcastic, if you couldn't read the imaginary sarcasm.
The walk sucked at all times. Rain, snow, heat, I had to make my way through no matter the weather. I'd learned to suck it up, but some days, like today, I really wanted to just throw in the hat and go home to my parents.
I can see and hear them when I arrived, duffel bag full of all my worldly possessions.
"Oh, Bridge!" Mom would say, patting her hands dry on her apron, already covered in flour from baking. "Come in, come in. Look at you, you've lost so much weight. I just knew that my Babygirl wouldn't be able to stay in the city for that long. Now, you're room is still exactly the way you left it, go on up and put your things away."
Dad, on the other hand, would be settled into his favorite lazy boy recliner, feet up, cigarette in his left hand, newspaper in his right. He'd grunt, tap his ash out, and call out to me on my way up the stairs.
"Old Josey has a need for an assistant at the feed store. You can at least try there for a job so you're not lazing about here without paying your way."
Mom was the fusser who instilled sarcasm and sass into my soul. Dad, the pragmatic that instilled work ethic in me. I was a nice blend of both William and Janet Lethe, from my personality out.
I trudged, head down, trying to ignore the heat waves that shimmered off the concrete of the sidewalk. There wasn't any food store between here and the apartment, just a gas station that only sold gas, an out of business laundromat, and an old drive up restaurant that hadn't been open since the 1950's and poodle skirts were a thing. Otherwise, I'd stop in for something cold to drink. A cherry Icee sounded so good right about then.
There was, however, shade. I needed to get out of the sun for a minute. Maybe an hour. It was too bright and hot to be out in it. I crossed, after looking both ways, after all, I'm not stupid. Safely on the other side, I beelined for the laundromat. There was a way to get in and, while it wasn't cool per se, it was dark, which can trick your brain into thinking that it's cooler than in direct sunlight.
I skidded to a stop, gray eyes huge with shock. There was an ice cream shoppe where there was the old drive up restaurant before. I squinted, wondering if I was hallucinating from like heatstroke or something. But I wasn't. Even rubbing my eyes and blinking didn't make the store go away.
And, to make it weirder, it wasn't just the storefront with a message of coming soon. It was a fully developed, all the machines in, the storefront painted brightly, windows gleaming with bright, cheery decorations painted or hung. There was a single vintage table made from a sort of bronze looking metal that was twisted into a very intricate design, with two matching chairs under a slate gray umbrella to block the sun.
The neon sign on the front door flashed "OPEN," running a gamut of colors, all soft, winter colors of blues, greens, and grays, bringing to mind the cold of the season. I pushed the door open and a cheery bell sounded.
The inside of the shop was gleaming. Blue, green, and black tiles on the floor patterned in an intricate design. My head tilted when I saw that there was only a single long seat against the left wall with a long table, like a floating bar. No booths lining the walls or tables scattered around. It looked clean, empty, but not desolate.
On the wall facing the entrance was a normal counter with a register, a tip jar, and a fake flower. I suppressed the urge to wrinkle my nose at it. Fake flowers sucked and gathered dust, never to be dusted. If I were the person behind the counter, I'd toss the fake one and invest in a real flower, or mini-tree, or something real.
To the right of the counter was the ice cream freezer. With only three flavors – vanilla, strawberry, and chocolate. The basics. No toppings on the counter above and only a paper cup to have the ice cream in, no cones. If that was all this shop was offering, they were going to go out of business quick, fast and in a hurry. But I shrugged and headed to the bench on the far wall to sit down, sighing with relief as the air conditioner began to cool me off.
"A customer?" Someone popped their head out of the back room behind the register.
"Oh, hi." I waved, lamely. "I'm not buying anything, I just came in to escape from the heat. I'll be out of your hair in a little while. You don't mind, do you?"
"Absolutely not." The man that hurried out from behind the counter and ragged blond dreadlocks and watery brown eyes, a Buddha belly that was emphasized by how short he was – around my height. "Here, take these things. I quit." He threw a bracelet thing and his hat onto the bar table in front of me. He turned his face up to the ceiling. "Do you hear that, ya prick? I quit!"
Shockingly, he rushed out of the store, leaving me staring after him.
"How very strange." I muttered. "Now what? Should I call the cops? Let them know that the building has been abandoned and I don't know where the person who owns it is?"
I chewed on my nail, drumming the fingers of my other hand on the table next to me. Ethically, I should. On the other side, selfishly, I didn't want to get involved. I already had too much going on and, well, I just didn't have the mental or emotional capacity to get involved in someone else's business.
Decision made, I figured I'd snag a chocolate ice cream and drop a bill on the counter, if I could afford it. Glancing into the case, I noted the prices, then did a double take.
1 scoop of Vanilla – four crystals
1 scoop of Strawberry – six crystals
1 scoop of Chocolate – ten crystals
"What?" I wrinkled my nose. "Crystals? Is this a joke? Or one of those crunchy granola person stores?" I sniffed. "No patchouli or sage scent though."
I know that I was being one of those people who stereotypes others, but how else can you explain needing payment in crystals? Which I didn't have. I wondered if I dropped a five on the counter, if that would be payment enough?
Before I could make a decision either way, the phone on the counter rang. I stared at it. Do I answer? It might be the owner and I could let them know what was going on. But, again, that would entangle me in something I really didn't want to be entangled in.
On a hard sigh, I picked up the phone.
"Hello?" I mumbled into the receiver.
"Duffy?" A pleasant, warm male voice came over the line. There was a slightly hoarse undertone that had a shiver running up my spine.
"Yeah, not Duffy." I sighed. "Are you the owner of the ice cream shoppe?"
"…Yes." He hesitated, hummed, then responded affirmatively.
A muffled grunt came from the other side, then, "Did Duffy step out to the restroom?"
"Yeah, that's another negative answer." I rolled my eyes. "You should probably come here and close up, Duffy shouted about quitting on his way out."
Another muffled grunt, the sound of a thud. "Can you hang on one second?" The man calmly asked me.
"Sure." I sighed. "Nothings going to change though. You really need to get here."
"Hmm. Hold on." There was a clatter, then a shout that got cut off midway through.
"Must be on mute." I sighed, tapping my foot, but eyeing the chocolate ice cream hard.
"Still there?" Slightly breathless, the man came back on to the line.
"Hmm." I hummed absently. I really wanted that chocolate ice cream.
"When will you be here? I want to go home, but I don't feel right leaving the door open."
"It's going to be a little while longer." He sounded thoughtful. "Tell you what, do you want to work at my ice cream shoppe? The pay is good, the perks are better. In fact, the pay is so good, I'll let you define what today's payment is to be as a temp worker for me. By close of business someone will be there to lock up the shop for me."
"Tempting, but I really don't want to be involved." I began to speak, but he spoke right over the top of me.
"Double what you'd make in a month." He offered. "Or $2,500, which ever is higher."
Oh, I was tempted. Really tempted. "Really, si..."
"Malakai." He broke in.
"What?" I took the phone away from my ear and stared at it, confused, then held it back to my ear.
"Malakai is my name. I'll throw in as much free ice cream as you can handle in the next five hours. But only what you can eat in the store, you can't take any with you when you leave." Malakai sweetened the deal.
It was only five hours of my day. It wasn't like I had anything super important going on. Just going home, cooking some boring noodles, then watching TV and going to bed early from sheer boredom. I swayed from foot to foot, biting my lip, debating.
"2500, just for five hours of work?" I prodded. "And free ice cream, as much as I can eat in the shop."
"Exactly." Malakai now sounded smug, like he knew he'd gotten me to agree.
"Alright." I grumbled. "I agree. Just for today, though." I was firm on that.
"Yes, just for today." Malakai agreed. "Now, what was your name?"
"Bridgette Lethe." I replied. "Chat later, Mr. Malakai, I want to make your shop a little more presentable."
"Wait!" I heard him shout over the phone, but I hung it up.