Scarlett stormed down 114th
Avenue, muttering to herself. “The
audacity of him….ooh, I can’t believe it!” In her hand, she flung a battered
copy of Southern Living around. “Busts
my doorknob and my wall, patronizes me, and then dares to put my frickin
picture in the damn magazine! As a –” She sneers, “’Fiery redhead helping bring
back the town’s spark.’ He’ll see exactly what kind of spark I ‘bring back’
when his editor lights a fire under his ass after that letter I sent her.”
Suddenly deflated, Scarlett pushed open the door to
Connie’s Coffee. It jingled merrily,
alerting the one other woman inside to her presence. Being
angry makes me tired, Scarlett mused.
“I need a coffee,” she said aloud.
“Well, you’re flat out of
luck,” the woman remarked. “The water
shortage means there’s not even enough to brew a pot. Found that out the hard way when I came in
here looking for a bit of peace and quiet, myself.”
Scarlett groaned. “Aw man, when are they gonna get this fixed?
It’s like there’s nobody in the world who’s competent at their job anymore,”
she grumbled. She stalked up to the
bakery case, stood beside the woman, and skeptically eyed the stale-looking
pastries.
“Oh, I totally understand
that,” the woman confided. “I get loads dumped on me at work. All stress and no
appreciation.”
Scarlett grunted in
commiseration. “I’m a teacher. English. At
that Catholic girl’s school down the road- you know the one? We have off since
we can’t teach the little buggers without working toilets, but I swear the
younger generation doesn’t know anything about respect and gratitude these
days."
She paused. “…Anything at all good here?”
She paused. “…Anything at all good here?”
“I’d say the coconut cake
is the best of the worst,” the woman remarked.
“Two slices,” Scarlett
pointed at the yellowing, dumpy, half-eaten cake. The owner, a greying, wrinkled woman who was
presumably Connie, raised her eyebrows at the dubious praise but plated two
large slices anyway. Scarlett slid money across the counter, then turned to the
woman. “Sorry, um –”
“Candice,” the woman
said. “I’m Candice Arnett.”
“Well, Candice, I’m
Scarlett. The second piece of cake is yours,
if you want it. And there’s a park
across the road where we could sit on a bench, observe the chaos, and bitch to
our hearts’ content. Whaddya say?"
Scarlett cocked an auburn eyebrow and smirked.
“Sounds perfect,” Candice
replied.
And just like that, Scarlett had her first friend.
