Free Tap Dance by J. A. Hornbuckle Page A

door close behind you, it has an automatic lock."
    He poked his head around the corner.  "I like the nightie, MG."
    "Go catch some bad guys!" I said with a smile.
    After he left I puttered around, making the bed, taking my shower. The clothes that I had worn last night were wrinkled from their time on the bedroom floor. I made a mental note to buy a couple of pairs of jeans with some t-shirts. 
    I was just making my way out to my car when my cell rang, the music was for my cousin Greg.
    "Hey, Greg.  What's up?"
    "I need a favor."
    The only time he called me was when he needed a favor. 
    Usually to have me do a shift at Buxby's which he co-owned but claimed that it cut into his social life.  For Greg, a 'social life' meant he had a girl in his bed and couldn't be bothered to make it to the coffee shop on time. Or he was hoping to get a girl in his bed and couldn't be bothered to close the coffee shop.
    I sighed loud enough for him to hear me.
    "C'mon, Mari.  It's just for a couple of hours. And it’s the night shift.  Easy, Peasy."
    Yeah, I believe that.  Last time his 'couple of hours' turned out to be six hours and I wasted a whole Saturday being run off my feet since Buxby's was THE place for coffee in our small town.
    "I've got a lot on my plate, Greg.  Things I've got to take care of on, you know, like, when I'm done for the day with my real job?"
    I made it to my car and shoved my stuff and myself in.
    "I just need you to cover for me from 5.30 until we close at 9.00?"
    I glanced at the clock in the dashboard.
    "I've got to make a couple of stops after work so I'll be there at six.  But, honest to God, Greg, I'm not doing a full close.  You'll either have to do it yourself or have one of those goof-balls you hired do it.  I'm serious.  I am outta there at nine.  Understand?"
    "You're the best!  I owe you one."
    Actually the rat-bastard owed me thousands.
    Greg disconnected without saying good-bye. 
    As the one and only child of Aunt Estella and Uncle Roger, Greg had been spoiled rotten.  A lot of people have had that same situation growing up but then they grow out of it as an adult.
    We were still waiting for Greg to grow out of it.
    Or grow up, take your pick.
    I swung by my aunt's house to drop off my tote and changed into my Suzie Professional clothes.  I didn't have time for the mall so I raced to Meer's at lunchtime and got a pair of jeans and pair of black pants since the uniform at Buxby's was black pants and a white t-shirt.  I tagged a couple of t-shirts in different colors and made my way to the shoe department to pick up a pair of tennis shoes.
    Not having an accessible wardrobe was getting on my last nerve.
    I whizzed through my day at D & J then grabbed my clothes for Buxby's and headed over.
    I made it to Buxby's and luckily from what I could see it just seemed to be a slow steady stream of customers.  Which I thought was better than the morning shift when Buxby's was absolutely slammed.  I ducked into the Ladies room and changed.  I was just pulling the Buxby's apron on when I saw a couple of employees standing at the back counter chewing the fat.  I glanced around the tables, noticing they hadn't been wiped down and one of the trash receptacles was overflowing.
    And, thus, my evening shift as an unpaid barista began.
    As Greg was very aware, I was not one of his typical employees. 
    I do not work the wonky espresso machine.
    I do not do the syrups.
    I do not froth or foam or whip the cream.
    I do the cash register.
    Period.
    I do not clear the tables or wipe up the spills.
    I take the orders, write the name and the customer's choice on the cup, smile prettily and take their money.
    Period.
    Like most food service places, customers seem to come in waves.  You'll be busy, busy with a line of people waiting to order and then you'll have just a couple of stragglers.
    We were into the really slow straggler portion of the evening when I looked at the clock. 
    8:50 p.m.
    Cool.  Ten