Enamored | ✓

4. Dread

"I have to get ready for work." I told my Mom sadly. She understood and left my room with my breakfast tray before giving me a kiss on my forehead. I opened the old brass knob to my bathroom and hopped in the shower. After, I tossed my wet hair into a bun and applied mascara and some lip gloss. I wore the uniform I was required to wear at work with a black button up with rolled up sleeves, tight black slacks, and black high heeled pumps. I slipped on my leather jacket; I was ready in thirty minutes.

I ran outside the door to catch the bus as my six inch heels tapped against the uneven pavements. The bus pulled away from its stop and I had to scream from the top of my lungs for the bus driver to stop. Luckily, they did.

"Thank you." I wheezed. Sweat beaded my forehead and I wondered whether I wore deodorant this morning. Fortunately, I brought my fragrance mist with me just in case.

Sadly, there weren't any seats left so I was left standing which was fine with me due to a better view of the LA streets. I lived in one of the poorest neighborhoods. Luckily, my neighbors are kind and welcoming to me and my family despite our differences in race and religion. The apartment buildings were worn down and are in dire need of reconstruction, yet everyone in the block were willing to help one another with any repairs or issues.

The bus made a few turns and the modern city of Los Angeles came into view. Palm trees decorated the city while the rich shopped in name brand boutiques with their sunglasses and phones in hand. Beautiful men and women showed off their appealing bodies and faces modified by the best plastic surgeons. The sun was high in the clear azure sky as I pulled the cord above the bus window and wobbled out of the bus.

I can never get used to wearing  heels.

Note to self: bring flats.

I arrived at the restaurant with a minute left to spare before my actual shift began. The minute I clocked in, I was handed trays overflowing with exquisite food to deliver to customers. I soon forgot about the nightmares that haunted me last night as I weaved my way past sleek polished tables with trays and water pitchers. Work was therapeutic. I loved every minute of it regardless of the rude customers that frequently dine here. The customers I serve come from all walks of life, from Hollywood movie stars to the homeless. Bel Cibo is a five star restaurant in the heart of LA known for its delicious food, great customer service, and philanthropy.

When the lunch rush gradually slowed down, I finally had my long deserving break. I limped my way to the kitchen to grab some food and sat down on one of the chairs available next to the break room. I sighed in relief as I immediately took off the torturous heels I had to wear.

I felt a hand pat my back, "Busy?" my manager Maria asked as she counted the money the restaurant made during lunch.

"Yes. There were lines all the way out to the door and my feet are killing me." I complained. One of my coworkers, Laura, suddenly burst into the break room fuming.

"I forgot to drink my medicine." She groaned.

"What medicine?" I asked.

"Five milligrams of 'Don't choke them hoes'!" she exclaimed.

"Rude customer?" I asked. She nodded.

I spent the first half hour of my break gossiping with my coworkers of Hollywood's new "It" couple dining in our restaurant and the new crowd that rose to Hollywood's headlines. Lately, the crime rates in LA have risen as the amount of the newly famous increase. Some wondered what these people have to relinquish for fame.

When my break was finally over, Maria asked if I could work a ten hour shift on Saturday and I gladly accepted. Although working more than eight hours a day is illegal for minors, I needed the money to help my parents pay off debts we owe while saving for my college tuition. The recollection of my mother poring over the piles of bills on the dinner table became my incentive to work harder.