Oasis Café

Brandon didn’t look up from wiping the counter as the shop bell jingled. “Welcome to Oasis Café.”

“Is that how you greet our esteemed patrons, Mr. Carter?” A sharp female voice accompanied the clacking of heels across the floor. “With such lackluster? People come here to be refreshed! Oasis is to be a cool drink of water during the trek through the desert of daily life!”

Brandon snapped to attention. “Of course, Ms. Thompson. Won’t happen again!”

“I should hope not on this blessed Monday evening. As one of our senior baristas, I expect nothing but your best customer service.” She leaned against the counter. “A large moringa tea, please. And lock up after that. I need to meet with you.”

Brandon fashioned the hot beverage with expert motions, praying all the while that he wasn’t about to get demoted for being caught off his game.

Ms. Thompson assured him such was not the case as they got into her car. After 15 minutes on the road in strained silence, she handed him a bandana. “Cover your eyes.”

“Ma’am?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “I’m not going to kidnap you, young man. I have a happy husband waiting for me at home. You won’t be wearing it long. I just need where we’re going to stay under wraps.”

Brandon took the cloth and loosely tied it as instructed, assuring his boss he couldn’t see a thing.

“Consider this a promotion,” she said when she was satisfied.

The car continued down the road for a few minutes before turning onto some rocky terrain. Brandon could hear the pounding of rain against the glass and the rhythmic swiping of the windshield wipers. He folded his lips as he waited for the car to stop, tapping on his knees quietly as the sound of the rain faded into the distance.

When the car switched off, he got permission to remove the blindfold. Brandon’s eyesight adjusted to behold an elaborate three-story mansion painted light blue with deep golden trim. It stood bold and proud among the lush trees and flower bushes, full green vines snaking the pillars and railings of the second- and third-floor balconies.

Ms. Thompson walked him up to the stylish double doors of the entryway. “Congratulations on making it this far, Brandon. This will be the most important part of your job.”

Brandon held back, watching her curiously. “This place is connected to the café?”

“Most certainly.” She beamed with unabashed pride. “Before I take you inside you must swear to me you will speak nothing of this place to anyone. Not that anyone can find it on their own but still. Your contract and new job description are just beyond those doors, should you agree.”

“Am I allowed to ask questions beforehand?”

“I retain the right to refuse to respond.” She gave him a cheeky grin.

Ok… “Could whatever goes on in this place get me in any sort of trouble – legal or underworld – if I were to be found out to be involved?”

Ms. Thompson shocked Brandon with a big-bellied laugh. “Oh, pardon me. That’s just the effect this place has.” She wiped her eyes. “And to answer your question, no. The affairs of this hideaway are 100% legal and morally sound. Nothing to trouble your conscience. Do you really think I would so easily reveal something that would be considered ‘classified’ information?”

She had a point.

“Anything else?” She watched him contemplate. “Yes, it does come with a healthy salary increase. I’m entrusting you with a tremendous responsibility.”

Well… I could do some real do good with the extra cash. Brandon nodded. “Ok, Ms. Thompson. I’ll take the position.” I really trust this woman, don’t I?

Ms. Thompson gave a big nod that shook her fluffy afro. “Excellent! I’m sure you won’t be disappointed. And that you won’t disappoint me.” With that, she opened the doors and ushered the young man inside.

…

Brandon was still in awe when he exited the building. “The smiles on those faces, this place is incredible! I’m almost jealous of those who get to spend just a day here.”

Ms. Thompson grinned. “I’ll take that as a high compliment. I would also hope that that doesn’t mean that working at the café warrants a trip here?”

Brandon shook his head with a good-natured smile. “No ma’am. And I’m not just saying that to save face and keep my job. I really do enjoy working at Oasis. And now that I’ve seen this-“ he motioned back to the mansion, “-it makes me even prouder to be an Oasis barista.”

Ms. Thompson held out her hand. “You have officially been introduced to Mirage." She turned to look back at the building, lifting her chin. "It is the solemn duty of a select few Oasis senior baristas to recommend new deserving persons for this fabled experience."

"'Where the underdogs and unsung are treated like the elite,' right ma'am?"

She nodded. "Precisely! Now, I want to see your first recommendation by the end of this week!"

End of the week?! Brandon's eyes widened as he drew back in shock.

"Don't give me that look." Ms. Thompson waved her pen at him. The same pen he had signed the agreement with. "You've been here long enough and I refuse to believe that you haven't been observing the customers who come in and out of our shop. Why, I'd be liable to fire you on the spot if that were to be the case, Mr. Carter." She raised an inquiring eyebrow at him.

Brandon shook his head. "Oh, no ma'am! Of course not! I'll have that new deserving patron in Mirage by the end of the week!"

“You’d better.” She eyed him as they got back to the car. “And you know my standards. You have to make their case when you recommend them. Not just any old Joe off the corner.”

Brandon nodded. “Understood, ma'am.”

…

His shift the next day weighed heavily on him. He saw a couple of new faces and a few regulars come in for their lunch but no one struck him as Mirage material.

A chipper female voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Hey Brandon, what’s got you so upset?”

He blinked. It was one of his regulars. “Huh? Oh, sorry! It’s nothing.” Got the customers asking about me now. Get it together! He plastered on a smile. “Love the new faux locks. They really suit you.”

The girl’s face lit up, her hazel eyes sparkling. “You really think so? I was scared to try them out but my coworkers kept nagging me to do something other than cornrows.”

“I’m glad you gave in to their pestering,” Brandon said with a grin as he handed her her order. “Two mint slushies and a fever grass iced tea, as requested, your highness.” He gave her a little bow.

“Why thank you, kind sir!” The girl grinned and curtsied. “Service like this is why I keep sending people here. I wonder if you realize how much those little gestures pick a girl up after a typical tough morning at the office. People really don’t understand how stressful grant writing can be at times. The feeling of euphoria when we get an approval after weeks, sometimes months of putting it all together?” She mimed singing a hallelujah chorus. “I’d dare say it rivals taking a sip of that mint slushie on a hot day like today!”

“Happy to be of service!” Brandon waved at her as she left, letting his shoulders droop when she was out of sight. To have her bright outlook and enthusiasm would sure help me get my hallelujah moment for the week.

Closing up on Wednesday left Brandon feeling hopeless. Maybe he wasn’t as observant as he’d thought. The café had no lack of customers, regular and new faces alike, but no one seemed to jump out at him as a candidate that Ms. Thompson would approve. The people he’d seen in the rooms at Mirage were instant shoe-ins. He could tell why they were there. He’d recognized a lot of them: local pastors, primary school teachers, two of the receptionists for the most exclusive hotel in town, a lady who owned a daycare, some fishermen, some janitresses, and garbage collectors. Mirage truly was a retreat for the unsung backbones of the neighborhood.

He spent all of Thursday searching faces while reviewing Ms. Thompson’s criteria in his head. Those who need a genuine respite. A safe, secret space to release and be themselves without fear or threat to their public personas. And those we can trust to keep Mirage a mystery to the public. Who is that person? Doesn’t everyone need a space like that? Who was he to designate one person over another in need of a mental spa day? And why just one?

He had one day left. It was tomorrow or bust. Would Ms. Thompson really fire him if he didn’t find someone to recommend? Did he really want to take that chance? What if Ms. Thompson didn’t approve his choice and still fired him? Brandon shook his head as he cashed out the last set of customers. He watched them, happy and chatty with their hot drinks and sandwiches, living their regular lives with the respite offered by their after-work delight. He couldn’t have picked a candidate from that bubbly bundle if he’d tried. No choice but to pick someone tomorrow, looks like. He shook his head as he started putting the chairs up on the tables.

Sure it was last minute for Ms. Thompson to spring this on me but what was I supposed to do? Turn down a promotion? It’s awesome what she’s doing with Mirage and the fact that she picked me to bring people in is insane. I can’t disappoint her. It’s been three whole days already. She wouldn’t have given me the assignment if she didn’t think I could handle it. And clearly, it can be done since she has other baristas who have gotten great people in already-

The gentle tinkling of the doorbell startled Brandon from his thoughts and he paused in his cleaning of the windows. 

A familiar face came into view and he grimaced at the frown lines between her pretty eyebrows. The faux locks were gathered back into a rough bun, her shoulders slumped as she kept a loose grip on her purse. She seemed so haggard standing by the door looking at the deserted café. She spoke in a defeated tone. "I'm sorry, you guys closed already?" 

The disappointment in her eyes plucked at Brandon's chest. "Not just yet, ma'am. You caught me just before I turned the sign so I gotta serve you.” He smiled with a little shrug. “What can I get you?"

The girl shook her head. “No, it’s ok. I don’t mean to be a bother. I knew it was late already.” She reached back for the door handle.

“Nuh uh uh.” Brandon shook his head, putting his hand on the doorframe so she couldn’t open it. “Company policy. You came in, I have to serve you. You don’t wanna get me in trouble with my boss, do you?”

She let out a little breath. “Definitely not. Thanks.”

Brandon assumed his position behind the counter. “What did you say you’d like?”

"I'd ask for a new life but this isn't the place for that so... a cup of tea, I guess?" She heaved a great sigh, dropping onto the barstool. "Whatever flavour you think will make me feel less like a waste of space."

Brandon tilted his head as he put on the water and clipped a few stalks from the peppermint plant overhead before turning to the small rosemary bush. He worked quietly, watching the mint leaves twirl in the water while he ground the rosemary with a mortar and pestle. ‘Drop that in there…’

"That smells heavenly," the girl said into her arms. "Sorry if I'm sweating on your counter."

Brandon shrugged her off. “No biggie. You relax. Mind if I asked what happened? You don’t have to answer. I’m just the nosy barista.”

The sigh he heard her heave sunk his chest.

“Pretty much an avalanche of ‘what could possibly go wrong’ smacked me upside the head today,” she murmured. “I put in for two grants and the direst one was denied. Of course, my CEO was furious because I totally should have known not to submit the request on a Thursday because that donor hates Thursdays.”

Brandon scrunched his eyebrows.

“Yeah, I dunno either. Some rich people make no sense.” She lifted her head to rest her chin on her hands. “But yeah, that happened and because of it, I was made office errand girl for the day for the most irritable senior on my floor. Like I didn’t have enough on my plate already. But!” She perked up, straightening her posture as the scent of the tea grew stronger. “I saw two black cats on the way back from one of my food runs! They were so fluffy and cute and the smaller one let me pick him up and cuddle him! I know most people think they’re bad luck but I think that’s a load of hogwash. A cute kitty is a cute kitty and I don’t discriminate!”

Brandon hummed thoughtfully. “I thought I was the only one.”

“I may be a bit biased towards black cats, though,” she admitted sheepishly, holding up her fingers like she was pinching something. “Just a teensy bit.”

He grinned. "I see no problem with it. They deserve love just like the rest.”

“Someone else who gets it! Thank you!” She smacked her hands on the counter then jumped. “Oh, sorry. Got a bit excited there.” She took a deep whiff of air. “That tea just keeps smelling better and better. At least that’s a pleasant way to end the train wreck that was my day. ”

“Glad you like it. It'll be ready in a bit.” Brandon glanced at his watch. “But, in the meantime...” She may just be the one. “I may not be able to offer you a life free from fickle rich people who hate Thursdays and turn down amazing grant proposals but I may be able to offer a quick getaway on your next day off."

"How's that?" Her curious eyes bored into his.

"Can you keep a secret?"