MEETING THE COFEE SHOP OWNER

Whispering has never been in her system as long as I remember, but that aside, because I am not disseminating anything to her. Not in this cab, and not now, when my pussycat has begun throbbing just at the notion of him. It's like he dwells somewhere beneath my skin, tickling me every time he senses his name in my mind.


"Come on, Ellie. Tell me. I wanna hear that juice," she says, so anticipatory for the chatter. She is quite an irksome tattletale at times.

"We are here, miss," the driver announces.

Yahalla! I mentally smirked. Grace is not getting a sh*t about me and my Damian. She might die of curiosity.


We step out of the cab, the faint echo of the fare payment lingering in the air as we emerge onto the bustling street. The exotic parkway stretches out before us, a tapestry of vibrant colors and intoxicating scents that beckon us forward. With each step, the anticipation builds, fueled by the knowledge that we're about to embark on a journey into the unknown.

As we approach the towering black gate, I can feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me. The beardown of the hope that I am lucky on this one and the fear of ‘what if' I am late. With a silent prayer whispered under my breath, I raise my hand and rap gently against the cold metal surface of the gate. The sound reverberates through the stillness of the air, a solitary echo in the vast expanse of the parkway. This is, without doubt, an estate of the rich.


Seconds tick by like eternity as we stand there, our hearts pounding in unison with the rhythm of anticipation. Then, like a whisper carried on the breeze, the small door of the gate swings open, revealing a uniformed security guard standing on the other side.

The sight of him, young yet authoritative, with a defense weapon tucked under his trouser sends a ripple of apprehension through me. The madam must indeed be wealthy to have such vigilant protection standing guard over her gate.

"Yes, who are you, and how may I help you?" The guard inquires, his voice firm yet tinged with curiosity as he regards us with a discerning gaze.

I clear my voice, opting to speak because Grace seems to have swallowed her voice. "Hi. I am Ellie Marrie. I have an appointment with Madam Hannah," I announce confidently, my voice ringing out against the backdrop of the grand estate.

The security guard nods curtly, his expression inscrutable as he takes in our presence. "Give me a minute. I will confirm with the Madam," he replies, his tone brusque as he retreats back into the depths of the mansion, leaving us standing at the gate.

As he disappears from view, closing the door behind him with a resounding click, I can't help but feel a pang of nostalgia wash over me. The familiar sight of security measures and protocols triggers memories of a life left behind, of the intricacies and formalities that once defined my existence. Damn, how I loathed them then and still do now.

"You can go in, miss, but just you alone," the guard declares upon his return, his gaze fixed firmly on me as if daring me to protest. I am not surprised by the directive, having grown accustomed to this aspect of life before, but Grace's incredulous expression speaks volumes. She is innocent and harmless, yet deemed unworthy of entry.

"Sir, she is my friend," I plead, my voice tinged with desperation as I try to appeal to his sense of reason. But who am I kidding? I know how things work in places such as this. It is for security reasons, as they say.

"She can't go in. She will have to wait for you outside," he retorts sternly, his tone brooking no argument. It's a harsh reality, but one I understand all too well. He is just following orders, after all.

"Mmh. He is so ugly with his pretentious gross looks."

Huh!

I cursed under my breath, shooting a quick glance at Grace, who scoffed in what she mentally termed a whisper. This girl, with her audacious spirit, will surely get me into trouble someday.

"Sorry, Grace," I mumble, realizing that this security jerk is in no mood for negotiations. I understand the futility of resistance.

"It is alright, Ellie. I will wait here," Grace says, her hand resting gently on my shoulder in a gesture of solidarity. "Go. Good luck," she adds, her words imbued with unwavering support as I steel myself for what lies ahead.

I leave her, albeit with a heavy heart, and stroll inside the exquisite, humongous bungalow. The security guard steers me to the door and ushers me in. I walk inside, to the geriatric woman in her late seventies, presumably postured on the leather couch with a nurse on her side. She doesn't look too good, even from afar.

"Welcome, my daughter." She speaks after noticing me in what sounds like a labored voice.

Approaching her, I realize she doesn't seem really well. She has this look of anguish on her expression. Even just how she is parked in the seat is kind of alarming. It is like she can't move herself.

I clear my voice a little, forming a slight smile on my lips. "Greetings, madam Hannah! I'm Ellie. The one who called you about the coffee shop on sale," I say, standing in front of her.

She coerces a smile that doesn't last for a second on her weary face, as that look of pain dominates it again. She breathes in deeply, amassing the strength to utter her next words, but I wait and wait and wait. She does not say a word.

"Are you alright, madam?" I ask, and worry and pity are building in me.

She nods her head slightly. Even that is labored. "Old age, my child, comes with a lot of problems. Sit," she says, and I crouch opposite them. "You now see why this elderly woman can't manage the coffee shop anymore?" She states that, and I don't know how to react to that. She looks worryingly sick, and I doubt that this condition is all about her old age. At seventy, and with the kind of life she has, she ought to be ten times stronger than this. "Don't feel sorry for me, child. You make me feel as if I am dying already," she adds, still battling to urge a smile on her face.

Jesus! How obvious of me! "I'm sorry, madam." I apologize immediately. 'I didn't mean to make you feel that way. Just that, what's your condition?" I ask, unable to hold back my curiosity.