Page 1 of A Little Bit Extra

1

Cassie

“Cassie Mitchell, I better not find you moping back there. Your shift hasn’t even started.” A familiar voice echoes through the kitchen of Dave’s Diner.

With a groan, I lift my head from my hands. When I entered the diner, I made my way to the break room to clock in, avoiding everyone on my way through the restaurant.

I glare over to my left and see my best friend and roommate Lucy staring at me. She’s standing with her left hand on her hip, the other holding her notepad and pen. For being at work a few hours before me, she’s rather chipper. The opposite of how I’m feeling right now.

Working at a 24-7 diner was never part of my plan. The plan was simple: move to Los Angeles, join an acting group, be wary of distractions, and secure a lead role. But here I am five years later, having only checked off the first two items on my list. The last task I feel like doing right now is pretending to smile at customers and taking their orders. After a day of rehearsing lines, I'd rather be at home, in my pajamas, watching a movie, and devouring a pint of ice cream.

I shake my head and sigh. I’ve been at the diner for five minutes and I’m already wishing I could clock out. “Just exhausted. I spent, like, the last five hours rehearsing dialogue, and I still feel like a robot trying to run these damn romance lines.”

I grab my apron from the hook, wrap it around my waist, and secure it with a bow.

“My offer still stands! I’d gladly stand in as your man.”

I peer at Lucy and shake my head again. If I had a dollar for every time she offered to rehearse lines with me, I could hire someone with acting skills to monologue with. I wouldn’t have to rely on myself, her, or anyone from my acting class. I needed someone in the industry that knew the best way to deliver a scene.

Too bad I swore off all industry guys. Frustrated by the repeated instances of betrayal and being objectified, I finally reached the breaking point and decided it wasn’t worth the distraction. I won’t subject myself to the ongoing accusations of receiving roles solely based on my personal connections with people involved in the film. I’ve been chasing this dream for too long to let others continue to ruin it.

“Thanks Luce, but you’re not my type.” I chuckle. “I know I’ll be fine. I just need a little more time.” And honestly, a bit of confidence.

“That’s the attitude! Now come on, if we don’t get out there, Dave’s going to be yelling for us. Tonight’s extra busy.”

Lucy turns away from me, walking through the kitchen toward the front. I groan, rolling my head in a circle before following her.

“Why is it so busy tonight?” I ask as we reach the bar. I survey the dining room and realize there is a customer in nearly every seat. The diner is small, filled with a mix of booths and 4-top tables, enough to fit 100 people on a good night. Movie posters line the walls, paying homage to the history of the area. It’s 9 p.m. on a Sunday night in early June, typically a slower shift. My preferred type of shift. It shouldn’t be a full house. It takes everything in me to not roll my eyes and groan again at the sight of all the people.

“New movie!” Dave says as he appears to my right with a tray full of appetizers and drinks. “It films next week. Didn’t you get my memo?”

Dave doesn’t wait for me to respond before he shimmies past me and makes his way from behind the bar into the dining room. Of course I didn’t read his memo. No one reads email anymore when our inboxes are full of daily ads from fast-fashion retailers. I only use my inbox to filter audition requests, of which lately I’ve had zero.

I should have known a new movie was starting up. Every few months a new one begins filming, bringing more customers into the diner like clockwork. Dave’s Diner is located across the street from January Studios, which often means longer and additional shifts to accommodate the sudden influx of patrons.

“Yeah, Cassie, didn’t you get his memo?” Lucy mocks.

I glance at her, my eyebrows scrunched. “Shut up. You didn’t notice either.”

With a smirk, Lucy shrugs and walks into the dining room, heading to her tables. She seamlessly transitions into refilling drinks and asking if anyone needs anything. I laugh at how quickly she can switch to her server voice, which is at least two pitches higher than her normal voice, as she moves from table to table.

“Cassie! I sat a couple for you in your section!” Madison, the host of the month, yells to me from halfway across the room. I respond with a slight nod and a thumbs up.

Same shift, different day. I glance at the couple before walking to greet them. They’re both looking at their phones, sitting on opposite sides of the booth, and not saying a word to one another. Typical.

After working many, many nights, I’ve perfected my routine. Smile at the customer. Take their order. If I don’t write it down, I will absolutely forget it. I fill my brain to the brim with monologues, leaving no space for anything else. It is beyond my capacity to remember whether someone wanted onions on their burger. Place the order. Refill drinks. Smile more, I need the tip money after all. Bring the check. Repeat.

This routine keeps me from needing to overindulge our customers in conversation and maintains the barrier between us. It wasn’t always this way. At first, I figured working across the street from a studio would mean more opportunities for connections, right? Wrong. Nothing, zip, nada in all my night shifts. Just staff workers and tourists hoping to spot a celebrity.

I pat the front of my apron to make sure my notepad and pen are inside and head toward the table. Noticing my approach, the woman puts her phone down and meets my gaze with a smile. I immediately have two thoughts about her. My first thought is that her favorite color has to be purple. She has purple glasses on to match her purple shirt, and her hair is a light shade of pastel purple. My other thought is that I feel bad for her because this seems like a date, yet her partner on the other side of the booth remains face down, nose in his phone. His tousled, dark brown hair falls to conceal his forehead.

I take out my notepad and pen and flip to the first empty page. “Hi, my name is Cassie. I’ll be your server this evening. Are you ready to order or do you need a few minutes? Our specials tonight are on the back of the menu.”

“I’ll just take a water for now, thanks.” The girl softly smiles. She turns to face her partner, waiting for him to tell me what his preference of beverage is. After a few moments, I guess she kicks his foot under the table because he grumbles.

At last, he locks his phone and places it in his lap. Still not looking up, he peruses the menu, trying to find the specials I just mentioned. He flips it back and forth, once, twice, three times. I don’t have patience for this. I lean over the table and point to where the specials are listed. He does the same, finally finding what he’s looking for. Our fingers touch, and an electric jolt shoots up my arm, causing me to jerk away.

The man of mystery looks up at me, catching my gaze. I’m lost in his deep brown eyes, having a temporary moment of déjà vu. His lips curl up in a smirk, sending more jolts of something down my body. I have felt attracted to customers before, but this feels different.

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