Myra’s Big Mistake – Chapter 4

“Sorry, I’m late!” I call out as I breeze through the back door with Mochi on my heels. Mrs. Tanaka’s cat, Silky, takes one look at Mochi and high-tails it out of the kitchen. Good. I love Silky, and even though she belongs to Mrs. Tanaka, she’s not paired with anyone. She’s hard to reason with.

I set my container of homemade brownies on the nearest counter and head to the employee locker room to dump my coat and bag. The kitchen is already in full swing with two assistants chopping vegetables, and our other line cook deep-frying shrimp while scooping rice out of the rice cooker. Five o’clock is a little early to be serving a lot of guests, especially on a Monday. I hope it hasn’t been too busy.

When I return with my chef’s whites on, Bryan, the head chef, is already deep into his first stolen brownie. Chocolate crumbs dangle off the corner of his mouth, and he closes his eyes.

“Damn, girl. What did you put in these? ‘Cake?’” He pulls away and looks at it. “I hope not. I have a full shift ahead.”

‘Cake’ is our local herb, grown here for recreational and medicinal use. Not cake like chocolate cake. I know that’s confusing. This plant is like a mild sedative. People smoke it or eat it. I do both. And quite frankly, you never know when you’re going to accidentally ingest some and end up napping when you should be working.

“Maybe you should have asked before taking one without permission.” I swipe the box off the counter. “And no, they are cake-free.”

“Good.” He pops the rest into his mouth and dusts off his hands. Butch trots up to sit beside him. “Oh, yeah?” he asks Butch. He nods at Butch’s growls and yips. “Boss is out in the dining room. She wants to see you.”

I grab the box of brownies and head out into the dining room. I hope Mrs. Tanaka has good news for me, like hiring someone else so I can have a day off now and then? That would be nice. Yesterday was my first free night in a month.

When I push through the kitchen doors to the bar area, I trip over the rubber mats in surprise.

“Hello, Myra. It’s good to see you again.”

The empress sits at the bar next to Mrs. Tanaka, eating rice crackers and drinking beer.

I bow, and I’m sure to make it low and honorable without getting on the floor and touching my forehead to the sticky wooden planks. There’s only so much we can do to clean them.

“Stop that now,” the empress chides me, her tone of voice good-natured and kind. “Come on, Myra. I’ve met you enough times for you to treat me as an equal.”

I snort out a laugh. “My father would disown me if he found out I didn’t bow at the very least, Your Highness.”

“Sanaa,” she insists, reminding me to call her by her first name. All I can do is smile politely and try to remember who I am and where I am. Sanaa Itami is right in front of me with her long straight hair braided over her shoulder, wearing a jade green shirt and not a hint of makeup. I hope I look half as good as her when I get older.

Mrs. Tanaka leans forward over the top of the bar. “What do you have there?” Her eyes narrow in on my brownies.

“Oh, just something I whipped up this afternoon. This is why I’m late. Sorry. I had to make sure they were cool before I could cut them.” I set the box on the bar, and they each take a brownie. From the humming and closed eyes, this one is a winner. “Yes,” I whisper, pumping my fist at my side. “I think this recipe is finally perfect.”

I place the cover on and set them next to the snacks under the bar. “You can give them away to customers. But make sure they’re ‘special customers,’ you know?”

Mrs. Tanaka laughs. “Only the best for the special ones. Thanks, Myra. Your baking is getting fantastic. Soon you’ll be leaving us to start your own patisserie.”

“Nah.” I wave that idea away. “I’m nowhere near close to that.” I rearrange a few things under the bar and try to hide my embarrassment at the compliment.

“Mmmm, delicious,” Sanaa says, sucking a brownie crumb from her thumb. “I agree with Miko. You have talent.”

“Well, I don’t have French baked goods talent, but thank you.” I bow again and turn to leave. The kitchen is calling.

“Myra,” Sanaa calls out. I stop and lift my head at the serious tone of her voice. “I was hoping to talk with you about your father.”

Mrs. Tanaka glances at Sanaa from the side. “Sanaa, now is not the time.”

“Now’s the perfect time.” Sanaa smiles at Mrs. Tanaka.

Sighing, Mrs. Tanaka waves. “Go ahead then.”

I clasp my hands in front of me and press tight around my knuckles. I wish I had come in even later and not been subjected to whatever’s about to happen.

Dad. For crying out loud. Why must he make our lives so difficult?

My upper lip sweats, yet my body is cold, cold as ice. I hate confrontation.

“Myra, you know I consider Mr. Maeda to be a good friend.”

“Yes, ma’am.” My voice is far, far away.

“And he’s wondering if there’s anything he can do to persuade your father to change his stance on the casino legislation.”

My throat is suddenly parched, and my heart is racing. I would give anything to have Mochi by my side, but he’s not allowed in the dining room.

“I… Uh… I… I’m not sure?” I hope this noncommittal answer will be enough for her, but Sanaa’s quiet countenance leaves me breathless. I lower my eyes to the floor. Whenever I’m under pressure or asked uncomfortable questions, I freeze up. My mouth and brain cease to work. It’s the main reason I failed the I.A. entrance exams and just barely scraped by in culinary school. Performing under the watchful eye of a test proctor or the chef instructors caused me to forget everything I had ever learned.

“Take a deep breath,” Mrs. Tanaka insists.

I inhale through my nose and out through my mouth — once, twice, three times. When I lift my head, both women are watching me closely.

Open your mouth and speak, Myra.

“Hmmm,” Sanaa hums. “I had no idea my question was so significant. Does she always do this?” she asks Mrs. Tanaka.

“What? Clam up under pressure?” Mrs. Tanaka rolls her eyes at Sanaa. “Yes. Don’t most people when confronted by the fucking empress?”

I blow out slowly and drop my head, ready to run for the door. “I’m so sorry.” More long breaths, as I consider being honest. “It’s an, uh, embarrassing habit.”

The stammering is also an awkward habit. I wish I could stop.

“And my father is embarrassing, too.” I gasp, unable to believe I said that out loud. “Oh my gods, please don’t tell him I said that.” I press my fingers to my lips.

“No worries,” Sanaa says with a small smile. “It’s tough living with overbearing parents.”

She wouldn’t know. She was raised by her aunts.

“Well, just Dad. Mom is fine. Better than fine. She accepted Mochi right away.”

“Mochi?”

Now, I’ve gone in the opposite direction, and I’m rambling.

“My pair. He’s a skunk.”

Sanaa’s smile widens. “A skunk! What fortune! They are the sweetest of the nocturnal animals.”

The tension leaks from my shoulders.

“Now, just tell me, in all honesty, what’s driving this campaign of your father’s?”

I shrug. “He’s worried about people falling into debt and getting involved in criminal activity. You know how basic he is.” Sanaa nods. “He has the best of intentions. But there’s nothing I can do about him.” I raise my hands in surrender.

“Hmmm. He’s pretty proud of all his kids, Myra. But this is a good start. Knowing his intentions can help me reach an amicable resolution for all parties involved.”

I nod and try to ignore the sweat on my back. “Sorry. I wish I could help you more. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mrs. Tanaka reassures me.

“Under a lot of stress?” Sanaa asks. “Maybe you need to work on hiring more staff, Miko. Sounds like the girl could use a break.”

Mrs. Tanaka pulls her lips in tight. “Of course.”

I ignore their statements and glance at Sanaa. “I’m sorry again.” I swallow hard. “It’s difficult for me when I’m on the spot, and you’re the empress,” I stress, and they both laugh.

“You know,” Mrs. Tanaka says, “sometimes even we forget that.”

Somehow I doubt that looking at the large men with swords seated near the front and guarding the door.

“You can get back to work now. Tell Bryan we’re sorry we kept you so long.”

When I turn to look at the kitchen, Bryan is peeking through the door’s window. Yeah, I need to get back to work.

I say goodbye, bow, and hustle into the kitchen where I belong, leaving the sounds of their quiet conversation far behind me.

—-

My feet and back ache by the time my shift is over.

“I’m taking out the trash. Night, Myra! See you tomorrow,” Bryan calls out, waving at the door. “Don’t forget to lock up.”

“I never do,” I respond in a sing-song voice. I may be chronically late, but I’m not irresponsible. Just terrible with time.

Bryan pulls the door shut behind him, and I stifle a yawn as I lean against the cold stainless steel counter and wipe it down with a hot rag and cleaning solution.

It was a busy night. The orders kept coming and coming. I accidentally sliced my thumb around one in the morning and bled all over the prep area. But I had to bandage it and keep going. It wasn’t the first, and won’t be the last, time I bleed for my customers.

After cleaning for another hour, I sigh as I chuck the rag into the nearest sink. Once again, I’m the last person here, even though I’m not the lowest employee in the ranks. But everyone else has families and significant others to go home to. Not me. I always offer to stay later.

I glance at the clock on the wall as I untie my apron. Three-thirty. The other line chef left at two, and the dishwashers left after midnight. I’m going to be a wreck tomorrow, and I promised Ruby I’d bake cookies with her for her team at work.

“Mochi, it’s time to go! I’m desperate for bed.”

The kitchen stays quiet while I listen for his response. I hang up my apron in the employee break room, grab my bag, and turn out the light.

“Mochi!” I go to the door between the kitchen and the restaurant, but everything in the main area is dark. When she left, Mrs. Tanaka pulled the shutters down on the front windows and doors. Mochi must be out back. He often runs around at night with friends while I’m working.

My neck smarts, so I use my left hand to rub it while I shut the kitchen door to the alley. Using the palm scanner, I verify I have access to the kitchen security and lock the door.

“Mochi! I’m heading home!” I call into the dark alley. Usually, the surrounding stores let off enough light to keep this area free of shadows, but three-thirty in the morning is way past their closing times.

“Here, Myra! I’m coming,” Mochi responds, his little puffball form trotting down the alley from the opposite end.

“Excuse me.” A shadow from beyond the trashcans steps out into the wan light of the paper lantern over the kitchen door. I don’t recognize the man, and with his face concealed by a dark beard, he looks menacing as hell.

I swallow a shriek and jump backwards. My heart leaps from my chest and runs away, taking the strength in my legs with it. My knees wobble.

“Myra! Myra!” Mochi’s voice is high-pitched and squeaking.

“Oh, are you okay?” The man asks, reaching out and coming towards me.

“What the… What do you want? Don’t hurt me.” I can only assume this guy is here to assault me. It’s three-thirty, in the middle of the night. Who skulks around dark alleys and approaches women at this hour?

Criminals, that’s who.

He raises his hands. “Sorry. Are you Myra Kimura?”

What’s happening? I don’t know what’s happening.

Something small blazes past my legs.

“Oh! Oh, shit!” The man throws up his hands as Mochi lifts his tail and sprays the guy right on his torso. He turns, coughs, and vomits on the wet stone walkway.

I retreat hastily as the smell of skunk spray permeates everything. Go Mochi! Except ew. It’s the worst thing I could ever cheer for.

“Run, Myra!” Mochi leaps past me. I would pick him up, but I’m sure he’s covered in his own stink.

I stumble and hit the ground, scraping my hands and knees on the stone walkway. Looking down at the gashes in my work trousers, blood appears and starts to drip. I let out a muffled sob and scramble to my feet behind Mochi.

As we round the corner of the alley into the street, though, the sweet smell of cake is everywhere. A trio of men stand in front of the izakaya, smoking and talking in low voices. They whirl around, and when they see me, their eyes widen.

“What’s that…?” One man covers his nose, the disgust plain on his face.

I scream, but it’s no use. Hardly anyone lives around here. This is a business district.

“Whoa, whoa!” Another man steps forward, his voice authoritative and strong. “Myra, no one is going to hurt you. Our boss… he just wants to talk.”

“Your boss?” Finding my voice is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. It was scared away minutes ago.

He gestures at the front shutters. “We didn’t expect you to close so late.”

Mochi had run ahead, but he turns to rush back. “Myra, Myra. Shall I spray them too?”

I look at them all, standing around, and most of the men aren’t threatening at all in this brighter street light. One of them is wearing a casino vest under his jacket.

Oh great.

“No,” I say to Mochi, holding out my hand. “Go. You follow at a distance, just in case.”

The men watch Mochi dart off, too fast to be caught, and I doubt any of them want to when their other man steps out of the alley.

“That didn’t go well,” he says, holding his own nose. His eyes are watering, and skunk spray covers the front of his clothes. “Why am I always the one that gets sent around back?”

We all step away.

“Go home and get cleaned up.” The lead man waves him away, then he turns to me. “You come with us.”