Another journal

    Flashing a smile, Angie remembered to involve the muscles under her eyes to make it look genuine.  She replaced the empty carafe with a full one after refilling the board member’s cups and fading out of the room.  Comfortably out of sight behind the door, her shoulders fell and she tugged at the uncomfortable uniform collar that always felt like it was choking her.
    Angie took a pocket watch out of her apron and checked the time. The dinner mess was gone, wheeled away by the rest of the staff to the dish room and compost bins before they left for home.  It was just her, the percolator, airpot and icebox until the meeting finished up.  From the after-dinner coffee onward it was a closed meeting, but she had to hang around in case there was any dire drinks emergency.  Angie killed a little time straightening the catering nook, then peered through the little panel of one-way glass.  They were still at it, hunched over papers, toying with delicate cups on matching saucers.  Pre-Five Cities china, actually from China, as indicated by faded blue marks on the underside.
    Loosening the hateful collar, Angie moved on quiet waiter feet to the percolator and poured herself a cup.  However draining and often degrading serving the powerhouse minds that ran the Five Cities was, there were perks.  Coffee instead of tea.  Sugar from the east instead of honey.  Leftovers smuggled home, buffalo and salmon from the coast.
    In the flickering light of the candles and alcohol lamp turned low, Angie let the first sip run over her tongue, all grassy and heavy, with berry tones.  The roaster’s guild, despite the small amount of stock they had to work with, were masters.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.