Coffee, Tips, Rent

Dakota woke up to the sound of her alarm cutting through the thin wall like a chainsaw. She groaned and slapped at her phone until the noise stopped, then lay there for a second staring at the water stain on the ceiling. Her lower belly already had that familiar heavy ache — not full cramps yet, but the low, dull warning that always showed up right before her period. Not for the first time, she considered getting a hysterectomy.

She dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom, moving on autopilot. Toothbrush. Face wash. The usual. She caught her reflection in the mirror and made a face at herself. Her hair was already trying to escape the bun she'd slept in. She didn't bother fixing it yet.

As she got dressed for her shift, she kept her brain on a very short leash.

Coffee. Tips. Rent.

She wasn't going to think about the recording session later. She wasn't going to think about Callie's voice saying filthy things into a microphone like it was the most natural thing in the world. And she definitely wasn't going to think about how those lines had started living in her head rent-free since yesterday.

Coffee. Tips. Rent.

She pulled on her usual work uniform — black jeans and the dark green polo with the coffee shop logo — and stared at herself in the mirror for a second longer than necessary.

"You're fine," she told her reflection. "You're going to go to work, make drinks, write names on cups, and not think about any of it. Easy."

Her reflection did not look convinced.

By the time she got to the coffee shop, the morning rush was already in full swing. The air smelled like burnt espresso and cinnamon syrup, and the line was already snaking out the door. Dakota tied her apron, clocked in, and threw herself into the rhythm of it like it was a contact sport. Espresso shots. Steamed milk. Writing names on cups with the black marker that was already starting to dry out. She kept her head down and her brain on the task in front of her.

Coffee. Tips. Rent.

She was in the middle of ringing someone up when the next person stepped forward. Dakota didn't even look up properly, just grabbed a cup.

Coffee. Tips....

"Callie."

Dakota's head snapped up.

"What?" Just a teenager with a backpack.

"N-nothing," she said, writing the name on the cup. "It'll be ready in a second."

She turned away before the girl could say anything else.

Coffee. Tips. Rent.

She finished the drink, called out the name without looking up again, and immediately threw herself into the next order. Another name. Another drink. Another customer who wasn't her.

The morning dragged on in a blur of orders and small talk. She smiled at the regulars, made the same jokes she always made, and tried not to let her mind wander. But every time she wrote a name on a cup, a small part of her braced for it. Every time the bell over the door rang, a tiny, traitorous part of her wondered if it could be her.

Coffee. Tips. Rent.

It never was.

Coffee. Tips. Rent.

By the time the morning rush finally started to thin out, Dakota's shoulders were tight and her jaw ached from how hard she'd been clenching it. She wiped down the counter harder than necessary and told herself it didn't mean anything.

It was just a name.

A very common name.

She was fine.

Dakota slipped into the community theater studio a few minutes late, still smelling faintly of coffee and steamed milk. The room was the usual chaotic mix of folding chairs, worn-out props, and people in various states of caffeine-fueled energy. She dropped her bag by the wall and tried to shake off the morning shift.

The instructor, Mr. Harlan, was already pairing people up for scene work.

"Today we're doing Taming of the Shrew," he announced, clapping his hands. "Katherine and Petruchio. Let's see some fire."

Dakota felt a small spark light up in her chest despite how tired she was. Fuck yes! After the day she had, she was more than ready to tell some people off. This was why she kept coming back. Not for the tiny roles or the unpaid workshops, but for moments like this — when she could step into someone else's skin and forget, even for a little while, about rent and tips and the confusing mess her life had become.

She got paired with Marcus, a tall, easygoing guy who always played the romantic leads. They took their scripts and moved to a corner of the room. He wouldn't know what hit him. She almost felt bad for the guy.

"We're doing the sun and moon scene," Mr. Harlan announced, "Where Petruchio demonstrates how he has tamed Katherine."

Wait, what?

"I say it is the moon," Dakota read, trying to put some bite into Katherine's forced submission.

Marcus, as Petruchio, pushed back. "Nay, then you lie. It is the blessed sun."

Dakota felt herself chafing at the lines. She delivered them, but they felt heavy in her mouth.

Mr. Harlan stopped them and called for partner switches.

This time she was paired with a woman named Lena, a sharp-eyed actress with short hair and a quiet intensity. They took an earlier scene, where Katherine was still fiery and resistant.

Dakota lit up. As Petruchio, she got the lines she could really sink her teeth into. The commanding lines, the way he refused to be cowed by Katherine's fire — it felt alive and powerful. She could feel the class watching, and for a few minutes she forgot about everything else.

When they finished, Mr. Harlan nodded approvingly. "Much better. Dakota, you're bringing real conviction to Petruchio."

After class, as everyone was packing up, Mr. Harlan pulled her aside.

"I always knew you'd do well with Petruchio's lines. It's easy to play to type. I started and ended you with Katherine's lines, because you need to learn to play against type. To set yourself aside and embody the role."

Dakota nodded. "Ok, Mr. Harlan."

She walked out the door thinking about the recording session ahead.

The studio was close enough to the theatre that Dakota chose to walk instead of paying for another Uber. Besides, the exercise would help clear her head.

When she arrived, Callie was already in the booth. Mike said, "Ok, this scene is right after the big gala. We'll pick it up with Callie as Jane."

"You ruined it!" Callie read, her voice dripping with venom. "My big night and you ruined it!"

Dakota, caught off guard, fumbled with the pages. Was Callie looking at her when she read those lines? Then she read, "I'm so sorry! I was trying–"

"Trying to what?" Callie snapped. "Embarrass me? Well you did a great job of it!"

She was looking at her, Dakota realized. Which meant Callie had memorized her lines like a professional while Dakota was reading her lines off the page like a rank amateur.

Callie continued her relentless assault. "Look at you! Just look at what you're wearing!"

"I thought I looked nice," Dakota read, her jaw tight.

"You look like a whore!" Callie spat. "Your tits are practically falling out of that dress and I've seen drag queens in less makeup!"

It was getting harder and harder for Dakota to read the lines.

"I'm sorry," Dakota read. "I was trying to look nice for you. For your special night."

"You're dressed for the male gaze, not mine. I think I need to sleep alone tonight."

"And cut!" said Mike from the control room. "Gimme a second to listen back and we'll go from there."

Dakota took her headphones off and tossed them on the stand that held her script. "God, if someone talked to me like that, I'd tell her to go fuck herself! And if she wants to sleep alone so bad, then she could sleep on the couch."

Dakota leaned back in her chair. "Seriously, if that were me, I would've told her exactly where she could stick it. Mary's way too polite about the whole thing. If I were writing this, I would've had her push back harder. Make Jane actually work for it instead of just steamrolling."

Callie was quiet for a second, then said softly, "Sometimes people don't know how to push back in the moment. Especially when they're not used to someone coming at them that hard. Sometimes people lose themselves when they are in love."

Dakota made a face. "Yeah, well, if it was me I wouldn't have let it get that far. I would've shut it down the second she started talking like that."

Callie looked at her for a moment. "In the moment, it's harder to say those things when you're actually standing in front of the person."

Dakota opened her mouth to reply, but Mike came back over the intercom.

"Alright, that was a decent start, but it's coming off a bit tame. Let's take it from the top and try to put some more passion into it."

They started again from the beginning.

"You ruined it!" Callie read, her voice dripping with even more venom. "My big night and you ruined it!"

Dakota, caught off guard again, fumbled with the pages. Was Callie looking at her when she read those lines? Then she read, "I'm so sorry! I was trying–"

"Trying to what?" Callie snapped, the acid in her voice cutting deeper this time. "Embarrass me? Well you did a great job of it!"

She was looking at her again. Dakota could feel it. The words coming out of Callie's mouth made her want to slap her. But the way Callie's mouth formed those words, the way her eyes were shining, the way her body was angled toward her — it made Dakota want to—

"I'm sorry," Dakota read. "I was trying to look nice for you. For your special night."

"You look like a whore!" Callie read in a near growl. "Your tits are practically falling out of that dress and I've seen drag queens in less makeup!"

Dakota was at the edge of tears. "I'm sorry! I was trying to look nice for you. For your special night."

"You're dressed for the male gaze, not mine. I think I need to sleep alone tonight."

"And cut!" said Mike from the control room. "Let's take a five minute break and come back."