(Zane POV)
"I know this is not enough but I hope it helps." Janelle said as she handed me a few savings for my partial scholarship tuition.
Kline and Sasha already contributed but it's still not enough. I am aware that Kline is rich but his parents still are the ones in charge of his allowance so he gave me the best of what he can make do of the situation.
Combined with the money I earned from baking for students here, it's still far from the required amount. What will I ever do?
Kline and Sasha decided to help by recommending my pastries to their friends. To my advantage, some are really interested. I have been receiving several orders lately and I'm just praying that the income I will earn will fit the bill. When I got home, I quickly went through my email and there are 12 requests for this week. May God be with me!
I opened the first request and surprisingly, it's the nearest one from my home and easiest one to make also.
One blueberry pie…coming!
I was quick to create and knead the pastry since it's the most difficult one to execute. You don't want it to be too thick or it will be hard to slice. You also don't want it to be too thin or it will be a crumbly mess.
After successfully putting the bottom crust on the pie plate, I started working on my pie filling. For the blueberry mixture, I decided to add fresh orange zest, cinnamon, cardamom and just a teaspoon of honey so I can balance out the acidity with a bit of sweetness.
After I finished, I moved on to my lattice crust which is probably the most intricate thing about this pie. My hands started shaking as I tried to roll the blade as light handedly as I can.
"For the culinary school, Zane" I whispered.
--
"Can you repeat the address, ma'am?" I asked on the phone as I already made several roundtrips in the area. I still couldn't find the god forsaken place.
"The Barista, and it's located in 10 Richmond Street…" is all I heard until the signal got lost.
Great! Just great!
I looked around to see if there's any clue to where I am until I saw a neon beer sign along the alleyway to my right. I tried to walk towards the place and as I got nearer and nearer, there's a mini bar with a name right above the door saying, "The Barista". Finally, after embarking on a very long journey, I made it at last. I rolled my eyes and breathed a sigh of relief before making my way inside.
As I got in, the strong smell of cigarette and beer just hits your nostrils like a bitch. I tried to hold my breath as long as I can because I cannot stand the pungent smell of this pub and all I am seeing are women and transvestites who seem to look like hookers on dirty old men's lap. I then wondered if I am in the right place. That is until I was called by a woman who looks like a bartender.
"Zane! Over here!" She hollered. I went to her and sat at the stool to give her the blueberry pie she ordered.
"Here you go, miss!"
"Thanks. How much is it?"
"20 dollars please"
She then handed me a 20 dollar bill before taking the box inside the staff room. I was about to exit the bar when a man placed a hand on my shoulder. I turned around to see a muscular middle aged guy whose breath reeks of alcohol, glaring at me.
"Can I help you sir?" I asked.
"You certainly can."
I looked at his face and he has a square jaw. He has a scar on the right side of his forehead and he has an overgrown beard which makes him look grungy. He is wearing a formal suit and he is shorter than me. To be more accurate, he is "Danny Devito" short but for a guy who is quite small, he sure does gives me the creeps.
"Well, how can I help?"
"I have a client that you have to please."
"Huh? I have to please?" I said in a bemused expression.
"Yes, you have to please him because he's a big shot client and he wants you."
"I don't know what you're talking about. I just came here to deliver a pie." I said.
"Well, big mistake! You're in a bar/whorehouse and I'm the boss around here. My client chose you and you're going to have sex with him because he's going to give me a check worth of $ 10,000. Whether you're a hooker or not, I don't give a damn. You're in my territory and you're going to do as I say." He said with his tone becoming a bit more abrasive.
"I'm not your property and I'm not your robot so no, thank you." I answered which is obviously not the best response because as I turned away from him, he grabbed me by my arm and slapped me hard on the face.
"Do you know who you're talking to, faggot?"
"I don't know and I don't give a damn about you." He then backhanded me even harder which made me fall on the floor.
"What the hell is your problem?" I asked. I noticed that some people did not even care to look at me.
"Help!" I screamed but people are still minding their own business. What kind of hell is this? I am being assaulted by this ugly man and no one even bothered to intervene or defend me.
"Scream all you want, no one will help you! I own this place and these idiots are smart enough not to mess with me." He said. He then squat down and grabbed my hair to whisper something to me.
"So if you're smart and you still want to live, you would just do what I say, okay?" He said with his breath tickling my ear, which made me shiver in disgust.
I tried to swallow my tears and not give him the satisfaction of me crying but I couldn't help it. I still want to live and I still want to make desserts but at the same time, if I agree to what he wants, I don't think I would be able to look at myself the same way anymore. I think I might be even better off being dead than being forced into doing something like this.
In a very reluctant way, I looked at him before giving him the nod that I have been refusing to give him.
"Don't worry, this will be over soon."