A.S. Is: A Tale of Alfie Solomons

Starting Somewhere

Chapter Song: I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For by U2
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Shoes, keys, purse, knife all clutched in her short fingers. Rushing down the steps her feet quietly thudded against each wooden plank. Shoving the essentials in her bag she was almost ready. She thrust each foot into the blocky heels and frantically locked the heel straps into a holding fashion.

She was out the door just as the wind smacked her bare arms, reminding her of the jacket she forgot. She strode steadily, not missing a single step on the cobbled street. No time to check the watch in her purse she dared not see how late it was. She picked up her pace onward and into town for work. If she was late and someone caught her, then her father would certainly hear about it. As she passed she took no time to notice the falling leaves or the musky smell of autumn in the air. Save for another day where more time was planned. Today, she was anxious about being late. There was no particularly selfish reason for her to feel this concern. Rather, it was fear of disappointing her father and her father's friend, Mr. Shapiro. This was the man who gave her employment to begin with.

It had been a few weeks that she showed up on time, did her job, and even stayed if necessary. Today was the first day she risked ruining the perfect attendance. With each chilled wind blowing her every which way she became more bitter at the current state. She was educated, at least more than most men or women alike. Perhaps she should have followed the other girls from her schooling who went into nursing or music. Instead she had chosen business. Well, secretarial school. That was all they offered for the women. She fought tool and nail to even audit the men's financial and economic courses. She bought the books and studied harder than most of them, but it all came to naught of course, because here she was walking to a deli shop in Camden Town of all places.

Still, she had to be grateful there was a job for her anywhere. Back when she began her studies in 1927 there had been plentiful work and a brighter future. Once the Depression hit in '29 the trouble began, and now, about five years later, the British people felt tired of struggling through it all. Thinking to her past life in America as a child she wondered for a brief moment what that version of herself would be doing in this moment. Likely, it would have been much worse than her current position. Brushing the looming depth of that vision aside she brought herself back to the finish line ahead.

The cafe lay waiting in the breaking dawn. Beautiful front windows, larger than a man, stood tall and opened the room inside. The edges were stone, crowded amongst the nearby shops, pubs, clubs, and all the other sorts of companies that made their way into the Northwestern area of London. The tiny building's shadow not yet appearing, but a misty blue coat wrapped around the city. It made her once again aware of what a blistery autumn morning it was. Pulling on the strap of her hanging purse she unclasped the top to dig around and search for the key. A sigh of relief. She made it before the chef showed. However, that was the case on most mornings. Sometimes Chef Mark didn't even arrive until an hour into the shift. He was the nephew of Mr. Shapiro, which meant nepotism for him was different than her.

Inserting the old, clanky key she had to twist the knob only one-fourth of the way before the door opened of its own accord, creaking all the way. She stepped into the shelter, finally catching her breath. All the wooden chairs had been turned upside down and placed on the surrounding tables. The night baker had actually taken the time to sweep. What a pleasant surprise. It was not something he did very often. Normally the place was only swept in between servicing customers. She abhorred the crumbs, but then had to remind herself that not all the little things can be picked up. It was just so difficult when she felt as the only working woman in the place she was the only one who cared about cleanliness.

The problem was that Mr. Shapiro made enough money from the cafe and his financial investments that he did not feel improvement on the place was required. The future is that of improving upon the present. She wished more people could see that.