I Am Not Your Maid! (On Hold)

Chapter 1 - Grand Opening

 Chapter 1

Grand Opening

The moment he strolled into the café, I knew he would be nothing but trouble.

Actually, that’s not true.  Elizabeth was the one to greet him and wait on him.  I didn’t even notice him until she bounced up behind me as I was printing out a bill for a table of customers I was waiting on. 

“That blond guy is so hot!” she squealed in a whisper.  “Doesn’t he look like a movie star or something?” 

I blinked in surprise at her before shooting a quick glance in the direction of her gaze while trying to appear discrete. “Eh? Really?”

He wasn’t hard to spot in a room filled with dark-haired Asian men and a handful of curious girls.  He leaned back casually in one of the plush chairs in the left corner with a flustered-looking Japanese boy his age sitting in the chair next to him.  He did look like someone who just stepped out of a magazine photo-shoot.  His light blond hair had that wind-swept look, the tips of which just barely grazed his ocean blue eyes and contrasted with his sun-kissed skin.

A nearby table with three curious Japanese girls were whispering softly together while checking him out.  Undoubtedly he was already attracting the other maids’ attentions as well as they hurried about the café, fetching hot drinks and cakes for their customers. 

His gaze flitted from each maid that glided past him, clearly enjoying the sights, but his eyes continuously glanced back at Elizabeth in her sky blue maid outfit.

Elizabeth sighed next to me.  “He’s so dreamy!  Too bad he’s eighteen.  I don’t date younger guys.”

That comment was a smack in my face.  I quickly studied her face in disbelief.  She looked to be the same age as me—she couldn’t be more than eighteen, maybe even twenty.  “Eh?  How old are you?”

She just giggled and winked her sky blue eyes (contacts for sure).  “That’s my secret!”  She quickly printed off her bill and scampered off, her bleach-blonde hair swaying softly behind her.

I didn’t have time to debate her age.  The café was now buzzing with activity and we were all busy little bees whirling around the tables as if it was peak season on a summer day in a honeycomb hive.  Our voices were dripping with sweetness and we twirled around the tables and customers as if in a dance that was both graceful and alluring.

Today was the grand opening of the only cosplay maid café in all of Toronto, Canada, Sakura’s Dream Café.  Located in the heart of downtown between the Eaton Centre and China Town, the locality had a lot to offer.  Spadina was just a few blocks away with all of its bustling Asian shops and mini malls for the locals to buy their traditional food and low cost goods imported from China, while the Eaton Centre was just a few blocks in the other direction with its upscale shops and hot-spot business centres.  It was a place where business and tourism collided in a flurry of multiculturalism and enterprise.

How was I to know that my life would be changed on the first day of my new job?  Sure, it was my first job ever and I got it because of my Japanese background, but a first job shouldn’t be considered the turning point of my young adult life, should it?

Regardless, I didn’t think much of him then (he wasn’t my customer after all), but I would soon come to realize just how difficult he would make my life hereafter.

“Whew!  What a day!” Genie exclaimed as she collapsed on the sofa after we had officially closed shop and the last customer stepped out into the red-sunset glow of the evening.  Her shoulder-length brown hair fanned out around her on the sofa as she rested her head on the plush cushion.  Her lace-trimmed white apron had pink icing and brown coffee stains, but that didn’t deter a person’s gaze from her long white legs that gleaned against the light from her ultra-short, crinoline-fluffed skirt and the milky white cleavage barely contained in her pleated blouse.  A hentai otaku (perverted anime fanboy) would have a nosebleed in a heartbeat at the sight.  And I wouldn’t blame him—she left little to the imagination and much to be desired.

“Yes!  Today was such a success, I am so excited about tomorrow!” squealed Sakura, our boss and owner of the café.

Harajuku born and raised, Sakura owned a chain of maid cafés throughout Japan, starting in her hometown, and was now setting her sights on a global scale.  She looked to be in her early thirties, but the crinkle in her brown almond-shaped eyes when she smiled would hint that her real age was actually somewhere in her forties.  She was a warm and lively person, but also very clever and business-oriented.

When setting her sights on Canada, she zeroed in on what would attract customers and sell her services.  In doing so, she designed our French maid costumes to be a bit more, shall we say, suggestive?  Scandalous?  Sexy?  Or all of the above?  The capped sleeves drew attention to the exceptionally low-cut bustier, and the white lace-trimmed aprons drew in our tiny waists before fanning out in our crinoline-fluffed short skirts where our slender legs stood strong and firm, elongated with high heels and thigh-high pantyhose.  She upped the sexy-degree in hopes of attracting non-Japanese customers.  The result involved a bit of butt pinching when our attentions were diverted.

While the other girls that I worked with loved being dolled up in sexy maid outfits, I was more shy and frequently tugged on the hem of my skirt to keep it down and pulled my blouse up to cover my modesty.  Unlike the rest of my co-workers, I had only been in Canada for five years and still harboured many traditional Japanese values, such as hard work and dedication to my goals.

My goals this year were to improve my grades and get accepted into Todai (the University of Tokyo, or "Todai" as we lovingly called it) while working a part-time job.  Tuition for Todai was very expensive, and I didn’t want to be a financial burden to my family.  Although I had completed grade twelve of the Canadian high school curriculum just a few months ago, I was dissatisfied with some of my marks.  I knew I could do better because I still struggled with English.  I decided to take a fifth year of high school to boost my grades while I saved up money for my dream.

Working at Sakura’s Dream Café sounded like a good idea at the time.  I really had no idea what I would be getting into.

And the turning point took place the next day, a few hours before close, when Sakura gathered us together for a few minutes to tell us about a new idea. “The next customer to walk in that door,” she announced, “we will all take a group photo with him or her!”

It was a good idea, until the blond hair, blue-eyed guy from yesterday walked in.

I didn’t know it then, but that photo was the key to my locked-diary of secrets, and it was only a matter of time before it would be used against me.