Aria's Antiques

The Blue Teapot

When you think of Los Angeles, you probably imagine the hustle of streets, the wealthy celebrities, and the world famous film industry. You definitely do not think of a tiny, dank, little cafe off of the beaten path. 

Caspian Redmont glanced out the front window of Redmont's. The last drops of the previous night's rain dripped down the leaky, red roof and onto the barren, metal tables sitting within the gated outdoor patio. As usual, there were no customers in the cafe. 

"Who would chose to come here, instead of one of those trendy, overpriced eateries?" thought Caspian to himself. He got up from where he was sitting, a wooden booth, and gracefully strode through the sea of small, two seater tables. In his opinion, there were way to many seats in comparison to the rest of the restaurant, which was small and cramped. Despite being the owner of Redmont's, Caspian had never dared to change anything about the business. Every chair, table, and sign had been bought by his grandfather, the one who had founded Redmont's 70 years prior. Not even the menu had changed, still serving the same rich custards, flaky muffins, and dark teas that had been locally famous all those years ago.

Caspian reached a light yellow door --the kitchen entrance-- and walked in with his head held high. No way is he going to let his chef see him in the sulky state he had been in just moments before, prompted by his utter lack in customers. 

The kitchen was small, like the rest of the cafe, and had beige walls. Three giant, scratched ovens lined one wall; another wall contained two half broken stoves, a 20 year old fridge, and a small wooden cabinet. Towards the back of the room was a steel door, which led to a very empty industrial freezer. In the center of the kitchen was a stone counter, on top of which sat a plate with a half eaten danish. The eater of the danish was a curvy, blonde woman with kind, brown eyes. She looked up from her breakfast to glance at Caspian. 

"Anyone out there?"

"No. Is there ever." Caspian retorted. "Macy, you've worked here for three years. Have you ever seen anyone in the restaurant on a Tuesday morning."

"Is that rhetorical? Or are you serious?" Macy could never tell whether he was serious or not. That was just the type of person Caspian was-- guarded and emotionless.

"Just forget it". He walked over to the fridge and opened it. The shelves were almost empty, except for a cartoon of eggs, a pint of milk, and a bottle of almost expired juice. Caspian took the juice; he moved back towards the counter where Macy was sitting and pulled up a chair. 

"This business is done for". He plainly stated to a surprised Macy, who had never seen Caspian actually take time to talk to her for more than a couple seconds. "Redmont's must really be struggling," she thought to herself. "That or he's had a sudden change of heart and wants to be social for once in his life". Unfortunately, her first prediction was spot on.

"Macy," Caspian started, but quickly stopped. He looked hesitant, like he wanted to say something; it was almost like some invisible force, perhaps pride, was keeping him from speaking up. 

"Out with it Cas. You obviously want to say something," she told him in a warm yet firm voice.

Caspian looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the empty bottle of juice. Not able to meet her eyes, he stated vulnerably "Redmont's is closing. For good."

"What?" Macy's eyes widened, to shocked to speak. She gathered herself and added softly "I knew that business was bad, but closing the store?"

"I know it sounds extreme, but there's no other option. We've been in debt for a while now, and at this point I'm in over my head."

"How long?"

"What?" asked a confused Caspian. Macy had never shown any particular interest in the restaurant. Usually she just clocks in and clocks out, never staying longer than she had to.