Claus and Clive

This time of night was a strange time to be awake. Though the district had a night life, it had its limits. Even the bars closed by 2:00am. It was 3. The lights in the shops had all gone out. Besides that, Cybil’s diner was beyond the edge of the main businesses. It was at the far end of VR-MLN-1. Technically the street continued for miles, but but the diner was the last inhabited building. In fact, it was surrounded by abandoned buildings. Even the nearest street lights were out, such that the diner appeared as a lone glowing window beyond everything else.

The diner’s single window was large and unbarred. From within, Claire had an unconscious habit of staring out this window, which made her uncomfortable. The window faced the far end of the street, away from the other lights, such that it gave one the impression of an entirely abandoned city. This was visible during the day only; after nightfall, even the dim, diffused light of the hidden sun was gone, and the street lights beyond that point unlit to conserve power. So when Claire stared into that window, she saw only the vaguest shape of the abandoned laundromat next door, and a dim reflection of herself illuminated by the mismatched lamps of the diner. Something about the emptiness beyond made her shiver.

She had spoken once to the owner about it. The owner was a man who went by the name Claus. She didn’t know if it was his first or last name. She had only met him three times.

The first time was the day she was hired. She had just finished school and was not looking forward to her job prospects. She had hoped to move to the Haut district, a bustling and brightly lit place, at least that is what she had been told. But that took money. Rent in the backalleys near Vermillion on the other hand was practically free.

At the time, she spotted a sign in the diner’s window: WAITRESS WANTED. On a whim she entered. It looked empty at first, until she found an old, short man in the kitchen. He seemed to be trying to get an old refrigerator to work.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Huh?” said the man.

“I heard you need a waitress?” she said hesitantly.

He looked her up and down, then squinted slightly. Then nodded to himself. “Mmhmm… you’re human, right?”

“Obviously,” she said, suddenly annoyed but wasn’t quite sure why.

“Just checking,” he said. “Take it as a compliment.”

“You ever waited tables?”

“Not yet, no.”

“That’s fine. You know how to work a Nanochef?”

“Um, not yet.” She repeated, hoping to convey optimism.

He shrugged. “Just google it. You can start Monday. Just uh, leave your email on the table and I’ll send you the paperwork. perfect, thanks.” He waited for no reply, then went back to fiddling with, and cursing at the refrigerator.

The other two times she saw him was when the boiler broke, both times. He seemed to fix it himself, and without saying much.

She did not even have his phone number, only his email address. To his credit, he did reply to his email, albeit tersely.

She once emailed him about the window. Before sending she took the time to choose her wording carefully. While it was obvious to her that the huge, dark window was disturbing, she wasn’t sure how to convey it in terms that would appeal to a nonchalant business owner. After writing several sentences and deleting them, she settled on a message: “I was thinking maybe we could get curtains for the big window. It might make the dining room seem cozier to customers at night.” That was six months ago. There was no reply, and she did not bring it up again.

It wasn’t until the second day that she realized there was only one employee besides herself. There was no kitchen staff, only a large, almost spider-like apparatus with several chutes at the top for ingredients, dials on the front and a big touch screen. This machine peeled, chopped and cooked everything, when given the correct ingredients. It even placed it on a plate. By what magic this device prepared food was a mystery to her, but after a few days she was used to it and its inner mechanisms no longer seemed important.

The only other person who worked there was a guy named Seth.

Actually she wasn’t entirely convinced his name was Seth. “Hey, I’m Claire,” she said when they met. He just looked at her. He was a skinny man, she wasn’t sure how old. He had a weathered look to him which made her think he was in his forties, but he also could have been quite young. He wore all black, including a black hoodie. He seemed to be perpetually on a smoke break. He wore black eyeliner, which only emphasized his sullen, bulbous eyes.

“What’s your name?” Claire pressed in her friendliest tone, when he did not reply.

He just looked at her as if making an important decision, and took a luxuriously long drag of his cigarette, then flicked some ash away. “Seth.” That was the end of the conversation. Something about the way he hesitated before saying the name made her skeptical that was even his name.

She saw Seth only when they changed shifts. His shift was both before and after hers: she started at 11pm and ended at 7am.

There were no cooks, cleaners or managers, and never any sign of Clive. But the paychecks kept coming, and the strange device in the kitchen never had any problems, so everyone continued with this arrangement. She worked alone, and there were usually no customers either. She wondered about this. Although she wasn’t paid much, the food was cheap and the customers were few, and she wondered how profitable the place could actually be. Of course, it helped to have only two bottom-wage employees and a building which probably had very little taxable value.

When she thought about it, she realized that Clive was the only person she saw every day. Though there were repeat customers, there weren’t many regulars who were there most days. She lived alone, and never saw her employer.