Tea and Crumples

by Kinard, Summer;

  “You coming?” Tovah called from the doorway, two mugs in her hands. “I’ve poured your favorite.”

  Sienna followed her business partner to the office behind the stationery area. She closed the door behind her and plopped into a plump leather armchair in front of the desk. The armchair had come from her grandfather’s house, one of those relics of masculinity that did not fit well in her home but that gave unwonted comfort to the small office. She and Tovah had both napped in the club chair more than once in the harried weeks before opening.

  “Here. Drink up.” Tovah slid a bright pink mug in front of Sienna and opened the laptop that was bolted to the heavy wooden desk.

  “Thanks,” Sienna said into the steam above the tea. She sipped before continuing, “So, what do we have?”

  “Mostly requests to book the shop for special events. I already approved three sorority tea parties and a bridal shower. The sororities need extended hours, but the bridal party just needs the manuscript table and champagne. Which,” Tovah slid an official-looking piece of paper across the desk, “we can accommodate, since our special license has finally arrived. I included the $5 club member surcharge to the booking.”

  “Wow. I had no idea we would be popular so soon.” Sienna skimmed the computer screen that Tovah had turned toward her. She tapped a square on the event calendar with her pinky finger. “What’s this one?”

  “That’s mainly what I wanted to talk with you about.” Tovah clicked through a few windows until an email filled the screen. “Read this. She doesn’t want to book right away, but she wants to talk with you in person about booking.”

  Sienna read the brief email and noted the signature aloud, “Elsie Pinkwater, TEA Party Organizer.” She sipped, her brow knit. “Is she one of those independent tea party consultants that takes one tea appreciation class and calls herself a tea master?”

  Tovah shrugged.

  Sienna sighed. “When did you schedule her to meet?”

  “Tuesday at 1:00. I figured that, if nothing else, the midafternoon rush would give you an excuse to end the meeting early if she gets on your nerves.”

  “I guess that’s best. Anything else?” Sienna sat back, the warm mug between her hands.

  “I ordered more Moleskines.” Tovah looked at Sienna directly. “Hardback, full-sized, lined. They have been rather popular with one of our customers.”

  Sienna tilted her head, trying to take Tovah’s hint. She gave up and shook her head in confusion. “Well, you never know with paper lovers.”

  “I don’t think he’s here for the paper.” Tovah took a long draw from her mug while her words sank in. “Sienna, I don’t like this Greg. I think he’s into you.”

  “Wait. Greg bought enough notebooks for a separate order?” Sienna’s voice held her surprise. She thought back to their first meeting. “Well, he did say he wanted a different sort of notebook than we stocked. Let’s just be grateful for the business.”

  “But Si, the way he looks at you—”

  “All two times I’ve met him.” Sienna raised her brows. “Come on, Tovah, he may just be a flirt.”

  “Forgive me for pointing this out, but he did not check out Jessie or Nina or Lettye. Just you, the one wearing a wedding ring. I don’t like it.”

  “Okay.” Sienna nodded briefly. “Noted. I will be careful not to encourage him.”

  “Good. The last thing we need around here is a stalker.”

  “A stalker?”

  “Well, maybe not a stalker, but a creep with boundary issues. Look, Sienna, I don’t want to pry, but this guy reminds me of all those skeezy women you hear about who steal husbands away from wives dying of cancer.”

  “What?” Sienna sat back, stunned.

  “There’s got to be a reason that so many people fall into that trap. I’m not saying you have any desire to cheat on Peter. I’m saying, you’re vulnerable, and even if this guy doesn’t know why, I think he sees it. I think he’s going to try to exploit that vulnerability.”

  “But I love Peter. I don’t want to be with anyone else. Surely that much is obvious to anyone, much less a pastor.”

  “And if he uses his perceptiveness to a bad end?” Tovah let the question hang. She looked at her friend with compassion, but her gaze did not waver.

  “I think I understand you. I’m not as in control of my grief and fear as I want to be. I guess it’s obvious to anyone who works with the hard parts of people’s lives.” Sienna thought about how her body seemed to respond to Greg’s attention, despite her conscious thoughts. There was just that little-too-much desire to be liked by him that must have shown in her body language. “Maybe I’m not as in control of my physical responses as I’d like to be, either.” She sighed. “Why do you think that is? Why would a woman totally in love with her husband even feel the slightest twinge for someone else, much less someone unsuitable?”

  “We’re dust, Sienna. We’re weak. Our bodies always crave a backup plan, no matter what our minds say.”

  “And Greg wants to be my backup plan.”

  “Looks like it. Just be careful, Sienna. I know you love Peter. You are about the most faithful and loyal person I know. But you’ve been through a lot, and you are more afraid about Peter than you’ve admitted. Don’t let that fear get misdirected.”

  Sienna rubbed her forehead. “What was it we talked about in midrash class? That the only one worth fearing is God, and He’s the only safe one to fear? Who said that, anyway?”

  “I think you said it.”

  “Me? But it sounds so wise.” Sienna smiled.

  “So, sometimes God lets heathens in on His secrets,” Tovah teased. Her eyes creased in a wry smile that Sienna returned. Sienna knew that her friend spoke from the wisdom she and Marc had forged together when they recovered from Tovah’s near death a couple of years back. She had not expected to need it in her own life, though she was glad her friend offered it so openly now that Peter was so unwell.

  Sienna nodded and drank her tea in the companionable silence. “Peter starts chemo next week.”

  “Surgery first?”

  “They got out the tumor when he was under for the leg repair. They are letting him heal up a bit before they start busting up his immune system.”

  “Let me help you. Come to our house for dinner.”

  “No, thanks, Tovah. I need the quiet.”

  “I understand. I’ll bring you a meal at the hospital. Whenever you need it. Say the word.”

  Sienna smiled slightly. “Southern people are all the same. Feed a problem, and it will go away.”

  “Southern, Jewish. If I don’t feed you, I’ll either go to Sheol or be haunted by my grandmother. Pick your reason. Just let me take care of you.”

  “Okay, I will. But can you make it take out?”

  “Starting today, I will have a boxed supper ready for you.”

  “Today?”

  “I planned ahead.” Tovah smiled. “Marc made Korean barbeque last night. I brought you some.”

  “Of course you did.” Sienna grinned and thanked her friend. She set down her cup and saw the invoice for the chess table on the top of the filing pile. “Hey, did we ever find the chess pieces that came with the table?”

  “Nope. But your gentleman friend seems content to extend the loan on the pieces he brought.”

  “Oh, yes. Mr. Cleotis Reed. Was he here again this morning?”

  “He had three pots of tea and made at least four people’s days before he left.”

  “How about that? We have our first regular.”

  “Oh, he’s not the only one. There’s a journaling woman and a man who writes about a dozen postcards each day, plus a fluttery woman named after a church, and a couple of ladies who lunch.”

  “A woman named after a church?”

  “You’ll meet her. She’s sat at the same spot at the counter all three times she’s been in. She works downtown at her family’s business. I think she steps in to escape office politics.”

  Sienna’
s carriage lifted a bit. “This is so exciting! Tovah, we are becoming that place we wanted to be.” She smiled wryly. “Well, if two weeks of business is a pattern, anyway.”

  Tovah nodded. “Look, I’m sorry for worrying you over the notebook guy. Why don’t you go out and tend the tea bar, mingle with the customers? You need a chance to see how great things are going.”

  Sienna agreed. She stood and stretched, breathed deeply, and opened the door.

  “Oh! Do you work here?” A polished middle-aged blond woman with an antique brooch pinned to her teal blazer lapel turned toward Sienna with obvious interest.

  “Yes. Sienna Bannock, proprietor.” She shook the woman’s hand.

  “Dr. Liz Elliot, History Professor. That only matters in this case because I have the dubious honor of hosting the grad student reception off-campus next week, since my colleague took an unexpected paternity leave.”

  “Unexpected?” Sienna couldn’t help but express her curiosity.

  “I know. It’s not a very attractive story, in terms of Ian’s character. He knocked up a former student and only found out when she was in labor with their wee bairn. Which means that the hosting duties fall to me. Listen, Ms. Bannock…”

  “Sienna.”

  “Sienna,” Liz continued, conspiratorially, “I don’t do housekeeping. I spend my money on travel and clothes and books and keeping up with foolish men. We usually have a tenured faculty member host the reception, which means Ian, me, or old Dr. Casey. Between you and me, Dr. Casey food poisoned everyone the last two times he hosted. Absent minded professor type, you know? So I have to pull this off, for the health of all involved.” The woman’s features were animated.

  “When would you like us to host your group?” Sienna asked in the pause. She suspected that the professor was used to having to explain herself several times, and, lively as they were, Sienna wanted to curtail further illustrative anecdotes before getting down to business.

  “Oh, good.” Liz sighed relief. “Down to business. I knew this place was right. We have a group of between two and three dozen. They love fatty foods, sweets, and booze, if you have it. Cheap French wine is de rigueur. We’ll need the place for two and a half hours, next Thursday evening.”

  “Just let me check the schedule, and then we can get down to details.”

  Sienna popped into the office. Tovah silently questioned Sienna’s smirk.

  “Last minute academic reception. Do we have time on Thursday, 6:00-8:00 or 9:00?”

  Tovah typed quickly into the laptop and nodded. “Thursday at 6:00. Group size?”

  “Three dozen, probably. Reserve under Liz Elliot.” Sienna picked a reservation form from a file folder on the wall.

  “Okay. Done.” Tovah smiled and mouthed, “I want details,” before Sienna ducked back out of the office, pulling the door closed behind her.

  “Dr. Elliot?”

  “Oh, call me Liz.”

  “Liz, we can do it. Shall we go over the details at a table?” Sienna gestured toward a café table just on the other side of the stationery display.

  “Yes, let’s. God, what a relief!”

  Liz seated herself, and Sienna laid the papers and a pen on the table in front of a second chair. “Let me get us some tea. What will you have?” She guessed the professor was a Formosa oolong type, but wanted confirmation before she prepared the tea.

  “Oh, thanks! I’d love some oolong with honey. I’ve been trying something your manager recommended. Formica?”

  “Formosa.” Sienna smiled. “I’ll be right back. You can do a mental count on how much food and wine you think you’ll need while I get the tea.”

  Liz waved Sienna off with shiny, manicured fingers. “Will do.”

  Sienna quickly started the tea for Liz. She selected two cobalt blue floral teacups, solid but pretty, and added them to the tray. On impulse, she added a little plate of raspberry thumbprint cookies. She was just setting the honey pot next to the stacked cups when she felt a warm shiver on her neck.

  “I’ll have what you’re having,” a flirtatious male voice spoke quietly.

  Sienna turned toward the tea bar. Greg was leaning against the counter, sans clerical collar, clearly admiring her. “Excuse me?” Sienna asked. She felt her heart speed up, but fought to retain her composure. “Would you like some oolong?”

  “Oh, heavens, no.” His eyes roamed her face. “No, I have a sweet tooth.”

  “Ah.” Sienna said. She cast around for Lettye and motioned her manager over with a head tilt. “On the house,” she said to Greg, sliding two cookies across to him on a saucer. “Lettye, could you make this gentleman a pot of Moroccan mint tea, please?” She turned back to Greg to find that he had not moved his eyes from her. She ignored the heat rising in her neck in response to his look. “Am I right?”

  “Oh, yes. You’ve got me.”

  “Thank you, Lettye,” Sienna said, moving past her with the tray. She was glad to have an excuse to get away from Greg. Maybe Tovah was right about him. He certainly seemed to be seeking Sienna out. She tried to push the man’s smoldering attention out of her mind. “Right. Graduate student booze.” She smiled at Liz.

  “Oh?” Liz pointed at the teapot, surprised.

  “No!” Sienna smiled. “This is oolong. But we have to calculate the booze intake needs of your department. Any ideas?”

  “Hmmm. Somewhere between fish and the British aristocracy.”

  “So, a bottle per person?”

  “That sounds about right.” Liz pulled a half-smile. She glanced over Sienna’s shoulder, and the smile broadened into an impish grin. “I think you’re the dagger in that man’s smile.”

  “Hmm?” Sienna looked up from the form. She resisted turning her head. “Oh, you know, he’s just a happy customer.”

  “Mmm-hmm!” Liz teased.

  “Not like that!” Sienna chuckled despite herself, then spoke in a low voice. “I think he likes me, but I hope he’ll notice before long that I am obviously and happily married.”

  Liz nodded, but her expression spoke of dropping a subject rather than agreeing. “Well, about the booze. Make two-thirds of the wine red. We’ll need lots of fatty foods to absorb it. Cheese, pastries, quiches, anything like that. There might be a couple of children there, but they can make do with grapes and foods that resemble pizza.”

  Sienna poured tea for them both and began to fill in the catering form.

  “Oh, my word. And add these little cookies, if y’all have them all the time. These are amazing!”

  Sienna smiled, glad that her hunch had been accurate. “Of course. We make them on site, so we can have as many as you need.”

  “Well, then we’ll need about six dozen. No, eight dozen. I’m going to put some of these in my purse and sneak them home.”

  Sienna finished the order form and the pot of tea with Liz and left the professor with a to-go box of cookies to seal the deal. She had just returned to the tea bar when a plump, shortish young woman lifted herself onto a stool with a puff.

  “You must be Sienna,” the woman said. She smiled pleasantly, and her bright blue eyes receded to twinkles above her round cheeks.

  “Yes. Sienna Bannock,” she said, extending her hand. The woman grasped it and shook enthusiastically. Her hands were warm and slightly damp.

  “I’m Bethel Bailey. I’m already a regular; I hope you don’t mind.” She giggled.

  “Well, that’s wonderful. And what will you have today, Ms. Bailey?”

  “Oh, call me Bethel. It’s what everyone calls me. Grandmother saw to that. I’m named after a church, you know.”

  “Okay, Bethel,” Sienna began cautiously, not wanting to interrupt the woman’s story. “What will you have?” The woman’s smile encouraged her to humor. “Something with religious overtones?” she added.

  “Laws!” Bethel responded on a chuckle. “I’ll have to share that with Daddy. ‘Religious overtones!’” She laughed again, and her face turned a bright red. “Well, I suppose, now tha
t you mention it, that a good cup of Darjeeling is religious. I’ll have a pot of that, with a bowl of sugar, if you please.” She smiled when Sienna nodded and began to make the tea. “Aw, heck! Excuse my French. I forgot to pick my cup before I got up here.”

  Nina appeared next to Sienna behind the counter. “I can bring you a cup, Miss,” Nina offered. “Which one is your favorite?”

  “That’s right sweet of you,” Bethel gushed, and proceeded to change her mind three times about her preference. By the time she had settled on a pink lusterware cup with roses inside, Sienna had readied the perfectly brewed pot of tea. “Oh, thank you!” Bethel said to Sienna, and she scooped two tall spoons of sugar into the cup before pouring in tea to the brim. “So, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you since yesterday.”

  “Oh?” Sienna replied, opting for quiet curiosity to balance the young woman’s exuberance.

  “Why is your name misspelled?”

  “Beg pardon?” Sienna wondered.

  “Your name, Sienna. It’s spelled wrong. I’ve been to Siena, so I know firsthand that it only has one n, is why I ask. I figured there was a story behind it. Like my cousin Micheal, whose name is spelled wrong owing to an ignorant clerk. But maybe your story is nicer?”

  Sienna waited for Bethel to sip her tea, then spoke into the brief silence. “It’s a short story, really. I’m named after the color, not the place. My mother was an artist.”

  “I’ll be! I’ve only ever heard of burnt sienna, but I guess I’m no artist. Crayon boxes don’t tell all there is about colors, I suppose.”

  “No,” Sienna replied, when she realized the woman had paused for her to respond.

  “Well, now, an artist! What must that have been like? Were you allowed to draw on the walls when you were a girl? Because my friend Antonia had an artist father, and he let them all paint and color on any walls they pleased. I would have had my hide tanned, personally, if I had marked up Mama’s wallpaper, but there you have it.” Bethel slurped noisily and refilled her cup. Somehow, she had managed to drink an entire cup between outbursts.