by J. J. Murray
Mr. and Mrs. Visco stopped beside Matthew’s booth.
“So you’re the coffeehouse lawyer,” Mrs. Visco said.
“Yes.” And I’m only a few feet away from you, ma’am. Maybe they can’t hear themselves talk unless they shout.
“I may have you look over our estate plan,” Mr. Visco said. “I’m sure it needs some work.”
“I’d be glad to,” Matthew said.
Mrs. Visco stared at the front window. “It’s getting bad out there.”
“It’ll be fine, Vi,” Mr. Visco said. “It’s not supposed to be as bad as the blizzard of 2006. Twenty-seven inches we got from that one.”
Mrs. Visco shivered. “We didn’t get out of our apartment for three days.”
“And that one was nothing compared to the blizzard of ’78.” He smiled at Matthew. “Probably before your time.”
“I was only a baby then,” Matthew said.
“We had hurricane-force winds during that one,” Mr. Visco said. “They had thirty inches of drifting snow out on Long Island.”
“That last one we had was pretty bad, too,” Mrs. Visco said. “A day or two after Christmas, wasn’t it?”
“I believe it was, Vi.” He turned to Matthew, setting the bag on the table. “I had invested in a snow blower by then.”
Mrs. Visco frowned. “Smoky thing.”
“But it made a clear path for us, didn’t it, dear?” Mr. Visco asked.
“If you call coughing the entire time walking,” Mrs. Visco said.
“Didn’t we come here that day?” Mr. Visco squinted. “I think we did. But Angie was closed. Funny, I remember that now. I pushed that blower all the way from our house to that door, but the door was locked, wasn’t it, Vi?”
“I think you’re right,” Mrs. Visco said. “It’s the only time I remember Smith’s being closed in all the years it’s been here.” She nodded at the front window. “Unlike them. I’ll bet they’ll be closed for a week.”
“Two weeks.” Mr. Visco picked up his bag. “We better be going. I need to get some gas for the blower. Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you,” Matthew said.
After they left, Angela brought out a tray of fresh oatmeal and raisin cookies and placed them in front of Matthew.
“Are they all for me?” Matthew asked.
“Not all of them.” She picked up a cookie. “Weren’t they a trip?”
“They were nice,” Matthew said, folding a warm cookie and popping it into his mouth.
“They’re excellent customers, and they’ve always been loud,” Angela said. “My mama tells me I used to hold my ears whenever they were in the shop when I was little.”
Matthew swallowed and took a sip of coffee. “They told me they once came here, and you were closed, Angie, during the blizzard of 2010.”
“I hate that name,” Angela said. “Do I look like an Angie? It’s almost as bad as Mr. Visco calling me ‘Ange’ or someone calling me Angel. I’m no angel. And the way she says it. I’m Brooklyn, but that woman is from the bottom of the brook.”
Hmm. She tried valiantly to deflect my question, but I’m not flinching. “So, were you closed that day?”
Angela’s eyes darted to her hands. “Yes. I think I was. The whole neighborhood shut down.”
“What was that like?” Matthew asked.
“It was pretty quiet.” She picked up another cookie.
“So that’s been your only day off ever?” Matthew asked.
She took a bite and nodded.
“What did you do on your day off, Ange?” Matthew asked.
“Well, Matt, I couldn’t go anywhere, could I?” Angela said. “Twenty inches of snow, high winds, snowdrifts everywhere. I lost power a few times. I was upstairs . . . for most of it.”
He stretched his arm out behind her, gripping the top of the booth. “How did you stay warm?”
Angela immediately leaned forward. “I have something called blankets.”
I put my arm up, and she leans forward. He pulled his arm back.
Angela leaned back into the seat.
That’s . . . not normal. “What if this storm turns into a blizzard?”
“As long as I have power, I’ll stay open,” Angela said.
Let’s try this again. He rested his arm on top of the booth behind her.
Angela leaned forward.
Is she doing that on purpose? “But how will you stay warm if you lose power, Angie?”
“I still have blankets, Matty,” she said.
He slipped his hand off the top of the booth and rubbed her back.
Angela’s shoulders tensed.
Matthew lifted his hand, returning his arm to the top of the booth. “It’s getting pretty thick out there. I may not be able to see well enough to get home. I’d hate to start home and end up in the East River.”
“Or Manhattan,” Angela said. “Or Bushwick, or the Bronx, or Queens, or Staten Island, or Long Island, or Trinidad, Haiti, or Honduras.” She glanced up at the window. “You should leave now while it’s not too bad.”
She really doesn’t like my arm behind her. He pulled his arm back and folded his hands in his lap. “And not help you clean up? I can’t miss my daily workout. You’re getting me back into shape.”
Angela leaned back in the booth. “I haven’t exactly been busy, and I probably won’t get many more customers.”
Time for one more experiment. He slid his left hand to her right thigh. “I want to stay. I can’t think of anyone I’d rather be snowed in with.”
Angela scooted to her left, Matthew’s hand dropping to the seat. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be fine.” She slid out of the booth and stared out the front window, her eyes glazing over.
She doesn’t like me touching her at all. Wow. “Angela, I won’t be fine if I leave. I’d need snowshoes to get home now. I can sleep right here in this booth. I could borrow a few blankets from you, couldn’t I?”
Angela turned from the window, her eyes on the floor. “Then I’ll be cold.”
“You could . . . join me,” Matthew said.
She looked up.
“And we could watch the snow together.” He slipped out of the booth, dragged the table out, and pushed the two seats together. “Instant bed.”
Angela smiled briefly. “You make it look so tempting.”
“With some blankets and a few pillows,” Matthew said, “it will be a booth bed fit for a queen. Got any popcorn?”
Angela nodded.
“We’ll have the world’s largest widescreen TV in front of us, a beautiful snowy scene to watch, a bowl of popcorn, and lots of quiet. What could be more peaceful?” I should have said “romantic.”
“It sounds . . . it sounds good, Matthew.” She smiled.
There’s the smile I love to see. “Now, will this be a date or a not-a-date?”
She looked away. “I’ll let you know.”
And there’s the shy girl I love to watch.
“I’ll go get us some blankets,” she said.
“And two pillows,” Matthew said.
Angela returned with two blankets and one pillow.
Matthew was about to ask for an explanation when she draped one blanket over him, positioned the pillow between them, wrapped herself tightly in her blanket, and bounced into the booth, leaning lightly against the pillow.
At least it’s not a Fendi B Bag this time.
“I bet you we don’t see a single snowplow,” Matthew said, as nothing and no one traveled by Angela’s window but twisting sheets and walls of snow.
“That’s an easy bet to win,” Angela said.
“Okay, I bet we don’t see a single emergency vehicle,” Matthew said.
Angela leaned into the pillow, and Matthew felt the pressure. “That’s another easy bet to win. Driggs will be covered for days.”
“Don’t you like snow, Angela?” Matthew asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t like anything that cuts down on my profits.”
> Matthew leaned to his left, trying to catch her eyes.
She looked away.
“I love snow,” Matthew said. “I remember so many good times. Sledding at Fort Green Park, snowball fights, building snow forts on opposite sides of Bedford Avenue and having snowball wars. You have any memories like that?”
Angela shook her head. “I was always working here. I went to school, I came here, I worked, I did my homework, I said my prayers, and I went to sleep. Some childhood, huh?”
“I worked in my parents’ store, too, but I always found a way to escape into the snow.” He watched the snow. “Look at it! I wonder if that snow is good for packing. Let’s make a snowman.”
“You’re kidding,” Angela said.
“Okay, a snowwoman.” A snow person?
She leaned harder into the pillow. “But I just got comfortable.”
“We can put a ‘Yes, We’re Open’ sign on her.” He slid his feet to the left and met hers.
“You want to go out there now?” Angela asked.
He pulled off his blanket. “Why not?”
“It’s cold,” Angela said with a shiver.
He folded the blanket and placed it beside him. “It won’t take us that long.”
Angela sighed. “What if I’m comfortable where I am?”
He crawled over her and put on his coat. “Then I will build you a snowwoman.” I wish I had gloves. It will have to be a small snowwoman. “You make the sign.”
“You’re serious,” Angela said.
“I’m always serious about fun,” Matthew said.
Angela swung her legs off the seat but didn’t take off her blanket. “Seriously.”
While Angela took small steps to the kitchen to find some cardboard, Matthew fashioned a snowwoman about three feet high, complete with an ample bosom and Angela’s exquisite booty.
“Come out and see,” Matthew said, blowing on his hands.
“I am not catching a cold, Matthew,” Angela said. “I can see it fine from here.” She fed a cardboard “Yes, We’re Open!” sign through a crack in the door.
Matthew took the sign and placed it carefully in the snowwoman’s “arms,” adjusting it so it didn’t completely block her chest.
Angela handed him a steaming mug of hot chocolate after he removed his sodden shoes and draped his coat over a chair at the first table.
He took a sip. “Real chocolate.”
“Did you expect anything less?” Angela asked.
“No.” It’s like drinking a hot Hershey’s candy bar.
Angela looked closely at the snowwoman. “She’s a little thin. Except for her front and back.”
Matthew stood behind her. “Remind you of anyone?”
Angela stepped to the side. “That’s not me.”
“Booty is in the eye of the beholder,” he said. “I have beheld, and that is an accurate representation of bella Angela.”
“It’s a little too white,” Angela said.
“True, but she has a cute little shelf there.” Matthew pointed.
Angela turned from the door. “Which will only get bigger.”
“You’re in exceptional shape, Angela,” Matthew said.
“I wasn’t talking about me,” Angela said. “I was talking about the snowwoman. She’ll probably add ten inches back there by morning.”
Matthew smiled. “That’s a lot of snow booty and snow-ulite.” Angela laughed. “You have the strangest thoughts.”
Is she finally loosening up? “You bring out the strange in me. Is it time for popcorn?”
“Sure. It’s upstairs.” She shuffled toward the counter.
“May I help?” Matthew asked, following closely behind.
Angela turned to face him, backing into the kitchen. “I don’t need help microwaving some popcorn.”
Matthew stopped at the counter. He heard locks clicking, a door opening, shutting, and several locks clicking again. I wasn’t going to follow you. All those locks for an inside door. That borders on paranoia. I’m here. What’s she afraid of?
Unless she’s afraid of me somehow?
He returned to his half of the booth bed, pressing his feet into the cushion on the other side. This is almost like sleeping in my easy chair.
A few minutes later, he heard the locks, a door open and shut, and then a single lock clicking. The kitchen light winked out, and Angela shuffled to the booth carrying a huge silver bowl. She handed the bowl to him, re-wrapped herself in her blanket, and settled in next to the pillow.
“I’m hurt,” Matthew said.
“Not enough popcorn?” Angela said.
“No. I’m hurt that you locked your door,” Matthew said. “I don’t go where I’m not invited.”
She grabbed some popcorn. “Habit, I guess.”
Or severe paranoia. “Yeah, it’s a good habit when you’re a beautiful woman living alone.” He scooped out some popcorn and stuffed it into his mouth. “Nice. Garlic butter?”
“Yes.” She picked out a few pieces.
“Like the popcorn at the Nitehawk,” Matthew said. “Ever been?”
Angela sighed. “A long time ago.”
“A-ha!” Matthew shouted. “You had a date at the Nitehawk.”
“Maybe.”
Maybe? The Nitehawk is a couple’s theater. “The seats there are arranged in pairs.”
Angela rolled her eyes. “I could have gone alone.”
“A-ha! You didn’t go alone or you would have said so.”
She laughed. “A-ha, maybe I just like to keep you guessing.”
He leaned to his left. “So, who was he?”
Angela tossed a few pieces of popcorn into her mouth. “Someone.”
“You have to be more specific than that,” Matthew said.
“I could be more specific, but I won’t.” She slapped his hand out of the way and scooped up some popcorn.
This is so unfair! “Angela, you know just about everything about the women I’ve dated.”
“More than I’ve wanted to know about them, actually,” she said.
“Stop asking about them, then.” He nudged her with his left knee.
Angela nudged him back. “You could refuse to answer.”
Where’s the fun in that? “Come on, Angela. I know nothing about any of your men.”
“Man.”
Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.
“Singular,” she added.
“I find that hard to believe,” Matthew said.
Angela shrugged.
“But you’re so . . .” He shook his head. “You’re so beautiful.”
Angela only sighed.
“When was this?” Matthew asked.
“When I was in high school,” Angela said.
Eighteen years ago. “No way.”
“We saw Jerry Maguire,” she said.
She can’t be serious. “Show me the money, right?”
Angela nodded. “And that’s the last movie I’ve seen in a theater.”
That’s . . . that’s incredible.
“You remember that scene where Tom Cruise says, ‘You complete me’?” Angela asked.
“Sure,” Matthew said. “It’s one of the all-time great movie lines.”
“I think it’s crap,” Angela said.
So opinionated! “You think one of the most romantic lines in movie history is crap? You better explain what you mean by that.”
She rested her head on the pillow. “It made them seem so weak, you know? They thought they each needed somebody else to give their lives meaning and purpose. They were complete people already, you know? If anything, love completed them.”
That’s deep. I will never say that line to this woman. “I like how you think.”
“Tony didn’t, and we broke up later that night,” Angela said.
I finally have a name. “Tony, huh?”
“Past history,” Angela said. “Not worth discussing.”
Matthew waited.
Angela kept her silence.
Angela closed her eyes. “I’d probably fall asleep. I’m kind of sleepy now.”
She moved the pillow to Matthew’s lap and rested her head on it.
This is unexpected, but it’s very nice.
“And movies are a waste of money,” she said softly. “If you wait a few weeks after one comes out, you can get the bootleg version from anyone on the street.” She yawned. “And the popcorn is so overpriced. I’d rather curl up on the couch and look at a movie on TV, wouldn’t you?”
This woman completes me. Even if I’ll never say it, I can still think it.
Angela opened one eye and looked up. “You got all quiet.”
“I’m listening to your wisdom.” He smiled. “You’re very deep.”
“No, I’m not,” she whispered.
“Speaking of deep, can you see the snow from down there?” Matthew asked.
Angela sighed. “I’ve seen plenty of snow through that window.” Matthew put his hand on her shoulder. “Is this okay?”
“No.”
Matthew picked up his hand. I cannot read this woman at all! “Sorry.”
Angela closed her eyes and smiled. “Not there. Lower.”
“Oh.” He placed his hand in the small of her back, just above the swell of her booty.
“That’s much better, Matthew . . .”
In minutes, Angela was asleep, her arms gripping the pillow, her breathing soft and steady.
Matthew watched her dream, felt her heat, and smiled.
Now this is peace.
He rubbed her back gently, careful not to let his hand stray too low. “Good night, Angela,” he whispered as he, too, fell asleep while the world outside filled with snow.
Chapter 21
Matthew woke a few hours later.
Angela was screaming.
“What’s . . . what’s wrong?” he asked breathlessly.
Angela sat bolt upright and rigid next to him, tears streaming down her face, her breath coming in staccato bursts.
Don’t touch her. Just . . . talk. “What’s wrong?” He followed her eyes to the window and only saw sheets of snow. Is someone out there? “Angela? Is there someone out there?”
She turned her head slowly toward him.
“Is there?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“Bad dream?” Matthew asked.
