by J. J. Murray
The man left without tipping.
Have a nice day.
The next five customers left with coffee, pastries, turnovers, or cookies—and all their change.
How does Angela do it? That jar is usually at least half full by the end of the night.
Angela brought in another tray of pastries. “How are we doing?” she asked.
“Steady,” Matthew whispered. “How do you get your tips?”
“I smile.”
Oh yeah. I need to smile more.
Matthew smiled and joked with the next four customers.
The tip jar remained unfulfilled.
I must not be smiling correctly.
He checked Angela’s holiday notebook. Hmm. It’s Texas Cowboy Poetry Week. That might not work in Williamsburg. Neither will saying, “Happy National Eating Disorders Awareness Week. ” It might make someone with a sick sense of humor laugh, but... Oh, here’s one. I will use this.
“Happy International Sword Swallowers Day,” he said to the next customer, a man about his age wearing brown corduroys, black socks and Birkenstocks, a black leather jacket, and a pink knitted scarf.
The man did not tip him.
I guess I have to pick my spots.
He checked the next holiday and smiled at the next customer. “Happy Open That Bottle Night.”
“Happy what?” the woman asked. She wore an oversized red down jacket that hung to her shins, her dark brown face round and shiny.
“Happy Open That Bottle Night,” Matthew repeated.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I guess it means you open a bottle of something bubbly tonight.” He smiled.
“I got four kids,” the woman said, “and one of them is only six months old.”
Oops. He raised his eyebrows. “Just make sure that you drink from the right bottle.”
The woman laughed. “I’ll try to remember that.”
She tipped him a quarter.
So that’s how you do it. I need to rescue that quarter and display it somehow as “Matthew’s First Tip.”
Angela returned to the counter an hour later, pressed a few buttons, and read from a slip spitting out of the cash register. “You had a good hour,” she said. “Any tips?”
Matthew pointed at the quarter. “That quarter.”
“Oh boy.” She stood on tiptoes and whispered, “If you weren’t so Caucasian, you would have done better. But it’s a quarter more than I had this morning.” She rubbed his chin. “And you need to shave.”
Matthew felt his face. “It’s only a little stubble.”
“For later, man,” she said with a smile. “Go back to your work.”
“There isn’t any,” Matthew said. “We are empty.”
She pointed toward the kitchen. “Then get to cleaning.”
“It’s not even one o’clock,” Matthew said.
“I made a mess in there,” she said. “I always make a mess when I’m in a rush.”
Matthew saw flour on the prep table, the floor, and the top of the stove; some even hung in the air. I may die of white lung.
After a profitable day, Angela felt confident enough to take a two-block walk to the Bedford Cheese Shop, where Matthew bought a wicker basket filled with six half-pound wedges of cheese, an aged salami, a jar of MeadowCroft Farm Amaretto Apricot Peach jam, a box of crackers, and a small block of dark chocolate.
As they ate back at the apartment, Angela again trounced Matthew at Sorry!
“You stacked the deck,” Matthew said.
“I don’t have to,” she said. “I never lose.”
Matthew cut his eyes to the laundry closet.
“Not tonight,” Angela said. “Why don’t we go downstairs?”
Matthew looked at his naked body. “Like this?”
“We’ll wear some blankets down there,” Angela said. “You have to go first to get the booth ready.”
Matthew wrapped himself in a blanket and ran to the booth, pulling out the table and sliding the seats together. Angela, wrapped in two blankets, followed with a single candle, setting it on the nearest table. After they snuggled a while, Angela looked over the top of the booth at the window.
Matthew joined her. “Are we people-watching?”
“I wonder if anyone can see us,” she whispered.
“There’s one way to find out,” Matthew said. “I dare you to stick one of your sexy legs out of this booth.”
Angela ducked down and wormed her foot out of the blanket, extending it gradually out of the booth.
“That’s only a sexy foot,” Matthew said. “Where’s the rest of your leg?”
“I’m getting there.” She slid farther to the left until all of her leg but her hip and booty stuck out into the candlelight. “Is anyone walking by?”
“No,” Matthew said. “No one is walking. They’ve all stopped to stare at a living piece of sculpture.”
Angela withdrew her leg. “What?”
“I’m kidding.”
She lay with her head facing the window, peeking around the edge of the booth. “I don’t know if I can concentrate down here.”
Matthew parted her blanket and kissed her stomach, removing her underwear. “You have to concentrate?”
“Sometimes,” Angela said.
Matthew removed her T-shirt and kissed lower. “Are you concentrating now?”
Angela shook her head.
“You keep watch,” Matthew said, kissing her inner thighs. “And try not to fall out of the booth.”
By the time she reached orgasm, Angela’s entire upper body was outside the booth. “Pull me back in,” she whispered, and Matthew gripped her legs, gently sliding her closer.
“You okay?” Matthew asked.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Anyone walking by just now would have seen about half of me.”
“And your nipples,” Matthew said. “How hard were they?”
She felt up his leg. “About this hard.” She shivered. “I’m going upstairs.”
“With or without a blanket?” Matthew asked.
“With, of course,” Angela said.
That’s no fun. “I dare you to run upstairs without a blanket.” He smiled.
“Are you kidding?” Angela asked.
“Okay, don’t take the dare,” Matthew said, gathering the blankets. “I won’t think any less of you.”
Angela peered around the booth. “No one will see me, will they? They’d have to be standing with their faces pressed to the window.”
“So . . . go.”
She took a deep breath, scooted to the edge, and took off first to the candle, blowing it out. Then she slipped around the counter and flew into the kitchen.
That is an image I will never forget. She’s quite a sprinter.
Matthew wrapped himself in all three blankets and shuffled to the kitchen, where Angela stood shivering at the stairway door.
“You didn’t?” she said. She tore off his blankets. “You go back out there.”
Matthew shrugged and casually walked all the way to the front door and back as Angela watched. “Nothing to it,” he said.
“You’re crazy,” Angela said.
“And cold,” he whispered.
Angela smiled. “Not all of you.” She moved up the stairs, dropping blankets as she went through the kitchen. She sat on the edge of the bed and reached out her hands.
Matthew bent down and kissed her.
Angela looked around him. “Stand against the window.”
Matthew backed up. “There’s a full moon in the window.” And it’s freaking cold!
Angela walked on her knees from the bed to the window. “Then you’ll have to be quick, huh?” She put both hands on his penis, stroking gently. “The quicker you are, the warmer you’ll be.”
“Shh, I’m trying to concentrate,” he whispered.
She squeezed gently. “You feel that?”
“Yes.”
“You feel this?” she whispered.
He c
aressed her hair. “Oh yeah . . .”
As Matthew drifted off to sleep with Angela as his blanket, he swore he had a slight case of frostbite on his booty.
But it was worth it.
Chapter 27
Sunday was a repeat of Saturday, with Matthew filling in behind the counter while Angela tried to keep her display cases filled with pastries, turnovers, and cookies. Matthew had little to greet customers with since it was National Pistachio Day, For Pete’s Sake Day, and Levi Strauss Day, according to Angela’s holiday notebook.
If they look nutty, I’ll hit ’em with the pistachios. If they look frustrated, we’ll use Pete. And if they’re wearing Levi’s, we’ll praise their choice of jeans.
Unfortunately, the mostly churchgoing crowd didn’t look nutty or frustrated, and none of them wore jeans.
During his three hours behind the counter, Matthew received no tips.
He did, however, receive a series of phone calls that had his cell phone buzzing.
“You going to answer that?” Angela asked as she rushed a tray of cinnamon twists into the case.
“It’ll go to voice mail,” Matthew said.
“You can answer it.” She started counting raspberry turnovers.
I prefer to give whomever it is the silent treatment. “I’m getting slammed over here,” he said, smiling at a customer dressed to the nines in a black three-piece suit. If he isn’t the preacher, he should be.
Angela touched his elbow. “It’s all right. It might be a potential client.” She whispered, “And if it’s one of your exes, you have to let me listen to any message they leave, okay?”
Matthew nodded. “How may I help you, sir?”
“Two large house blends,” he grunted.
The churchman is in a bad mood. Matthew smiled. “Coming right up.”
The churchman did not tip him.
I need to get a tan.
Late that night, after giving the entire shop a thorough cleaning, Angela curled up with Matthew on the couch and listened to Matthew’s voice mails.
The first, a 963 number at eight PM, was only static.
“That would probably be Jade,” Matthew said.
“She’s certainly persistent,” Angela said. “How’d she get your cell number?”
“No idea,” Matthew said.
“It’s probably written on the wall of some cell at the jail,” Angela said. “Which isn’t that bad for a lawyer who needs clients. What did you see in her?”
“I was looking for danger that night, so I guess I saw danger,” Matthew said.
“I’m pretty dangerous,” Angela said.
“Yes, you are,” Matthew said. “You have a hammer and a Taser. You’re also quite a streaker.”
“I can’t believe I did that,” Angela said.
“I will never forget how the candlelight hit your booty,” Matthew said, “until you blew it out, that is.”
“I nearly slipped and fell,” Angela said. “When’s Jade get out?”
“Three years,” Matthew said.
Angela kissed the back of Matthew’s hand. “She has missed her window of opportunity forever.”
Michael’s voice then crackled from the cell phone:
“I know you haven’t been home because you’re not calling me back. I hope you survived the storm in style, big dog. Do I know her? Hey, Victoria is burning up my ears, man. I think she not only wants to go out, she wants to hook up. Do you know how rare that is? She says she might actually invite you up to see the view. You know what that means? Wall Street was in a bull market the last time she showed anyone the view. You have her panting like one of her Pomeranians, man. Give me a call.”
“Victoria can’t seem to lower herself to call me herself,” Matthew said.
“Is she really . . . gorgeous?” Angela asked.
“I’m sure she paid a great deal for her body,” Matthew said. “There was something unnatural about her. I like natural.”
Angela held his hands to her chest. “You better. That’s all I’ve got.”
Mary’s message came next: “Matthew, it’s Mary, and I can’t stop thinking about you. Give me a call.”
“Guess she and Pastor are off,” Angela said. “You adultery wrecker, you.”
I don’t think she and Pastor were ever on.
Allison’s bouncy voice then filled the room. “I found your cell number! Sort of. I had erased it from my cell phone and my message board, but I was still able to see part of it. I only dialed four wrong numbers before I heard your sexy voice. Guess what, Matt? It’s been eight days! Can you believe it? I’m so proud of myself. I boxed up all my diaries and put them in storage. I’m just going to take life one day at a time from now on. Give me a call if you ever get bored. Bye.”
“What’s been eight days?” Angela asked.
“Since her last drink,” Matthew said. “She’s going to AA now.”
“So she says,” Angela said.
“She certainly sounds soberer.” Is that a word?
“Drunks drink to sound sober sometimes,” Angela said. “She says you have a sexy voice.”
Matthew kissed her ear. “Do I?”
“Sometimes.”
The last voice mail was from his father: “Matthew, it’s Poppa. Hope you’re all right. That was some storm! Let us know how you’re doing sometime. Bye.”
Matthew picked up his phone. “I better call him.” He hit the number 2 on the keypad.
“You have your parents on speed dial?” Angela asked.
“It’s the only one I’ve ever set.” He turned on the phone’s speaker and placed it on the coffee table.
“Hello? Is that you, Matthew?” his father asked.
“Hey, Pop,” Matthew said. “How’s the weather down there?”
“You know I can’t complain,” his father said. “Mid-sixties. How many inches did you get?”
“Officially twenty-six,” Matthew said.
“Wow,” his father said. “How’s business?”
“Good, Pop.” He smiled at Angela. “Hey, I’ve put you on speaker so you could talk to someone.”
“Let me do the same here so I don’t have to repeat everything to your mother,” his father said. “Can you hear me?”
“Yes, Pop,” Matthew said. “Mom, you there?”
“I’m here,” his mother said. “It’s so nice of you to finally call.”
She’s angry. I need to call her more often. “I’d like you both to meet Angela Smith. She’s sitting here with me.” He nodded at Angela.
“Hi, Mr. and Mrs. McConnell,” Angela said.
“Hello, Angela,” his father said.
“Did he say Angela?” his mother asked. “I thought her name was Joy.”
“Mom, Joy left me a few weeks ago, and now I’m seeing Angela,” Matthew said quickly.
“Where did Joy go?” his mother asked.
“To the Dominican Republic,” Matthew said.
“Wasn’t she from Honduras?” his mother asked.
“It’s a long story, Mom,” Matthew said. Which she will want to hear now.
“I like to hear long stories from the boy I gave birth to,” his mother said. “I don’t hear them that often, you know.”
I really need to call her more often. “Joy ran off with an exchange teacher.”
“They have those?” his mother asked.
“Yes, they have those, Mom,” Matthew said.
“I never liked her, you know,” his mother said.
“I know you didn’t,” Matthew said. “I’ve been meeting clients in Angela’s coffee shop. You remember Smith’s Sweet Treats and Coffee on Driggs Avenue?”
“Oh, sure,” his father said. “Great coffee.”
“Their apple turnovers were to die for,” his mother said.
“They still are, Mom,” Matthew said. “Angela runs the place by herself now.”
“That’s not quite true,” Angela said. “Matthew helps me run the register when I’m really busy, and he helps me cl
ean up, too.”
“You have him cleaning up?” his father asked.
“Yes sir,” Angela said.
“That’s one thing I could never get him to do around our store,” his father said. “Did he tell you about our store?”
“I went there a few times when I was little,” Angela said. “Your prices were always fair.”
“Thank you, Angela,” his father said. “That’s nice to hear.”
“So,” his mother said loudly, “are you two an item?”
Here it comes. “Yes, Mom. We are in a committed, monogamous relationship.”
Angela stared at Matthew.
“Just listen,” he mouthed.
“But you only just met each other, right?” his mother asked.
“Yes, Mom.”
“How committed could you two be in such a short time?” his mother asked.
“We’re very committed, Mom,” Matthew said.
“Are you living together?” his mother asked.
Matthew shrugged. “I’m spending more time at her apartment than mine, but I haven’t moved in with her nor she with me.”
“Oh?” his mother said.
I hate when she does this. “That’s where I am now.”
“Oh?” his mother said.
I will not go for three oh’s in a row. “I’d like to come visit you two this summer.” He looked at Angela. “And I’d like to bring Angela with me.”
Angela shook her head. “I have a store to run,” she whispered.
And a life to run away from.
“We’d love to have you, Angela,” his father said. “You know the guest room is always ready for you, Matthew.”
“Thanks, Pop,” Matthew said. “How’s your hip, Mom?”
“She’s gone to the kitchen, Matthew,” his father whispered. “I’m taking you off speaker.”
Matthew heard a click.
“She’s not doing any worse,” his father said. “We’re both slowing down.”
“You’re both taking all your medications, though, right?” Matthew asked.
“Like clockwork.” His father sighed. “She’s calling me for something. I have to go. Angela?”
“Yes, Mr. McConnell?” Angela asked.
“Take care of our boy, okay?” his father asked.
