“Cappuccino!” we all yell. Click.
“Are we ready to roll?” Em asks.
“I guess it is now or never,” I say, thinking never sounds fantastic about now. Dad heads out ahead of us to retrieve the car from the parking garage. We troop down to the street to wait for him to pull around. I’m clutching my bag with my notebook and laptop inside.
“Relax, Jane,” Mom says, rubbing my hand. “You can do it.” What a mom thing to say. How does she know that I can do it?
We pull up outside Wired Joe’s and Dad lets us out. I suddenly feel like I should have rented a limo to bring me, since there is a long red carpet outside the store and it is sectioned off with red velvet ropes. There are, my god, what look like hundreds of people in line, watching me get out of the car. There is a big trailer parked right on the road, completely blocking traffic. It must be because of The Gabby Girlz. Suddenly there’s a million flashes from cameras. It’s like a fireworks show in front of my face. What is this, paparazzi? Do I have paparazzi? I mean, no doubt there is a celebrity somewhere adopting a foreign baby that they should be taking pictures of, right? I’m not that interesting. But everywhere I look, people are taking pictures. People in line are holding up their cell phones in my direction and snapping shots. I stand there frozen with an undoubtedly stupid expression on my face, and I feel Em and Mom on either side of me lead me into the café.
The store is empty except for Derek, five baristas ready to work, and a lighting and camera crew setting up. No sign of the Gabby Girlz. Derek shut down the store for the last hour to set up for the show.
I look over at my beautiful desk. It’s covered with candles and rose petals. It looks amazing. My sign is hanging off a gold nail on the wall behind my chair. There are candles and roses everywhere, and the smell of espresso is more intense than I ever remember it being before. It’s like they’re piping it in somehow. Derek steps up to me and helps me take off my jacket.
“You look fantastic, Jane,” he tells me.
“You look great yourself.” Derek is wearing a black suit with a deep red silk tie. I’ve never seen him this dressed up.
“Thanks,” he says, and immediately gets back to business. “Here is what’s going to happen. You go on and set yourself up at your desk. Then the Gabby Girlz are going to come in and briefly meet you, and their crew will adjust their lighting.”
I nod, feeling my stomach tighten with nerves.
“They’ll start out getting footage of you working with the customers for about half an hour to forty-five minutes. Then we’ll take a break for them to conduct the interview with you.” I nod again, afraid if I do open my mouth something gross will come flying out of it. “They’ll ask you just a few questions. Two, three minutes, tops. And then that’s it. It’ll be a snap. Relax.”
“A snap. Sure,” I mumble. I move to my desk to have a closer look at the setup. Suddenly there is a roar of noise from the sidewalk and the store is lit up from the flashbulbs going crazy outside the windows. “What’s going on?”
“It’s them! It’s the Gabby Girlz!” Em squeals, looking out the window.
“They’re coming in,” Mom says. My stomach flip-flops so hard that I fall back into my new red chair. The front door of the store flies open with a whoosh of cold air. The Gabby Girlz—Mackenzie Estrella, Hope Stewart, and Olivia Clark—stride in with an entourage of their people. Young girls, probably personal assistants, come in laden with big wardrobe bags, bottles of water, and BlackBerrys.
Derek rushes up to greet them. “Ladies, welcome. We are so happy to have you here at our store.” The women barely register that he’s there.
Olivia, whom I always considered the nicest of the three on the show, steps out front and extends her hand to Derek. “Nice to meet you,” she says. “Cute place.” She glances around the room, taking in the decor with a nod of appreciation.
“Thank you,” Derek says. “Can I introduce you to our Espressologist?” He turns in my direction. “Jane, come here,” he hisses.
I slowly pull myself out of the chair and walk toward the group. Holy lighting and makeup crew, these women are old! Wait a minute, isn’t the whole premise of the show that they are a group of twentysomethings? They look that way on TV, but up close, well, these ladies have got to be well into their forties. Maybe even Mom’s age. I feel duped. I seem to be the only one noticing, though, because the rest of the group is all buzzing with excitement.
“Ladies,” Derek says, “I’d like you to meet Jane.”
“Nice to meet you, Jane,” Hope says as she peers at me over her Hollywood sunglasses and holds out one limp hand while the other presses a pink cell phone to her ear. I take it and give her hand a squeeze. I always find it a little creepy when people wear sunglasses at night. I just don’t get it. Hope nods and walks past me to a corner table to finish her conversation.
“Jane, we’ve read the briefing about what you’re doing here,” Mackenzie says, grabbing my hand and shaking it firmly. “What a riot! Should make a good show.”
A riot?
Olivia grins and offers her hand. I take it and try to look enthused. “Don’t be nervous, sweetie. Has someone briefed you on what is going to happen?”
I nod.
“Good,” she says. “Then just get yourself situated and we’ll get started.”
“Okay,” I mumble.
Em comes over, loops her arm through mine, and guides me back to my new desk and chair.
“Chill, Jane,” she encourages me. “Just don’t even think about it. Pretend it is a regular night.”
“You’re right. I can do this.” I sit and look through my notes for what seems like the hundredth time. A few moments later Derek announces that he’s opening the door and I brace myself. Here we go.
The room quickly fills with people waiting to be matched, and some who are just here for support. Glinda is standing near Derek, looking proud to be with him. Gavin and Simone are here, arm in arm. Cam gives me a thumbs-up from behind a display of coffee mugs. And Will made it, too. He’s about forty people back in line. I’m getting butterflies again. Tonight is the night I match Will, a five-shot espresso over ice, with me, a large iced nonfat mocha, no whip. Okay, okay, so it doesn’t seem like a match right off, but I’m sure it will work. It has to.
I’m feeling better seeing some friendly faces. But then, ugh, Melissa. What is she doing here? She said she would never want me to match her. And so help me god, if she says anything nasty to me and it gets on camera . . .
Derek holds up his hands and speaks. “Welcome, everyone. I’m glad you all made it for our third Espressology night.” There are whoops and hollers from the crowd, and some people clap. “Thanks,” Derek continues. “As you know, tonight is very different, as The Gabby Girlz is here taping a segment.” The crowd cheers again, even louder this time, and Mackenzie, Hope, and Olivia turn and give the crowd a wave from where they are doing last-minute prep in the corner of the store. “We are going to get started now. Try to ignore the cameras as best as you can. Just step up to the counter, place your order with one of our baristas, and then give Jane your information.” The crowd cheers a third time when they hear my name. I can feel my cheeks redden a bit at all the attention.
I am poised at my desk with my fingers on my keyboard—ready to go. I can hear Hope talking to the camera at the other end of the store: “The Espressologist is in, at least at this local Chicago Wired Joe’s.” I’m going to have to block her out if I’m going to do this.
A timid-looking guy in his early twenties places his order with Em and then steps up to my desk. He has dark hair and light brown skin. He’s wearing a long-sleeve plaid shirt tucked into khakis.
“How are you doing tonight?” I ask, smiling. He nods at me and hands me a piece of paper with all of his details on it. Wow, he’s prepared.
I type his info into my spreadsheet: Naushad Raheem, male, twenty-one, gamer.
“Whoops,” I say, “I don’t see the most important item. What�
��s your favorite drink?”
Naushad smiles at me and shrugs. “I like small zebra mochas.”
Well, dang. I didn’t see that one coming. A zebra mocha is half regular mocha, half white chocolate mocha. I was about to peg him at something tamer, like a COD (coffee of the day). I type in zebra mocha and flip open my notebook to refresh my memory of this drink.
Small or Medium Zebra Mocha
Smart and spicy, this person likes to try unusual things and has an adventurous streak. Creative and witty and sure to be fun. Fair looks—not a rock star, but not a DMV Clerk. Her: Possibly a writer or artist and most likely has a good heart. Him: Most likely into computers, mainly communicates with the opposite sex online. Soft-spoken.
I can see this now, I think. Good thing I checked or I could have totally screwed up this guy’s love life. “Naushad,” I say, “I’ve got all of your information. If I find your match, I’ll have her contact you.” He nods and moves to the counter to wait for his drink.
I see Em hand the next guy in line his receipt and he turns to look at me. Hmm, he’s pretty cute. Tall, at least six-one, a tiny bit overweight but broad-shouldered, with short dark buzz-cut hair. “Name?” I ask.
“My name is Rick,” he says. “My favorite drink is a medium americano and I’m here in search of my angel.” Aw, he’s kind of sweet. I expect I’ll be able to match him tonight. I flip through a few pages of my notebook to find the entry.
Medium Americano
Clueless but a patriot. He walked into Wired Joe’s unprepared for what he came face-to-face with. A hundred different combinations swirled before his eyes: mocha, latte, cappuccino, espresso. The only word he even slightly recognized was American, so he ordered an americano. Wimp. And a medium at that! He was a middle child, second string on the h.s. football team—the Peter Brady of the coffee world.
Yikes! I must have been in a bit of a mood the day I wrote that. I’m not saying it is wrong, but I have to add an addendum. It’s my book, so I can alter the description when I need to. I quickly scribble:
Addendum: Also may just prefer simplicity in life, straightforward guy’s guy looking for love. Average across the board but a little romantic spark.
“So, Rick, tell me something interesting about yourself.”
“I can speak five languages,” he says.
“Impressive!”
“Yeah, I was a translator in the army for ten years.”
“Cool. Stick around for a bit, Rick; I may be able to match you tonight.”
“Great,” he says with a satisfied expression, and heads to the counter to get his coffee.
I sneak a peek at the Gabby Girlz. They are all watching me and look thoroughly entertained. I continue to talk to customers for another half an hour or so and then Derek steps up to the desk.
“Jane, time for the interview,” he says.
“Really?” I ask. He nods. I glance over at the Gabby Girlz, who are getting their makeup and hair checked.
I can do this.
17
The Gabby Girlz producer instructs me to hop up on my desk for the interview. I carefully cross my right leg over my left, trying for the cutest angle possible and the best opportunity at getting my boots in the shot. These babies were born to be on TV. The crew adjusts the lights and runs a last sound check. Will winks at me from his place in line. He is a few spots from the front and only moments away from finding the love of his life, aka me.
“All right, let’s do this,” Hope says, sitting next to me and smoothing down her skirt one last time. She faces the camera and puts on a hugely cheesy grin.
A director calls, “Ready for you in five, four, three, two . . .” He points to Hope.
“I now have the opportunity for a one-on-one with the famous local Espressologist, Jane Turner,” Hope says to the camera, and I smile. “So, Jane, tell me how you got started with all this.” She whooshes her hand in a circle near her head.
“Well, it all started with a notebook.”
“Really?” she asks needlessly.
“Yeah. You see, I’ve been observing people for a long time and I just kept a lot of notes on drinks and the type of people who ordered them.” Hope, Mackenzie, and Olivia are all nodding their heads at me enthusiastically. It’s making me feel kind of weird but I continue on anyway. “One day it occurred to me that one of our regulars, a medium iced vanilla latte, would be perfect with a customer who had come in for the first time, a medium dry cappuccino. I checked my notebook to review the personalities I’ve recorded for these drinks and I was right—they were a perfect match.”
“You’re kidding!” Mackenzie says.
“Um, no,” I say. Duh. Would she be here interviewing me now if I was kidding?
“It obviously works,” Olivia says, nodding at the line of people and saving Mackenzie from her stupid comment.
“Yeah, it does. The first couple I matched, Gavin and Simone, are actually here tonight.”
“Fantastic! Where are you guys?” Mackenzie asks. Gavin raises a hand. Mackenzie heads over to talk to him and the cameras follow. Whew. I have a breather. I scoot around on the desk and grab my ice water. I take a quick drink and pat my forehead with a napkin. Man, it is hot with all these lights! A moment later Mackenzie is back by Hope’s side and I quickly shove the water glass and napkin behind my back.
“It is so amazing that the matches work,” Hope says. “You’ve really got something here.”
I nod.
“So, after you matched a few of your friends, you decided to start matching the rest of the community?”
“Yeah, well, Derek—Derek Peters, he’s the manager of our coffee shop—and I decided it would be a fun event for the month of December.” One of the cameras zooms over to shoot Derek. “A finding-love-for-the-holidays kind of thing,” I add.
“And your record is remarkable!” Olivia says with an encouraging smile. “How many people have you matched now?”
“Somewhere around fifty couples.”
“That is so cool,” Mackenzie says, and I find this a bit jarring. It is strange to hear someone as old as her saying, “That is so cool.”
“It totally is,” Hope agrees. “And next we are going to watch Jane make one of her famous on-the-spot matches and then follow them out on their first date.”
“We are?” I practically scream at Hope. What the heck is this? I swerve on the desk to face Derek and look at him, my jaw dropped.
“Yes, we are,” she tells the camera. “Right after this break.”
The director yells, “We’re clear!”
I look over at Em, who has been leaning on the pick-up counter watching the interview, and give her my “I’m screwed” face. She gives me back her “yup, you’re screwed” face.
“What the heck, Derek?” I scream at him once we are safe behind his closed office door. As soon as the little red light on the camera went off I jumped down from the desk, grabbed Derek by the arm, and yanked him back to his office.
“What?” he says, like he doesn’t know.
“How the heck am I supposed to just do an on-the-spot match now?”
“You’ve done plenty of them. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“Are you kidding me? I don’t know when they are going to happen. They just happen. I can’t plan them!” He stares at me blankly. “You know that, Derek.”
“Well, you are going to have to, Jane. Hope already announced that you were going to do it.”
“But I can’t!” I wail, plunking down in a chair and covering my face with my hands.
“You have a few minutes,” he says. “Go over the people that you met tonight and see if you can match anyone.”
“Yeah, because it is just that easy,” I mutter sarcastically. I rub the bridge of my nose with my index fingers and run through the people that I met tonight. I told that Rick guy to stick around. Is there anyone here that I can match him with? What about that mountain-climber chick? Eh. No. There was that nice nurse. But she’s in h
er mid-forties and Rick is in his mid-thirties. Not sure if that will work either. I’m going to freakin’ KILL Derek.
An assistant producer pops his head into the office. “We’re back in sixty seconds. We need you out here now.” My mouth drops open for the second time in five minutes and I shoot Derek daggers.
“No,” I insist in a low voice. “I can’t do it.”
“Come on, Jane,” Derek coaxes, giving my arm a little pull.
“No,” I say more defiantly. “You can’t make me go out there. It’ll be too embarrassing.”
“Come on.” He pulls me up from the chair and pushes me toward the door. I’m not moving my feet and he is actually sliding me out the door. Stupid slippery new boots.
Derek doesn’t let go of me until I’m sitting on the desk again and a girl is touching up my makeup. Seriously, I have no idea what I am going to do. NO IDEA. I just can’t do this. I turn to Hope. Maybe I can reason with her?
“Listen, I can’t just do an on-the-spot match. It doesn’t work like that. Besides, have you guys really thought it out? I mean, who is going to let you just follow them out the door and on a date? It won’t work.” I shake my head. There. I told her and it makes perfect sense. They’ll have to make some sort of statement and we won’t have to do this.
“I’ll do it,” a girl’s voice says from the crowd of people.
“Who said that?” Hope asks.
“I did.” Melissa steps out from the crowd and heads for my desk.
“What? You?” I spit at her. “But you said you’d never let me match you. You said it was stupid and you didn’t need it and you could find your own dates.”
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” Melissa tells me smugly. She turns to the Gabby Girlz. “I’ll sign whatever you want. You can follow me on a date.”
“She’s our girl!” Hope yells.
My jaw drops for the third time tonight. Seriously, my chest is gonna be bruised from my chin hitting it again and again like this. I look at Melissa and the Gabby Girlz. Why am I even here? They all have their minds made up and they don’t seem to need me. Except for the matchmaking part.
The Espressologist Page 11
