The Espressologist

by Kristina Springer

  I contemplate making a run for the door when the director announces, “We’re back in five, four, three, two . . .”

  18

  The lights are burning on my face and I can feel sweat beading at my temple. Hope says something to the camera, has Melissa step up to the desk, and introduces her. Then they turn to face me.

  “All right, Jane,” Hope says. “Do your thing.”

  Okay. I have to think fast. I have to match Melissa with someone here. And it has to be someone compatible. It has to be a match that actually works or I’ll look like a big fat fraud on national television. What am I going to do? I need to stall. I stand up and slowly walk behind the desk and take a seat in my chair.

  “Melissa,” I ask, slowly, “what is your favorite drink?” Like I don’t already know.

  “I simply adore”—Melissa smiles at the camera—“small nonfat lattes.”

  “Okay,” I say. “Age?”

  “Eighteen,” she answers with a giggle. “Like you didn’t know.” I sigh heavily as I type the information in, trying to figure out what I’m going to do.

  “Interesting tidbit?” Darn! My voice quivered.

  “Since you asked,” Melissa says, perching on my desk now and facing the camera instead of me, “I’m going to become a famous fashion designer. I’m studying at the renowned School of the Art Institute of Chicago and I’ve already designed these fab sparkly leg warmers PERFECT for the current leggings trend.” She kicks her legs out for the camera to see. “And you can get them at www—”

  “We’ll cut you off there,” Olivia interrupts, giving Melissa a dirty look. Ah. So that was her deal. She’s trying to sell some lame-o leg warmers. What is she thinking? Leg warmers need to stay dead and buried in the eighties. “Jane,” Olivia continues, “do you have a match for Melissa?”

  “Give me just a minute,” I say, trying to look calm. I check the list of people I met tonight. Ugh. No one seems right for Melissa. I can maybe, possibly send her with the veterinarian but a) he’s too old and b) he’s too smart for her. I don’t know what I am going to do.

  “Ready, Jane?” Hope asks. “We are on television, you know.” All the Gabby Girlz laugh. Tee hee hee. This is SO not funny, people.

  “Um . . .” I scan the crowd hoping for the perfect match to just fall from the sky and into the wooden barrel of stuffed holiday bears. And then it hits me. A match. It would work. But no. I couldn’t. No, no, no. I just can’t. Not him. Not with her.

  “Jane?” Hope prompts again, eyes wide and giving me a “hurry up” look.

  “Okay . . .” I start, “the perfect . . . um . . . match for uh . . . a small nonfat latte is a . . .” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “A five-shot espresso over ice.”

  “Ooh,” Mackenzie says, like she just heard the most scandalous thing ever. “And who is that?”

  I can literally feel my heart breaking into a million pieces.

  “Will,” I whisper, and point in his direction.

  I can feel the tears stinging my eyes as Will and Melissa exchange introductions and prepare to head out for their date. Hope, Mackenzie, and Gabby thank me and say a few more words, but I don’t really hear them. Suddenly, the lights flip off me and the cameras move. Some guys with handhelds follow Melissa and Will out the door for their date. I stand up, turn, and run out of the store.

  I run and run, tears streaming down my face, for what seems like miles but is really only a few blocks. What did I do? What did I just do? How could I give over my Will to that . . . that evil witch? And what was with the way they looked at each other? All pleased and stuff. Ugh, it made me want to puke all over them. That would have been fun TV. I run another block and then turn around the corner so no one from the store can see me on the sidewalk.

  I lean against the brick wall of a tall high-rise, breathing heavily. I really need to work out more. I slouch down to a squat against the building, pulling my dress over my legs. It’s cold out and I didn’t stop to grab my jacket when I sprinted away from the store.

  I lay my head back against the building and look up. I’m just under the El train track. I love the El. I’ve loved the El ever since I was a little girl. Whenever my mom and I or my dad and I were out running errands and we came near the El track, I would beg them to let me stand there for a few minutes and watch the trains zoom by overhead. There was always a train rushing by every few minutes. Lights would flash, the track would shake, and the train would make a clattering rumble as it passed. I used to think the track would break and the train would crash right in front of me and I would leap out of the way just in time. Maybe that will happen now, only I won’t be able to leap fast enough and I won’t have to go back to the store. Then I won’t have to see Melissa and Will . . . together. I close my eyes and listen as a train goes racing past overhead.

  “Hey,” a male says, and I jump two feet into the air.

  “I have Mace!” I scream, bracing myself for a confrontation with a mugger.

  “Good. You should always be safe when you are walking alone at night,” Cam says in a calm voice.

  “Oh, my god, Cam, you scared the crap out of me. And I don’t really have Mace.”

  “Whew.” He fake wipes his brow. “What happened back there?”

  I pull my arms tightly around me, shivering from the cold. “Nothing.”

  “It didn’t look like nothing,” Cam says. “Everyone is wondering where you went.”

  “I can’t go back.” I shake my head as a fresh tear rolls slowly down my right cheek.

  “Jane,” Cam murmurs, “you can tell me. What’s wrong?” He puts his right arm around me and I can feel myself weakening.

  “It’s just . . . you know I hate Melissa, right?”

  “Yeah, I remember she was really evil to you that day we were studying.”

  “Well, Will was supposed to be, I mean, I was going to match Will—” I start to cry harder.

  “Don’t cry, Jane.” Cam pushes my hair, wet with tears, away from my face.

  We are standing really close to each other. I cry for a few more seconds.

  “What about Will?” Cam asks when I’m down to a sniffle.

  “I was going to match Will with me tonight,” I say finally.

  “With you?” Cam looks shocked. I nod. “But why?”

  I look down at the ground and mumble, “Because he’s perfect.”

  “Perfect for you?” Cam asks. “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty sure,” I say, and another tear escapes. We’re both silent for a few minutes. Another train goes thundering by overhead. My lips are shivering hard now and my arms are shaking. Cam slips off his jacket, wraps it around me, and turns me toward him.

  “I know that right now it doesn’t seem like it,” he says, “but Will is not the perfect guy for you.”

  “Yes, he is,” I argue.

  “No, he’s not,” he retorts.

  “Well, if you know so much”—I look him straight in the eye—“then who is?” Suddenly, before I can even comprehend it, Cam is kissing me. He has both hands behind my neck, fingers in my hair, and he is giving me a warm, slow, gingery-tasting kiss. And it is good. I mean REALLY good. I don’t think I’ve ever been kissed like this. My toes feel warm, and not just from the run in high-heeled boots. And though I thought I’d be kissing Will and not Cam tonight, I close my eyes and just enjoy the kiss for however long it is going to last.

  A few moments later Cam pulls back and my lips get cold again. He still has his hands behind my neck, but I can sense that he has pulled a few inches away. I open my eyes and stare at him, not sure what to say next. He apparently doesn’t know what to say either. Well, one of us has to talk.

  “Cam, I—” I begin, and then stop, stiffening as my body is filled with horror. I’m staring over Cam’s right shoulder.

  “What? What’s wrong?” he says with concern. He slowly turns to see what, or in this case whom, I’m looking at.

  Em.

  Cam’s hands drop from my
neck like I’m on fire and we both stare at her. Em is standing maybe twenty or thirty feet away, holding my jacket. She stands there for another second or two and then throws my jacket on the ground and runs back in the direction of the store.

  “I have to go after her,” I tell Cam.

  “No, let me,” he says.

  “No, she’s my best friend. I have to do it.” I run in the same direction as Em.

  19

  I was never one for school sports, but experience on the cross-country team would really come in handy about now. I can’t find Em anywhere. Did she slip behind a building? Did she duck into one of the stores? Did she turn down a different block? I don’t know how she got away from me, but she did. I’ve looked down each block on the way back to Wired Joe’s, and nothing. I’ll have to peek in and see if she is there. I doubt she’ll stay at work tonight, but she does have to get her things. I don’t want to go back to work; I don’t want to face all those people again tonight, but what choice do I have? I have to find Em.

  At Wired Joe’s, I peek through the glass, looking for any sign of Em. I am instantly relieved to see that the Gabby Girlz and their crew have packed up and left. I feel a little pang of guilt at the line of people still waiting for me to come back and match them. Yikes.

  Brenda, Sarah, and the Macchiato Maniac are working behind the counter. Mom and Dad are sitting on a cushy red velvet loveseat drinking cappuccinos. And Katie is standing near the condiment bar, flicking sugar packets against her thumb. I don’t see Ava. Maybe she’s in back consoling Em. I tap at the glass, trying to get Katie’s attention so I can ask her if she’s seen Em.

  Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap.

  “Jane!” Derek booms from behind me.

  “Ahhh!” I jump a foot off the ground. “Derek, why are you always sneaking up on me?”

  “What are you doing outside? Right in the middle of an Espressology night?” he yells, both hands on his hips. He totally looks like my mom when she’s pissed at me.

  “I . . . I needed some air,” I say.

  “You couldn’t wait five minutes to get some air? You couldn’t wait until they wrapped up the Gabby Girlz interview first?”

  “Yeah. I really needed it.”

  “Well, if you are done getting your air, you need to get right back inside and finish helping that long line of people. You left us all waiting on you, Jane.”

  “Wait,” I say. “Have you seen Em? I have to find Em first.”

  “No, she took off, too. What is with you girls tonight? Why is everyone taking off when they are supposed to be working?”

  “Derek, I have to go after her,” I say, giving him a pleading look. “You don’t understand, I really, really have to find her.”

  “And you can. After ten, when you are done working. Right now you have to get back in there and matchmake.”

  “But, Derek—”

  “No. There is nothing you can say. Now get in there.”

  Everyone claps and cheers for me again, but this time I can’t even muster up a smile. All I can think about is Em and how much she must hate me right now.

  On Wednesday afternoon, I’m lying on the couch in my living room watching Dr. Phil. He’s yelling at some chubby woman in an ill-fitting light green suit, telling her in his heavy Texan accent, “When you choose the behavior, you choose the consequences.” He might as well be talking to me. I chose the behavior (well, really Cam did, when he kissed me, but I didn’t exactly push him off me or anything) and now I have to live with the consequences of Em never talking to me again and losing my very best friend in the whole world.

  I don’t know how I got through the rest of Friday night. I know I talked to people and got down their information for future matches, but I didn’t do any more on-the-spot matches that night—much to the disappointment of that cute army guy who stuck around until closing. I just couldn’t stop thinking about Em. And I tried calling her over and over again every chance I got, but she wouldn’t pick up my calls. I’ve tried texting her, IMing her . . . heck, I even went to her apartment on Sunday to try to talk to her, but her mom said Em was too sick to have company. I’ve felt so terrible ever since she saw Cam and me kissing. I called in sick to work on Sunday and Tuesday. I haven’t been able to eat a thing either. Except for Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream. Two pints since Friday. I feel just wretched. And now Dr. Phil is yelling at me through the television.

  Cam has been calling me, too. Twice anyway. I told my mom to take messages, though. What am I supposed to say to him at this point? And that kiss! That totally great kiss—what did it mean? He can’t like me and I can’t like him, right? He’s with Em. How way way wrong would that be for me to hook up with her boyfriend? Of course that is what she thinks right now, but if she would let me I would totally explain that it was just a . . . a . . . I don’t know what it was. Argh!

  “Honey.” Mom interrupts my thoughts and pushes my legs over so she can sit down on the couch. “You can’t live on the couch watching silly talk shows the rest of your life.”

  “It’s not silly, it’s educational, and yes I can,” I say without taking my eyes off the television screen.

  “Em still won’t talk to you?” Mom asks gently.

  “No.”

  “Don’t worry, sweetie,” she says, patting my leg. “She can’t stay mad at you forever. You’ve been best friends for too long.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” I mumble. I hope Mom is right. What would I do without Em? We sit there silently for a few minutes watching Dr. Phil rip into some other chick. Seems this one only likes to date married men. Like that is just some kind of coincidence. Get off my back, Phil!

  “Your segment on The Gabby Girlz airs tomorrow morning at nine, you know. Are you going to watch it?” Mom asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say, sitting up. And I really don’t. On the one hand I want to see how I look on TV and how the interview came off, but on the other hand it’ll be like death watching Will and Melissa on their date. “I don’t know if I can.”

  “How about I record it and then you can decide if you want to watch it later?” Mom stands, and I nod my head in agreement and sink back into the couch.

  I already know that Will and Melissa really hit it off on their date. Daisy was only too eager to tell me everything she knew when I called in sick on Sunday. She said that the assistant producer of The Gabby Girlz had called Derek and told him that the segment was perfect. They were impressed with my matchmaking ability and how it actually worked. They said Will and Melissa were holding hands, kissing, and exchanging phone numbers before the end of the date. Real nice. I’ve been working on landing him for months and in just a few hours he’s kissing her and giving her his phone number (and probably the real one at that). Fat chance he’ll ever get free drinks from me again. I’m so done with guys. Maybe I’ll get a goldfish.

  The phone rings.

  “Honey,” Mom calls, “can you get it?”

  “Can you?” I ask, not wanting to move any more than I have to.

  “No, just pick it up, Jane. Maybe it’s Em?”

  “Fine!” I’m mad that I have to get up and walk all the way across the room to where the phone is parked upright in its charger base. I press TALK and put the phone up to my ear. “Hello?”

  “Jane?” a male asks.

  “Yeah, this is,” I say with a sigh.

  “It’s Derek. How are you feeling?”

  “Oh, you know. So-so.”

  “I’ve been worried about you. Think you’ll be in tomorrow?”

  “Probably not. I still have a bit of a fever.”

  “Well, Friday is our last Espressology night. You have to make it in for that at least,” he tells me.

  “Oh, yeah,” I reply. “I almost forgot about it.”

  “It’s just one more week. You can do it, Jane,” he says encouragingly. “You’ve done a fantastic job. I’m sure you’ll get something out of all this—that big bonus or something.” I guess if I can’t have a boyfriend, a bonu
s isn’t so bad.

  I sigh again. “I’ll be there.”

  I glance over at the calendar on the wall. I can’t believe how fast the month has gone by. It’s almost Christmas. All these people I’ve matched will have boyfriends and girlfriends to cuddle with in front of fireplaces with cups of cocoa for the holidays. Even that nasty stupid Melissa. And what do I have to cuddle? A possible bonus. Yay.

  20

  I get to work an hour before Espressology night starts on Friday, ready to put on my happy face, make some love connections, and wrap up my Espressology career. The glitz and glam from the television taping is gone now, and it’s back to my same old Wired Joe’s. Em’s working behind the counter and I totally want to run over and give her a big hug, but she won’t even look at me. How am I going to get through this?

  I slink past Em to put away my purse and coat. I take a sideways glance in the mirror at tonight’s outfit and am pleased that I still look good despite my incredibly icky mood. I picked a pair of black leggings, ballet slippers, and a really cute long black off-the-shoulder sweater tonight, envisioning how good the red straps of my Espressologist apron would look on my bare shoulders. I’m really going to miss being able to wear the variety of cute clothes on Friday nights once I have to go back to my Wired Joe’s uniform.

  I should go help at the register for a few minutes, but I have to figure out what I’m going to say to Em. She can’t really ignore me the entire night, can she? I sit down at one of the metal chairs in the break room, fold my arms on the table, and rest my forehead on my forearms. A moment later I see a pair of black Converse appear under the table. Em’s shoes! I jolt up.

  “Em!” Em is standing next to me, staring at me expressionlessly, her arms crossed. “Em, please don’t be mad at me. Please—I would never do anything to hurt you, I swear!” She says nothing but continues to look at me. “I’m really, really sorry,” I say in a much smaller voice, tears forming in the corner of my eyes. The room is eerily quiet and we stare at each other for what seems like forever.