A new project is brewing. Get it? Coffee shop? Brewing?
I’m writing what in my mind is a television drama. I’m not writing a screenplay, but a series of short stories that I will call chapters. The chapters will stand on their own as stories, but will build one upon the other. Characters you meet in Chapter 1 will likely appear in later chapters as new characters come on the scene. The setting is a small-town coffee shop. I will offer you this opening scene of Chapter 1. More is to follow. Let me know what you think.
There’s different and then there’s different. He was the first kind. Not someone you would write a story about. Didn’t seem like a colorful character. Didn’t seem intriguing. Didn’t seem like he would stay out in bars late into the morning. Didn’t seem like he had a past he was running away from. The way he was dressed, he didn’t look like he was trying to impress anyone. He wore khakis and sneakers. That’s what I noticed first. His dark blue sport coat looked like heavy cotton. It was wrinkled and showing some wear in the elbows. His shirt was a light blue and an inexpensive tie was knotted loosely and slightly askew. He didn’t seem to care if anyone noticed him or not. He walked with long strides toward the counter, as if he had been to the coffee shop dozens of times, but I knew that he had never been there before. How did I know? I just knew.
“Good morning.”
That was Carl. He’s the unofficial greeter of the coffee shop. He’s the first customer every morning and founding member of the Breakfast Club, our coffee klatch.
The new guy nodded at Carl and gave a little grunt. He quickly discerned where he was to go to order and stood at the counter as Savannah steamed milk and chatted with a customer. Susan was making a sandwich. He drummed his fingers on the counter. And waited.
Savannah called out the drink order. “Caramel macchiato.”
Then it was on to music. “Which Beatle is your favorite?”
It was a question directed at me.
“Pete Best.”
The new guy gave me a look. Maybe a little bit of a smile. Maybe he had a better answer for the question. But really, there was nothing. No rise of the eyebrow, no squint of the eyes, no upturn of the lips. Nothing that would give you a hint about anything.
“Be with you in a second.” Susan spoke without looking his way.
“Sure.”
He watched her as she put the sandwich in the panini press and placed another bagel on the counter, spread the cream cheese, and placed thick slices of salmon on the cheese.
He watched her.
But then again, she was easy to watch.
Now this is going to sound bad. It’s going to make me seem superficial and judgmental. Susan is not your typical coffee shop owner. Not that there’s such thing as a typical coffee shop owner. But I’ve seen plenty of free-spirit, hippy-dippy, tattoos and piercings, anything-goes coffee shop owners who speak in a laid-back sing-song phraseology that makes them seem like they’re always high and maybe they are and who really cares anyway because we’re all brothers and sisters and I’ll have that mocha out for you in three shakes of a lambs tail. Groovy. And not in the retro-cool way that Savannah says it, but in the hey, we might as well be in San Francisco in the 60s smoking some Acapulco Gold, man, and digging the vibes, baby.
No. That’s not Susan.
She’s a runner. She looks like a runner. Fit, trim, and a kind of healthy that’s evident in what she wears – that day it was blue gym shorts and a white t-shirt – and everything she does. Even making a breakfast bagel. Her movements are quick and efficient. No wasted motion.
He continued to watch her, but not with any irritation that it was taking longer than it would at Starbucks to get his coffee. He seemed more relaxed than when he first strode into the coffee shop, and as he watched, his face seemed to let go of some of the stress, his eyes seemed to show less tension, and the lines in his forehead faded a little beneath his wavy brown hair that threatened to fall over his eyes with the kind of easy casualness that matched the clothes that he wore.
“What can I get for you?”
She had turned to face him and gave him her full attention and her full smile that included her eyes. As is the case with most customers who give their order to Susan, he smiled in return.
“Just a coffee. Large. Black.”
He brushed the hair from his eyes.
“And the name?”
He hesitated and then realized why she was asking.
“Jacob.”
“I’m Susan.” She wrote his name on the cup. “Haven’t seen you in here before.”
“That’s right. Going to spend a couple of months running the clinic across the street. This is my first day.”
You can learn a lot about a person by just observing and listening. Not so much to the words they say but how they say them. It takes a while to discern the patterns, to understand the nuances that people use. It can be very subtle. Take Susan, for example. She’s typically low-key and understated. She’s just the right amount of friendly that makes everyone feel welcome, but never fake or over-the-top. I can imagine it’s a practiced skill that walks the fine line of genuine warmth and appreciation for people – who also happen to be paying customers – without giving men a reason to think that she has a special interest in them, without leading them down a path of false hope, because she knows and other women know and I know because I pay attention to such things that men don’t need much encouragement to cause their fragile little egos to inflate and think that someone as lovely as Susan would overlook their own shortcomings – shortcomings that they are probably not too keen on assessing themselves – and finding in them a special connection that eludes all of the other coffee and espresso and latte drinkers. Susan knows all of this and knows how to gently control the irrational emotions of men without crushing their spirit.
All of this I know because I’ve seen her in action. And maybe it’s not a conscious effort on her part. Maybe it’s just instinct and a natural understanding of human behavior. But I know all of this because I observe. And I tell you this because I saw a little something as she was interacting with Jacob. Now I’m not saying it was love at first sight. I’m not saying it was love. I’m not even saying it was like. And if I were to point this out to Susan she would justifiably laugh at my proposition. But there was something. It wasn’t her smile because she smiles a lot. Sometimes it’s a professional courteous smile. Sometimes it’s a laughing smile. Sometimes just a pleasant moment. But with this smile, there was a slight arching of the eyebrows, just a little unconscious reflex that said there was something about this guy Jacob that was at least superficially appealing.
“Hope you enjoy your time here.”
“No offense, but I’m not sticking around here any longer than I have to.”
“Oh. Well.” Her expression changed. Her eyes widened as she glanced at me. I laughed a little to myself. She turned her back and pumped coffee from the carafe into his cup. She didn’t bother to write his name.
“Black coffee.”
She handed him the cup. He forced a smile.
Carl spoke. “Have a good day.” He’s not only the greeter but the well-wisher.
Jacob looked back and lifted his cup and was out the door.
“Pleasant man.” It was as mean as Susan would ever get.
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Joseph E Bird 