“All right, well just remember, you asked to help!” She laughed. There was a bit of a rush during which he had to stop and look at the board for pricing and put strange shorthand on the cups that Susan had to ask about from time to time if she hadn’t overheard the order.
“Hey, how much does this job pay?” he called to her as he handed a customer her change.
“All the free coffee you can drink,” she shot back to him before sliding into the kitchen to bring out some freshly baked pastries and assess what she was going to need to make more of to get through the day.
“Best job I ever had!” he said happily as he took another order from the next customer in line.
“What is an ‘L Chi Moc L?’” Susan asked, puzzling over his latest markings on the cup he passed down to her.
“Large Chilled Mocha Latte,” he said, as if he couldn’t believe she didn’t get his abbreviations.
“Ah, coming up,” she said with a laugh.
Paul spent the rest of the day ringing up orders for her, cleaning off tables and chatting up customers like he owned the place. He seemed to really enjoy being there and did a fantastic job of keeping up with the orders. In fact, there were a couple of times that he had to pitch in and help her make drinks because he was ahead of her. By the time the shop closed, she was no worse for wear than any other day, and the dining area didn’t look like nearly the train wreck she had expected it would. She locked the doors, and both Paul and Juan pitched in to help her finish up the usual day end side work and clean.
She worked on restocking behind the front counter while the two of them chatted enthusiastically in Spanish out front. Susan knew only a few words of Spanish, most of which she had learned from Juan during his employment. He knew very little English when her father had hired him to wash dishes years ago, and it hadn’t improved much over the years. He could communicate in broken English here and there, but mostly her father had spoken to him in Spanish. As time had passed, he had become much more than a dishwasher to the family and was sort of a jack-of-all-trades around the shop.
Still, it seemed odd to hear him carrying on such a lively conversation with Paul in the front. After a while, he said his goodbyes, smiling broadly and winking at her before leaving. Susan had to wonder what exactly they had been discussing that had caused this unusual behavior on Juan’s part. She shrugged it off and let him out before locking the door again. Turning around, she found herself face to face with Paul.
“Are you locking me in for the night?” he asked.
“No. You are free to leave whenever you would like. This is not the Hotel California,” she quipped back at him.
“Thank goodness. I checked into that place once, and it was downright creepy,” he poked back.
“Funny,” she told him.
“I know. I have my moments. Anyway, I thought I would stay until you were ready to go,” he said.
“I’m afraid that I’m going to be here for a while longer. I need to go ahead and mix up the pastries and get them formed for tomorrow. I have to come in early to get them baked, and if I don’t already have them made up, then I will be starting out behind. I’m going to have to call my parents to draw straws on which one is going to come help me until I can replace Todd as it is,” she told him.
“Your parents don’t like helping you out?” he asked.
“No, it’s not that. My parents will help me with whatever I ask of them, but they spent so many years in this coffee shop before handing it over to me, and I don’t want to have to bother them with stuff like this. I just don’t know what else to do. I know a couple of folks from my culinary class that want a part time job, so maybe I can get one of them in here in a couple of days,” she told him.
“Well, then it is settled. I will work for you the next few days while you find a replacement,” he told her with a broad smile.
“No way. I can’t ask you to do that! It’s too much! I feel bad enough that you felt you needed to bail me out today!” she told him.
“I don’t mind. I loved it here today. I don’t have nearly as much fun with my customers, and they can do without me for a few days. Come on, let me help you. What are friends for?” he asked.
“Fine, but I don’t think you will like the pay,” she said.
“Oh, no, I’m not going to let you pay me for having this much fun!” he objected.
“Seriously? No one has too much fun working at a coffee shop, Paul,” she told him.
“I did. Listen, you have no idea how down I’ve been this past year. Working here with you and the quirky bunch of folks that show up to buy coffee has been the best time I’ve had in ages. Don’t take my joy away from me, Susan,” he told her with a big grin.
“All right, but from now on, all of your coffee is on the house. If you won’t accept a paycheck, you are banned from paying for coffee or anything else here until the end of time,” she told him.
“Deal! Now, let’s go make some pastries!” he told her.
“What? No, not a chance. You’ve done too much as it is. I’m not letting you ruin those pants with a bunch of sugar and flour,” she told him.
“Fine, I’ll strip down and make pastries in my boxer briefs like we’re in one of those cocaine factories you see in the movies,” he said, feigning removal of his pants.
“Whoa, there! No!” She laughed.
“Fine, then we will sacrifice these pants for the greater good of Central Perk. It will be fine. My cleaner is a genius, and I can assure you that flour and sugar are no match for him,” he told her.
“You know what, fine. You want to make pastries, I’ll let you make pastries. Come on and let’s get this over with!” she told him.
She felt a little out of sorts with him watching as she usually reverted to working in the blind when making pastries, though she was getting the hang of looking for things, rather than feeling for them. Still, even with her eyes open, she instinctively reached for things without looking.
“That is fascinating,” he told her, as he kneaded some dough she had passed over for him to work with. Susan realized that she had lapsed into closing her eyes to find things without even realizing it, despite her efforts not to do so with him there.
“Habit. I spent years coming in here and helping Mom make pastries after my accident. At first, I did the simple things, like what you are doing now, and she gradually increased what she would let me do, though she would never let me near the ovens unattended. She arranged everything in this kitchen so that I could memorize and find things. Sometimes, I just find it easier to feel my way around the kitchen rather than read the labels,” she told him. It was the first mention she had made of her accident since the first time when it had killed their conversation.
“How long were you blind?” he asked, catching her off guard.
“Five years. Since I was a senior in high school, until about a year ago,” she replied.
“You had a transplant? How does that work?” he asked.
“It’s really a pretty simple procedure. They take a section of donor corneas and replace your damaged ones with that material. They stitch it in and let it heal for a few days, and when they remove the bandages, you can see again,” she said. It was funny that she could simplify it in such a manner now when it had seemed like such a big feat at the time. It was the longest three days of her life.
“Just like that? Everything is clear again?” he asked, continuing to knead the dough.
“No, it took a while for my vision to improve. At first, it was shadowy figures, and then things began to become clearer,” she told him.
“That sounds fascinating,” he said, but the tone of his voice relayed a sadness that had not been there before. She decided to redirect the conversation rather than get bogged down in her whole sob story.
“Okay, I think we are done with that dough. Let’s make something with it,” she told him.
She put him in charge of dusting the dough as she rolled it out to make cream cheese pastries tha
t were unique to her shop. He seemed fascinated by the way she manipulated the dough and added ingredients until she had several baking sheets filled with ready-to-cook pastries.
“Wow, you do that so fast,” he told her.
“You get used to it. You want to slide those in the rack for me?” she asked.
“Yes, master. Right away, masterrr,” he told her, mimicking a hunchback as he hobbled over to the metal rack and slid each tray in.
“Don’t make me get the whip out, Igor,” she told him.
“Ooooh, that sounds incredibly naughty of you. No wonder people like working for you so much,” he said with a wry grin. Susan blushed, not having thought about how her comment would sound when she said it out loud. She tried to recover by latching on to his employee comment.
“How would you know if my employees like me?” she asked, still slightly flushed.
“Juan told me. He said he has known you since you were a little girl and that he was glad to see you take over the shop. He said your parents are good people and have done a lot for him and his family, much more than just giving him a job. He also said that he knows that your family always has his back and will never let him or his family go without. Did you really give him all of your dolls when you were only ten to take home to his own daughter?” Paul asked.
Susan stopped what she was doing for a moment and stared at him, stunned. She had no idea that Juan had shared all of this with him, and she had completely forgotten about the dolls until just now.
“I did. I haven’t thought about that in years. I guess my mind has been on so many other things. I was playing with a Barbie in the shop, and Juan’s daughter, who was about six or seven at the time, kept staring at me. She looked sad, but she didn’t speak English and I couldn’t talk to her. I asked Dad what was wrong, and he spoke to her in Spanish. I remember that she cried a little as she spoke,” Susan said, thinking back to that moment when she had looked at a young Juanita Ortiz.
“And what did she tell him?” Paul asked, though Susan suspected he already knew the answer from Juan.
“She told him that men had come to her house in Mexico and hurt her mother. They had thrown her out into the yard and kicked her and then set the house on fire. She tried to get back in to save her mother, but the door was locked and she couldn’t get it open. Then something exploded and she had been hit in the head with something. When she awoke, her father was there, holding her and crying, and the house was gone. That is when they had come to America,” Susan said, remembering the sad story for the first time in years.
“Your father told you all of this when you were only ten? It seems like a harsh reality to share with a child,” Paul said.
“My father didn’t believe in sheltering me from the evils of the world. He wanted me to understand that not all people had it as good as we did, so he wanted me to know why Juanita was so sad. At the time, they had only been here a couple of weeks, and they had nothing. I handed Juanita my doll, and she smiled. It was the first time I had ever seen her smile,” Susan said.
“Juan said you gave her more than just the one,” Paul encouraged.
“Yes. We went home, and Dad told Mom the story over dinner. I had some clothes that were too small for me that Mom hadn’t gotten rid of yet, so we went up to my room to see what we could find for Juanita to wear. I stood there watching Mom pack up some of my favorite things, and I felt sad about it. Mom asked me what was wrong, and I told her. She reminded me that I could no longer wear these things now that I was getting bigger and that Juanita needed them much more than I did. I felt bad for having forgotten that so soon and went to bed thinking about how sad Juanita must be without a Mom or any wonderful things to at least make it a little better,” Susan told him. It felt like she was there all over again as she remembered Juanita.
“How did she end up with the dolls then? Did your mom do it?” he asked, thinking that Juan might not have realized it wasn’t Susan’s decision when he told the story.
“I couldn’t sleep. I got out of bed and began pulling dolls and stuffed animals from my closet. I packed them in the box my mother had left sitting on the floor for my father to take to Juan the next day. I gave her everything, and when my Mom objected the next morning, telling me I had nothing left for myself, I told her that I had the one thing Juanita didn’t and that was all I needed,” Susan said.
“You had a mother,” Paul said.
“Yes, I had a mother,” Susan said, breaking the spell and looking down at the fruit mix in her hand, stirring it lightly.
“What became of Juanita?” Paul asked, causing Susan to laugh a bit.
“Juanita and I played together all the time after that in the back room of the shop after school. After all, she had all my toys. She just graduated high school recently and has started the police academy. I know it sounds like a bad plot in a low budget movie, but Juanita has a dream to return to Juarez and find the men who killed her mother and bring them to justice while keeping other children from suffering the loss of their mother and father at the hands of the gangs that roam freely where she grew up,” Susan said with a smile.
“Do you think she will do it?” Paul asked, strangely curious about the subject.
“I think she will do it or die trying. I just hope it is the former,” Susan said.
It barely registered as Paul covered the distance around the table and kissed her again. This time, she didn’t pull away. She felt emotional from the story about Juanita. It was something she hadn’t thought of in years, and it made her realize that Juan was more like her than she had ever considered, having lost his wife in a horrible way, but all of that was pushed aside as a tingling sensation spread throughout her body.
His kiss was urgent, his tongue twisting lazily with hers. His fingers tangled in her hair as she dug her own into his back, pulling her toward him, aching to feel his body pressing against her flesh. For a while, nothing existed but the two of them as they became lost in a kiss so intense that she wasn’t sure she could stop herself from letting him throw her across the table full of dough and flour beneath them and have his way. Right now, that would suit her just fine.
Much to her chagrin, he pulled away, releasing her and looking deeply into her eyes. His gaze said everything that she needed to hear, as she could see just how much he wanted her in his steel eyes. Then he was laughing, breaking the bond between them, as Susan looked at him in bewilderment.
“Your hair is white,” he told her.
“What?” she replied, not grasping what he was saying. In her mind, she was still recovering from the ripples of lust pulsating through her body, and here he was, laughing at her for some reason.
“I had flour on my hands and now it is all in your hair. I’m so sorry,” he told her. Susan looked at him blankly for a moment and then a slow smile crawled across her face.
“It’s okay. It was totally worth it,” she told him.
“Was it?” He smiled, inching back toward her as if to move in for another kiss. As much as Susan would like that, she knew that she had to get finished here and clean up. Plus, wasn’t it too soon to take this too far? They hadn’t even been out on a real date yet.
“Oh, yeah. It was,” she said, pulling a small handful of flour from the container before her and bringing it above his head to dust it into his own hair. “Now, we’re even.”
“No, I don’t think so,” he replied.
A chase ensued as each of them picked up random ingredients and tossed them at one another. They bolted and dodged back and forth to escape whatever gooey mess the other had in mind to coat them with, finally upsetting a bowl of strawberry syrup on the side of the table. In a freak stroke of bad luck, Paul slipped in it and fell flat on his back with a thud.
“Oh, God! Are you okay, Paul?” Susan said, suddenly containing her laughter and replacing it with concern that he had hurt himself. She knelt on the floor to check on him as he lay there, regaining his faculties. Before she realized it, he grabbed her and pulled
her down into the sticky mess with him.
“You’re going to have to clean this mess up, Igor!” she said, slapping a handful of blackberries onto his formerly crisp white cotton shirt.
“This was a six-hundred-dollar shirt,” he said without a hint of emotion.
“Was being the operative word. I’m sure your cleaner can get out ground-in blackberry stains,” she said, sending them both into a fit of laughter. They lay there laughing for a moment before he reached over and kissed her softly on the lips and then stood, extending his hand to pull her up from the floor.
“Master, I think we’re going to be here much later than we thought,” he told her with a smile.
“Looks like it. Just so you know, you are officially out of the running for employee of the month,” she told him, watching the dust fly as she shook flour from her hair.
They washed up as best they could in the guest bathrooms and then returned to the kitchen to finish up their work and clean their messes. It was almost midnight by the time he walked her home and kissed her goodnight on the doorstep.
“I’ll see you in the morning, Susan. I’ll try to dress a bit more casually for the food fight next time,” he said, as she eyed the huge purple stain on the front of his shirt.
“Please do,” she responded with a laugh before turning to go into her apartment.
Inside, she ran a bubble bath and washed off the sticky, gooey mess on her skin and in her hair. All the while, she smiled into the quiet of the bathroom, still thinking about the kiss they had shared.
Chapter 7
The next few days were incredible. If she had thought just having Paul in the shop, sitting in his little corner with his drink had been thrilling, it was nothing compared to how it felt to have him working by her side. She imagined that this must be how her mother had felt for years coming to work with her father, and she realized that she had no reason not to ask them to fill in from time to time. Each morning, Paul showed up in a simple t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers. It was amazing how much younger he looked when not all cinched up in a business suit.
Dragon of Central Perk Page 4