by Tiana Cole
She pointed to the coffeemaker that the house used for refills and handed him a mug.
“Help yourself,” she gave in.
The man walked over to the machine as Cassidy studied him furtively. He had a lean body under the leather jacket, and his easy stride told her he was athletic. His manner was casual as he slid onto a barstool in front of the counter. His presence made her uneasy in a mysterious, thrilling way. Hell, he was even better looking up close. She gave him a tentative smile as their eyes met over the rim of the coffee mug.
“You’re my hero, Cassidy. Thanks for indulging me. My name’s Tristan,” he said with a warm smile.
Tristan? Such a coincidence! That was Brad Pitt's name in the movie ‘Legends of the Fall,’ and Tristan Ludlow was her childhood crush. His poster still hung by her old bedroom back in Tuscaloosa, Alabama.
“Thanks,” Cassidy politely returned his smile as she brushed Brad Pitt‘s bearded face from her mind. “It’s a shitty night. I guess everyone deserves a break.” After a few seconds of pause she added, “So… what brings you to this part of town?”
Small talk was cheap. Besides, she really wanted to know about her fluke of fate. He struck her as someone who would be more at home in the designer coffee shops of Fifth Avenue.
“I like watching people out of the ordinary and there are pretty interesting characters on this side of town,” Tristan explained.
“So, you’re a stalker then?” Cassidy joked.
Tristan threw back his head in amusement, displaying a beautiful set of pearly whites.
“No, no, I’m a photographer,” he added, inserting a hand inside his jacket pocket.
He drew out a compact digital camera that fit perfectly into the palm of his hand. He pressed a button and the LCD screen came to life.
“Here…” he said, leaning across the counter.
Cassidy inched forward and watched as he flipped through a series of photos. There was a homeless man with a cardboard sign hanging from his neck, a kid with muddy sneakers riding a bike, a drunk in the act of tipping a whiskey bottle in a brown paper bag into his mouth, a pair of nuns walking hand in hand, a woman selling flowers by the sidewalk, and so on. His ability to capture images was so defined that they almost seemed to jump off the small screen.
Desperation was written on the homeless man’s face. The boy on the bike looked bothered about his muddy sneakers. His mom would probably give him hell for it. Reckless dependence and thirst painted the drunk’s face. The two nuns looked happy and carefree to be out in the open. And the woman selling flowers had a resolute look on her face.
“They’re beautiful…” Cassidy gushed. She could tell the story behind every shot.
“I’m glad you approve,” Tristan replied, shutting the camera off and sliding it back into his jacket pocket. “It’s called physiognomy, or the interpretation of a person’s character or personality using the face as a canvas. I use the camera to capture those characteristics.”
“What do you do with all the pictures you take? Sell them to a magazine or something?” Cassidy asked, genuinely intrigued.
“Sometimes I do, but they’re mostly just for my pleasure. This camera’s just my little point-and-shoot I carry with me for when I’m strolling around town,” he explained as he patted his jacket pocket. “My professional camera’s back at my studio. I actually prefer this little camera here since I can easily fit in my pocket and snap a quick photo whenever I see somebody interesting while I’m out and about. Each photo is unique and allows me see a part of the person’s soul,” Tristan went on.
Cassidy digested this information as she wiped down the countertop with a damp rag. So, he was a camera bug — a specialized stalker who wanted a glimpse into another person’s psyche. Of course, she didn’t dare say that aloud.
“How about you, Cassidy? What makes you tick, aside from being totally beguiling and letting a complete stranger keep you from going home on a rainy night?”
Cassidy was momentarily taken aback. Beguiling? No one had ever called her that before. Spunky, maybe, but only because she’d learned to deal with the variety of characters who came for their daily fix. Gritty, even, because she was determined to see her mother through chemotherapy for her recently diagnosed cancer despite their financial dearth.
Well… she did have that other job, but it wasn’t something she was comfortable telling someone she'd just met. He might not understand. The stigma attached to it was widespread. No, she decided not to mention that job at all.
“Me?” she asked, thoroughly abashed. “I... I just work here. There’s nothing exciting about me at all.”
“Surely you have family? A dog? Cat? Friends you hang out with? Everyone has a story to tell,” Tristan urged her.
Cassidy wrinkled her nose, still not sure if her story was worth telling, but he seemed sincerely interested in hearing what she had to say.
Probably just being kind… considering that I could be home right now instead of waiting for the bus and racking my brain for a story to tell. The thought ran through her mind.
“I’m from Alabama initially,” she began. “That’s where my mom and dad are. He owns a small cabin near Perdido River, and rents it out to tourists who visit the Forest Preserve. It was destroyed by Hurricane Katrina, so my dad’s trying to build again. My mom stays home mostly.”
She saw no need to tell him that much of her salary from the coffee shop was sent home to dad to help with the construction. Nor did she see the need to tell him that she was forced to get a second job months ago after receiving a frantic phone call from her dad. A painful call where he broke the news that her mom had been diagnosed with breast cancer.
“So… your mom and dad, they’re okay?” Tristan asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure they’re fine,” Cassidy lied.
She felt prickly with him staring at her face.
“What brought you to New York? Do you have family here too?” Tristan asked.
“No,” Cassidy answered briefly, then added, “A trip to New York was part of the prize money I won joining a local pageant. I found New York exhilarating and never wanted to leave. So that’s why I’m here. The people, the action, the art, the conversation. Meeting strangers...” She smiled at him with an arched eyebrow.
Cassidy wished he would stop with the twenty questions. Thinking about her mom and dad made her sad.
“This pageant you mentioned… was this one where you had to wear a bathing suit and pose in front of a huge crowd?” Tristan questioned with a smirk.
“Yup.”
“With prize money?”
“Yup.”
“Your friends dared you to do it, didn’t they?”
“Yup.”
How did he even know about that? Cassidy wondered as she continued to avoid his gaze by wiping down the counter.
"You don’t say much, do you?” Tristan declared with a laugh.
“And you ask too many questions,” Cassidy replied just as quickly.
“You have a beautiful face. One of the most captivating I’ve ever seen. And I think you’re editing much of what you’re telling me,” Tristan fired back.
Was he some sort of mind-reader?
“Tristan, all you need is to leave me a dollar tip. Coffee is free. Flattery is optional. Besides, I have a mirror at home and know my looks are average at best. I have no expectations of landing a magazine cover, you know,” Cassidy answered deprecatingly.
Tristan flashed her a look as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. He shrugged his shoulders as if some inner voice was telling him something was unique or different about this girl.
“One more question. I promise it will be the last one, and then I’ll leave,” he swore.
Cassidy felt a slight pang of disappointment at the thought. It wasn’t everyday that a handsome stranger came by the shop after closing time and peppered her with questions. Told her she was beguiling with a captivating face. Flattery always felt good, even if she knew it wasn’t ne
cessarily true. Besides, this whole situation was so transient. She’ll never see him after tonight.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” Tristan bluntly asked.
Cassidy was taken by surprise. She was fully expecting him to ask a thought-provoking question, like what her goals were in life or her opinion on the economic climate. She laughed at his unexpected query.
“Honestly? That’s your last question? I was expecting something more profound, like where I see myself five years down the road.”
“I’d like to hear that too, but I promised it was my last question. So… maybe next time?” Tristan smiled, his face alight with his gorgeous eyes locked on to hers. “Now, about that boyfriend?”
Cassidy’s brow rose slightly. Did he just say “maybe next time?” She stood speechless and trying to regain her composure.
“So? Boyfriend? Yes? No?” Tristan prodded her with a grin.
“No boyfriend, and, yeah, maybe next time,” was all Cassidy could manage to reply.
Tristan stood up and Cassidy took it to mean the interview was over. She bent over the counter searching for the door keys.
“Thanks, Cassidy. This was the highlight of my day,” Tristan remarked before he turned around and walked slowly out the door.
Cassidy felt an unexpected moment of sadness at seeing him go. For some strange reason, the coffee shop suddenly felt empty. She shrugged away the thought and reached for the mug he used. It was sitting atop a crisp five hundred dollar bill.
“What the fuck…?” Cassidy gasped, reaching for the bill and running to the door in hopes of catching Tristan. However, she found the streets empty except for a silver BMW that was turning a corner.
Cassidy stood in shock, staring at the bill in her hand. Where could he have gone so quickly, and why would he leave her such a huge tip? Shit. Five hundred dollars couldn’t possibly be categorized as a tip, could it? Tristan had definitely struck her as a bit eccentric, so did he really mean to leave such a large denomination? She’d hoped he hadn’t foolishly left a five hundred dollar bill instead of the five dollar bill he’d intended.
She reentered the coffee shop, grabbed her notebook and purse, and turned off all the lights as routine. She locked the door and stood by the sidewalk, waiting for the bus that was rounding the corner. She’d think about this later when she was back in her apartment in Queens. She had to admit, this was one of those nights she’d certainly never forget.
Chapter Two
When she got back to her apartment, Cassidy was too tired to have much of an appetite. She threw off her coat and headed into the bedroom where she slipped into her favorite pajamas. Back in the kitchen, she forced herself to eat some leftover lasagna she found in the refrigerator as she mulled over the disarray of her personal life.
Her main concern was her mom. Cancer. The very word brought chills. It was like a death sentence. Her mom, so caring and good natured, struck by an inexplicable disease. Her dad, just as loving in his own way; driving Mom to her appointments, making certain her medications were correct and on time, and all the little things Cassidy knew he did.
She felt a wave of homesickness. Warm, caring, safe home with people who loved her and would do anything for her. But, the reality was there were no decent jobs there anymore now that the paper mill had closed down. She was doing her part sending money from her two jobs to help with the medical expenses.
Her two jobs. She loved the café. Ron was a great boss, and although the work was physically demanding it was still fun. And the people! She loved the majority of the clientele. She liked interacting with them, and even though they didn’t know it, they helped feed her notebook.
She wrote down snippets of conversation and physical descriptions. She even collected names. She liked to play with them combining first and last names, then creating characters based on those “new” name combinations. Perhaps this is why she felt a mild attraction and curiosity towards the mysterious Tristan who’d tipped her so generously. They both seemed to have a fascination with observing people.
Her second job, the one she purposely avoided telling Tristan about, was very different indeed. She was there solely to make money, and that was it. She was in charge of screening applicants at a local escort service, and she was well aware that it lingered in the gray area between prostitution and legitimate business.
Theoretically the girls, who were all young and gorgeous, were only there to provide companionship and conversation to men looking for temporary companionship. Sometimes they’d accompany the men to dinner, a cocktail party, or even the opera, but in the end all these men wanted was a good looking woman dangling on their arm for the evening.
Cassidy knew that many, no… most, of the girls provided “extra” services not listed with the agency and whatever they earned was theirs to keep. No money was split with bodyguards or the agency, it was all their own and was to be kept as hush-hush as possible. While she tried her hardest not to look down her nose at these girls, Cassidy could never bring herself to offer her body to some strange man no matter what he was willing to pay. She needed an emotional connection to go with the sex. To her, it wasn’t just a physical act but a deeply intimate and personal one. It would never be a commodity to barter as far as she was concerned.
She’d had a boyfriend in Alabama back in high school and he was her first love. They had kissed and engaged in some heavy petting, but hadn’t gone all the way. Since she’d come to New York she’d met and dated several men, and even had sex with a couple. One ended in a disastrous fight when she discovered she was one in a long line of many, and the other just didn’t hold up over time. They drifted apart. They ran into each other from time to time and remained friendly, but neither actively tried to stay in touch.
She rinsed her plate and fork, grabbed her notebook and a pen out of her bag, and headed back to her bedroom. She turned on the lamp by the bed, placed the notebook and pen on the nightstand, and made her way into the bathroom for her nightly ablutions and tooth brushing.
Now was her time — the time she kept secret. Someday she hoped to be a successful writer, and a well-known one at that. Each night before she went to sleep, she cleared her mind and dove into her notebook.
She started with some name play. Chelsea De’Ath. There was one for a gothic tale, but that wasn’t her genre. She liked real people and made sure the characters she sketched were modeled after them. No gothic tales, zombies, ghosts, witches, or aliens… just real people. People like her. Ordinary people leading ordinary lives who got themselves into unusual situations.
Easily the most unusual thing that had happened to her today was the handsome stranger who knocked on the door after closing: Tristan. Aside from Brad Pitt, he was also a Knight of the Round Table as he certainly looked heroic. She started scribbling in her notebook.
Tristan Williams placed the nozzle back on the tank and turned his mahogany face toward Jake.
“Okay, mister. That’s sixty dollars for the tank, and forty-five for your portables.”
Cassidy had no idea where her stories came from. They just popped out of her head and flowed onto the pages of her notebook. That she couldn’t explain them rationally was exactly why she kept them secret for the time being. They just were there, and she wrote them all down. She used the people she met as story prompts. Look how a tall, tousled-haired, fair-skinned man morphed into an Alabama teenager from home in the blink of an eye. Mostly she was reality-based, and the stories just couldn’t be explained.
Suddenly the extra long day, the missed bus, and her late return caught up with her. She was tired. She closed the notebook, turned out the light, snuggled under the bed covers, and closed her eyes.
Then, bang! Her eyes were open, just like all the other nights lately. Thoughts of the escort service flooded in and made her feel horrible. If mom and dad knew about her second job it would break their hearts. Their beloved daughter working for an escort service. There was no gray area in their minds; it was prostitution and it was dirty
. Cassidy would do anything to get out of there, but she hadn’t found another job that paid as well. She really didn’t have many skills for the corporate world. She was a decent writer, yes, but didn’t have a degree nor did she have any of her work published.
At the escort service she primarily manned the phone, talking to the men who were shopping for a makeshift companion. Was Emma’s hair naturally blonde? Was that a real picture of Cindy? Were Kate’s boobs as big as they looked in her photo?
She also did a small degree of data entry and filing. Everything was electronic these days, so it wasn’t very hard. It was just that, somehow, working there implied that she condoned women selling their bodies which she definitely didn‘t. She tried to imagine having sex with a total stranger, especially one that wasn’t physically appealing, and she couldn’t. She needed the chemistry.
With two jobs, she really didn’t have time to pound the pavement looking for another line of work, nor did she have the time to actively pursue dating. Cassidy felt good that she could send a small but steady stream of money home, but knew her parents would probably refuse the help if they knew where she worked. It wasn’t as if she were one of the girls, it was just the fact that she worked there that would upset them. She never, ever wanted them to be ashamed of her.
She was beating herself up again, as usual. Tomorrow, after working at Ron’s, vowed to spend at least thirty minutes looking for someplace else that was hiring. A bit of time every day was better than nothing, after all. She was sick of feeling guilty, and knew it was time for a change. With that resolution made, she finally drifted off to sleep.
***
“Mornin‘, Cassidy,” Ron greeted as she entered the door the following morning.
He always arrived earlier than his employees at the coffee shop. He’d jokingly said that it was to keep the staff on their feet. He was the proud owner of this small yet successful business and ran a tight ship.