by Adam Selzer
“Oops,” she said cutely, and stood up in front of the desk.
It was too late, though. I could feel myself, you know, responding to having had her butt on my lap, and with it came that awful feeling of guilt I’d had ever since she’d first kissed me in the cab. I wasn’t supposed to feel that sort of stirring about girls other than Anna—I didn’t even want to!
“You walked all the way out here from Oak Meadow Mills?” Brian asked. “Are you insane?”
“Yeah,” she said, sipping her coffee and smiling. “I just had to see you guys in action. Especially since I knew Leon wanted me to be here.”
“Um, Anna,” I said, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. “Let’s talk in the back for a second. Filming stuff.”
And she followed me to the back room, which was a tiny place featuring a little desk, a large walk-in cooler, a sink, an ice machine, and a whole bunch of crates full of coffee cakes and stuff.
“You know that letter you helped Jenny write?” I asked, summoning every nerve in my body. “The one that said ‘Have you ever seen a girl naked?’ at the bottom?”
“Yeah.” She grinned. “But you know I’m not about to get naked in the back room of a Wackfords in the middle of a piracy.”
“I know, I know. But, um…I think you should know that the letter was to me.”
Anna paused for a second, and I stood frozen, ready for her to slap me for not telling her right away, then go out to murder Jenny. Or, equally bad, she could say, “Oh! Well, you and I aren’t going anywhere—you should go out with her!” But then, after that horrible second, she laughed out loud.
“Oh, God!” she said in this half groan, half laugh thing. “I guess I should have known. It’s not like I haven’t noticed her putting her butt on your arm on the couch!”
“You knew about that?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, smirking but looking slightly bashful, possibly for the first time in her life. “She’s not the only one, you know. You can’t fool me with my own tricks!”
“So you aren’t mad or anything?”
She laughed again. “Leon,” she said, “I can’t blame her for liking you! I mean, what’s not to like?”
It’s weird how Anna could make me feel like a total dork, or a complete asshole, or the luckiest guy in the world, all in the same day, on many occasions. She never stopped surprising me. Something about her ability to laugh and groan with one sound made me wonder which she meant to do sometimes.
“But…she kissed me!” I said.
“Really?” asked Anna, suddenly raising an eyebrow. “Did you kiss her back?”
“No. She sort of surprised me,” I said.
She started giggling again. “Poor Jenny. You’re probably the first guy she ever liked, and she has no idea what to do.”
“Well, you know,” I said, “she was asking me what the deal with us is, and I couldn’t really say for sure. I mean, we’ve never said we’re, you know…”
Anna smiled and grabbed me by the hand. “Sorry,” she said. And she sort of half chuckled. “I thought it went without saying. But I forget how badly you suck at telepathy.”
And she kissed me on the nose again. I kissed her back, on the lips.
“Come on,” she said, chuckling again and bringing me back down to earth. “We have to go be pirates a while longer before the boss shows up.”
And we went back out, holding hands. Jenny looked a bit crestfallen when she noticed that, but Anna and I ignored it as well as we could. Or I did as well as I could, anyway. I have to admit that I sort of felt bad for her. But right about then, I was mostly feeling good for myself.
As we started straightening the bits of the “office” that had gotten messed up, Anna asked Jenny how her letter had gone over—without even hinting that she knew who it was for.
“Not very well,” said Jenny, looking sort of sad.
“That’s too bad,” said Anna.
“Well,” said Jenny. “I guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”
“If at first you don’t succeed,” said Anna.
I’d been worrying my head off about what Anna would say if she found out, and about what she really thought about me. And she’d handled it all like a regular pro.
Jenny sat down in one of the nice chairs near our watercooler and kept staring at me. Anna leaned over and whispered, “Looks like I have some competition!” in my ear.
“Nothing wrong with some friendly competition,” I said.
She chuckled again and whispered, “Yeah, and I won’t be easily beaten. But be nice to Jenny. You’re probably her first crush.”
“Not counting Jim Morrison,” I whispered back.
“True. But he’s dead, so he doesn’t really count.”
Anna walked over to the chair where Jenny was sitting and handed her my camera. “Here,” she said. “Hang on to this for a second.”
“Are you sure?” Jenny asked.
“Yeah,” said Anna. “Your parents won’t be able to see you if you stay behind a camera!”
“I don’t know,” said Jenny. “They might hear my voice, or wonder who was doing the filming if all four of you are in the shot.”
“Hey, you’re here already,” said Anna. “Might as well be hanged for a sheep as a lamb.”
Jenny sat still for a second, then slowly started to smile. “Break on through,” she said, holding the camera up to her eye.
Anna walked back behind the desk and said, “I need all crew members to report for a very important business meeting behind the counter.”
Brian, Edie, and I walked over to the counter, and Jenny walked over to film us. Anna walked over to ask the guy who was doing finance if he wanted to attend the meeting, but he smiled and politely waved her off.
“Aw, come on!” Andy said. “Join us!”
“Nah,” said the guy. “Any of you guys ever been to a business meeting? They’re usually really boring.”
“I’ll make sure this one is no exception,” said Anna.
Anna smoothed her dress, cleared her throat, and began to spout off some business nonsense.
“MaxEdgeCorp is laying off about five hundred employees, according to the rumors,” she said, with a totally straight face, “and their stock has just about doubled, probably because they finally fired Jack Preston as acting president and brought in Frank Zappa’s corpse; that ought to be a good sign, if you look at his track record with OmniEdge. Now, in regards to the drop-off in the holiday figures and the estimates, I’d say…”
The door opened, and a middle-aged woman wearing a green coat over a tacky green outfit came in. She looked like an evil version of my elementary school librarian. The wind slammed the door shut behind her.
“You guys better have coffee!” she shouted.
“Those first five hundred are just the beginning, you know,” I said, ignoring her and playing along with Anna. “It’ll push the stock up enough that you can take the wife and kids to dinner, but if you really want the windfall, wait until the third quarter, at least.”
The lady in the tacky suit was standing at the counter now, saying “Excuse me!” rather loudly. Clearly, she was not a fan of the “inside voice,” which my elementary school librarian never shut up about.
Andy turned toward her, glaring.
“Excuse me,” he said, “but we’re trying to hold an important business meeting right now. We can’t be disturbed.”
“Excuse me,” the woman barked, “but I’d like to order a triple mezzo nonfat caramel latte.”
“We don’t sell those,” said Anna. “We just do accounting and midlevel management strategies here. Now if you’ll excuse us, we’re in the middle of a meeting!” She then went right back to talking, without missing a beat.
“The third quarter will indeed be very interesting,” she said, all business. “Once the merger goes through they’re gonna be swimming in money over there. So you’re right, you should wait to sell, but buy now before more of the layoffs go through. Now, on t
o the matter of borrowing against equities…”
The woman finally threw up her hands. “Will one of you hooligans just make me a drink?” she asked.
“Lady,” said Andy, “that sounded like age discrimination. Don’t make me send you to cultural sensitivity training!”
“Don’t make me call your boss,” said the woman to Andy. “I can have you fired. I know you’re not allowed to let kids behind the counter.”
“Call away,” said Andy. “I’m getting fired today anyway.”
“To conclude our meeting,” said Anna, interrupting, “business is good. Meeting adjourned.”
“There. Thanks for waiting,” said Andy to the woman. “Now, do you want a drink?”
“You know what?” she said. “I don’t!”
And she turned on her heel and walked out of the store, as though she’d just had the last word. As the door slammed shut behind her, I heard her shouting “Good gravy!” at the snowy heavens.
“Well,” said Andy, “she certainly showed me.” He and Troy laughed.
“Man, I hate that lady,” said Troy. “She always makes us remake the drink four or five times before it’s good enough.”
Brian took his camera to the window and filmed the tacky lady getting back into her car.
“You wanna pack it in while we’re still ahead?” I asked. “I’d say we’ve already had a pretty successful takeover. We have more than enough footage.”
“Maybe we should,” said Anna. “Jenny? What do you think?”
Jenny shrugged, and I noticed she was zooming in on my face. Probably had been for some time. “Maybe you should,” she said.
“Um, not yet,” said Brian. “Look who’s here.”
I turned toward the door and saw Coach Hunter walking across the parking lot.
“Oh man,” said Troy. “I remember that guy.”
“I don’t believe this,” I said. “First Mrs. Smollet, and now this jerk?”
“Who is it?” asked Andy.
“It’s the middle school gym teacher,” Troy told him.
“I’ll decaf him.”
“Places!” shouted Anna. She and I got into the chairs behind the desks, Brian picked up his camera, and Edie got mine back from Jenny, who smiled and headed back to the booth in the corner. Coach Hunter walked in the door and was clearly surprised to see us.
“What’s going on here?” he asked as kicked the snow off his boots.
“Wackfords has been taken over by pirates,” Anna explained, “and is now an accounting and midlevel management strategies office.”
He stared ahead for a second, not saying anything, with that confused look he always got when confronted with a problem that could not be solved with push-ups.
“You want a drink?” Andy asked him. “On the house.”
“Yes, please,” he said. “I don’t know what’s going on in this town anymore!”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Andy, who was polishing a bottle of syrup and sort of looking like a bartender. “Want to talk about it?”
Coach Hunter stepped around behind the desks and put his elbow up on the counter with a sigh. “I work down at the middle school, coaching gym for these kids,” he said, indicating us. “In the past week, some lousy kid has slipped thirteen nasty poems about how much it sucks to be a gym teacher into my office. And I’m certain that these punks know who it was.”
“I keep telling you we don’t!” I said.
“My friend,” said Andy, “you’re talking to a man who knows all about bad jobs. I’ve had plenty of them.”
“I thought I’d come into the coffeehouse,” Coach Hunter continued, “sit back and relax for a while, and maybe ask around, see if anyone knows anything. I mean, it’s a coffee shop, all the artistic kids probably hang out here on the weekend, right? So I drive out here through a blizzard, and what do I find? More students, taking the place over and saying it’s an office now. I just can’t get a break! And I’m on to you, Harris!” He pointed at me.
“It’s not polite to point,” I said.
“Harris!” he barked. “Drop and give…” He paused. Obviously, he couldn’t order me to do push-ups outside of school, but trying to do so was a reflex. Without being able to fall back on his instincts, he was at a loss for words.
“Well,” said Andy, “I’m sorry to hear that. What would you care to drink? Anything you like is on us.”
He looked over at me, as if to say “Let this one go,” and I nodded. Poor Coach Hunter really did seem to be at the end of his rope. I imagined him leaning on the counter, downing shots of coffee and slurring things like “I do push-ups better when I’ve had a few!”
He was also, I noticed, the first person who came in thinking Wackfords was a cool coffeehouse where artists hung out. I could see the slogan now: “Wackfords Coffee: Your Gym Teacher Thinks It’s Pretty Hip.”
“I’ll try a cappuccino,” said Coach Hunter.
“Sure,” said Andy. “Troy, make the good man a double.”
“Sure thing,” said Troy.
Troy got to work making it, and Coach Hunter looked down at the desk.
“That stapler looks familiar,” he said.
“Well,” I said, “many staplers look alike, I guess.”
He grunted a bit, then looked out the window.
“Leon,” said Anna. “Look outside!”
Out in the parking lot, a familiar van—my parents’—was pulling in, and I could see my dad’s mostly bald head at the wheel.
“What in the fresh, green hell?” I said. “I didn’t know he even came to Wackfords!”
“Maybe he was looking for another place to do some slam dancing,” said Anna.
“At Wackfords?” I asked. Then I shook my head for a second. It really did make sense—if there was anybody who thought Wackfords would be a really groovy place to rock out, it would be my dad.
He did a bit of a double take when he opened the door and saw me. I smiled sheepishly.
“Leon!” he said. “Your note said you were out doing stuff for your monument.”
“We are,” I said. “It’s sort of a weird monument.”
He looked at me suspiciously for a second. “I guess it must be,” he said. “I didn’t think you liked Wackfords.”
Right about then, Troy called out, “Mezzo cappuccino,” and put a cup on the counter. Coach Hunter picked it up, took all of a single sip, and made a nasty face.
“Where’s the drink?” he said. “This is a cup of foam!”
“That’s a cappuccino,” said Andy. “It’s two shots of espresso, a dash of milk, and a whole lot of foam.”
“The cappuccinos at the Quickway aren’t like that!” he grumbled.
“Hey, dude,” said my dad, chuckling. “This isn’t the gas station! Get hip!”
Coach Hunter frowned at him, and I knew I had to break up the conversation before Dad found out that Coach Hunter knew who I was. He’d surely ask how I was doing in gym class.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I asked Dad.
“I’m meeting Mr. Streich here in a few minutes,” he said. “I’m going to talk to him about being in my rock band.”
“Mr. Streich is coming here?” I asked.
“Yeah,” said Dad. “I thought he’d be here by now, in fact. Guess the snow slowed him down.”
“Oh crap,” Anna muttered. And she got up, grabbed me by the arm, and dragged me back into the back room.
“We’ve got to call it a day,” she said. “If Streich finds out exactly what we’re doing, there’s no way he’ll let us use it as our project.”
“He might,” I said. “He’ll probably think it’s funny.”
“Yeah, but it also might be a felony, or at least a misdemeanor,” said Anna. “If there’s any evidence whatsoever that he knew about it ahead of time, he’ll be fired for sure.”
Just then, Andy stuck his head around the corner.
“Minor problem,” he said. “King Harold’s chariot just arrived.” He ma
de a little trumpet noise.
“The boss?” Anna asked.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “We were just about to pack things up.”
McHobos look for signs to tell them it’s time to move on, according to Andy. If Mr. Streich, my dad, and the boss showing up at the same time wasn’t a sign for pirates to give up the ship, I didn’t know what was.
We ran out from the back, quickly told Brian and Edie what was going on, and started cleaning up as fast as we could.
I went on a mad dash around the store, tearing down the motivational posters, while Anna got the watercooler and filing cabinet away from the condiment bar. Brian and Edie got started folding up the tables. I just barely managed to get the last poster down before Harold, who was a lanky guy with mustache and a hairline that had receded its way to his neck, walked in. He looked a bit like an older, balder version of Mr. Morton. Brian and Edie had the tables folded up, but they were still on the floor, along with the folding chairs, and the plants were still set up.
“What’s going on here?” Harold asked. He looked around the room, a bit confused and a bit horrified. He really did seem to have a stick up his butt.
“Just business as usual, Harold,” said Andy, wiping down the counter.
“I mean, what’s with these tables and ferns?”
Brian stepped forward. “Cookies,” he said.
Harold looked over at him. “Cookies?” he asked.
“Yeah,” said Brian. “Girl Scout cookies. My little sister had about thirty boxes left over, and we set up a table here to sell them off. We just sold the last box a minute ago, so we’re packing up.”
“You guys look a little old to sell Girl Scout cookies,” Harold said.
“A little male, too. I’m just saying,” said Brian.
“All the actual Girl Scouts are out on a winter jamboree this weekend in Shaker Heights,” I said.
Harold stared at me. “And the ferns?”
“We thought they were a nice touch.”
Harold looked back up at Andy. “Did you allow them to set up like this?”
Andy shrugged. “I didn’t see the harm,” he said casually. “The Girl Scouts are a fine organization, and I know Wackfords wants to be involved with the community. They were going to set up in the parking lot, like usual, but I couldn’t let them freeze to death.”