The Espressologist

by Kristina Springer

  “Jane!” she says, exaggerating the “a.” “Why haven’t you been going to classes?”

  “Because,” I whine, “they’re boring! When will I ever need to know how to make a cheese soufflé? And I suck in ceramics. Even my grandma wouldn’t want one of my spun pots. Seriously. None of this stuff will matter when I’m designing red-carpet gowns in fashion school.”

  “You can’t skip classes, though. You’ll get kicked out of school.”

  “I haven’t gotten in trouble yet.”

  “Yet is the key word here,” Em says, and frowns. “And what about your college credit courses?”

  “I don’t like the college either.”

  “Why not?” she asks.

  “It’s . . . not what I expected. I want to go to school to study fashion, not stupid English and chemistry. And the people are weird. It’s all like, people who couldn’t make it into real colleges and old people returning to school. I just don’t like it,” I say, pouting now.

  “So what are you going to do? Just not go? You have to go.”

  “Why?”

  Em sighs and I feel a lecture looming. “Jane, I know you think senior year is just a blow-off year, but it isn’t. What if the School of the Art Institute asks to see your grades from this year? What are you going to do then?”

  “They wouldn’t do that. Would they?”

  “They might. Do you really want to take the chance?” she asks. Hmph. We’re both silent for a moment. “Just try. Will you go to classes tomorrow?”

  “Fine, whatever. Can we talk about something else now?”

  “Only if you promise to go to school tomorrow,” she retorts.

  “Omigod, Mom, I promise, I promise! Jesus!” I say, annoyed.

  “Okay, fine, I’ll drop it then.” She looks victorious. “How much time do we have left?”

  “About five minutes,” I answer, alternately tapping my left index and middle fingers on the table. “Ooh, did I tell you what is going down tonight?” I suddenly cheer up.

  “No, what?”

  “Sarah’s friend Simone is coming in. I’m going to introduce her to Gavin. He doesn’t know it, though, so I’m crossing my fingers that it goes well.”

  “I hope it does.” A slow smile spreads across her face. She’s looking at the door.

  “What?” I ask, and turn around to see what or whom she is looking at. My frat boys are walking into the store, with Will in the lead.

  “Hey, guys!” I call. “You’re early today. Gimme a minute and I’ll come help you.” I race into the break room and throw down my purse and coat, tie on my apron, and get back up front in fifteen seconds flat. Daisy, my thirtysomething too-tight-clothes-wearing floozy co-worker is flirting with my boys, and I want to take a rolled-up paper and smack her in the nose. Heel, Daisy! Heel! “I got it, Dais. Take a break,” I tell her. Her mouth opens in protest and I give her my best raised-eyebrow, “I’m the assistant manager, do what I say” look and it actually works! Power is so cool. Daisy doesn’t say a word and slips away. “Okay, guys, the usual?” I take my place behind the register.

  “Absolutely,” Will replies with a killer smile. Man, he is hot. All three of the guys are good-looking, but he is just amazing. He’s wearing a dark blue button-down shirt open at the neck, jeans faded so perfectly they could only be bought that way, and dark brown sneakers. His broad chest and shoulders make his loose-fitting brown corduroy jacket hang perfectly on him.

  “So, you guys on your way to a fraternity meeting?” I ask in my flirty voice. At least I hope it sounds flirty.

  “Not tonight,” he answers, flashing his perfectly straight white teeth. “We’re actually on our way to an engagement party for one of the senior brothers at a restaurant a few blocks down.”

  “That sounds fun!” I say. I make the shots of espresso and pour them into each waiting cup.

  “Eh.” He shrugs and bats his big beautiful midnight-blue eyes at me. “It’d be more fun if you were there.” What? Be still my beating-out-of-my-chest heart, did he just ask me out? Or is he just being cute and funny?

  “Oh . . . um . . . well . . .” I stammer. Cute boy flirts and I turn into a moron. I must regain a grip on the situation. They don’t know I’m not as cool as I seem. Think, Jane, think. Must respond with something clever. “You’ll have to try to get along without me—I’m making espressos all night,” I return. That sounded okay, didn’t it? Not great, but not totally lame. I hear a giggle from back by the display of fifteen-dollar seasonal stuffed bears. Em’s laughing at me sounding like a dork. Mental note: must kill her later. The other guys are smiling at me now, too. It’s hard to think in the face of such cuteness!

  “Maybe some other time?” Will suggests, taking his drink and handing Grant and Adam theirs.

  “Sure,” I say with a smile, and watch them walk out the door and disappear on the busy sidewalk.

  Shoot, I forgot to charge them again.

  “Why do you keep checking your watch?” Em asks as we walk around the store wiping down the tables. It’s strangely slow for six at night.

  “I’m waiting for Simone to show up. I hope she doesn’t chicken out. She said she’d come in tonight around six so I can casually introduce her to Gavin.”

  “I think you better come up with Plan B. Here comes Gavin,” she says. I turn toward the door to see Gavin walking in. He looks more attractive than usual today in beat-up jeans and a rust-orange sweater over a T-shirt. His loose dark blond curls frame his face perfectly. It’s a little too “surfer dude” for Chicago, but it somehow works on him.

  “Hi, Gavin!” I say brightly. “I was hoping you’d come in today.”

  “You were?” He returns my smile.

  “Yeah,” I answer. “Can you stay for a few? I want to talk to you.”

  “Sure, you want to sit?”

  “Yeah, gimme a second and I’ll bring your drink to you.”

  Gavin walks over to a table at the far end of the store and sits down.

  I start to make his iced vanilla latte and Em comes up next to me. “What are you going to talk to him about?”

  “No clue. I’ve got to stall him, though, and see if Simone comes in,” I tell her. “Gav,” I say, raising my voice. “It’s going to be just a minute. I have to run in back for more vanilla.” That should buy me some time.

  “Okay, I’ll be here,” he says.

  I walk to the storeroom to pretend to look for the syrup and run smack into Derek. “Hey, Derek. How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” he replies, clearly irritated. “Listen, I just stopped in for a minute; I have a date. You need to do inventory tonight and have the order for next week’s supplies faxed over to corporate before you leave. Here you go.” He dumps a stack of papers in my hands. Yikes. “You’ve seen me do it before, right?”

  “Oh sure,” I say, “dozens of times.” Have I seen him do it? Hmm . . . no idea. Well, it can’t be that hard.

  “Good, then you’ll have no problems,” he says, brushing some invisible dirt from the right leg of his jeans.

  “No problems at all,” I say. “Have a great date.” He gives me a sneer and heads for the door. God, I wonder what poor girl he suckered into going on a date with him?

  Okay, I think I’ve stalled long enough. Time to get back to Gavin. I head to the front of the store with a new bottle of vanilla syrup in my hands. Oh, luck! Simone is here.

  “Hi, Simone!” I say loud enough for Gavin to hear. “It’s SO good to see you!”

  “Hi,” she replies hesitantly, once again looking at me like I’m a nut job.

  “You want a medium dry cappuccino, right?”

  “Yeah.” She looks at me in puzzlement. “How did you remember?”

  “Steel trap.” I tap the side of my forehead. “Hey, Gavin,” I call, and turn in his direction. “I’m making your drink now. Sorry it took so long getting the syrup.” Simone looks at Gavin and I can see her eyebrows rise in appreciation.

  “He IS hot,” she whispers t
o me as she hands me her money for the drink.

  “And sweet,” I tell her. “Hold on and I’ll introduce you.” I quickly finish Gavin’s drink and yell out, “Medium iced vanilla latte.”

  “That’s me, obviously,” he says, smiling as he approaches the counter.

  “Corporate rules state I must yell each customer’s drink at them before handing it over,” I say, and both Simone and Gavin laugh. “Gavin, this is my friend Simone. Simone, this is Gavin.” They grin at each other.

  “Hi,” Gavin says.

  “How are you doing?” Simone asks.

  “Oh, crap,” I say, and they both look at me. “Sorry.” I smile weakly. “Now I’m missing medium coffee cups. I have to run and get them. I’ll be just a minute.” Em looks at the stack of cups clearly sitting behind the counter and smirks.

  “I’ll help you.” She follows me to the storeroom. “No cups, huh?” she says once we get there.

  “Yep,” I reply, opening a cabinet door and retrieving a package of cups. “And I totally need your help carrying them out there, too.”

  “I figured!” She laughs. “I’ll carry one end and you carry the other.” We wait another minute and then head back up front. Both Simone and Gavin are still smiling.

  I notice Simone write something on a brown recycled-paper napkin and hand it to Gavin. I add a few more cups to the stack already there and make Simone her drink. “Medium dry . . .” I start to bellow, and Simone laughs.

  “Right here,” she says, taking her drink and turning to Gavin. “Talk to you soon,” she tells him.

  “Definitely.” He watches her leave.

  “What did I miss?” I ask innocently.

  “We’re going to get together this weekend,” he says. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?” Oh, yeah. I told him I had to talk to him, didn’t I? Think fast.

  “You know, I just wanted to see how you were doing since your breakup with Anne, but it looks like you are doing fantastically!”

  “Yeah, I’m doing well. Thanks for caring,” he says, and smiles warmly at me.

  “Sure, see you later,” I say. Gavin heads out into the cold night air. I turn to Em, who is now beside me at the counter. “I did what I could; it’s up to them now.”

  Em chuckles and begins wiping down the espresso machine.

  4

  On Tuesday afternoon, I’m walking briskly down Wabash on my way to work, feeling proud of myself. I went back to school today and actually sat through all my morning high school classes and my two afternoon college classes, taking notes and everything. I even swapped e-mails with this girl Courtney in my chemistry class who said she’d help me get up to speed. The college teachers were all really nice and understanding about me being gone the last couple of weeks to take care of my poor sick grandma. (I had to say something, right?) My study hall teacher never even noticed I was gone; my home ec teacher assigned some make-up raspberry tarts and a cheese strudel to cover my missed assignments; and my ceramics teacher was so laid back all he said was that it was “cool” to see me. I walk into the store and instantly I can see that Derek is pissed.

  “What’s wrong?” I venture, not really wanting to know, in case it has something to do with me.

  “What did I ask you to do last night? What did I specifically stop into the store and ask you to do?”

  Uh-oh. The inventory. I totally forgot. “Oh, Derek, I’m so sorry. I forgot.”

  “ ‘Oh, Derek, I’m so sorry. I forgot,’ ” he mocks, in a really silly high voice. I so don’t sound like that. “Yeah, well, a hell of a lot of good that does me. I guess we just don’t need stock for next week, huh?”

  “I’m sorry, I really am. Is there anything I can do?” I ask. Please don’t fire me, please don’t fire me, I chant silently in my head.

  “You did quite enough,” he angrily huffs. I notice Sarah hovering in front of the cash register with a slightly amused expression, pretending not to listen.

  “Well, is there someone I can call? We are only half a day late with the order. I’m sure they can still take it.”

  “Never mind,” he says. “I already took care of it.”

  “We’ll still get our stock in for next week, then?” I ask, wondering why he is freaking out at me.

  “Yes, we’ll still get our stock in for next week.” He slams a box of cups into a cabinet and stomps off to his office.

  I look at Sarah with my jaw dropped in a “what was that?” look and she mouths, “Bad date.”

  “Oh.” I giggle and she joins me.

  “So, hey,” Sarah says, “Simone called me a little while ago on my cell. She said that you set her up with Gavin.”

  “That I did,” I say proudly. “Aren’t they freakin’ cute together?”

  “Totally. Simone is in heaven. She said he already called her and they talked for two hours last night. They have a lunch date for tomorrow.”

  “That’s great.” I’m happy that my plan seems to be working.

  “I didn’t know you were into matchmaking. Maybe you can hook me up with someone? I haven’t had a date since Halloween.”

  “Really? You want me to set you up?”

  “Sure, why not? Simone is happy and I want in on it, too. Go for it.”

  “Okay. Let me think about it for a while and I’ll see what I come up with.”

  “Cool,” Sarah says. “Hey, are you okay for a few? I’m going to run to the bathroom.”

  “Yeah, go ahead.” I wait until she’s gone and then pull out my notebook. Sarah, Sarah, Sarah. Hmm. She’s a little more difficult. Sarah is more of a seasonal girl. That is, she changes her drink with each season or holiday. I flip through the pages and finally settle on pumpkin spice latte, her current drink of choice.

  “Ah, there we are,” I mumble out loud.

  Small Pumpkin Spice Latte

  Lots of fun and a bit sassy. Up-to-date with all the latest trends and has a bit of an exotic flair. Wants to have a good time and not be tied down for long. Cute and playful. Likes a good thing but not too much of a good thing. Not the commitment type. She’s the kind of friend who is a lot of fun to hang out with and doesn’t make you feel like you owe her anything . . .

  “You’ve GOT to be kidding me,” Derek says as he steps around the corner, staring directly at my notebook.

  Ah, crap. Man, I’m just batting a thousand today with him.

  “What do you think you are doing?” he asks, just as two older women with Tammy Faye Bakker makeup jobs walk in and head straight for the counter. “Sarah? Sarah?” he calls out. I stuff my notebook back under the counter.

  “She’s in the bathroom,” I say.

  Sarah comes walking quickly toward us, smoothing down her apron. “Sorry about that.” She gives us one of those “you know how it is when you have to go” smiles.

  “Sarah, cover Jane. Jane, let’s go back in my office and talk.”

  Ugh. This is so not cool. I give Sarah an “it’s no big deal” look and follow Derek to his office. I have to think quickly before we get there. I know he is going to yell at me about my notebook, so I need a logical reason for having it up at the counter.

  Derek stomps into his office, points to a seat to indicate that I should sit down, and shuts the door behind me.

  “What’s up?” I ask, playing stupid.

  He sighs, sitting heavily into his chair opposite me. “Jane, you understand that you’re the assistant manager now, right?”

  “Yeah, of course.” Duh, Derek, I was totally here last week when you gave me the job.

  “Well, then, that means you have to start acting like one. You need to be setting an example for the other employees. You need to be backing me up whenever I need you to do something. First you screw up the inventory, and then I catch you doing your homework while you are working. You’ve had the job for what, four days now? Maybe I made a mistake in promoting you. Maybe it is too much for you to handle . . .”

  “No!” I protest loudly, interrupting his tirade. �
�I’m totally perfect for this job. And I wasn’t doing my homework.” Please, I’ve been back at school for all of eight hours. I haven’t reached the point of doing homework yet.

  “You weren’t?” His eyebrows shoot up and he tightens his lips.

  “No. I was working. I was . . .” Hmm . . . what was I doing? “I was coming up with new specialty drinks. I thought maybe we could do an ‘Assistant Manager’s Specialty Drink of the Week’ and feature what I come up with. I was being inventive. Creative. I was being a go-getter. I was ‘thinking outside the box.’ ” Ooh . . . that’s a good one.

  “Hmm.” He seems to consider this. Believe me, believe me, believe me, I beam at him with my eyes. “Well, that’s not a bad idea,” he says. I relax into my seat. “But it would have to be a ‘Manager’s Specialty Drink of the Week.’ ” He straightens up and gets a little attitude in his voice. “I mean, I think people would want to know what the manager suggests since I AM the highest-ranking person here.”

  I nod. “Of course.”

  “And it might raise sales,” Derek says. He glances off to the side of his desk where his computer monitor sits and runs his index finger horizontally across his chin. Yeah, I’m sure he’s thinking more sales than Todd Stone. “Your idea isn’t half bad.”

  “Thank you!” I beam. Wow, three pats on the back for me for flipping this situation around so quickly.

  “So, what did you come up with?” he asks.

  Oh, crap.

  “Well . . .” I stall for time. “I don’t have my notebook with me, but . . .”

  “Yes?” he prods.

  “What about a soy raspberry mocha with a swirl of caramel?” I suggest, crossing my fingers behind my chair.

  “That’s gross,” he says flatly.

  Ah, well, they can’t all be winners.

  “I’m still working on it,” I tell him. “Give me some time.”

  “You lost me at caramel. But it wasn’t a bad try. How about this? Come up with a month’s worth of specialty drinks and get back to me with them. Your idea is okay.” He gives me an approving nod. Derek actually looks almost happy.