A Nice Cuppa

CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)

Recap: Pramana and Gunter’s ambitions lie beyond the Indonesian courier biz, but for now at least, it’ll provide easy access to international drug markets at nil cost. Just a matter of finding the right package content and destination. The rest is gravy, and untraceable, to them anyway. After coming across Ferina’s Kopi Luwak shipment they plant their goods. Their Toronto contact, Tuti, will intercept.

And now, we continue with the Vanilla Thrilla.

Mississauga, Ontario - This morning

On the outskirts of Toronto, the 316 East spits up a breath of black smoke into traffic and pulls away. A peach 2 inch heel can be seen, abandoned on the sidewalk nearby.

City bus/ Moving - Morning

As we tilt up from the bus floor, a set of cocoa colored toes twitch, perhaps sensing a loss of footwear. The legs attached to it are lean and firm, lower thighs as well. They’re all under Levis but when you can tell, you can tell. A plain white t-shirt reveals a torso toned enough to mean personal trainer, feminine enough to mean interest from its male surroundings. Tuti’s legs cross confidently. A scratchy voice is heard off screen.

COMMUTER 1: (OS) Caramel goddess.

Tuti hears. She makes a point of it, though she doesn’t react. Denim overalled factory workers on the way home from a place with at least one forklift wasn’t worth the energy. She’d listen, but as far as anything two way…..they were on her own.

COMMUTER 1: Think she’s on her way home. Get me?

COMMUTER 2: Food. Rent. We all gotta live my friend.

COMMUTER 1: Tax free my friend.

COMMUTER 2: Says who? The Internal Revenue Pimp?

COMMUTER 1: Ha. Where’d you get that?

They’re half a bus behind her, too far to hear her mouth mime cutthroat obscenities toward the open window. Her upper lip spasms lightly and jars her to attention. Coming off the khat. Nightmares. Depression. The tremors would get worse before her next mouthful of leaves would get her back up to speed. They’d be invisible enough for now though. Still, to her, any twitch felt like a public address. As always during these moments she faced the window. East African plant addict. Whatever. As pathetic as the next thing. Her cell rings.

TUTI: Morning.

BEN: (voiceover) Likewise.

TUTI: (rejuvenated): Whad up G?….Spot?

BEN: (VO) Ha. Way too back alley for you girl. Besides, I changed that name.

TUTI: Not G-Spot anymore?

BEN: (VO) Nah. It’s Cafe Latte now. The younger fans weren’t gettin it, you know?

TUTI: Fans? Congratulations. You’re signing autographs in the basement now?

BEN: (VO) Funny. No, had a gig last night.

TUTI: (jolted upright by the news) You had a gig?! Asshole…thanks for telling!

BEN: (VO) It was all last minute you know? Jay’M couldn’t scratch so Dean gave it over to me.

TUTI: About time.

BEN: (VO) Yeah.

TUTI: I’m so happy for youuuu. How’d it go?

BEN: (VO) You would’ve have liked it. I think you would have liked it. The crowd was jumpin all over Croquet Blvd…

TUTI: I told you that was sharp! Didn’t I tell you…shit, Ben hang on….

BEN: (VO) Yeah yeah.

A press of a button and Tuti changes lines.

TUTI: Hello?

From the other end, a jingle with the cheese appeal of show tunes. It builds to familiar sounding lyrics.

CELL: “The Loooove Boat….soon you’ll be making another run. The Loooove Boat….”

TUTI: Ben, can I call you back?

She hangs up, taking a breath and a moment to think. A smile creeps across her face. Then, noticing the missing shoe for the first time, she calmly leans over, removes the other, and drops it out the window.

COMMUTER 1: She does have a way.

Exterior - Streets of Toronto - Morning

Bloor St. West, a multi-kilometer stretch of open-faced vegetable markets, community centers, ethnic eateries, and mom and pop vendors, struggling and otherwise. KEITH, 19, lanky, good-natured, is another teen feeling his way into adulthood. He hops into a boxy white delivery truck and checks the mirror. “C.D.Delivery” gives its eight foot sides a needed splash of color. With a quick blast of the horn and an open hand out the window, Keith pays courtesy to oncoming traffic, and moves into it. As with any job making use of a vehicle and clipboard, he checks the driver’s manifest while in motion.

KEITH: (tapping the wheel with each syllable) Bar-ton, Oss-ing-ton, High-Park, Jane. Bar-ton, Oss-ing-ton, High-Park, Jane.

Satisfied, he turns up the radio, singing the drop names to the beat.

cut to:

A pair of shoeless feet scurry across a crosswalk. Tuti hovers by a chain of battered newspaper boxes watching on-coming traffic while a homeless man looks on. He shakes his cup in a steady rhythm, the same as Keith’s song incidentally. He sees Tuti’s feet and stops.

TUTI: (following his stare) Rough life.

HOMELESS: Right.

He offers his cup.

TUTI: Sweetheart.

She winks, then disappears into a glossy white delivery truck, still slowing towards her.

Interior - Truck/ Moving

TUTI: (struggling to climb aboard) Don’t stop! Don’t stop!

KEITH: (concerned) Why?

TUTI: Action movie! I’m Angelina. You’re Brad.

KEITH: Oh brother.

She’s secure. He accelerates.

TUTI: How are you?

KEITH: I’m good. I’m good. I’m glad….an…and how are you? Sorry.

TUTI: Never be. You’re a courier. Couriers don’t apologize for anyone. For anything.

KEITH: No?

TUTI: No. You kick ass and speed and be selfish because you’ve got a package to deliver, dammit.

Keith smiles uncontrollably, waiting for Tuti to bust first. He loses.

KEITH: I guess.

An uncomfortable moment of silence. For Keith, being with Tuti is still an awkward windfall, like being asked to the prom by the school’s untouchable female. His face shows it.

KEITH: The box is in back, if you want.

TUTI: Favor for favor darlin. I trust you.

KEITH: Just make sure you seal it…..nice, and tight.

TUTI: So what did you think of Tina?

KEITH: (shifting in place) Tina? Good! Uhh, she really liked fruit.

TUTI: You went out for dinner?

KEITH: We, we went out for dinner, yes. She had a good appetite, for such a petite little thing - why are you setting me up with those people?

TUTI: You don’t like my friends?

KEITH: I do. I like your friends very very much, but it’s not…..not the scenario I was look-

TUTI: (massaging his neck) What’s wrong?

KEITH: Nothing.

TUTI: They don’t like you?

KEITH: No. They don’t. They act like they do, very well, but when they smile….it’s always a smile with dead eyes, and considering I do my own laundry only half the time and still call my old man “Pop”, maybe I’m not qualified to know. But I do. I can tell in a heartbeat that there’s no genuine interest in them being there with me and I’d really rather them….

TUTI: It’s okay….

KEITH: …..have some interest.

TUTI: (massaging deeper) Not a problem. Not a problem.

KEITH: It makes a difference.

TUTI: It always does. Like walking on air.

KEITH: That’s what I’d like. I’d like to walk on some air. At least in theory.

TUTI: I know a girl.

KEITH: Thank you.

TUTI: I know a girl for you. You deserve it Keith.

KEITH: Thank you. I’m not saying I’m looking for guarantees. I’d just like……it’s hard to meet people.

TUTI: All around the world….it’s difficult.

KEITH: You know what I mean? Of course you don’t. Look at you….no disrespect.

TUTI: None taken. It’s opened some doors, I can’t lie.

KEITH: Just don’t want that empty look again, like they’re waiting for dry cleaning.

TUTI: Leave it to me.

KEITH: And wine is expensive.

TUTI: Go Tex-Mex.

KEITH: Thank you. Thanks Tuti.

TUTI: You’re welcome. I’m going to check out the box now. You relax okay? Think positive.

KEITH: I’m so positive it hurts.

Tuti slips into the back of the truck.

KEITH: (calling back) I took it off the stack for you!

TUTI: (pause) I don’t see it.

KEITH: Right there on the floor. Only one alone.

TUTI: This one on the floor?

KEITH: That’s it.

TUTI: (to herself) Punk-ass can-never-count-on-a-teen-with-freckles-maggot.

KEITH: Sorry?

Tuti’s head appears from the rear compartment.

TUTI: (deadpan) What did I tell you?

KEITH: What…what did you tell me? You told me…

TUTI: Where.

KEITH: What? Where what?

TUTI: The shipping address you dimple-faced virgin caesar STAIN! WHERE?!!

KEITH: (jarred) Uhh. The Cup?

TUTI: (in even more deadly sounding whispers) The Cuppa. The Cuppa. Got it? They sell coffee. Much better to conceal abusive substances than sports bras.

Tuti vanishes again. We hear sounds of her rummaging through the boxes.

KEITH: The Cuppa? Oh.

TUTI: What? Wouldn’t happen to have been there already would you Keith?

(To be continued….)