A Nice Cuppa

CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)

Recap: Ferina and her father have a talk via telephone, though it’s not exactly a heart to heart. There’s a tension between them that smacks of the daughter who’s never been able to please. More than her voice even, he seems pleased to know the Luwak has arrived, and is waiting at The Cuppa. He’ll be by.

And now, we continue with the Vanilla Thrilla.

Interior - Pel’s Nightclub - West Sumatra, Indonesia

Thatched roof on barely legal building code. An open-walled bar brings the evening tropics in just fine, and a string of revelers that never ends. A million years running. Life is a cold beer and the sweaty hand that never wants to let it go. With a rhythm that would make a mountain goat toss it’s cookies, Gunter dances, two- fisting Bintangs as he goes. A warm tanned body sways to his right, and left; neither a partner, barely acquaintances actually, but sedated smiles say they’re just happy to be there. They’re in the zone, and given the current dance tempo, lucky to be standing at all. Gunter mimes an epileptic gecko lizard in slow motion. He suddenly snaps at something behind his shoulder.

GUNTER: What?!

There’s no one there, and he covers it as well as anyone soaked in liquor, by making it more obvious.

GUNTER: Oh.

He salutes the ladies. The closest, Mina, goes cross-eyed trying to track his fingers.

GUNTER: Keepin the beat…beat machines I’m seein! What d’ya drinkin? Are you…beerrrr yeah? Right on. What d’ya want? Yeah you want….I’ll be want back. Awww, shakin it! Not a bad thing, nooooo.

And on to the bar, a carpenter’s nightmare. Not a right angle on it, but for make-shift furniture it gets plenty of business.

GUNTER: Bintangs. Help me out bro. (to himself) 3.8% is toooo loooooow.

Gunter turns back to the dance floor. He smiles, with no idea at what, then locates the girls and it’s suddenly double happiness. A heavy finger pokes Gunter’s shoulder.

VOICE: Where’s Pramana?

GUNTER: (trance like) Hey…ho…Pramo…Primo….spaghetti sauce. (slaps down currency on the bar) Appreciate it.

VOICE: (a harder tap follows) Gunter?

GUNTER: Someone’s lookin for-

One turn towards the voice later and it’s the world’s greatest hangover cure. Not even a midget in a tutu could ease this moment. Steel girder tension.

GUNTER: (shaken) Hi……I don’t know. I have his number.

Gunter’s a new man, digging through his pockets, spilling beer on himself in the process.

GUNTER: Oh, the ladies…..

The face watching isn’t amused.

GUNTER: ….can wait. They’re independent like that.

VOICE: See you soon.

It speaks and it leaves.

Interior - Pramana’s Bungalow - 2 am

He lives his life a foot from the ground. Pramana lies stretched out on an extended wood framed futon. Potted ferns rim the baseboards on either side of him, end tables and floor lamps only sit to take up space. Stacks of half-read books sit in the shadows, in the dark fringes (Moby Dick sure to be one). Plenty of mood light throughout though. Candles the size of bison skulls line the futon at his feet. The glow licks against his bare legs and torso, setting the scene, a still body like an exorcism in waiting. The phone ring would have woken him if he weren’t already. Pramana calmly reaches by the bedside and picks up.

PRAMANA: Tuti.

TUTI: Wooti.

PRAMANA: It’s late-i.

TUTI: You’re the future hon. Still gotta brush my breakfast teeth from your day before.

PRAMANA: What d’you want Tuti?

TUTI: What do I want? What do you want? You are you, Fredrick’s of Hollyw-

PRAMANA: What d’you want you Khat junkie?

Silence, and then….

TUTI: I don’t have a problem with it. S’my jar of peanut butter by the bed darlin-

PRAMANA: Jiffy don’t flutter your face Face Junkie, so answer me. What do you want?

In Canadian time she winced, on top of a eye twitch. She knew the difference well enough. She knew how to tell emotive movements of the skin from chemically induced ones. Too well. She appreciated the power to undermine a human being (couriers for example) herself, to get her own way whether with her own body or with the bodies of close relations happy and lean enough to help her out. Her friends. People used each other, what else was new. From the beginning of time people used each other. Pramana could strip her down, pimp her back into a fourteen year old gawky bag of chattering teeth again. Whatever. She could handle it. After four years together they knew each other that much. He’d hold her habit and subordinate employ over her head, while she hated him for reminding her where the manipulation all began. Home.

The dog liked it, obviously. Soft white powder. Something to break the monotony of Spring, Summer, and Fall…10 months of neck stretching, being dragged around the block via metal links. The chain. She alternated isolated seconds of staring at….nothing, as pooches do, with burying her nose in the fluff, then looking to any person for approval. Tuti smiled. She got it in before a bigger, uglier pair of hands lanced a snowball into her side. The dog’s or hers, it was all the same. Hard to remember who whimpered more.

“Go help your mother.”

She was the son her father was glad to have never had, as a reason to have to a) do things with the kid and b) stir pasta sauce and set tables in lieu of having a daughter who could have filled that role. He’d checked fatherhood off the have-to-do list in a single eager thrust…was probably just waiting for the grandson that would give the interest-free blood-tie every man wants…all the benefits of male bonding without accumulated interest. Ha. Not if she could help it.

TUTI: You have some?

Pathetic. Yeah, well…..

PRAMANA: Unbelievable. Khat face phoning for a 10,000 mile fix. Well I can’t text message it hon. Check the box…little care pac in there. So, how’d it go?

TUTI: On schedule. Got my mail boy on it as we speak.

PRAMANA: Good girl. Leon’ll help you out when you meet. Don’t remind him, he knows. You remember Leon? Big guy with the trigger happy wrench? Yeah, you remember.

TUTI: Sure.

PRAMANA: Mmm Hmm.

TUTI: Thanks.

PRAMANA: Do your job and you’re welcomed.

TUTI: Easy.

PRAMANA: Yeah Khat face.

A click ends it.

TUTI: Bye.

Take a breath. Okay, another one. Could be an interesting day.

(To be continued….)