A Nice Cuppa

CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)

Recap: Someone’s looking for Pramana, nothing a half-sapped Gunter can help with. Tuti gets ahold of him though, and when it seems as if she’s about to come clean about her botched interception, she stops. There’s tension in the house.

And now we continue, with the Vanilla Thrilla.

Interior - The Cuppa - 1:30pm

An early afternoon dead-spot at the shop is about to end. Ferina and Justin get ready for a fresh wave of patrons, making syrups, topping off cup sleeves, applying pressure to battle stained counter-tops via j-cloth, swapping barely soured milk for new, and the holy trinity of washroom checks: trash, toilet, and t-paper refill.

FERINA: Sugar’s low too.

Justin squirms. The only thing worse than minimum wage is a boss who assumes you could hardly handle minimum wage duties, then thinks they’re doing you a King’s favor by tossing you free pastries. He knew about the sugar. Small refillables were always last on his list.

JUSTIN: Crap, no!

It lightens the mood.

FERINA: I’ll dock your pastry, boy.

JUSTIN: I believe you.

He reaches for the needle wooden stir sticks without a glance. A pro.

JUSTIN: How’s dad?

FERINA: Sends his love.

JUSTIN: He’s the best.

If they’d been front facing instant noodles and Cornflakes they would have heard a chime, corner store bells that either meant someone with stubble was out of smokes or a kid with 12 cents expected to walk away with twenty bags of Doritos. No bells though. Just a temporary change in volume, a ramped up murmur from the world outside to signal a visitor.

FERINA: Hello.

TUTI: Hi.

Bing Crosby smooths the air from the speakers overhead. Tuti catches it. Her upper body pulsates.

TUTI: Right on. My nanna calls this metal.

JUSTIN: Crosby with a flying V. Rockin.

FERINA: Enjoy it. In ten minutes you won’t hear a thing.

TUTI: Yeah. Place is big with the cufflinks.

FERINA: They’re pretty much the morning crowd. Mid afternoon is for the kids. U of T lets out two blocks away.

JUSTIN: Media colleges too.

TUTI: The Spielbergs.

JUSTIN: Someone trying to turn a toothpaste commercial into a studio franchise.

TUTI: Could be Stayfree.

JUSTIN: Ha. What can I get for you?

TUTI: Job.

FERINA: Dad would hate her. He’d hate me for hiring Juan Valdez at six bucks an hour much less this trucker’s daughter turned leg model turned hairstylist student on academic probation. Hhmm, twitchy too. Probably just needs a cuppa herself. Or a second chance. So what was the rule about making managerial decisions to spite family?

TUTI: Okay. It’s times like these when you know if your ability to bullshit is just….bullshit. Never been a writer and reading peaked with Poison liner notes…until recently. Things have to change. What’s that computer with a billion programmed chess moves? Thinking 13 moves ahead? Blue Velvet…? I’m nothing like it. Couldn’t visualize an omlette until I’ve cracked the egg. What I can do though is talk, with a single goal in mind. One goal. All I need is the words to get me from this chair into that apron. Serve some coffee, find the box, zee endie. All it takes is line. Great thing about having a limited vocabulary….fewer words to choose from. Read her….read this gal….

FERINA: Look at her. Any worse than Justin? Probably. What are you thinking? You want to punish your father, grind the Luwak into mongoose iced mocha samplers and stand out on the street corner, don’t be the bitch of the business. You know nothing about this one, and even less don’t need her….full-time. Could give her a dozen hours though. Lucy on a summer internship with St. Michael’s in July and it’d take at least a month to get a new one up to speed. Ha….the cufflinks. Just the kind of Jessica Simpson “take me through the private entrance of the Safeway I’m so damn well known” that would drive the old man wild, without doing any real harm to the business. Maybe she’d call him The Big Link or Saint Money Clip, something that would both endear and prick him. Be a thumb tac from an elastic band every time.

TUTI: Young girl. Acting manager. But official manager? Manager on paper? She could be, even if she wasn’t. Had the posture for it. But why wasn’t she…

FERINA: He’s your father. Like it or not, respect him. Assume he’s earned it………..pretend then.

TUTI: A student? Nah. Managers managed students, wanted to be students probably more than students themselves, but this one…a full time gig. And a dream gone wrong. Look at her eyes. She likes it but she’s tired. Nothing to do with sleep either. Sheets could have 180 thread count and she’d still be up nights.

FERINA: Grow up. You want to be high school, act high school, but this isn’t the place. Go giggle at the drive-thru boys at Burger King after work…get the kiddie out of your system.

TUTI: Boyfriend? Yeah, a cufflink himself. Probably met him here, but not a bad guy deep down. Saw the necklace coming in. Single studded jewel says current man, or the last geeky hunk she feels detached enough from to wear his gifts. Either way, not the issue. It’s someone else.

FERINA: I’m better than this….don’t get mad get even stuff.

TUTI: The Cuppa. Name alone sounds desperate….something that someone heard a few times in some crap 90210 import (god I miss Dillon) in Ecuador and assumed a western dude’ll read and guffaw at it like they’re being reacquainted with a long lost friend. Someone with money. Someone….related….

FERINA: I do my job and live my life without the games. I survive. Or I quit…like the adult I tell myself I am, and then survive.

TUTI: ……..Daddy.

FERINA: Do you have black shoes?

(To be continued….)