A Nice Cuppa

CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)

Recap: Somewhere in The Cuppa is a package. It seems to be the apple of more than a few eyes. Tuti gets tough and does what she has to do to make things right. Unfortunately it means wearing an apron and slugging joe. And so, Bay Street has a new employee.

And now we continue, with the Vanilla Thrilla.

JUSTIN: Got it.

The Cuppa is in the process of being walloped. Students and mid-afternoon breakers all converge on the downtown’s hotspots… anyplace selling a beverage and not playing Mariah.

FERINA: Half sweet.

JUSTIN: Coo.

FERINA: Large frozen hot choc. Whip.

TUTI: (bustling, a combination of customer service and menial cup-stocking)) Herbie fully caffeinated.

JUSTIN: Aww…poor little love bug. Wouldn’t do that to him would you?

TUTI: Hell yeah. Sugar up his gas tank.

Her eyes scour the register’s punch pad for the appropriate button.

CUSTOMER: A lot of buttons.

TUTI: I hate buttons. Thing needs some zippers.

CUSTOMER: First day?

TUTI: Ha…..brainwave.

Ferina’s loving it, but showing it as much as any composed manager should….with a tight lipped grin.

FERINA: Single Americano.

JUSTIN: Wannabe Canadiano.

FERINA: Berry Burst.

TUTI: Got it.

FERINA: Yeah?

TUTI: Ice milk, Berry sludge…like a pina colada for Catholics.

Ferina nods. Impressed.

JUSTIN: You bartend?

TUTI: No…just a barfly who paid attention.

CUSTOMER 2: Thought you looked familiar.

The body was fully formed with ski-instructor jaw. Blonde highlights completed the stereotype….a man-doll plasticized for your viewing pleasure. The only thing missing was a left earlobe. It was silver capped and well buffed and had an incredible ability to distract. Hey, put a cold sore on E.T. and you’d hardly remember it was alien kind.

Ferina steps up.

FERINA: Can I help you?

CUSTOMER 2: The….Catholic cocktail sounds good.

FERINA (to TUTI): Two please.

TUTI: Yea.

CUSTOMER 2: Gotta good set of hands there.

Ferina smiles, rings him through, trying not to make matters more personal.

FERINA: I think so.

CUSTOMER 2: Shame she doesn’t remember me.

Tuti hands the double berry order to Ferina, unusually tongue tied.

TUTI: Sorry.

CUSTOMER: Don’t be. Things come back don’t you think?

Exit earlobe.

Interior - Pramana’s bungalow - 2:30 am

There’s no knock and no one answering if there was. Pramana presses his face as hard as anyone would against the door of a communal men’s room. He didn’t give a sh*t. Seven months earlier he wanted to put the Director’s head deep in a flush hole for even giving him this….place. Now it was an afterthought. He’d be here as long as he needed to be, learning about the business without actually doing it. If it meant trading off dependable light fixtures and toilet tanks that weren’t “stick your hand down in me to flush” reliant, he would. It was worth it. He listened to his visitor, the man or woman about to thumb through his life, at his deadwood door.

PRAMANA: Just don’t splinter the….(it splintered)….lock. Lousy rodent face.

Gunter had buzzed him minutes before the footsteps arrived. So he was ready. And he’d left the door open for the expressed purpose of….son of a….(it splintered again, probably done out of spite). Whatever. Whoever had finally found him and Gunter was either pissed at how long it took them, or Pramana’s 2nd hand futon and earwax scented floor candles were more of a commodity of envy than he thought.

PRAMANA: Take it out on the pad if it makes you feel better, friend…you won’t find a thing. Nothing to “convict”. No way I’m playing back alley pig for the better part of a year, living here, to lose on account of a shoebox stuffed with psychoactive forget me nots…or contact names. Choke on the empty hands you’ll be walking out with, maggot teeth. No, choke on your empty skull box. You had one move, one chance to catch us in the act, and you made it. The Director would know too….might even end this thing early because of it. And who are you anyway Jobu? MacKenzie? Myers? Who got the cushy end of the stick this time….while Gunter and “yours hidden in the shitter” truly got stuck playing the villains. Screw it. I’d rather have played bad guy to your Junior G-man Smiley Pants anyway. We’ll see who knows best when we’re back in the real world, instead of this….fiction.

VOICE: Nice bed. Hope your back’s cheese for life.

PRAMANA: Myers? Ha…….ha! Give it away why don’t you. Okay, you’re officially stupid.

VOICE: Okay, ready to wrap it up? You gave it a go my friend. Is that comfort enough? Oh….nice plants. I’m taking them.

PRAMANA: He’s taking my plants. I hate you, and secretly wish this trough of relief had the guts to smell me out so I could have a go at you….Myers. Put your head through a potted plant. I can wait though. Better do what’s right and water them. Can’t believe he’s taking my girls. Unbe-freakin….

Sounds of footsteps leaving, followed by silence. But it’ll break soon.