A Nice Cuppa

CROUCHING BARISTA, HIDDEN LACTOSE (continued…)

INTERIOR - THE CUPPA - DAY

Tuti enters, fresh off her run-in in the trash bay. By all visual accounts, things couldn’t be righter. Cool as a cucumber, though time was foremost on her mind. She needed the box.

JUSTIN: How’d it go.

TUTI: Bit messy for my taste.

Nudge nudge….double talk that’d make Schwarzenegger proud. It’d always come easy for Tuti. Sarcasm was the protein shake that drove her to new heights, a salesman type attitude that got her out of scrapes. Maybe into a few. Grade 8, June. Twenty three students handed forward a geography paper: natural disasters; the kind of project where students first made a creative attempt at plagiarism. Try putting tectonic plate movements in your own words. Assignment date: six weeks prior. Tuti sat decorating her fingernails with magic marker.

MS. HILLIER: Dog ate your homework?

TUTI: Dog did my homework. Thought I’d save you the trouble of reading eight pages of paw prints.

For anyone who did laugh, it had to be automatic. Ms. Hillier may have slapped her knee well with sting enough in the teacher’s lounge, but in the classroom, ha ha’s and hee hee’s offered up outside of a scientific context was frowned on. Anyone with time to think before laughing, wouldn’t. She’d do whatever the early 90’s called detention that day, not caring either way.

INTERIOR - DELIVERY VAN/MOVING - DAY

Earlobe didn’t stir. He was cuddled up in the back, fetal style, just another package on the move. Brad had wrapped a towel around his head to buffer him from his surroundings, mostly packages huddled in the back of a well worn delivery van. Besides, the bump fast growing into the second head needed sanitation. Brad cracked an ice pack from the first aid box and placed it in the towel. As potent as it be, the taste of Tuti was wearing off now, and he was beginning to feel maternal again.

BRAD: (in thought) You’re weak Brad. The worst a man can be, and aren’t you doing it? It’s gotten the better of you. Come on!

INTERIOR - THE CUPPA - DAY

A man was opening cupboards. Man? He was older, though stocky, still a physical deterrent to whatever young punks still supplemented their income via accosting seniors. The skin wrapped around his face looked thin; toughened him actually. It gave the bones underneath the look of barbed wire in saran-wrap. She could take him.

FERINA: Dad, this is Tuti…our latest.

TUTI: Maybe greatest…we’ll see though.

He turned to her mechanically. His eyes had all the experience in the world behind them, and a disappearing smile said, “I know it.”

DAD: Sure you’ve got something for Ferina to consider you…though I have my own standards.

On the last beat his body swayed towards Justin, ever the non-chalanteur.

TUTI: S’got you where you are wherever you are today sir.

DAD: (in thought) Cocky river-siren, I might enjoy this. (taking a shot of his own) Right you are, though one look and I can’t wondering wherever you were.

TUTI: Not the barista poster girl?

DAD: That’s it. (in thought) Here we go.

FERINA: (in thought) Here we go.

JUSTIN: (in thought) Nail his ass.

TUTI: Should be uglied up a bit maybe.

DAD: (in thought) She’s a fireball. (aloud) It’s more the poise.

TUTI: Or is it pose? Street corner lamppost style.

DAD: Happens to be our location.

TUTI: And me without my fishnets.

DAD: (in thought) Electro-static!

FERINA: (in thought) I’m unemployed.

TUTI: (in thought) The arrogance of age meets a small business owner bullhead. I’m looking at Pram in 30 years. Son of a bitch. (aloud) All I can do is my best sir. And after meeting you, I can honestly say I’d like to.

Stunned…the lot of em. Even Tuti reeled inside her head. A smart-ass poet is born. Ferina’s dad smiled. He may have been smitten.

DAD: (in thought) I might be smitten. (aloud) Welcome aboard. (turning to Ferina) Some day kiddo. If good things come in threes, what’s next?

FERINA: The Luwak I suppose.

Tuti twitched.

DAD: I’m counting that. You puttin in your two weeks Justin?

He gave Dad the only reaction he was allowed to…the kind without the middle finger that would keep him on the payroll.

DAD: You know I’m kidding youngster. You culture up the place just nice. (turning to Tuti) It’s a mixed bag here dear. You’re lucky to be a part.

TUTI: I get the sense.

DAD: And a lucky day to jump in. Don’t know if my girl here’s told you about our Dom Perignon (to Ferina) So! Where’re you hiding it? Let’s crack it.

(To be continued….)