The Espressologist (13 page)

“Got it,” I say as I type my notes into my spreadsheet. Ah, this is an old-timer. Cinnamon mochas, which are basically just mochas with added cinnamon syrup and cinnamon on top instead of whipped cream, have been off the menu for a long time now. I can see Daisy giving Em a questioning look out of the corner of my eye. I'm not worried though; the Macchiato Maniac will know how to make it. Darla pays Em and then places both hands onto my table.

“Okay, Darla, age and interesting tidbit?”

“Oh, I'm forty-five years
young
, baby doll. And my bowling average is 180. That's pretty interesting, isn't it?” She blows a bubble.

“Yeah, that's great.”

Hey, if I don't match her, maybe I can hook her up on Em's ex-boyfriend's bowling league? I jot down the rest of Darla's data and tell her if I find a match I'll have him contact
her soon. Darla takes her cinnamon mocha from Seth at the pick-up counter and leaves. I survey the line. “Next?” I call, and my jaw almost hits the table. “Ginny?”

“Yeah, I'm next,” Ginny says. She slowly approaches the table.

I look around for Melissa, but I don't see her.

“You're here alone?” I ask, still surprised. I don't get why she's here. She and Melissa were just ragging on me earlier in the week about my Espressology.

Ginny nods.

“Hmm, okay,” I say with hesitation, trying to figure out if this is going to turn into some nasty trick. “Go ahead and place your order at the counter and I'll begin entering your information.” I look down at my sheet and mumble to myself, “Ginny Davis, small nonfat latte . . .”

“Um, no,” Ginny interrupts.

“You're not Ginny Davis?” I prepare myself for whatever crap she's about to put me through.

“No, obviously my name is right. The drink is wrong.”

“What? I've made you at least half a dozen small nonfat lattes myself.”

“I know,” Ginny replies with a sigh. “That's because it's Melissa's favorite drink.”

“Oh.” I suddenly feel sorry for Ginny. She can't even order what she wants to when she wants to. “What is your favorite drink, then?”

“I want a large mint mocha-chip frappycap, affogato style,”
Ginny says, and I'm absolutely floored at how completely polar opposite this drink is from what she usually orders. I glance at Em, who is ringing Ginny up, and I can see a look of appreciation on her face. Not a lot of customers know what
affogato
means—it's basically the frappycap with a shot of espresso floating on top.

“Sassy,” I say, and Ginny giggles. You know, she's not half bad when Melissa isn't around. “I'm guessing you're eighteen?”

Ginny nods.

“Interesting tidbit about yourself?”

Ginny takes a moment to think. “Once a month I read my poetry at a poetry slam in a small café on the South Side.”

“Really?!”
I half ask, half yell. Who is this girl? Ginny smiles again. After I get the rest of her info, I tell her I'll have her match contact her once I find him.

“Thanks, and, Jane”—she points her index finger back and forth between me and herself—“we do have a doctor-patient confidentiality thing here, right?”

“Huh?” I give her a strange look.

“You won't tell anyone I was here, right?” she asks.

“No. Not if you don't want me to.”

“I don't. Want you to, that is,” she says.

“No problem.”

Just then Daisy bellows out, “Large mint mocha-chip frappycap, affogato style.”

“Well, that's me,” Ginny says. “Have a good rest of the night.”

“Thanks, you too,” I say, still not sure how to take in the whole interaction.

I've been working nonstop for three hours, meeting people, taking notes, and making matches as fast as I can. I've made five on-the-spot matches so far tonight, and I know there are a few more matches I can make once I have time to go through my notes. I'm exhausted. The line has finally dwindled. At least everyone fits in the store now, and no one has to wait outside. I'm stretching my arms up over my head when Derek comes up beside me at the table and whispers in my ear, “Do me.”

A sudden wave of nausea washes over me and I bring my arms down to my side at lightning speed.

“Excuse me?” I choke.

“Do me,” he says again.

I look him in the eye. “Ever hear of a little thing called sexual harassment in the workplace, Derek?”

“No!” he yells, straightening and suddenly looking as horrified as I feel. “No, no, no!”

He leans down, puts his hand to the side of his mouth, and whispers, “I mean match me with someone.”

His eyes dart left to right to make sure no one is listening.

“You want me to match you with someone? That is so cute.”

“No, it isn't cute, and you better not tell anyone else about
it. Just match me with someone and e-mail it to me. My favorite drink is a medium gingerbread soy latte.”

“Awwwww,” I say, surprised that a super-commercial Christmas drink is his fave. Derek glares at me and returns behind the counter to help take orders.

I help four more people: two slightly pudgy and balding brothers in their early thirties, a tall blond lesbian (my fourth lesbian of the night), and this beautiful super-leggy brunette catalog model. Now I'm face-to-face with a rather interesting character. Next in line is a girl with the blackest dyed Halloweenish-looking hair I've ever seen, a black zipper hoodie, a black T-shirt, and the most enormous pair of black baggy jeans (seriously, each leg looks like it could double as a skirt for me) covered in chains. She gives Sarah her drink order and then looks at me, expressionless.

“My name is Glinda,” she says, glaring at me through eyes heavily coated in mascara and thick eyeliner.

“Like the good witch?” I ask. Whoops. Bad move.

“Yeah.” She narrows her eyes and gives me a sarcastic smile.

“Sorry. Favorite drink?”

“Medium eggnog latte,” she says. Oh puke, I hate eggnog, but whatever floats your boat, you know?

“Age?”

“Twenty-five.” She looks exceedingly unhappy to be here.

“All right, Glinda, can you tell me some interesting tidbit about you? Just so I can get a better idea of who you are.”

“Hmm.” Her face softens while she thinks. “I'm a bad-ass
singer. I even got to try out in front of the judges for
American Idol
when they came to Chicago.”

“Omigod!” I squeal. “You met Simon, Paula, and Randy?!” I am a hard-core reality TV freak.

She nods. “But they never showed my audition on TV.”

“Oh, bummer!” I say, typing her information into my laptop. Suddenly, I stop. Derek is off to the side grinding a one-pound bag of espresso for a customer. I look at Glinda, then at Derek, then at Glinda. Aha! Yes, yes, yes! Could she
be
any more perfect for him?

Katie, Ava, Em
, and I are chilling over a late breakfast at Granny's Diner on Sunday.

“You should have seen it, Ava,” Katie says. “I swear Jane almost crapped her pants when I let her out in front of the store.”

“Nice image.” I rub my eyes and tilt back in my chair. “Especially over breakfast.”

Em nods. “It was
unreal
. I've never seen so many people in our store at one time.”

“I couldn't believe it when I saw it on the news Friday night,” Ava says. She stirs a Splenda into her green tea. “I kept watching to see if they were going to interview you, but they only showed you sitting at the table talking to customers.”

I widen my eyes. “Oh, thank god they didn't. I was ready to toss my cookies just seeing all those people waiting for me. I could NOT do an interview on TV!”

“Can you imagine how ecstatic Derek must be?” Em says.

“Why?” I ask, concerned. Did Em somehow find out I had matched him? I e-mailed him yesterday morning with Gothy Glinda's info and he's probably contacted her by now. But I'm pretty sure he wouldn't have told anyone.

“Are you kidding? District must be throwing a parade for him with all the sales we pulled in Friday night. Heck, forget district, I bet the CEO of Wired Joe's himself called to congratulate Derek.”

“You think?” I ask.

“Heck yeah,” she says.

“It is pretty huge, Jane,” Katie agrees. “A lot of the students over at St. Pat's have been talking about it.”

“And the cast and crew at my community theater,” Ava adds.

“The kids in my honor classes are talking about it, too,” Em pipes in.

“
Shut up
 . . .” I say. “No way are all these people talking about me. Are they? I'm going to totally freak out. I can't do this anymore. It's just getting way too big.”

“Kind of late, Jane,” Em says nonchalantly. “Derek is never going to let you out of it now. Besides, you only have two weeks left. You can do it.”

“I don't think I can eat,” I say, pushing my breakfast away.

“That's four ninety-nine you'll never see again.” Katie laughs and the others join in. But I can't laugh right now. I'm feeling panicky again. I reach in my bag for a pack of Rolaids.

“Well, hey,” Em says, interrupting my thoughts, “no one asked me about my date with Cam last night.”

Please, not another installment of the Cam-Em love fest. Blech.

“How did it go?” Ava inquires. “Did he take you on a winter sleigh ride under the stars? Or just have an all-boys choir serenade you?”

Em smirks. “Nothing that romantic. Or cheesy. We just rented a Sandra Bullock movie and ordered a pizza at his house. But it
was
cozy,” she adds.

“Snuggling on the couch is the best. Did he feel you up?” Katie asks.

Ew, ew, ew, I think, covering my ears. I don't want to hear this.

“I'll never tell,” Em says, sipping her hot chocolate.

“Oh, he so did!” Katie grins. “You naughty girl!”

“Why am I naughty?” Em asks. “I didn't even say anything!”

“Exactly,” Katie says, raising her eyebrows. Ava just laughs. I inwardly groan. Why am I even letting this bother me?

“Get this,” Em tells us, “his
mom
was there.”

“Eww,” Katie and Ava groan.

“While you were on a date?” Katie asks. “Classy.”

“I know, right?” Em sticks her finger into the whipped
cream on top of her drink and brings it to her mouth. “Anyway, she's kind of weird.”

“How do you mean?” Ava asks.

“She just seemed really quiet and antisocial. She stayed in her bedroom all night.”

“Maybe she wanted to give you guys some privacy?” I suggest.

“Sure. I guess,” Em agrees. “But she looked pretty weird, too. She's real skinny. Like she's trying to be all Hollywood or something. Except she could stand a little makeup. Or some spray-on tan. And she's got this big poofy crazy-looking hair.”

I can't believe what I'm hearing. Is Em really being this insensitive? What does she expect someone going through chemotherapy to look like? I mean, have some freakin' compassion.

“She's really demanding, too. She kept asking Cam to do things and get her stuff, you know? I kept thinking, get off your butt and get it yourself, lady. I felt really bad for him, even though he didn't seem to mind.”

Oh . . . Em has no idea! Cam didn't tell her that his mom has cancer or that she's getting chemo and he's helping her. But why wouldn't he tell her something like that, especially since they are dating? He told me in the first five minutes that we talked.

“That does seem a little strange,” Katie concludes. “Are you going to keep seeing him?”

“Oh, yeah,” Em says. “I'm not going to let his mom bother me. Cam is fantastic. Isn't he fantastic, Jane?”

“Yeah, he's fantastic,” I agree.

I walk into work Sunday afternoon and Frankie and Sarah are behind the counter giving me massive smiles.