The Espressologist (14 page)

“Hey, guys. What's with the jack-o'-lantern smiles?” I don't have to wait long for my answer. Derek comes whooshing around the corner and gives me a big hug.

“Whoa,” I say, pulling back. “What's the excitement?”

“You. You're the excitement! You are the best assistant manager in the whole world!” he exclaims. He must have hooked up with Glinda already. Only a girl would make him this excited. “You are wonderful, Jane!”

“Thanks, Derek, I like you, too.”

“You just don't know how BIG this Espressology thing of yours has gotten. I mean it is HUGE!”

“Uh-oh,” I say. “What now? Should I sit down?”

“Yes, definitely. Come with me so we can talk.” Derek takes my hand and pulls me back to his office. I glance at Sarah, who is shaking her head and laughing softly.

A moment later the door is closed and we are looking at each other across Derek's desk. Derek takes a deep breath and pumps his fists up and down on the desk in excitement. “Brace yourself,” he says.

“I already am.” I look down at my white knuckles as I grip the armrests of my chair. “Just tell me.”

“Okay, you know Friday was AMAZING, right?”

“Yeah . . .”

“I mean, sales were way through the roof.” He puts one hand over his head to emphasize his point. “We took in ten times what we made the same Friday last year.”

“Fantastic.”

“Corporate has called a number of times,” he tells me. “They think you are phenomenal. I'm sure we will both get huge holiday bonuses.”

“Awesome!” I say with enthusiasm, already thinking about what I'll buy. A killer new outfit, and maybe I'll even splurge on a new handbag.

“Now here is the big news.” Derek takes a deep breath, pushing out his chest. “Do you know that talk show
The Gabby Girlz
?” he asks.

“Oh, sure,” I say.
The Gabby Girlz
is a show of three twenty-something women who sit around and talk about current events, interview celebs, host fashion segments, and so on. “I've seen it a few times. The girls always have on the cutest outfits.”

“Excellent,” Derek says. “Then you'll love what I'm going to say next. We're going to be a segment on their holiday show and they are coming here this Friday to film you doing your thing.”

“No way!” I practically scream.

“Yes way,” he replies. “They are doing a show on romance around the holidays and they want us to be on it.”

“You've got to be kidding. I mean, this is really not that big a deal—”

“Oh, that's where you are wrong. This is a huge deal,” he says.

“But we are just one Wired Joe's among a gazillion Wired Joe's.”

“Yeah, but we are the only Wired Joe's with an Espressologist.”

I sit back in my chair and stare at the stack of papers on Derek's desk, doing my best not to totally freak out and run home crying. “This is really going to happen?” I ask a few moments later.

“Mmm-hmm,” he says. He looks thrilled.

“And there is nothing I can do to get out of it?”

“No, but don't worry. They just want to film you talking to some customers and then they'll ask you a few questions. It will be easy. And I'll be right there next to you the whole time.”

“All right,” I relent. Like I have any choice. “I guess there isn't really any way around it.”

“It'll be great, Jane.”

Yeah, right. As long as I don't throw up on a Gabby Girl. I've got to call Em and tell her ASAP.

Wait a minute,”
Mom says. She stops in front of the huge toy store to turn and stare at me. School is out and both Mom and I have the afternoon off from work, so we are pretending to Christmas shop at Water Tower Place. We're really window shopping. The prices here are totally ridiculous. “You are going to be on TV?! On
The Gabby Girlz
?”

“Yup.” Okay, I know it is totally bad of me to still not have told her or Dad about my being an Espressologist. And I probably still wouldn't tell her, but I kind of have no choice now—since I'm going to be on TV and all.

“I love that show. The girls always dress so cute,” Mom says.

“I know,” I agree. This is one of those moments when I know my mom is really my mom and not just some lady who found me on her doorstep and took me in (which I was
98 percent sure of up through freshman year in high school).

“I don't get the whole Espressology thing, though,” she says. “What makes you an Espressologist?”

“Well, because I say so, mostly,” I reply with a laugh, and we start walking again. “I'm the one who made it up. I'd been studying people and their drink orders for months and I just figured out a way to match them. And, well, it works.”

“You've already been doing this for a couple of weeks, you say?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn't you tell Dad or me?” she asks.

Shoot. I knew she'd ask that. “I don't know,” I say. “Partly because I didn't know how you'd react and partly because I didn't want you in there taking pictures or something and turning it into a scrapbook page.”

“That's a fabulous idea!” Mom says.

“Oh no, Mom, don't do it.”

“When you are putting yourself on television, you kind of leave me no choice. This is big!”

“I know. That's what scares me,” I say. But she's not really listening anymore. I'm sure she's already envisioning what embellishments and stamps she will use on the scrapbook page.

“When does the show air? I'm going to have to call my mom, Grandpa Turner, all of your aunts and uncles . . .” Mom trails off and sits down on a bench, PDA now in hand, taking notes. I knew she'd react this way to the news. I guess this
makes up for my not being a cheerleader freshman year like she wanted. I plunk down next to her on the bench and wait for her to stop writing.

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” She doesn't look up.

“Can we get going? Em is supposed to come by and help me get ready for Friday.”

“One more second,” she replies, and enters something else. “Okay, no problem, sweetie. Let's get you home.” Mom loops her arm through mine and we head toward the exit. “I'm so excited that you are going to be on
The Gabby Girlz
, honey.” She beams at me. I wish I was more excited.

An hour later Em and I are plopped down on my bed, eating strawberry granola bars and staring at my Espressology notebook, lying open between us. Em is helping me memorize the different drinks and descriptions so that I can be even faster with my on-the-spot matches.

“Are you getting a lot of e-mail from your matches?” Em asks.

“Oh, loads! It's fun always having a ton of e-mail in my inbox. It's kind of like getting fan mail.”

“Heck yeah, you have a ton of fans. Including me,” Em gushes. “You are a real-life Cupid! How many matches have you made now?”

I quickly scan my totals in the spreadsheet. “Forty-six.”

“That's amazing, Jane! Think about it . . . that's ninety-two people you've made happy for the holidays. No wonder you are getting fan mail!”

I smile. “I guess it really is pretty big. I didn't realize I had done so many matches already. Now I've got to match myself for the holidays.”

“With Will?” Em teases.

“Of course!” I say. “He came in last night when I was working and I told him about Friday and
The Gabby Girlz
and everything. He said he wouldn't miss it for the world.”

“Aww, he
so
likes you.”

“I hope you're right. I mean, I think he does. He
is
giving me all the signals. When I was making his drink he stood at the pick-up counter talking to me and he even took one of the straws out of the holder and was rubbing it up and down my arm. I mean, who does that to someone he isn't interested in?”

“Um . . . riiiiiight,” Em says.

“Oh, shut up,” I tease. “It was cute. It was a cute thing, not a creepy thing.”

“If you say so. Personally I like having my arm rubbed with plastic spoons, but, you know, whatever turns you on,” Em says, dodging the pink-lips pillow I throw at her head.

“He was talking all seductively to me, too,” I add.

“Really? What did he say?”

“Okay, the words weren't like über-seductive, but his tone of voice was. He was all deep and smooth and velvety. And he
was telling me how he really needed a special someone in his life to share cold nights with—”

“Cheesy!” Em interjects.

“Whatever!” I return. “Anyway, like I was saying, he said he wants someone special and he was hoping that I would be able to find his perfect match on Friday night.”

“So, you are really going to do it? You are going to match him with you?”

“Definitely,” I say. “Enough with this flirting and teasing, I want to actually go on a date with Will. I'm going to tell him I'm his match. But after
The Gabby Girlz
thing is finished. I won't be able to think of anything else until the interview is over.”

“Oh, Jane, I'm really happy for you. Really. I was feeling bad that I am all happy in love with Cam and you still don't have anyone.”

My stomach drops a little. “Are you really in love with him now, Em?” I ask. “I mean
really
?”

“Well, I think so. I mean, it's not like Jason or anything. But nothing is going to be like Jason, right?”

“Is Cam in love with you?” I ask.

“I don't know,” Em murmurs, thinking. “He's not that open with his feelings.”

We are both silent for a moment. “Well, I'm happy for you, too, Em,” I say, trying to look the part. Though I feel like crap for not actually being happy for my best friend.

I'm already getting
anxious as I head into work today. Tomorrow is the big day. Tomorrow I will be on TV. Tomorrow I will meet the Gabby Girlz. I've been shopping all morning, looking for the right outfit. Okay, so I took one more tiny emergency day off from school. Just this one last time. I mean, I'm meeting the Gabby Girlz, who always look perfect, so I've got to look perfect, too. Not to mention I'm hooking up with Will tomorrow night as well. It's a HUGE night for me. I found
the
dress after three hours of shopping this morning. It's a clingy black (Derek insists that I still wear black under the red apron) V-neck dress with long sleeves that widen a bit at the wrists. It comes down to just above my knees, so I'm going to wear it with my new high-heeled suede black boots. I'm going to look
hot
. Em and I are going to get our hair and makeup done tomorrow afternoon, too.

I pull open the door of the café, ready for the familiar blast of holiday music and the smell of brewing coffee, but I'm stopped dead in my tracks. What the heck is this?

“Hey,” Derek yells. “Come in and shut the door. You are letting all the cold air in.” But I can't move. What happened to my Wired Joe's?

The place has been completely overhauled, or I should say it is still being completely overhauled. A crew of people I've never seen before are moving things around the store and adding various touches. The blue velvet chairs are gone and now there are several big velvety red loveseats with silver heart-shaped throw pillows. Every table is covered in a beautiful red tablecloth. The walls are covered with fabrics—all whites, silvers, and reds. Weird silver art pieces hang from the fabric. The blue, green, and white swirly covers of the lights hanging from the ceilings have been removed and replaced with red, white, and silver swirly covers. Beautiful antique-looking table lamps are set out everywhere, giving the whole store a more romantic lighting. Silver candelabras with red taper candles are set up on some of the shelves, and small canvases with quotes from famous love poems are spread throughout the store. All the tables have been removed from the north side of the store, and there is a big dark cherry-wood desk and a big Victorian-looking red velvet chair behind it. I run my finger along a large wooden sign lying on the desk, waiting to be hung.
THE ESPRESSOLOGIST IS IN
is artistically etched into the wood. Is this where I will be sitting?

“What do you think?” Derek asks, coming up next to me. “Is the sign all right? We are going to hang it up behind you.”

“It . . . it's amazing,” I finally say. It really does look beautiful. “I can't believe how different the place looks.”

“It does look good,” he agrees. “We needed a face-lift for the show. There are more touches we'll add tomorrow night. Things like rose petals on the table and such.”

I stare around the room. I suddenly feel people's eyes on me. The customers, ALL the customers, are looking at me. “Why is everyone looking at me?” I whisper.

“Because they know about tomorrow and they know you are our Espressologist. You are a celebrity.”