The Espressologist (16 page)

Well, dang. I didn't see that one coming. A zebra mocha is half regular mocha, half white chocolate mocha. I was about to peg him at something tamer, like a COD (coffee of the day). I type in
zebra mocha
and flip open my notebook to refresh my memory of this drink.

Small or Medium Zebra Mocha

Smart and spicy, this person likes to try unusual things and has an adventurous streak. Creative and witty and sure to be fun. Fair looks—not a rock star, but not a DMV Clerk. Her: Possibly a writer or artist and most likely has a good heart. Him: Most likely into computers, mainly communicates with the opposite sex online. Soft-spoken.

I can see this now, I think. Good thing I checked or I could have totally screwed up this guy's love life. “Naushad,” I say, “I've got all of your information. If I find your match, I'll have her contact you.” He nods and moves to the counter to wait for his drink.

I see Em hand the next guy in line his receipt and he turns to look at me. Hmm, he's pretty cute. Tall, at least six-one, a tiny bit overweight but broad-shouldered, with short dark buzz-cut hair. “Name?” I ask.

“My name is Rick,” he says. “My favorite drink is a medium americano and I'm here in search of my angel.” Aw, he's kind of sweet. I expect I'll be able to match him tonight. I flip through a few pages of my notebook to find the entry.

Medium Americano

Clueless but a patriot. He walked into Wired Joe's unprepared for what he came face-to-face with. A hundred different combinations swirled before his eyes: mocha, latte, cappuccino, espresso. The only word he even slightly recognized was American, so he ordered an americano. Wimp. And a medium at that! He was a middle child, second string on the h.s. football team—the Peter Brady of the coffee world.

Yikes! I must have been in a bit of a mood the day I wrote that. I'm not saying it is wrong, but I have to add an addendum. It's my book, so I can alter the description when I need to. I quickly scribble:

Addendum: Also may just prefer simplicity in life, straightforward guy's guy looking for love. Average across the board but a little romantic spark.

“So, Rick, tell me something interesting about yourself.”

“I can speak five languages,” he says.

“Impressive!”

“Yeah, I was a translator in the army for ten years.”

“Cool. Stick around for a bit, Rick; I may be able to match you tonight.”

“Great,” he says with a satisfied expression, and heads to the counter to get his coffee.

I sneak a peek at the Gabby Girlz. They are all watching me and look thoroughly entertained. I continue to talk to customers for another half an hour or so and then Derek steps up to the desk.

“Jane, time for the interview,” he says.

“Really?” I ask. He nods. I glance over at the Gabby Girlz, who are getting their makeup and hair checked.

I can do this.

The Gabby Girlz
producer instructs me to hop up on my desk for the interview. I carefully cross my right leg over my left, trying for the cutest angle possible and the best opportunity at getting my boots in the shot. These babies were born to be on TV. The crew adjusts the lights and runs a last sound check. Will winks at me from his place in line. He is a few spots from the front and only moments away from finding the love of his life, aka me.

“All right, let's do this,” Hope says, sitting next to me and smoothing down her skirt one last time. She faces the camera and puts on a hugely cheesy grin.

A director calls, “Ready for you in five, four, three, two . . .” He points to Hope.

“I now have the opportunity for a one-on-one with the
famous local Espressologist, Jane Turner,” Hope says to the camera, and I smile. “So, Jane, tell me how you got started with all this.” She whooshes her hand in a circle near her head.

“Well, it all started with a notebook.”

“Really?” she asks needlessly.

“Yeah. You see, I've been observing people for a long time and I just kept a lot of notes on drinks and the type of people who ordered them.” Hope, Mackenzie, and Olivia are all nodding their heads at me enthusiastically. It's making me feel kind of weird but I continue on anyway. “One day it occurred to me that one of our regulars, a medium iced vanilla latte, would be perfect with a customer who had come in for the first time, a medium dry cappuccino. I checked my notebook to review the personalities I've recorded for these drinks and I was right—they were a perfect match.”

“You're kidding!” Mackenzie says.

“Um, no,” I say. Duh. Would she be here interviewing me now if I was kidding?

“It obviously works,” Olivia says, nodding at the line of people and saving Mackenzie from her stupid comment.

“Yeah, it does. The first couple I matched, Gavin and Simone, are actually here tonight.”

“Fantastic! Where are you guys?” Mackenzie asks. Gavin raises a hand. Mackenzie heads over to talk to him and the cameras follow. Whew. I have a breather. I scoot around on the desk and grab my ice water. I take a quick drink and pat
my forehead with a napkin. Man, it is hot with all these lights! A moment later Mackenzie is back by Hope's side and I quickly shove the water glass and napkin behind my back.

“It is so amazing that the matches work,” Hope says. “You've really got something here.”

I nod.

“So, after you matched a few of your friends, you decided to start matching the rest of the community?”

“Yeah, well, Derek—Derek Peters, he's the manager of our coffee shop—and I decided it would be a fun event for the month of December.” One of the cameras zooms over to shoot Derek. “A finding-love-for-the-holidays kind of thing,” I add.

“And your record is remarkable!” Olivia says with an encouraging smile. “How many people have you matched now?”

“Somewhere around fifty couples.”

“That is so cool,” Mackenzie says, and I find this a bit jarring. It is strange to hear someone as old as her saying, “That is so cool.”

“It totally is,” Hope agrees. “And next we are going to watch Jane make one of her famous on-the-spot matches and then follow them out on their first date.”

“We are?” I practically scream at Hope. What the heck is this? I swerve on the desk to face Derek and look at him, my jaw dropped.

“Yes, we are,” she tells the camera. “Right after this break.”

The director yells, “We're clear!”

I look over at Em, who has been leaning on the pick-up counter watching the interview, and give her my “I'm screwed” face. She gives me back her “yup, you're screwed” face.

“What the heck, Derek?” I scream at him once we are safe behind his closed office door. As soon as the little red light on the camera went off I jumped down from the desk, grabbed Derek by the arm, and yanked him back to his office.

“What?” he says, like he doesn't know.

“How the heck am I supposed to just do an on-the-spot match now?”

“You've done plenty of them. I don't see what the big deal is.”

“Are you kidding me? I don't know when they are going to happen. They just happen. I can't plan them!” He stares at me blankly. “You know that, Derek.”

“Well, you are going to have to, Jane. Hope already announced that you were going to do it.”

“But I can't!” I wail, plunking down in a chair and covering my face with my hands.

“You have a few minutes,” he says. “Go over the people that you met tonight and see if you can match anyone.”

“Yeah, because it is just that easy,” I mutter sarcastically. I rub the bridge of my nose with my index fingers and run through the people that I met tonight. I told that Rick guy to
stick around. Is there anyone here that I can match him with? What about that mountain-climber chick? Eh. No. There was that nice nurse. But she's in her mid-forties and Rick is in his mid-thirties. Not sure if that will work either. I'm going to freakin' KILL Derek.

An assistant producer pops his head into the office. “We're back in sixty seconds. We need you out here now.” My mouth drops open for the second time in five minutes and I shoot Derek daggers.

“No,” I insist in a low voice. “I can't do it.”

“Come on, Jane,” Derek coaxes, giving my arm a little pull.

“No,” I say more defiantly. “You can't make me go out there. It'll be too embarrassing.”

“Come on.” He pulls me up from the chair and pushes me toward the door. I'm not moving my feet and he is actually sliding me out the door. Stupid slippery new boots.

Derek doesn't let go of me until I'm sitting on the desk again and a girl is touching up my makeup. Seriously, I have no idea what I am going to do. NO IDEA. I just can't do this. I turn to Hope. Maybe I can reason with her?

“Listen, I can't just
do
an on-the-spot match. It doesn't work like that. Besides, have you guys really thought it out? I mean, who is going to let you just follow them out the door and on a date? It won't work.” I shake my head. There. I told her and it makes perfect sense. They'll have to make some sort of statement and we won't have to do this.

“I'll do it,” a girl's voice says from the crowd of people.

“Who said that?” Hope asks.

“I did.” Melissa steps out from the crowd and heads for my desk.

“What? You?” I spit at her. “But you said you'd never let me match you. You said it was stupid and you didn't need it and you could find your own dates.”

“Yeah, well, I changed my mind,” Melissa tells me smugly. She turns to the Gabby Girlz. “I'll sign whatever you want. You can follow me on a date.”

“She's our girl!” Hope yells.

My jaw drops for the third time tonight. Seriously, my chest is gonna be bruised from my chin hitting it again and again like this. I look at Melissa and the Gabby Girlz. Why am I even here? They all have their minds made up and they don't seem to need me. Except for the matchmaking part.

I contemplate making a run for the door when the director announces, “We're back in five, four, three, two . . .”

The lights are
burning on my face and I can feel sweat beading at my temple. Hope says something to the camera, has Melissa step up to the desk, and introduces her. Then they turn to face me.

“All right, Jane,” Hope says. “Do your thing.”

Okay. I have to think fast. I have to match Melissa with someone here. And it has to be someone compatible. It has to be a match that actually works or I'll look like a big fat fraud on national television. What am I going to do? I need to stall. I stand up and slowly walk behind the desk and take a seat in my chair.

“Melissa,” I ask, slowly, “what is your favorite drink?” Like I don't already know.

“I simply
adore
”—Melissa smiles at the camera—“small nonfat lattes.”

“Okay,” I say. “Age?”

“Eighteen,” she answers with a giggle. “Like you didn't know.” I sigh heavily as I type the information in, trying to figure out what I'm going to do.

“Interesting tidbit?” Darn! My voice quivered.

“Since you asked,” Melissa says, perching on my desk now and facing the camera instead of me, “I'm going to become a famous fashion designer. I'm studying at the renowned School of the Art Institute of Chicago and I've already designed these fab sparkly leg warmers PERFECT for the current leggings trend.” She kicks her legs out for the camera to see. “And you can get them at www—”

“We'll cut you off there,” Olivia interrupts, giving Melissa a dirty look. Ah. So that was her deal. She's trying to sell some lame-o leg warmers. What is she thinking? Leg warmers need to stay dead and buried in the eighties. “Jane,” Olivia continues, “do you have a match for Melissa?”

“Give me just a minute,” I say, trying to look calm. I check the list of people I met tonight. Ugh. No one seems right for Melissa. I can maybe, possibly send her with the veterinarian but a) he's too old and b) he's too smart for her. I don't know what I am going to do.

“Ready, Jane?” Hope asks. “We are on television, you know.” All the Gabby Girlz laugh. Tee hee hee. This is SO not funny, people.

“Um . . .” I scan the crowd hoping for the perfect match to just fall from the sky and into the wooden barrel of stuffed
holiday bears. And then it hits me. A match. It
would
work. But no. I couldn't. No, no, no. I just can't. Not him. Not with her.

“Jane?” Hope prompts again, eyes wide and giving me a “hurry up” look.

“Okay . . .” I start, “the perfect . . . um . . . match for uh . . . a small nonfat latte is a . . .” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. “A five-shot espresso over ice.”