day, and I was having trouble using it in waysthat didn’t sound stupid.
With my pen I drew a circle around the first “e” of ensconced and coloured in the “o.”
“You’re outta cream,” I heard from someone beside my booth. Someone who hadn’t washed in a long while.
I looked up. “The Queen of Sweden was ensconced beside my booth,” I wrote, then scribbled it out and threw down my pen.
“Morning, Your Majesty,” I sighed.
“Never mind that, you’re outta cream,” she said.
I went into the kitchen, where Reena was flipping eggs on the grill, and took a jug of milk from the fridge and carried it to the coffee bar.
“There you go,” I said to the Queen.
She nodded, her greasy grey hair falling across her face. She tossed the loose end of her blue and gold scarf over her shoulder—no warm weather clothes for her—and went about preparing her coffee. “Bad mood today?” she asked.
I returned to the booth and wrote, “The Queen’s milk was ensconced in the café fridge.” Satisfied, I closed the notebook and picked up my mug of Colombian.
The night before, Reena had called me down from my room on the third floor just as I wasabout to hit the sack. She was sitting in her easy chair, smoking, her glass of red on the chair arm, the evening news flickering on the muted TV . Her feet, clad in oversized fuzzy pink slippers, rested on a hassock.
“I need to have a talk with you,” she had said, smoke streaming from her nostrils.
Dread blossomed in my chest. I stood in her doorway, one hand on the jamb. She’s going to kick me out, I thought, anger seeping into my mind. She’s had enough of me. That fight in the café a few weeks ago did it. Well, it wasn’t as if I didn’t deserve it, but leaving would be hard. More than I realized, I liked living with her. True, I had nothing to go “home” to, but it was more than that. I had thought she liked me.
“I guess I’m going back to my old man’s,” I said bitterly.
Reena looked at me over the rim of her wine glass. Her brow creased. “What makes you say that?’
“That’s why you called me down here, isn’t it?”
“You’re way off base, Lee,” she said. “Sit down and relax. Jesus, you’re always so wound up.”
I lowered myself to the edge of the bed. “Okay, what?”
“I spoke to your dad last night.”
Here it comes, I thought.
“And, well, I have to tell you, he feels real bad about you not wanting to talk to him.”
She paused, and I said nothing.
“But that’s another story. Anyhow, he’s agreed if you agree. I’d like you to stay on here for as long as you want. You’re a big help to me, running the café. You’re not the cheeriest angel in the choir. And,” she smiled, “you can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you work hard, and I like having you around. So, what do you say?”
I swallowed. My mouth was so dry I could hardly get my tongue to move. “Okay,” I managed.
“Don’t knock me over with your enthusiasm.”
“No, really, I want to.”
“Good.”
I climbed the stairs to my room, shaking with relief, sat on my bed and looked around, and for the first time thought of it as just that—my room.
So the Queen had been dead wrong when she asked if I was in a foul mood. Just as she shuffled past the booth on her way to the door, my cell phone began to describe a lazy circle on the table. I picked it up.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a severe thunderstorm watch out for today. Keep your eye on the western sky from about three o’clock on.”
“Hi, Abe.”
“Howya this morning, Lee?”
“Good.”
“Listen, you interested in another client? My lawyer—she’s up on 8th Street in the old town hall building—she’d like to have you do the odd delivery for her.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Great. I’ll give her your number, if that’s all right.”
“Sure, Abe.”
“Drop by today, if you get a chance, willya? I got some paperwork to send up to Lakshmi—that’s the
With my pen I drew a circle around the first “e” of ensconced and coloured in the “o.”
“You’re outta cream,” I heard from someone beside my booth. Someone who hadn’t washed in a long while.
I looked up. “The Queen of Sweden was ensconced beside my booth,” I wrote, then scribbled it out and threw down my pen.
“Morning, Your Majesty,” I sighed.
“Never mind that, you’re outta cream,” she said.
I went into the kitchen, where Reena was flipping eggs on the grill, and took a jug of milk from the fridge and carried it to the coffee bar.
“There you go,” I said to the Queen.
She nodded, her greasy grey hair falling across her face. She tossed the loose end of her blue and gold scarf over her shoulder—no warm weather clothes for her—and went about preparing her coffee. “Bad mood today?” she asked.
I returned to the booth and wrote, “The Queen’s milk was ensconced in the café fridge.” Satisfied, I closed the notebook and picked up my mug of Colombian.
The night before, Reena had called me down from my room on the third floor just as I wasabout to hit the sack. She was sitting in her easy chair, smoking, her glass of red on the chair arm, the evening news flickering on the muted TV . Her feet, clad in oversized fuzzy pink slippers, rested on a hassock.
“I need to have a talk with you,” she had said, smoke streaming from her nostrils.
Dread blossomed in my chest. I stood in her doorway, one hand on the jamb. She’s going to kick me out, I thought, anger seeping into my mind. She’s had enough of me. That fight in the café a few weeks ago did it. Well, it wasn’t as if I didn’t deserve it, but leaving would be hard. More than I realized, I liked living with her. True, I had nothing to go “home” to, but it was more than that. I had thought she liked me.
“I guess I’m going back to my old man’s,” I said bitterly.
Reena looked at me over the rim of her wine glass. Her brow creased. “What makes you say that?’
“That’s why you called me down here, isn’t it?”
“You’re way off base, Lee,” she said. “Sit down and relax. Jesus, you’re always so wound up.”
I lowered myself to the edge of the bed. “Okay, what?”
“I spoke to your dad last night.”
Here it comes, I thought.
“And, well, I have to tell you, he feels real bad about you not wanting to talk to him.”
She paused, and I said nothing.
“But that’s another story. Anyhow, he’s agreed if you agree. I’d like you to stay on here for as long as you want. You’re a big help to me, running the café. You’re not the cheeriest angel in the choir. And,” she smiled, “you can be a pain in the ass sometimes, but you work hard, and I like having you around. So, what do you say?”
I swallowed. My mouth was so dry I could hardly get my tongue to move. “Okay,” I managed.
“Don’t knock me over with your enthusiasm.”
“No, really, I want to.”
“Good.”
I climbed the stairs to my room, shaking with relief, sat on my bed and looked around, and for the first time thought of it as just that—my room.
So the Queen had been dead wrong when she asked if I was in a foul mood. Just as she shuffled past the booth on her way to the door, my cell phone began to describe a lazy circle on the table. I picked it up.
“Yeah.”
“There’s a severe thunderstorm watch out for today. Keep your eye on the western sky from about three o’clock on.”
“Hi, Abe.”
“Howya this morning, Lee?”
“Good.”
“Listen, you interested in another client? My lawyer—she’s up on 8th Street in the old town hall building—she’d like to have you do the odd delivery for her.”
“Okay,” I said.
“Great. I’ll give her your number, if that’s all right.”
“Sure, Abe.”
“Drop by today, if you get a chance, willya? I got some paperwork to send up to Lakshmi—that’s the
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