Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) (14 page)

Moe went to the right. Lena followed Moe. Within seconds, Lena got lost inside her head.

Getting past the riff-raff was cake. She’d cream the bitches until the quarters. No TV to worry about. But
then
she’d have a camera on her sexy ass. She’d have a dust-up or two in the quarters, maybe even close sets, but she’d make it. But the semis… The semis scared the shit out of her. The way the brackets lined up, she’d run smack into Chrissy with the worst service of her life. If she didn’t fix her for-shit service, old hazel eyes would murder her.

The “Vacancy” sign lit up on Lena’s forehead. She walked past two perfectly acceptable local coffee shops, roaming the city without a thought about her lengthening distance from the patrolled boundaries of the campus.

“Why, God? Why can’t I just get my service back? I had it last month? Last month I popped aces every time I hit the court. What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get the mojo back?

“I really need to make things up to Lenore. I really freaked her out. Why do I lose my temper like that, God? What’s wrong with me? Is it the Psycho 16 coming back to haunt me? Is that what happens to me? I really didn’t want to scare her. Lenore’s the best thing that ever happened to me. When I get back to the room I really need to make it up to her.

“Which of course means making out with her. Which of course means I’m that much more of a frigging lesbian. Which of course means I’m hiding that many more secrets from my family… And the press… And the girls on the floor… And my family. Holy Shit! If Grandma Sardi ever found out…

“Look, God… I just don’t want to look like an idiot on TV. If I don’t get my service back in the next two weeks… Frigging Collins will laugh me off the court. God, I hate that frigging know-it-all…”

The Wild Child approached a cross-street. She looked up. She had walked 20 blocks from the Paulson campus.

“SHIT! How the hell did I wind up here?”

Lena scanned all four corners of the intersection. On the opposite corner, a coffee shop caught her attention. The sign over the door had a picture of a droopy-eared Bassett Hound in a tweed vest and black bowler downing a steaming cup of coffee.

“’The Perky Puppy?’ What the hell kind of a name is ‘The Perky Puppy?’ What, do they make the coffee out of dog shit? Aaaaah… What the hell. Might as well give it a shot.”

Lena crossed the intersection and stood in the entranceway to a quaint little coffee shop that seemed transported forward in time from the 1950’s. Through the window she saw a dozen two-person tables and solid wood chairs, with a row of maroon, leather-topped swivel stools arranged along the serving counter. At 6:45pm, the late night rush of students and theater-goers had not yet begun. Five patrons sat reading papers and magazines, sipping lattes, espressos, cappuccinos, and straight up, solid black, ‘Joe.’

The Wild Child entered, hood up for anonymity. Walking slowly to the empty counter, Lena focused intently on the list of chalk-drawn menu options located above and behind the service area. She muttered aloud, considering her options.

“Mocha with a whip... Nah. Too frou frou.

“Espresso… Nah. Too ‘chick.’

“Cappuccino… Nah. I need something
really
strong and
really
black.

“Hello… Ma’am. May I… May I… Help… You…”

A 6’2”, young-20s, medium-skinned African American man with a Hindenburg-shaped afro stepped up behind the counter. Looking up into sweet, dark chocolate eyes, Lena gasped. At 250 pounds, with a neck as thick around as a tree trunk, the barista cut an ominous presence. Lena spoke tentatively, startled by the server’s imposing bulk.

“Well… I was just thinking… I needed something…” Lena chuckled and pieced together the irony. “Well I was just thinking about how I wanted something really strong and really black.”

The barista smiled. He turned his head left and right, scanning the two Caucasian girls behind the counter and the thin, medium height, African American woman serving another patron far around the bar.

“Well, Ma’am… You know… I think I can help you with that.”

Lena laughed and face-palmed herself in embarrassment. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to say that…”

“No, Ma’am. It’s okay. Now… You look like… Like you’ve had a really tough day, am I right?”

“Does it show? Yeah… It was a pretty tough day. It sucked. Hey… What’s your name, anyway?”

“Oh… I’m sorry…” the barista replied, glancing down at his apron. “I forgot to put on my name badge. My friends call me ‘Bubba’.”

An unfortunate snort burst from Lena’s nose. “Yer kidding, right?”

The barista confirmed his sadly stereotypical nickname. “Nope. No kidding. That’s my name. Been that way since I was a kid. You can call me Bubba, too. Now… What were you saying about having a bad day, Ma’am?”

“Well… Bubba…” Lena giggled, “…yeah… I had a tough day. Tough night, actually. And it’s probably not going to get much better once I get back home.”

“Boyfriend troubles, Ma’am?”

“If only…”
Lena mused.

“No… Nothing like that… Nothing I want to talk about with a stranger, anyway.”

“Well… Whatever it is, Ma’am. I’m sorry for your trouble. How about I make you the best cup of coffee you’ve ever had in your whole entire life? Would that help?”

The Wild Child smirked at the barista. “Oh really? You really think you can blow my doors off, eh Bubba?”

Bubba grinned. “Really, Ma’am. And I won’t just blow your doors off. I’ll make you wish you had another set handy just so I could blow them off, too.”

“Oh my God! This guy is too sweet! And so goofy!”

“Alright… Bubba…” Lena giggled yet again. “Make magic happen.”

The barista immediately went to work, lumbering back and forth behind the counter, selecting fresh beans from several different containers and mixing them together in a small, stainless steel pot. He cleaned the blades on a grinder located on the back counter, cleaned the discharge chute on the machine, and set it up to blend his special concoction. Going about his business, the barista chatted with Lena. The African American woman serving at the other end of the counter glanced over her shoulder and smiled as her employee worked up his special brew.

“So… Ma’am… You sure you don’t want to talk about whatever it is that’s bothering you? I’m a really good listener.”

“No. Thanks for asking, but no.”

“Okay.”

A few more moments passed as the barista finished the grind and added fresh spring water to the brewer. Lena watched Bubba in silence, smiling as he continued his labors. Another patron stepped up behind Lena and waited patiently as the Barista plodded along. Bubba poured a cup of the special blend and glanced over at Lena.

“You look like a creamer girl, am I right, Ma’am?”

“Good call… Bubba…” Lena chuckled.

“Flavored?”

“Well… I came in here thinking I wanted something strong and black…” Lena laughed. “But now I think I could go for something Irish. But just a little. I actually want to taste this supposed ‘best cup ever’.”

“As you wish, Ma’am,” said the Barista, procuring a refrigerated container of Irish cream.

Bubba squinted at Lena. “And… I’m thinkin’… Two sugars, right?”

“Right again… Bubba…” Lena snickered.

The barista finished preparations on all the individual ingredients and mingled them together into the mug.

“Oh… I’m sorry, Ma’am. I forgot to ask. Did you want to take this to go? Or are you going to sit here for a while?”

“Hmmm…” Lena pondered, tapping her lips. “Let’s go with the mug first, just so I can see how it tastes. Then, if it’s everything you say it’s going to be, you can dump it into a to-go cup for the road, okay?”

“Okay, Ma’am. Then… Here…”

The Barista presented the cup gingerly between his over-sized mitts. He had the look of a linebacker, broad in the shoulder, with pecs that screamed “iron-pumper.” His presentation of the cup seemed both delicately sweet and menacingly overpowering. As Lena reached forward, the barista added some special sugar.

“…This is for the most beautiful tennis pro in the whole world.”

Lena stopped dead, squinting at the barista and tilting her head.

“What did you just say?”

“I said, this is for the most beautiful tennis pro in the whole world. Here, Ma’am. Take it. I made it special for you.”

“Uh… Bubba…” There was no giggle in Lena’s voice, only the guarded distance of a famous young woman on high alert. “Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, Ma’am. That’s why I made this cup special for you.”

The Wild Child glanced over at the black woman who appeared to be either the manager or the owner. The woman nodded and smiled.

Lena completed her acceptance of the mug and stared at the barista. She held it out, not certain whether to drink or run. The barista’s casual recognition was unlike any she’d ever experienced in public. People fawned. People wheedled. People inveigled. They “outed” her on sight and called attention to “The” Lena Sardi’s presence in their establishment.

Bubba never once said her name. It was just a nice little conversation between an anonymous celebrity and her thoughtful barista.

“It’s okay, Ma’am. I promise. It’s not poisoned.”

“Uhhh… Okaaay…”

“Please, Ma’am. Just take a drink. Tell me what you think.”

Lena cautiously lifted the mug to her lips, blew across the surface of the steaming brew, and inhaled the back-draft. It smelled like… Heaven. Hand blended, lovingly ground, freshly roasted, heaven.

Lena closed her eyes and sighed.

“Go ahead, Ma’am. Take a drink. Tell me what you think.”

The Wild Child put the cup to her lips and sipped. Warming nectar of the gods flowed across her taste buds and down her throat. An invisible hand put a gun to her head and demanded that she sigh orgasmically after each swallow. Lena moaned loudly enough to get the attention of everyone in the room. “Ohhh myyy God…”

“What do you think, Ma’am? Is it okay? Did I do good?”

“Bubba…” Lena groaned, “Oh my God… This… This is the most
amazing
cup of coffee I have ever tasted! In my whole life! Oh my God…”

“Well… It’s yours Ma’am. That’s your special blend. I’ll never use it for anyone else ever again.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean just what I said, Ma’am. I’ll never use that blend for anyone else ever again. It’s yours. I just wanted you to know… I just really enjoy… You know… Watching you play. You’re amazing… On the court. I hope whatever went wrong today goes away tonight, Ma’am. You can take the mug, Ma’am. We have plenty of mugs.”

“Are you serious? I ought to pay for this. I mean… This is the best cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted. How much do I owe you?”

“Oh… It’s okay, Ma’am. Consider it… Well… Consider it my thanks. You just keep on playin’. You just keep on playin’ and… You know… You just keep having fun on the court. I’ll keep watching.”

Beams of love-fueled heat softened and melted the Wild Child’s frosted heart. They came from across the counter, from the chest of a big, black barista named “Bubba.”

“Well… Thank you… Bubba. Next time I play… I’ll definitely remember this. I’ll be thinking of you.”

“That’s good, Ma’am. I just hope I helped.”

The manager of the establishment caught the eye of the barista and nodded toward the customer standing just behind the Wild Child. The customer tapped her watch.

“Well, Ma’am… I just… I need to take care of the next customer. You have a good night, Ma’am. You just have a good night and forget about whatever it was that made you so… You know… Upset.”

In a happy daze, Lena turned and strolled away, sipping the coffee on her way to the door. She stopped and spun, catching the eye of the big, cuddly barista.

“Thank you, Bubba! You just fixed my day!”

Bubba called back and waved. “You’re very welcome Ma’am!”

The Wild Child exited the shop and meandered in a daze in the direction of Paulson College, smiling and taking sips.

Grinning from ear to ear, the manager walked up behind the barista and pounded him on his back with the meat of her palm. “Smooooooth, J.B! VERY smooooth! Very Barry White, baby!”

“Awww… Ma’am… I was just making a customer happy, that’s all.”

“Uh huh. A ‘customer’,” she air quoted. “And when are you going to tell that girl how much you love her?”

“Oh… I couldn’t do that. She’s famous, Ma’am. She doesn’t even know me. Not yet, anyway. Someday, maybe. Someday when I finish college and when I get a job and when I can take care of her the way she deserves.”

“Oh J.B! You’re such a dreamer! Well… Don’t wait too long, boy. You never know how much time you have on this earth. Don’t waste it!”

“I won’t, Ma’am. I just want it to be… You know… Right.”

“Alright… Whatever… Now, boy, you drop $1.50 in the till for the coffee and $2.50 for the mug. And next time you decide to take a girl on a blind date, boy, make sure she sees the check! Let her know you’re spending good money on her!”