Until I Saw Your Smile (20 page)

“Angela isn't Italian,” Matthew said.

“But she's still fine, right?” Xavier said.

“Very,” Matthew said.

“I had a hard crush on that woman when I was ten,” Xavier said.

Is that what I have? A crush? Hmm. I have a crush on Angela. And tonight, I hope to be the lucky fella who sees Angela smile that
bella
smile of hers at the inaugural Angela's Arts Adventures.

I could just let it happen, you know, as if it happened kind of spontaneously. What do you know? A whole bunch of people just
happened
to show up to hear XS. What do you know about that?

Chapter 15

“W
hat took so long?” Angela asked as Matthew swept in.

“Where's Mrs. James?”

“It was actually quick,” Matthew said. “Mrs. James is at home.”
She actually enjoyed the ride in the cab.
He pointed at a chocolate chip cookie. “Please?”

Angela wrapped one in a napkin and handed it to him. “Well?”

“Xavier is out, and he's not out on bail,” Matthew said. “He's out, free and clear.”

“Really?”

Matthew nodded as he tore into the cookie. “Sugar. I've missed you.”

“How'd you do it?” Angela asked.

“I got lucky again,” Matthew said. “Xavier uses lots of B's and P's when he raps.”

Angela peered up at him. “Huh?”

“When XS spits rhymes, he
really
spits,” Matthew said. “The cops got too close.” He wiped his lips. “You have any coffee for me?”

Angela poured him a small cup.

Only a small? She is so hard to impress.
“I'll tell you all about it,” Matthew said, “if I can take you out for ice cream or something after closing.”

“It's the middle of February.” Angela turned away.

Matthew drifted down the counter to catch her eyes. “So the ice cream won't melt. It may even taste warm in comparison to the air. We can go out after the show.”

Angela snapped her head toward him. “What show?”

“XS is going to perform here tonight at eight o'clock,” Matthew said.

Angela faced him completely. “But I
close
at eight.”

Matthew smiled. “Oh, that's right. You do. That's perfect timing, isn't it? You close at eight, and we're having a show at eight. Wow. It must be fate. Got any of those big coffee dispensers?”

Angela rushed around the counter. “No. Matthew, I'm
not
staying open past—”

“
We
are staying open,” Matthew interrupted.
So much for the soft sell.

“No,
we're
not,” Angela said, cocking her head. “
I've
had a busy day.
I've
been earning money.
I
need to get off my feet.”

Matthew looked at her feet.
I'd like to sweep you off your feet if you'll let me, Angela.
“It's too late. The word is already out on Facebook, and it's spreading like wildfire. I believe there will be a nice crowd in here well before eight o'clock.”

“Not if I lock the door,” Angela said.

“You won't.” He looked into her eyes.

“Why won't I?” Angela asked.

“You're curious about what would happen.” He nodded. “You're the curious type, all right.”

Angela looked away. “It would have been nice if you had
asked
me before making this decision which affects
me
the most.”

He stepped into her field of vision. “You'll be able to sit the entire time, I promise, and I'll do the entire cleanup afterward.”

“Just this
one
time,” she said, zipping behind the counter again.

Matthew leaned on the counter. “So, Angela, if we get one of those big coffee dispensers, it will make it easier for people to serve themselves during the performance. You know, the honor system. We'll put the tip jar next to the dispenser.”

Angela groaned. “That's
not
the way I do business. Customers aren't always honorable.”

“Don't you pour out what doesn't sell at the end of the night?” Matthew asked.

“Yes, but—”

“So you'll make money you wouldn't normally make,” Matthew interrupted. “You can say, ‘Last call' or something like that at seven forty-five, and you can put any coffee you have left in the dispenser. You could even mix it all together and call it Jamaican Mountain Blue Breakfast House Blend.”
It makes perfectly logical sense.

“Dispensers aren't cheap.” Angela squared her shoulders. “A dispenser is not in my budget this month.”

“I'm buying.”
She can't out-argue me.

Angela wrinkled her lips. “Okay.”

Matthew smiled.
I won again! I won again! But why am I winning so easily now?

“But new, not used, Matthew,” Angela said. “I don't want anyone else's coffee contaminating mine.”

“I got this, Angela,” Matthew said. “I'll even throw in some Styrofoam cups.”

Angela shook her head rapidly. “No Styrofoam. Drinking cups. Dixie. The ones especially for hot liquids, like the ones I already use.”

“Okay.” He sighed. “Relax. It'll be fun.”

“It better be,” Angela said.

“It
will
be.”

Matthew spent most of the afternoon getting the “show” on the road. He bought a white ceramic coffee dispenser from Class Hostess on Flushing Avenue and a heavy box of white twelve-ounce Dixie cups from Ring & Bring on Lynch Street. He also made a deal with Soundhouse NYC on Broadway to bring a simple sound system to Angela's at 7:30 by offering them free advertising.

After running home to shower, shave, and change into jeans and a clean hoody, he carried the dispenser and the cups into Angela's shop at 6:30, and there were already people sitting and waiting.

Angela watched him remove the dispenser from its box. “White? Why'd you get white, Matthew? It's going to stain.”

“I bought white to match the Dixie cups,” Matthew said, patting the top of the box of cups. “I got two thousand of these bad boys.”

“But white for a coffee dispenser? Really?” Angela shook her head.

Maintain your calm so she can calm down.
“I didn't think you'd like the green one. It was an eyesore and reminded me of my great-grandma Fiona. She was from Ireland, and everything in her house was green. It would have definitely clashed with your old-school decor. And doesn't baking soda and vinegar get coffee stains out?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“You're surprised I knew that, aren't you?” Matthew asked.

Angela almost smiled. “Kind of, but . . .”

Matthew opened the top of the dispenser. “It holds forty-two cups and has a metal spigot with a rubber gasket up top. It's built to last. I think the wrought-iron stand is kind of classy, too.”

“What'd you pay?” Angela asked, looking inside the dispenser.

“A hundred for the dispenser, seventy-five for the cups,” Mathew said.

“I'll reimburse you.”

Wow. She has to have the upper hand at all times.
“Angela, I still owe you more than three hundred more this month, right? It's in the contract.”

“I don't need your money, Matthew,” she said.

So serious.
“I wish you had told me that earlier . . .”

Angela widened her eyes.

“I'm kidding.” He put his face in front of hers until she looked at him. “It's no problem.”

Angela leaned back. “Okay, Mr. McConnell, where exactly will this show take place? He's not dancing on my counter or walking around on top of my display case.”

He faced the front of the store. “I see him in the left corner near the window. He can stand on a table or two. That way the overflow crowd and people walking by can see him through the window.”

“He's going to stand on my tables?” Angela asked.

“They're sturdy, and he's skinny,” Matthew said. “He's been eating prison food for a few days, right? You might want to make a special batch of cookies just for him.”

She waved at the display case. “I have plenty. Now if this place fills up, how are they all going to hear him?”

“I have a sound system on the way.” He touched his head with a finger. “I thought of everything.”

She crossed her arms. “We'll see about that. And don't be running up my electric bill.”

He nodded toward the back. “Go . . . make some cookies.”

“I told you that I have plenty.”

No, you don't.
“A younger crowd has a sweeter sweet tooth.”

Angela blinked. “You're right.”

“Every once in a while.”

“This . . .” She backed away toward the kitchen. “This
better
work.”

“It will. I promise.”

While Angela made more cookies in between constantly serving customers, many of them brand-new to her, Matthew watched a decidedly younger crowd gathering outside, many getting coffee and sweets and returning to the sidewalk.

It smells like heaven,
Matthew thought
. At least I hope this is what heaven smells like.

The sound system parted the crowd and rolled in at 7:20, and the Soundhouse NYC crew set up a large amplified speaker, a mixer board, and a wireless microphone near the front window in a matter of minutes. After a quick sound check, Matthew took and kept the microphone.

By 7:30, a mostly laid-back group of young people of every race, creed, and socioeconomic status filled every chair and booth except the middle booth, where Matthew had Mr. and Mrs. James sit with him to watch the show.

“That boy told me he wouldn't be late,” Mr. James said.

“He's out trying to get his job back,” Mrs. James said.

“I doubt it,” Mr. James said. “He's just trying to make a grand entrance. He gets that from your people.”

“Drink your coffee, old man,” Mrs. James said.

“Did Xavier tell either of you anything about tonight's performance?” Matthew asked.

“No,” Mr. James said. “Or he might have. I can't understand the boy half the time.”

“He told me he was doing his community service tonight,” Mrs. James said.

Matthew looked out to the sidewalk.
I hope the police are kind to us tonight. They look at least six deep out there.

“Last call for coffee!” Angela yelled.

I didn't know she could yell like that!
He checked the time on his phone.
And it's exactly seven forty-five. She listened to me. I am having a great day.

As a line formed quickly at the counter, Xavier sneaked in and slid into the booth. He wore black jeans, black boots, a plain black hoody, a solid black baseball hat, and not a glint of bling.

“Ready?” Matthew asked.

“There's a lot of people here, man,” Xavier said.

“Where you been?” Mr. James asked.

“Did you get your job back?” Mrs. James asked.

Xavier smiled. “They were trying to call me all afternoon. Word got around fast. I even get my old shift back. Where do I set up?”

“Your stage,” Matthew said, “is on those corner tables near the window. I have your mike. Do you mind if I introduce you?”

“No offense, Mr. McConnell,” Xavier said, adjusting the bill of his cap, “but I don't need an introduction.”

“Let him introduce you,” Mr. James said. “He's the reason you're even here.”

“Work with me, Xavier,” Matthew said. “This may be my only brush with
your
greatness. I have to do a little advertising first to help pay the bills. Then the next hour is yours.”

Xavier nodded. “All right. That'll work.”

At 7:55, Matthew waded through the crowd to the tables in the corner, climbing up in time to see Angela filling the dispenser and getting the tip jar ready. He turned on the mike. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to Angela's Arts Adventures, the first of what we hope will be
many
live shows at Smith's Sweet Treats and Coffee.” He smiled at Angela, who sat on a high wooden stool to the right of the counter.
She's rolling her eyes at me.

“Let's give a hand to the woman who is the most beautiful coffee brewer and server in Williamsburg,” Matthew said, “and
please
don't
ever
call her a barista. Give it up for Miss Angela Smith!”

Angela shook her head throughout the ovation.

Matthew also detected a small smile on her beautiful red lips.

“Tonight's show is brought to you by Soundhouse N-Y-C, which is providing this incredible sound system. You want to be heard—Soundhouse N-Y-C is the word.”
Okay, that's one word and an abbreviation.
“Tonight's show is also brought to you by the law firm of Matthew McConnell, and that would be me, and the state of New York and the Ninetieth Precinct for realizing the error of their many,
many
ways by releasing tonight's performer about five hours ago.”

Matthew heard some laughter.

Matthew detected a larger smile on Angela's beautiful red lips.

“Here to share some wisdom with you this evening,” Matthew said, “please give a warm welcome back to freedom to Williamburg's own street poet . . .
X-S
!”

Xavier bounced through the crowd as the applause rose, getting dap and hugs from dozens of adoring fans.

After jumping down and handing Xavier the microphone, Matthew weaved through tables to stand next to Angela.

“I knew you were a ham,” she said.

“I know how to bring home the bacon,” Matthew said. “I thought it went very well for my debut, don't you?”