Jess Rizkallah

Life Over Coffee Spoons

“Sir, hello? May I take your order?” the barista said uneasily, addressing the man leaning back in his chair, his eyes transfixed as he stared out of the window by his table. He’d been sitting at his table in this position for half an hour, perfectly still— well, almost. His legs were crossed and the foot on top was bobbing up and down, keeping time with something only he could hear. The barista cleared her throat, at which point the man froze. He straightened up in his chair, uncrossed his legs, and leaned toward her. 

He spoke with a voice like cough syrup, smooth with a subtly unsettling aftertaste, “I’ll take my coffee black, with three shots of espresso.”

She raised her eyebrows, but made note of his order and began to walk away. “Oh and, I’ll have it in the biggest mug you’ve got, darling” he added. She turned back to assure him she’d heard him and his mouth curled into a smile full of straight white teeth, except for a fang on the left that had a dull yellow tint. It was like a row of fresh tombstones and then a mound of dirt. It was all she saw as she smiled back at him so she spun around and hurried back to the counter before he realized it. He checked his watch. Al was twelve minutes late. The poor schmuck was always sporadic with his punctuality. He was probably helping little old women cross the street, or saving a kitten from a tree or curing fucking cancer. Or something. The barista returned with his coffee, quickly settled it down on the table along with a few packets of cream and sugar, which Lou ignored, and hurried away again. He took a gulp of his coffee and it scalded his tongue. His mouth watered and he smiled. It was just the way he liked it. He didn’t like a lot of simple things like this— scalding coffee on a dreary day in a cafe full of isolated people. Things like these were usually an afterthought to his more passionate interests. Today he relished in it, because in truth, he didn’t have much else to do.

A dull light began to burn behind the clouds, as if the sun was trying to break through the fluffy canopy but was failing so that everything stayed an eerie, clinical white. Lou sniffed at the air. It would rain soon. He turned his head from the window and  was face to face with an old man. His hair was more salt than pepper and his beard was full and framed his face in a handsome way so that his periwinkle eyes could twinkle in every direction. Lou didn’t even know what that meant, and he hated himself for noticing twinkles and periwinkles and was jealous of the fullness of Al’s beard.

“Al, you mighty bastard. You’re still as quiet as the plague!” Lou said, reaching his hand out to greet him. Al shook Lou’s icy hand and smiled curtly, but maintained the pleasant expression on his face. It was almost perpetual at this point, which always threw Lou off.

“And you’re still as cold as a sore. I see your coffee isn’t, though. How can you drink that?” Al frowned at the giant mug of steaming darkness. 

Lou smiled down into it and then at Al before taking a slow, satisfying slurp. Al scanned the room for a barista before his eyes landed on the one standing in front of him.

“Oh, darling, hello!” he said to her, leaning forward.

She smiled and asked him what he wanted. She was standing a little too close to him, and Al noticed Lou’s chin resting in his hand as he leaned forward and stared at the back of her head in interest. Her wrist swiftly flicked across her notepad, but Al still saw the implication of goosebumps before she tucked her pad and hands into her pocket, smiled again and walked away.

“You’re still on that green tea kick?” Lou accused, a note of amusement in his voice.

“It’s been awhile since we’ve spoken without our secretaries between us,” Al answered.

“Yeah, man. I hate falling out of favor with you, but I just needed to spread my own wings, you know?” and he stretched his arms out before placing his hands at the back of his head, leaning back in his chair, “but, I’m doing well for myself.”

The girl placed his tea and a container of honey by Al’s hand, and he nodded and smiled at her as a thank you. She nodded and walked away beaming. 

Al stirred honey into his tea and watched the berries and mint leaves swirl around, as though he were mixing the contents of the universe until they were a blur of taste and color. “You don’t say,” he answered.

Lou was sitting straight up in his chair again, and he straightened out a wrinkle in his pleated black pants before continuing, “Oh yeah. And you? How’s the kid? Still a total hippie? What was the name of his band again? The Fisherman?” he let a prickling laugh.

“Kids,” Al corrected, swallowing some tea and staring over Lou’s shoulder at a young man frantically running his hand through his hair as the other one zipped back and forth over a the pages of a thick textbook.

“Ah, right. Kids. They still call you up, then? Still come to visit?” Lou cajoled, a mischievous glint in his otherwise cold eyes.

Al stroked his beard, his naturally watery eyes maintaining consistency, “Let’s get down to business then, shall we?” he set his mug down in front of him and the steam contorted and shaped and dissolved into the air between them as they met each others gaze. Lou was sitting cross-legged again, his top foot bobbing. Al’s arms were crossed on the table.

Al spoke again, his eyebrows furrowed “What are you doing? You’re all over the headlines, everyone’s talking— you’ve gone too far.”

“What do you mean I’ve gone too far?” Lou asked, raising an eyebrow, “I haven’t been doing anything.”

Al sighed. “Fine— your people. Call them off.”

Lou snorted, “My people? They’re on paid vacation. I, myself, haven’t gone to work in months.”

“Months? I thought you were doing well for yourself?”

Lou shook his head and chuckled, “You know,” he said, pointing a finger at Al, “This is unlike you. You’re supposed to know everything. I am doing well for myself. I’ve been planting my seeds for years, and I finally hit soil so fertile, that all I’ve had to do is sit back,” and he did, mirroring his statement, “my gardens are tending themselves—”

Al’s cheeks grew rosy and his eyebrows wrinkled.

“—oh, right, I forgot. Agriculture was never one of your more successful divisions, was it?” Lou smirked. He was lively now. He could feel the dull sensation of the caffeine in his bloodstream, but it was the adrenaline of impending victory that coursed through him. He continued, “But yeah, hey, my workers get more time with their kids— some with their piglets, too—And my clients! Oh, they’re lining up, let me tell you. I’d give you some pointers, because uh… your employees are a bit, how we say, suck-ish, at the customer service bit, aren’t they?” he snickered.

“They’re more like family,” Al said, as he watched with concern the fire that leapt behind Lou’s eyes.

Lou slapped his knee, “HA, that explains why they’re practically chasing your clientele to me. Keep up the great work, Mr. Family Business!”

“Not that my business is any of yours, but, I’m aware of their mistakes. I can’t turn them away. I’m not one to fire people—”

“Oh-ho! You should try it. It gives you such a rush,” Lou interrupted, licking his lips.

Al closed his eyes and rubbed his temples as Lou continued, “Besides. That’s not what I’ve read.”

“Oh God.” Al’s hands froze on his temples and he opened his eyes.

“You’re telling me!” Lou said with delight, “Those books are awful—and I LOVE tragedies—Oh, speaking of, have you ever read King Lear? Even I’ll say that you deserved that deal, Prints of Darkness bows down in front of that defeat—”

“King Lear was marvelous,” Al muttered, “But, I did not write those books you initially spoke of,” he said hurriedly, bringing the subject back before it became his demise, “I just, I had an overzealous fanclub back in the day. They always wanted to give me credit for everything. It was a busy few years, what with the birth of my son and all— the paperwork piled up and, oh and Johann!” he let out an exasperated sigh, “Johann got his hands on it. Next thing I know, it’s too late to pull from the shelves. He’s worse than Nicholas Sparks’ publisher.

Lou nodded resignedly, “Yeah, Sparks is one of our most successful clients… God knows why.”

Al rolled his eyes.

Lou reigned the subject back in, “So you didn’t write those books, eh?” he chuckled, “You sure you’re not seeing one of my people? We gave one of our campaigns a similar line a few weeks back. Maybe you’ve heard of him—”

“I represent that campaign!” Al exclaimed, alarmed.

Both men are momentarily taken aback at how blurred the parallels they had were becoming. However, they reclaimed their composure, more guarded than before. Al swallowed a mouthful of berries before he resumed his straight-lipped poker face. Lou had both feet on the floor and a hand around his mug, which for some reason was still steaming hot, as if it, too, had felt the heat of the conversation rise.

Lou’s voice was cough syrup again. “Well,” he shrugged, “even though those books are doing to your reputation what Chris Brown’s woman-beating should be doing to his, those books aren’t the death of you— but I would watch out for any German philosophers.” he scowled with bitterness having nothing to do with his coffee— he had a reputation for seducing Al’s enemies, but that ass felt himself beyond Lou as well. He made a mental note to visit Chris later.

Al smirked with genuine intrigue, “I always like hearing what philosophy has to say. Most of it isn’t so far off the mark, you know.”

Lou rolled his eyes, “See, that’s your problem: you’re too open-minded to stick to your own philosophy.”

“My philosophy is simple, and it’s at the core of most philosophies. I’m too open-hearted to live by a sole philosophy,” Al said gently.

Lou gagged into his mug before taking another gulp. He let it scald his throat and licked his lips in satisfaction before settling back into the meat of the matter at hand. “Anyway. Here’s the deal, pops. I know we used to be pretty close, but we’ve been estranged for a lot longer,” he paused, letting that point sink in, “So, even if I were doing anything… you can’t really tell me to stop it. Hell, “choice” is your tired slogan just like “hope” is Bam-Bam’s,” he mocked.

Al’s eyes widened and the grip on the handle of his mug tightened.

Lou snorted. “Oh relax, we’re still in the ass-kissing process with that campaign… friendly competition, right?” Lou’s mouth curled into the same smile he’d bared at the barista earlier, and suddenly Al understood the goosebumps on her wrist as a row of tombstones and a fresh mound of dirt stared invitingly back at him.

“Wrong,” Al answered.

“Competition, then,” Lou replied matter-of-factly, but with an air of coolness, continued, “and I’m winning.”

Al hesitated a fraction of a second too long before taking the bait,“Oh, and how do you figure?”

A smirk consumed Lou’s smile and his eyes sparked again. He relished in worry. “Well, there’s just nothing to figure anymore. It’s too easy. I just sit around in coffeeshops,” he nodded at their surroundings as a young woman entered and lingered by the menu. She looked tired and tattered, Al noticed with concern.

“And I wait,” Lou carried on, “my cover is never blown. Everyone here is either too self-absorbed to be suspicious,” he nodded at a man in the corner on his laptop,” or too sad to sense anything else around them that could be even worse,” he tilted his head at the frantic boy pored over the textbook, “I blend right in,” he finished.

Al watched each of these people with overwhelming concern before turning that same gaze to consider Lou. Lou, still hungrily staring at the desolate atmosphere inside that mirrored the one beyond the window, realized Al was now looking at him. He read the compassion on Al’s face and wrinkled his in disgust.

“Oh, no!” Lou spat, “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Family Man. I’m not going back. I don’t need you or your pity. I’d be crazy to not take advantage of the dysfunction in your house, Uncle Louie’s open arms and eternal pizza parties are looking more like home! I’m more of a father than they think you are.”

“Yeah, to squeeze the life out of them and the cholesterol into their veins. You’re nothing but a heart attack,” Al said flatly.

Lou shook his head. “You still on that vegan kick?” He smiled at Al the way one smiles at a docile child and he said, “Just ‘cause you spare a cow it’s life and let it keep its milk, doesn’t mean it’s not going to shit on you,” he sat back in his chair and let his cough syrup drizzle the air between them softly, “But then again, you know that now, don’t you, pops?”

Al felt Lou’s eyes trying to strike him as if to create a spark, but he looked around at the coffeeshop instead. An old man sat in the corner reading the paper. Al didn’t need to make out the disturbing headlines to see what was instead, written on the man’s face. A few tables over, a young woman in a business suit was tuned out of her phone conversation and was absently stirring a fruit smoothie with her straw as she gazed at the distraught tattered woman that was still standing by the menu, her hand now clenched in her pocket. Al cocked his head in hopeful interest. The windows around the shop flooded in a burst of light as the sun momentarily broke through the canopy of clouds outside. The woman covered her face and whipped her head around, tuning back into her conversation. Al frowned and turned back to Lou, who was hungrily watching an arguing couple a few tables over.

Al snapped his fingers to get Lou’s attention. He whipped around, his face mid-tombstone-smile and said, “I love watching this stuff, aaah. I love it. These people,” he swept his arms in a motion that indicated an area larger than the coffeeshop, “just reek of desperation. The world is decayed by their filthy mistakes. They don’t need anyone or anything to seduce them and they’re too paranoid to trust anyone—” he smirked again, “let alone You,” he finished, satisfied with himself.

Al looked over Lou’s shoulder, thinking to himself. It was true. They wouldn’t trust him. He couldn’t save them. They were catalyzing their own end, but it was always in them. The times were going too fast and they were going to be there when the collision happened. Lou, seeing the acceptance dawn on Al’s face, set down his empty mug and twirled a ring on his thumb, anticipating the moment he could checkmate his opponent.

Al opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, his phone beeped from within his pocket. “Oh, Jesus,” he said, sighing and taking one last sip of his sweet, but lukewarm tea and swilling it around in his mouth as he got up and pushed in his chair. “I’m sure I’ll see you around,” he said, cupping Lou’s cold shoulder and giving him one last twinkle of his eyes. 

Lou didn’t look up, but felt it anyway. He laughed coldly, “yeah-yeah, later, old man,” and he continued staring out the window, internally cheering on the canopy of clouds.

As Al was making his way through the maze of tables to the door, he saw the business woman approaching the distraught woman in front of the menu, a scone in her hand. His eyebrows raised as the distraught woman whipped her hand out of her pocket and let it dangle to her side, staring in wonder at the woman offering her food. His gaze snaked over to the couple Lou was watching earlier. Rays of light were flooding their faces, but even through squinted eyes, they were still trying to find each other. Al considered this as he turned one more time at the door and found the frantic young man, no longer pored over his textbook. It sat limp in his lap as he faced the window, greeting the broken canopy of clouds in the sky. Al smiled. Maybe Lou was right. Maybe people weren’t going to trust him. They didn’t want to love him. But, they still knew how to love each other. They didn’t need him, but they still needed each other.

He let the door swing softly behind him as he stepped outside and paused to sniff at the air. It would rain soon.