Afternoon Shower

The local Lounge Café was playing its usual easy listening. Soft, baritone vocals blended in with jazz concepts. It was very soothing, something you could mentally stagnate with. Not really a bad thing, from time to time.

The door chimed in its usual jingle, which was designed to meld specifically with the type of music being played, but just distinct enough to hear. I took a sip of my coffee and observed her over the rim of the cup. She was very easy on the eyes. She wasn’t tall, actually fairly short, and slim. Her hair flowed behind her as she walked. She wore a casual looking ensemble, skirt and light sweater.

She got to the counter and the male workers were wrestling each other to help her. I stood from my seat near the window, dark polo and pants, light brown hair, and dark tan. I was a strong contrast from her; our only similarities were being slim. I was about 5’ 9” to her 5’ 3”, my hair was short and light brown while hers was long and dark, nearly jet black. She smiled as the boys behind the counter wrestled amongst themselves. I got in line behind her after discarding my empty cup. Eventually, a sharply dressed employee, wearing the café’s logo proudly in a dark grey polo and slacks eased through the crowd and got to the counter. “Hello there. What can I get you?”

She motioned vaguely toward the cooler with the glass door behind the counter. “Do you have any tea?”

“Sure we do. Do you have a brand in mind?”

“Kirin Iced Tea, if you please. With lemon, if possible.”

“Right away.” He turned and bore down on the workers with a strong gaze. “Get your act together. Smith, get the lady some tea.”

“Whatever you say, boss.” He snapped over to the cooler while the other boys smoothed their way over to the other coffee machines. The well-dressed boss smiled and did a lightning quick job at ringing up the price. The woman reached down and rummaged through her purse. After a moment, after Smith had placed the tea on the counter, she frowned. “Oh god, where’s my wallet?”

I swiftly retrieved my wallet and slid a twenty on the counter. “Give the lady the change, please.” She turned toward me, surprised. “Um… Thanks.”

“No problem. Enjoy the tea.”

She warily eyed me as she walked away, drink and change in hand. She sat in the corner next to the small stage, and lowered her gaze into a book.

I turned to the boss and said, “Could I get a bottle of water?”

“Of course.” His hand darted under the counter, I heard ice shift, and a moist bottle appeared on the counter. “Two dollars even.”

I handed him a five and took my water while he punched up the receipt. I left the remaining three Washingtons in the tip jar and re-claimed my seat next to the window. Oddly enough, the woman was a few tables from me. I got up, and moved closer to her while retrieving my laptop from the bag I left near my chair. She lifted her eyes from her book and warily eyed me. I got the signal any advances were not wanted. At least, not for something so cheap as a charity of free drink. I merely nodded my head to the wall above her, where a wireless router was. She glanced at it, then my laptop, and sunk her eyes again to the book. The book looked painfully familiar to me. Then I noticed the author’s name. Jack Warren. That’s why it’s so familiar. I wrote that book.

I couldn’t help but laugh. The sound caught her attention and she looked at me, arching an eyebrow in a “what’s your problem” expression. I eyed her book, and she flipped it over, thinking maybe something was stuck on the flap or spine. I closed my laptop and sat on the seat opposite her.

She was kind of apprehensive about me, “Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to talk about the book. I like that one.” That much was true, I loved the heck out of that character. It’s so much fun writing for him, and his companions, too.

“Have you read his others, too?”

“Yes, multiple times.” More truth. I dare you to proofread an entire book, for six or seven books.

“Did you like those as well?”

“Not as much as that one, but all of the books hold a special place in my heart.”

“Really, why’s that?”

“I wrote them.”

There was a small silence, she glanced at the page number and set the book down.

“I don’t believe it.”

“Read the back flap. ‘Jack Warren was born in San Rafael, California. He’s currently unmarried with no children. He lives in the San Francisco area and commonly frequents his local coffee shop.’”

She glared me down, “So you memorized the back flap, so what?”

I shook my head, “Okay, what minute detail of what story do I need to dictate to you verbatim until you believe me?”

She pursed her lips, “Who did you base the reporter off of in this book?”

“Suggestion by a friend of mine.”

“Who?”

“A nice girl I talk to online, met her on a forum.”

“Did you change her name?”

“Had to for publication reasons, but it’s basically the same.”

“What’s your name on the forums?”

“My online moniker for most forums is NewClassic.”

“… That’s you!?”

“Guilty.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were an author?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a fan?”

“Because I didn’t know.”

“And did you think I knew?”

“The constant fangirling should’ve given me away.”

“Wait… That’s you!?”

She smirked, “Guilty.”

“Jeez, I must’ve missed that memo.”

She laughed, “No way I’ve been talking to you this whole time.”

“Heh, I didn’t think I had any fans.”

I finished my bottled water right when she finished her tea. They made the hollow sound hitting the table at the exact same time. Both of our gazes went to from the table to the each other with unpracticed synchronization. I assumed it was a good time to lean over and make myself not single for the first time in months. She leaned to her side and began digging her purse. I stopped before it became obvious what I was doing and got comfortable in my chair. I looked up to see if she was done and was greeted with my book onto my face. “Ow…” Simple, to the point. That’s the mighty author powers at work.

The book slid off of my face and onto the table, where she jabbed me with a sharpie.

I took it, “What, am I signing the bill too?”

She giggled, “No, silly. Sign my book.”

I blinked, “You want my signature?”

She nodded.
”On the book?”

Another nod.
”Right now?”

A third.

I opened the cover and in a massive flourish, the book was signed.

“You’re pretty new to this fan stuff, aren’t you?”

I looked down sheepishly, “Yeah. I was under the impression no one liked it. I didn’t think I had fans.”
”Welcome to stardom.”

“Is there an instructional video for this? Are there any attendants I can ask if I have any questions?”

“I might be inclined to answer a few questions.” Okay, she’s flirting back. That’s a good sign, right?

“Okay, to start…”

She leaned over and propped an elbow on the table. This movement put a merry amount of cleavage in my vision, “Yes?”

I tried to keep eye contact. “Doblpltb.” Okay, so now I’m incoherent. Deep breaths.

“Er.. Do you want to have dinner some time?”

She smiled, “I’d love to.”

I got up, went around the table, and offered her a hand, she took it as she was getting up.

It got quiet for a minute, and her watch beeped. Her eyes shot toward it. “Oh god, I’m late.”

I blinked.

“I need to go.”

She pulled me in a tight hug and hurried out the door, faster than I would credit anyone in high heels.

I just stared after her blankly. “Don’t you want my number?”

This fell on the relative emptiness of shop. I sighed, shoved my hands in my pocket, and went to go collect my computer and its case.

Two little details occurred to me at that particular instant.

Detail A:

My left pocket has a small card in it that wasn’t there before.

Detail 2:
My computer’s gone.

I withdrew the card from my pocket and looked at it. It was the girl’s card. I could tell because her e-mail matched the forum name. She outmaneuvered me.

Then I checked under the table for my computer case. That was gone too.

Someone stole my computer.

Well, isn’t this fantastic? I reached for my phone and programmed her number into the memory, and when I was prompted for the name, a third detail became apparent. I don’t know this girl’s name.

I sighed and quickly punched in her online name and saved it. Then I took a casual pace out of the Lounge Café and moved lazily down the streets of San Francisco. I walked three blocks and turned. I passed a Starbucks and nodded into the window. My friend Cecil waved to me from behind the counter, then had to get back to fixing one of the thousand drinkaccinos that people ordered regularly there. I turned into the crook between the Starbucks and a particularly large Old Navy and rode the elevator to the fourth floor. I found my apartment, number 407, and wandered in.

I flopped on the bed and was greeted by my fluffy white cat, Shadow. That cat is particularly silent, compared to other cats. I scratched behind his ears and flipped on the television. Nothing good was on, so I yawned and changed to a music channel. Jazz wafted slowly out of the television, and soon, I was asleep along with Shadow.