Part 2 -- Coffee Breaks & Locked Doors
//Astrid//
I placed the float in the register, mostly on automatic-pilot. I slipped the bills in under the plastic clips. Stack of green. Stack of purple. Stack of blue. Matthew was mopping up and down the aisles, somewhere out of sight.
"You'll come running back. You'll come running back. To me-e-e!" I could hear him just fine, though, as he belted out a musical accompaniment in his deep voice.
With the store not yet open for business, I was the only one to benefit from his performance. A few feet away from me sat his 'MacGuffin': a portable record player. He had been so tickled to get it, he now played music on it whenever he had the chance.
"There's just- there's something about hearing things on vinyl, Astrid." He had said when he first unveiled his prize. I had no idea what he meant, and it must have read on my face. He waved my attitude away. "I can't explain, just believe me. This is completely worth it."
It was special to him, but I found it ironic that he didn't seem to own many records. The Rolling Stones album that was currently on the turntable was frequently in use.
The needle reached the edge of the record and the turntable stopped. Matthew came up the aisle towards the front, sliding the wide mop in front of him. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, revealing his powerful arms.
"Any requests, mademoiselle?" He said, he let the mop lean on the elaborate scratching post by the door and made his way behind the counter to pick a new record. He lifted a few albums up from his stack under the counter, holding them together like a giant dinner menu. He eyed me, pursing his lips and raising his brow, as though this were some seductive choice I was making.
"Uh... ok, how about that?" I provided, tapping the album on the right. He grinned.
"The movie soundtrack? Great choice!" He drew the record out of its sleeve and swapped it with one on the turntable. He paused before resetting the needle.
"We need a wider selection, I know," he said. "We'll have more soon. I'm going after some vintage selections."
"Oh yeah? What kind?" I asked.
"Billie Holiday, for sure," he replied.
"I didn't know you liked that kind of oldie, Matthew."
"I-" he hesitated, hopping over a brief thought, "I do. But I'm a pretty eclectic fellow. Not to mention full of surprises." He gave me an over the top wink.
~
//Mendax//
"I'm sorry, it's going to be a bit of a wait," said the woman who took my order. Poor dear. She looked worn out. No doubt the problems in their kitchen were flaring the tempers of many. People with limited time, and even more limited patience were blaming her for their inconvenience.
"That's no problem, I can wait," I said. I smiled with as much kindness as I could, hoping it would improve her spirits. She didn't seem quite happy, but at the very least, she was relieved.
I made my way to the back of the coffee shop, where the completed orders were handed over. Many people were already milling there. Some were hanging back while others stood directly in front of the counter. The latter were often in the way of those trying to grab their coffees or teas or various baked goods.
I skirted the bulk of the people, standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the opposite side. I leaned against the window frame and kept an eye on the counter. Another customer, an office worker in a pine green suit, followed a similar path through the gathering. He stood a polite distance from everyone, looming with his lanky frame and keeping his hands tucked behind his back. He let his sight flit about in front of him, his blue eyes holding no emotion. I turned my attention back to the employees bustling to fill orders behind the counter.
"I'm so sorry to bother you," a man's voice began in a crisp British accent, "but we've met somewhere, haven't we?" I glanced to my side. The man in the green suit had gotten closer. He was looking at me, waiting for me to provide an answer.
I tried to take in his details, to see if they jogged my memory. He was likely in his early forties, with some lines across his forehead but not much to suggest he was older than that. He had short, light blond hair, the tone matched exactly by his brows. Clean-shaven, with none of the shadow I always seemed to retain. Nothing stood out in his features, except that his eyes seemed just a bit small in his face.
"Sorry, I don't think so," I said after my deliberation. He looked a little confused, clearly not satisfied with my reply.
"Are you quite sure? I've worked in the city for years now," he explained. "You look incredibly familiar, but I can't place you."
"If so, I really don't remember you," I said, shrugging an apology.
"I'm Benjamin Geiger." He extended his hand. The name rang absolutely no bells, though the man's aura was so courteous that I accepted the handshake without any unease. He gave three firm shakes and released his grip.
"I'm Mendax," I provided in the silence between us, smiling, "people I've met don't usually forget that name."
"Ah," Geiger's face brightened in a brief smile and he nodded a concession. "You are certainly right, there! Mendax. That's a very memorable name."
"Number 538!" Called a barista from beyond the counter.
"Excuse me," I said, and wove my way through the thick of people.
I picked up the tray with Rachel's french vanilla and my tea wedged into it. A carrot muffin and a raisin tea biscuit respectively occupied the two remaining holders. I moved through the crowd, tucking my elbows to avoid collision. I hesitated at the door, my hands full. There was a clunk from overhead and the door slowly opened for me. Benjamin Geiger had come over to press the wheelchair-access button.
"Have a nice day, Mendax," he said to me in farewell.
