Finding Parker (3 page)

“Which year was your worst to date, as far as luck goes?” I asked as I opened my tablet and powered it on.

“Excuse me?” she said over her shoulder without looking as she scrunched her nose and flipped through the pages of
Bon Appetit.

“Luck. Or, well, lack of luck. Let’s say bad luck. Which year was your worst for luck?” I grinned.

Dressed in a pair of sheer black pants, a quarter sleeve top, and what appeared to be two inch heels, she looked intelligent with her dark rimmed glasses perched at the tip of her nose. Her eyes appeared to change color from brown to green as her head shifted from side-to-side.

“You’re pretty random. 2012 without a doubt, why?” she responded over her shoulder as she lowered the spine of the magazine to meet the table.

“Well, the jade necklace you’re wearing. Most people wear jade with the hope of it bringing good luck. I suspected you had either a really bad event, or a really bad series of events which prompted the use of the necklace for luck,” I looked up from my tablet as I finished speaking and smiled.

“My my my. Observant aren’t you?” she said as she released her magazine and fingered her jade pendant.

“I’m Parker,” I smiled.

“First or last?” she asked as she turned and reached toward me with her right hand.

I raised my eyebrows as I extended my hand to meet hers. Before I thought to speak, she began.

“Name? Your name. Is Parker your first or last name?” she asked as she shook my hand.

“First,” I smiled.

“It’s a good name,” she began, nodding her head slowly as she squinted her eyes.

“I like it. I never talk to random people. I can’t believe I’m talking to you Parker, but you’re cute,” she said as she turned her left wrist and glanced at her watch.

I smiled at the thought of her thinking I was cute, and being willing to express it. She certainly wasn’t shy. As I admired her hair, she pushed her hands on the edge of the table and began to stand.

“I’m sorry, but I have to work in about fifteen minutes and my current job is in El Cajon,” she said as she rose from her seat and began to straighten her mountain of reading material into to a neat pile.

I stood and nervously pressed my sweaty palms against the thighs of my jeans.

“No, Parker. I won’t give you my phone number. If that’s what you’re wondering. Not now, she paused as she looked down at the magazines.

“I’ll either see you again or I won’t,” she said as she picked up the pile of magazines from the table.

“Fair enough. It was a pleasure to meet you,” I smiled.

“Likewise,” she nodded her head and walked briskly toward the stairs.

As she worked her way down the winding staircase, I smiled at the ease of making conversation with her. Although I realized I may never see her again, I felt satisfied she was very attractive in personality and appearance. As I sat in the chair and looked around the open room, I convinced myself she must be a regular here.

It would stand to reason if she finished looking at three magazines by the time I had shown up, she had arrived early in the morning, probably as the store opened. If she sat upstairs, she had probably come to spend some time here alone, knowing the typical patrons coming and going from the store would never venture up the stairs if they didn’t have to.

As I thought of Victoria and what she may do for a living, a brunette at an adjacent table stood and walked to the staircase. Although rather slight, she was attractive and seemed interested in me. The first five steps of her trip down the stairs included an eyeful of me from over her left shoulder.

I raised my hand to my chin and smiled as she disappeared downstairs.

Courting women in the coffee shop was, without a doubt, my calling in life. Without a doubt, this was going to be an interesting summer. In an effort to claim my newfound perch, I left my tablet on the table, stood, and walked toward the staircase. Carefully choosing a few books and a magazine from downstairs just might make me a more interesting option to the single women.

I reached the bottom of the staircase and noticed the thin brunette standing at the counter of the coffee shop. As I turned and walked toward her, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. It wasn’t my original intent to attempt to strike up a conversation with her, but considering her expressed interest, I figured I may as well attempt to speak to her.

As I slowly walked her direction, she turned and looked over her shoulder again.

“I saw you met Victoria,” she said as I approached, not bothering to turn around and face me when she spoke.

  “I did,” I paused as I reached for my wallet.

“She doesn’t like people. I’m surprised she talked to you. She doesn’t talk to anyone. She’s in here quite a bit, but she keeps to herself,” she said as she picked her coffee up from the counter.

As she turned around, I made mental note of her porcelain like skin and natural good looks. Her hair was cut in what now appeared to be an asymmetrical style, leaving her left side significantly shorter than the right side. For an adult male, I stand a little less than average height, at 5’-10”.  As she rotated my direction, I realized she was about eight inches shorter than me.

And perfectly beautiful.

“I’m Parker,” I muttered nervously.

“Katelyn, Nice to meet you,” she smiled and raised her coffee cup in a celebratory fashion.

“Can I help you?” the barista asked.

Overweight, covered in tattoos, and sporting devices in her earlobes which were the size of quarters, the barista stood as a drastic contrast compared to Katelyn. Her visibly dirty hair was cut in a bob and as black as black could possibly be.

“A black cup of coffee, sixteen ounce please,” I smiled.

“Pretty basic,” Katelyn said as she tilted her head toward the barista.

“$2.76,” the barista said.

“I don’t like to complicate things,” I stated as I handed the barista my newly acquired credit card.

“Carmel macchiato,” she said as she raised her cup again, “it’s not complicated. It’s delicious. Oh my God, you should live a little Parker, it’s so good.”

And with that remark, she smiled, turned, and walked gracefully toward the stairs. I watched curiously as she worked her way up the steps. When she reached the half-way mark, she turned and smiled over her right shoulder and took a sip from her cup. The shorts she was wearing revealed although thin, her legs were very muscular. My level of interest rose as she reached the top of the steps.

“Can you make that a caramel macchiato?” I asked.

“I’ve already made you the coffee,” she rolled her eyes as she responded, placing the cup of coffee on the countertop.

“I’ll pay for both,” I nodded, “you still have the card.”

“Fine,” she snapped as she turned toward the espresso machine.

I grinned at the thought of returning to the upper floor and talking to Katelyn. She was probably the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in person. I stood in wonder if her personality would match her beautiful looks as the barista handed me my freshly made drink.

“What do you want me to do with the coffee?” she asked.

“You can dump it out. Or I suppose you could offer it to someone free of charge,” I smiled as she handed me my credit card.

“You always come to book stores to mack on women?” she asked.

“I’m studying,” I responded.

“Studying getting laid,” she snarled.

I turned and walked up the stairs, eager to speak to Katelyn. As I reached the top of the landing and turned toward my table, she looked up from the book she held and smiled. I smiled in return as I pulled my chair away from the table and lowered myself into it.

The upper floor was sparsely populated. Of the sixteen or so tables situated on the floor, six were occupied, five of which were women. I turned and looked over the handrail and onto the first floor. Primarily filled with women, the first floor was at capacity. A few men sat and read, most of which appeared to be college students. None seemed to be interested in anything but studying.

While turning to face Katelyn again, I raised my coffee cup in the air and waited for her to look in my direction. After a moment, she looked up from her book and grinned.

“Delicious,” I mouthed the word silently with my cup held high in the air.

She shook her head and placed the book on the table, marking her page with a small piece of paper. She picked up her coffee cup, yet left her books and purse on the table - indicating she had no intention of actually leaving the book store. As she walked my direction, I took a sip from my drink and fingered the screen of my tablet, fumbling to power it on.

“So, Parker. What’s your story?” she asked as she approached the table.

“Story?” I lowered my coffee cup to the table and cupped my hands around it as I looked up and into her eyes.

As she sat down I began speaking.

“I’m an only child. I grew up outside of Cincinnati, Ohio. I was raised by my grandmother and grandfather until my grandfather passed away. I was about six when he died of a heart attack. I have no real recollection of him at all, which isn’t surprising. Alone, my grandmother raised me until I graduated high school. I did well in school, received an academic scholarship, and attended UCSD on a full-ride. A few months ago I graduated, and I am now employed as an analyst for a local businessman. I suppose that’s about it,” I released the cup from my grasp, opened my hands, raised my eyebrows slightly, and waited for a response.

“Where were or are your parents? And what do you analyze?” she asked, smiling.

“They were killed in a car wreck when I was a little less than a year old. And,” I paused as I raised my hand to my chin.

“I analyze people. Well. Yes. Let’s stick with that. That’s about as correct as any other explanation. I analyze people,” I smiled as I slowly lowered my hand.

“I’m very sorry about your parents. And, you analyze people? How and why? Tell me how and why. Is that what you’re doing now?” she asked as she slowly wrinkled her brow.

“How? Well, I merely collect data, I suppose. What types of people do certain things; I look at where they go, what they do, and why. I gather information and provide it to my employer. I guess calling myself an analyst is a stretch. My employer is more of the analyst. I am the lowly grunt in the field,” I chuckled.

“And am I analyzing you now? No. Now I am enjoying the company of a very attractive woman. That’s all,” I fibbed slightly as I nodded my head in her direction.

“Something about you interests me, Parker. I’m not sure what, but something. Let’s keep talking and see what, if anything, we have in common. Sound good?” she smiled as she raked her fingers through the longer side of her hair.

“Sounds great. Yes, start talking, Katelyn. Tell me things about you,” I tilted my head slightly and looked along her torso admiringly.

She smiled, slowly raised her eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion, and looked up at the ceiling as she began to speak.

“Well, let’s see. I had an interesting childhood. Five sisters. I’m the youngest. The oldest is ten years older than me. My mother and father fell madly in love in college and remain true to each other after all this time,” she lowered her chin and took a drink from her coffee cup.

“My father was very strict, but I was rebellious. My sisters, for the most part, lived by his rules. I always made sure to do my best to break or at least stretch them. There’s always one kid that’s the wild child, and I guess I was that kid,” she grinned as she ran her fingers through her hair.

“So, six girls. Wow, that’s a lot of estrogen in one home,” I said as she crossed her legs and placed her hands in her lap.

“No. Five total. There are five of us. Five sisters. Sorry, I don’t have five sisters. We
are
five sisters. Or whatever. There’s five. Me and four others. Christi, who’s closest to me in age, is a whore,” she chuckled.

“That’s not nice to say about your sister,” I said as I leaned into the back of my chair, waiting for her to expand on the sexual adventures of her sister the whore.

“Well, she is. She can’t keep a boyfriend longer than about six weeks,” she paused and shook her head slightly.

“If you can even call them that.
Boyfriends
,” she huffed.

“She screws them. And then she leaves them. Call her whatever you want. But she uses them for sex. And she has commitment issues or something. So, in short, she’s a whore. A slut. But anyway, tell me more about you,” she raised her hands from her lap and pressed her fingers into her temples.

“Do you believe in love, Katelyn?” not certain of why I had asked the question, I sat and waited for her to answer.

She lowered her fingers from her temples and covered her pursed lips with her hands. Her eyes shifted to over my left shoulder and blinked a few times before she began to respond.

“I uhm. Well. Yes. Yes, I do. My parents are proof that it at least
exists
. I think it was or maybe is more prevalent in the older generation, and it’s what’s missing today in the nation’s youth. Kids today don’t love, they act. They do whatever they need to do – or what they
think
they need to do to get laid. It’s ridiculous,” her voice elevated in intensity as she spoke.