Anything Could Happen (12 page)

Crap. Why not?
Austin did as his uncle had suggested.

Silence.

“He’s so damned tempting,” Austin muttered.

More silence.

“And he’s here,” Austin said. “He’s
real
. God. He’s gay. He’s a gay man. The only gay man I ever knew before you and Guy was Mr. Tanson—”

“Gary Tanson?” Uncle Bodie asked. “The town librarian?”

“Yeah. And I wasn’t sure—”

“He’s gay,” Uncle Bodie said.

“How do you know?”

“I know.” Uncle Bodie laughed.

“I swear, Uncle Bodie. What all has been going on my whole life that I didn’t know about?”

“Give it time, Austin. You’ll begin to see it. Your eyes will learn, and you will see what was always right there in front of you the whole time. You’ll say, ‘How did I not see that?’ and kick yourself. But it’s okay. It’s all a part of that journey you’ve set yourself upon. Enjoy it. Remember what I told you—you have no idea what lies ahead. And don’t become jaded.”

“I thought you said you didn’t think that would happen to me.”

“I like to think not.”

“And you also said I would find Todd. So shouldn’t I wait?”

Uncle Bodie let out a long breath of air. “Yes, I did, didn’t I?”

“So?”

“So what?” his uncle asked.

“So what do I do? Wait for Todd?” Or… Austin felt his heart skip a beat. “Or go for the bird in the hand?”

There was a scraping at the balcony door.

“I think Lucille wants to join us” was his uncle’s only answer. He stood and opened the door, and the little Pom ran out and immediately, jumped into Austin’s lap, and reared up so she could lick his face.

“Oh, Lucille.” Austin giggled. “Enough, sweetie. Control. Remember?”

His uncle joined him in laughing.

“No one can resist you, Austin. Your beautiful face.”

Austin turned to his uncle in surprise. “That’s what Guy said.”

“What?”

Austin found himself blushing. “Beautiful. He said that about me.”

Uncle Bodie shook his head. “And you didn’t jump his bones?”

“I might have. But that was when he left.”

“Ah, well, Austin. A lesson learned. Carpe diem.”

“Seize the day….”

“Yes. Or perhaps
carpe mentulam
….”

“What’s that?” Austin asked.

“Seize the penis,” Uncle Bodie said, and they both burst into laughter.

They lapsed into silence for a while, and then suddenly, Uncle Bodie sat up in his chair. “Oh! I forgot!” He stood up and pulled a piece of paper from his back pocket, and when he handed it over to Austin¸ it turned out to be an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Well, look” came the reply.

Austin opened the envelope and was surprised find a check. A nice check. “Wh-What’s this?” he asked.

“A check,” said his uncle.

“I can see that.” Austin looked again, eyes wide, saw the signature. “Peter Wagner did this? Why?”

“Because of the work you’re doing around here,” Uncle Bodie explained.

“But the agreement was that I was doing the work because I’m not paying rent.”

“That was between you and me. Peter doesn’t care that you’re not paying rent. And Austin—I don’t pay rent. That’s part of me being building supervisor. And that money he gave you? Do you know how much a plumber costs? Peter came out ahead.”

“I don’t know. This is a lot of money,” Austin cried. He still couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t done that much. Light bulbs, a toilet fixed, a garbage disposal…. “This is too much. Jeez, I’ve only been here a week.”

“But you know how much more quickly problems were taken care of in that week? You saved Peter time. Peter is grateful to have good tenants. He wants them happy. And paying you keeps you doing the job.”

Austin slipped down in his chair. “Gosh.”

“Take the money and be happy.”

“Oh, I’ll take it,” Austin said, grinning.

“And be happy.”

“I’ll work on it.” Austin nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

“C
OFFEE
?”

Austin backed out from under the sink, bumping his head on the way out. “Ouch.”

Guy squatted down beside him. “You okay?”

Austin rubbed the back of his head.
Where the crap did
he
come from?
Austin wondered. “Ah—yeah. Sure. What did you ask me?”

“I wanted to know if you wanted to go for coffee. I’m about to get real busy with the play. It’s gonna be crazy. Six days a week of rehearsal, plus all the other stuff I’ll be doing for the Pegasus: grant requests, organizing a trip to see some new plays….”

“I’m not really a coffee person,” Austin said. The truth, of course, was he wasn’t ready to sit over coffee with Guy. The man made him feel all confused. He didn’t think clearly when Guy was around. Something about his eyes, his presence, his… energy. His intellect. And of course, there was the fact he was a real, live gay man and, oh-oh how Austin had wanted the company of gay men. He’d wanted it even before he could really acknowledge it. To want something you saw online was one thing—to take the plunge and enter a gay community? That was reality. That was something else.

In retrospect, he could see so much. Hindsight really was twenty-twenty.

“Let me guess,” Guy said. “Your grandmother makes Folgers—or God—is it Taster’s Choice instant?”

“Maxwell House,” Austin corrected.

Guy made a gagging sound.

“I don’t get it.” Austin put his wrench in his tool kit and then grabbed a dirty towel—one obviously not used for the bathroom—and began to wipe up water that had gathered on the floor. “Coffee’s so damned bitter. I love the smell. Why can’t it taste as good as it smells?”

“Maybe you’re just drinking the wrong coffee,” Guy suggested. “Remember the beer?”

Austin sat back on his heels and raised an eyebrow. He had to give Guy that.

“The Shepherd’s Bean has the most amazing coffee I’ve ever had. And I’ve already talked to your uncle. He says he doesn’t have anything else for you to do this morning.”

“Thanks, Uncle,” Austin muttered under his breath.

“Come with me? If you don’t like it, I’ll drink it. I’ll be happy to share your germs.” Guy winked.

Austin smiled. “You must really like coffee.”

Guy nodded.

Crap
, thought Austin.
He’s not going to let me out of this
. “Fine,” he said.

“Good.” Guy crossed his arms and leaned back against the bathroom threshold.

“What?” asked Austin.

“Nothing. Just waiting.”

He wants to go now?
“You want to go now?”

“Yup.”

He wants to go now.

Guy crossed one foot in front of the other.

“Okay. Okay!” Austin jumped up, smacked his hands. “Let me take this”—he held up the tool box—“to the basement and get washed up.”

“I’ll meet you out front in… fifteen?”

Austin sighed inwardly. “Okay. I’ll see you in fifteen minutes.”

T
HE
Shepherd’s Bean sat back from most of the shops on the block. Which included a hair salon called Shear Fantasies, a comic book store, a place that sold used CDs and records (real vinyl!), and an impressively large metaphysical/new age store. Austin was surprised there was even a no-kill animal shelter called Four-Footed Friends right around the corner. Most of the shops had cheerfully painted concrete exteriors, except for the coffee shop and its nearest neighbor—some kind of scrapbooking place—both of which were of old red brick. In fact, the patio area in front was paved in the same brick. Three trees grew there as well, their branches providing shade for its patrons.

“It’s really pretty,” Austin said.

“Wait until you see the inside.” Guy opened the door and waved Austin in ahead of him.

“Wow,” Austin said as he walked through the door. As with the outside, red brick was the predominant feature of the room, but there was also a lot of wood—reminding Austin of Izar’s Jatetxea. The floor was wood, along with the long customer counter, a half-dozen tables, and a ledge wrapping around the room, just wide enough to sit and enjoy a cup of coffee or sandwich. What caught his interest, though, was a series of paintings—like illustrations in a children’s book—that ran around the plaster border by the ceiling. Apparently, they featured a story of a shepherd boy and his goats.

And of course, there was the aroma, the heavenly fragrance of coffee.
If only it tasted half as good as it smells,
thought Austin. “Come on,” Guy said, nodding toward the counter.

“All right,” Austin replied, still doubtful.

“Hey, Poindexter,” said Guy, approaching a short woman with huge black glasses.

“Hi, Guy,” she exclaimed, lighting up and transforming a nondescript face into the very definition of adorable. “What can I do for you today?”

“Well….” He grinned. “You can help me show my friend Austin here just how wonderful coffee can be.”

Poindexter’s smile grew even wider. “All right! Austin, let’s start by asking you what you like.”

“Tea,” he responded.

“Oooo,” she said, eyebrows high. “Okay, let’s rephrase that. Do you like strong, dark, light, floral—”

“Floral?” he asked. “You mean like flavored?”

Poindexter’s brows furrowed, and she let out a long hiss and raised pointer fingers on both hands to make a cross.

Austin laughed. “I think I said something wrong.”

Poindexter looked around wildly, obviously teasing him. “No flavors,” she whispered. “Evil. Flavoring evil.”

“But I
like
hazelnut,” he said. “And pumpkin. My gram always gets pumpkin-flavored coffee about this time of year.” He pouted. “No pumpkin?”

“No pumpkin,” she stated.

“Well, what’s this floral thing?” he asked.

“It’s one of the qualities coffee can have,” she answered. “We have coffees with a black tea character, berry and spice aromas, coffees with a creamy mouth feel. There are fruity characters—like orange or cherry, and even beans with a nice cocoa or even olive oil finish.”

He looked at her, a little disbelieving. “I’ve heard about that kind of thing before. I’ve heard it about wines too. And I’ve pretty much thought of it as bullcrap.”

“Okay.” She gave a nod. “A doubting Thomas. I can respect that. But I bet I can find you something you’ll like. Since you enjoy—” She paused and dropped her voice to a whisper. “—flavored coffee”—she raised her voice again—“I’m going to bet you want something light roasted and a little sweet. I’m going to make you the Papua New Guinea Goroka. It’s funky. I know you’ll like it.”

Austin shrugged and then watched something he hadn’t expected. Poindexter began to go through an unusual ritual he’d never seen before, certainly not concerning making coffee.

All Gram did was open up a can of Maxwell House, scoop out some ground coffee, and put it in the filter basket in the top of her Mr. Coffee maker. The press of a button, and soon there was a pot of coffee. In contrast, Poindexter weighed out actual beans on a small scale, ground them in a contraption that hung on a wall, and poured the fresh grounds into what at first appeared to be a ceramic coffee cup. On closer inspection, it looked a lot like the funnel-shaped filter basket that was a part of the typical coffee maker. She placed the ceramic “cup” on top of a beaker, and then began pouring steaming-hot water in a slow spiral fashion onto the grounds. The scent that rose up with the steam was wonderful. Finally, as the last of the hot water made its way through the ceramic drain, she poured the hot coffee into an actual coffee cup. There was still some left in the beaker when she was done and—wow!—she handed both to him.
Not gypping me out of what won’t fit in the cup
.

“Sugar?” he asked, looking around and not seeing any. When he looked back, Poindexter was grimacing.

Oh, for goodness sakes
. “No sugar? How about Sweet ’N Low?”

The grimace intensified.

“Guy,” he said spinning on his friend.

Guy looked amused. “If you don’t like it, I’ll get you something else.”

“Why do they call you ‘Poindexter’?” Austin asked.

She looked up through her huge glasses. “’Cause that’s my name,” she said.

Austin blushed.

She gave him a wink, then nodding said, “It really is.”

Now through all of this, Poindexter had been making Guy’s separately: different beans, different filter, different beaker. Then before Austin could even try, Guy was paying.

“Wait,” he said. “Let me.”

“Nope. I insist.”

“But….”
I have money
, he wanted to say.
A nice amount of money, thanks to Peter Wagner
.

“No buts. I asked you out for coffee. And you say you’re not even going to like it. By the way, I can get you some tea if it turns out you don’t.” He motioned Austin to the front door.

“You don’t want to sit in here?”

“It’s warm today, for this late in the year. They’ve forecast snow later in the week. Let’s not lose one of the last days we’ll get to sit outside.” He held the door for Austin.

“Okay.”
Why not?

“Plus,” Guy said as they sat, “what I want to say, I don’t really want anyone else hearing.”

Oh boy
.
What’s this going to be about?
Then, changing the subject: “I don’t get why they don’t have sugar.”

“They want to teach people to appreciate real coffee,” Guy explained. “It’s their whole philosophy. Their mission. They go to a lot of trouble to pick the right bean, the right crop. Some of the harvests are so small, they’ll only manage to get a certain variety for a week or two.”

“Really?” Austin asked, curious. “How come? Somehow I’ve always envisioned coffee fields going on and on, like in the movie
Out of Africa.”

 “And there are some like that. But the owner of this shop knows farmers from all over the world. He met them traveling when he worked for some of the Big Monster companies back when he started out in this business.”

Austin could almost hear the capitals in “Big Monster.”

“Of course, the big guys wanted
huge
crops, but by then Bean—that’s his nickname—had made connections, and when he finally started this place, he knew where to get the best coffee on the planet.”