THE DEADLINE CAFÉ EPISODE #21

By day’s end last Monday, everyone was on board in the café and all over Evanston.  The fix was in. Not as in this or that café had a lock on the winner or that there was an odds on favorite, not yet, at least. But everyone had a fix on the target,and the target was Yada Yada Java and the man from somewhere out west. With the tan he had, there was no way he was from Portland or Seattle.  More like Malibu.

Yada Yada’d done the impossible and brought together all the other cafés and baristas of Evanston—like so many circled up Conestoga wagons. By Thursday, they even had friends and followers, twitters and tweeters, from around the world, all of them sending little tips and hints such as to how to grind that perfect roast for the coffee taste-off.

Someone from Switzerland said they knew the perfect mountain stream with water for the perfect cup of coffee. The stream was almost inaccessible, but they were willing to do anything to help Hank beat the Yada Yada Machine. Some guy named Enzo, “I ama Enzo, from Napoli,” he said in his message on their voice mail. “I fly to Chicago to show you how to make the latte art.”

“Why not?” Lissa asked.

“Why not? I’ll tell you why not,” Hank blurted out. “We win, we win on our own. Clean fight, no ringer baristas.”

“But the Whittler says he heard Yada’s bringing in some new staff next week and one of them’s a woman from San Francisco who, word has it, has won all kinds of awards out there for her latte work.” Lissa gave Hank that look.

“Not happening, babes. I say we take our best shot.”

“And just who would that be?”

“Oakey.”

“Oakey?”

“Oakey,” Hank said, then added, “Have you seen her latte work lately?”

“Sure, but—“

“She’s got an eye for art. Heck, she’s the one organizing the student art exhibit going up here end of the month.”

“Ok, it’s your café.”

“No, it’s our café, Lissa.”

“Really?”

“Really. At least that’s how I see it.” That last statement hung out there to dry for a minute or so, both of them thinking about it, then Hank added, ”Well, maybe not.”

“Fine, then, Oakey’s our barista. What does that make me then?”

“Her trainer, Lissa. Think ‘Seabiscuit’ or ‘The Horse Whisperer.’”

“Oh, so I am a horse now?” Oakey pulled back the curtain and stepped into the little room where Hank and Lissa were talking sotto voce. They calmed her down and when they’d told her what they had in mind, her eyes lit up and she bowed a deep thank you and said, “I won’t disappoint you.” And then left through the curtains. Hank turned to Lissa and said, “Any questions?”

The next day a huge package arrived from Brazil. Gordo, the Fed Ex guy, wrestled it into the café like he was delivering a new sofa or something. Hank comped him with a free iced chai latte and opened up the crate to find a huge roasted coffee bean costume shining brown with a note attached. “For Hunk, to win the Taste-Down against Yada Man! From your friends in Rio.”

“Hunk?”

“It’s a misprint, Lissa,” Hank said, shaking his head.

Lissa had it out of the box and was sizing it up. “Too big for me,” she said, “…hmmm.”

“Don’t even think about it,” Hank said, seeing where she was headed with this.

***

“I don’t like it, Lissa, not one bit. I mean, it’s, it’s degrading,” Hank muttered as he slipped on the coffee bean’s brown leggings and arms over his head and shimmied into the giant brown roasted bean. When he was done, he tried to sit down, but slid right off the chair and onto the floor. He looked like a turtle on his back, legs wiggling.

“There he is, ‘Hunk,’ Big Boss, on his back,” she was laughing so hard she forgot to take a picture of Hank there.

“Umph.  Give me a hand, will you, Leese.  Please?”

“What would you do without me?”

“Well, for one, I wouldn’t be in this stupid bean outfit.”