Untitled Short Story: Part 1

Prologue

"Wake up! Wake up!" My roommate Darla's higher than usual voice interrupts my dream of lying naked on the beach with Paul Walker.
"For the love of all that's holy, Brooklynne, WAKE YOUR ASS UP!"
Darla's words were punctuated by her jumping on top of me and shaking the crap out of my sleep mushed brain.
"Darla, seriously, what is your issue? And this better not be another pigeon based emergency either. I already told you, you are on your own with the bird CPR. It's just nasty."
"This is bigger than that, Brooke. This is like The. Biggest. Thing. Ever! Now get your ass up already!"
(At least I think that was what she said. I'd need to confer with a dog to be sure, being that it was in a pitch only they could hear.)
"Sweetie, I'd love to get up, but there's one small problem. You have to get off me first."
"Oh. Yeah, sorry. Just hurry, please."
After Darla gracefully removed herself from my bed, I not so gracefully grunted, groaned and eventually removed myself as well.
"What is going on? I haven't seen you this excited since you discovered the Pink Floyd/Wizard of Oz correlation." I asked while attempting to rearrange my night shirt for maximum coverage. I wasn't big, but I wasn't exactly dainty either. My mother liked to refer to it as "shapely", but I preferred "healthy". That's not to say that I didn't have a love/hate relationship with Taco Bell, because I did. I loved it, my thighs hated me for it.
As I dug around the floor for a remotely clean pair of shorts to throw on (Note to self: do laundry or buy new undies. TODAY.) Darla kept popping in and out of the room like a chihuahua on crack.
"Darla, you are making me dizzy. Please just tell me what is going on."
Grabbing my hand and nearly dragging me into the living room, she said "I'll do you one better. I'll show you. Look." and pointed to the TV.
Please let it be porn, I thought. But it wasn't. Not even close.
What I saw on the TV that morning changed the course of my life forever. I know, I know, how trite. But it's true. You know how people can remember even the most mundane details of what they were wearing, eating or doing during a life changing event? It was like that.
I was wearing my ex boyfriend's Detroit Lions t-shirt and a pair of black running shorts. (And by running shorts, I mean I've worn them while making a mad dash to the kitchen for snacks before the commercial break ended.) I was eating one of Darla's homemade bran muffins, that she must have snuck into my hand somehow (She's like the bran muffin ninja. Good thing I was wearing my running shorts, in case I needed to hit the bathroom in a jiffy.) and I was sitting on our blue corduroy sofa, staring at the television with eyes the size of plates and my chin in my lap. Also known as my 'I'm looking at a half naked Vin Diesel pic' face.
And no offense to Mr. Diesel, but this was even bigger than that. (or so I'm willing to assume...)
But, I'm getting ahead of myself here. Before I tell you what Darla and I were looking at that fateful morning, let me start by telling you exactly how I arrived at that moment in my life.
Don't worry, I will tell you what we saw. Eventually....



Chapter 1: Brooklynne


"Excuse me, Miss. But I asked for no milk in this and judging by the color there is clearly milk in here. I realize this job must be oh so difficult, but if you could find the time in your busy schedule to remake this properly, I would greatly appreciate it."
Looking up from cleaning the poppy seeds out of the door track (try and contain your excitement) I made eye contact with the woman standing in front of the counter.
"Actually ma'am, you ordered a Caramel Macchiato, which is made with cream and milk, and I did not add the milk, but the coloring is the result of the cream. My job is quite easy, as long as the customers know what they are ordering, and I would gladly make you a new drink. At your expense of course. So what can I get ya?" I suppose adding the smug grin wasn't exactly necessary, but for the life of me I couldn't help myself.
After turning 8 shades of red (at least 6 of which matched her perfectly manicured nails) she picked up her beverage and stormed out. But not without muttering the perfunctory "I'll never come here again."
If only that were true. She came here at least 4 times a week and pulled the attitude each and every time. God, I loved my job.
After a quick check that the remaining customers, excuse me guests, (For the life of me, I will never understand that term. The word guest implies I invited you, and I clearly did not invite these caffeine slurping idiots into my life.) were all happy and not in need of anything, I went back to my poppy seed removal.
After restocking the muffins, bagels and assorted danishes and wiping down the counters for the millionth time in the last hour, I snuck a glance at the clock. "Is it seriously only 11:35?"
"And what time were you hoping it might be, sweet thing?"
Inner groan. I guess I asked that question aloud. Silly me.
"Oh, hi boss. Didn't hear you come in. How are you today?"
"Well I'd be better if my star employee didn't wear a constant frown and check the clock religiously." He replied.
Star employee. Insert fart noise here. My boss Andy (AKA Handsy Andy) was always spewing lines like this. He was the epitome of a coffee house douche bag and the owners of The Happy Cup thought he was the greatest thing since, well... coffee was invented. Those of us who worked for him thought differently. Underneath all the fake Burberry scarves  and knock off Gucci loafers, he was nothing more than a perverted jerk, who took any and all opportunities to brush up against his female employees. Rumor had it, he had brushed up against one of the males on the staff and didn't walk right for a week, but as far as I knew, that was just a rumor. A part of me (ok, all of me) hoped it was more than rumor, but since Andy was as tight lipped as he was tight assed, one would never know.
"Sorry, Andy. It's just been a rough morning. The main fridge went out again and I had to shift everything around, then the toaster quit toasting on one side, and we ran out of whipped cream. On top of that, the delightful Mrs. Arthur was just in, spreading her own brand of sunshine. So forgive me if I'm not grinning like an idiot and singing show tunes."
"No need to get testy, sweet thing. Papa Andy is here now and all will be right with the world. Do you need a hug, Brooke? I've been told I give great hugs." This was said with a wink, which only cranked the creep factor past 'horror movie' level right on to 'alone with the weird uncle' status.
"You know what, boss, I'll take your word on the hug thing. But now that you're here, do you mind if I take a quick break? I need to make a phone call."
"Just make it fast and if you hear the bell, you better be out here faster than bees on honey, got it?"
"Got it. Be right back."
Taking off my apron, and digging my phone out of my giant handbag, I dialed my roommate and best friend, Darla.
After way too many rings and a close call (no pun intended) with her voicemail, (Darla likes to listen to her ringtones.) She finally answered.
"Heya Brookie. You snuck outta here this morning pretty early, huh? How goes life at the Crappy Cup?"
I chuckled to myself at our little nickname for my place of employment before responding.
"Hey D. Yeah, I had to open this morning for Jackson. Apparently date number 3 went well with his new mystery woman, because he called last night and practically begged me to switch shifts with him. Being the sucker that I am, I said yes of course. Handsy just got here, so I gotta make this quick, but what are you doing later tonight?"
"Well I was planning on finishing knitting Marley's sweater but I suppose that could be put off if you've got something more exciting in mind." Marley was Darla's special needs cat (named for Bob Marley) who she loved torturing by making him little kitty outfits. Since he was mostly paralyzed and mute, and couldn't put up much of a fight, who knew if he hated it or loved it. My money said he hoped she made him a little kitty noose next, but Darla insisted the clothes made him happy. Far be it for me to argue. I couldn't keep a goldfish alive, so what the hell did I know?
"I'm not sure how exciting it is." I pointed out. "But since it's still in the 80's outside, I'm sure the sweater can wait. Besides, you're my bestest friend in the whole wide world, and I wouldn't trust anyone else with this very important mission."
Darla snorted, "Translation: Everyone else had plans and you don't want to do whatever this is alone. Spill it, Brooke."
Laughing, I said "Damn, D, you know me so well. Here's the deal, pet shop Paul asked me out again and I told him I already had dinner plans with a friend. He counter struck by saying he had an out of town friend staying with him for the weekend and they were planning on getting a bite to eat too, so why not eat together. Since it was 8:30 in the morning, and I hadn't had caffeine yet, my brain failed me and I couldn't come up with an excuse not to. Long story short, we are meeting them at The Den at 7. Oh and I love you."
"The Den? Oh they have the best steaks! Lucky for you, I haven't had my daily dose of face yet, so I'm in. I'll see you when you get home. Bring me a blueberry scone, will ya?" Darla was the definition of a hippie. She dressed in used and handmade clothes, drove a Vespa, complete with an "I hug trees." sticker, was a practicing Wiccan, rescued all living things and smoked a LOT of weed. But she refused to be a vegetarian. Her logic was that the meat industry wasn't changing its ways and those poor (and delicious) animals shouldn't die in vane. But she limited her animal (AKA face) intake to once a day when possible.
"Blueberry scone it is. I should be outta here by 3 at the latest, so I'll see ya then. Thanks, D. I owe you big."
"Yes you do, but I'll add it to the list. Good luck with Handsy Andy. Peace out."
Yes, she actually ends her phone calls that way. I wasn't lying about the hippie thing. But she's the most stable person I know and we had been living together for the last 3 years and I could always count on her. She was the sister I always wanted and the best friend a gal could ask for.
Sneaking another peek at the clock, which now read 11:45, (Gee I really knew how to kill time, huh?) I inhaled my lunch, hit the restroom, updated my Facebook status and got back to work.
The next few hours went by relatively quickly and pain free, thanks to Jackson coming in and filling me in on his date the night before. Turns out, he didn't get lucky, he got food poisoning instead. Poor guy. (Wait poor girl, eww.) But before I knew it, my shift was over and I was headed home. After a stop to fill up my ancient Subaru's gas tank, and grab some razors (Hey, better safe than hairy, right?) I was home. Ahhh home.
"Darla! I've got your scone and I bought razors. Where you at?"
Bouncing into the room, wearing what could only be described as a "very colorful" dress, Darla asked "Why razors?"
"Because we've been out for almost a week and even a hippie chick like you cannot pull off the European look, sugar." Cracking a smile and a beer, I tossed her the pack of razors. "Now get your ass in the shower, woman. We've got a date tonight." Ok, so maybe an evening with pet shop Paul and his weekend friend wasn't exactly something to write home about, but it was the most excitement either of us had seen in quite some time, so I was putting on my positive face.
"A date? Since when is Paul date material? And you never said anything about this being a date? I don't know anything about this friend of his. He could be a puppy killer for all we know!" Darla screeched.
Taking a drink of my beer and smiling to myself at Darla's ranting, I said "I'm certain he's not a puppy killer. He's friends with Paul, who owns a pet store and loves animals. And it's not really a date, it's just friends eating together."
"But you said date." Darla countered
"Slip of the tongue. Won't happen again, promise. Now will you please just go get ready?" I begged.
"Fine, but I'm wearing my granny panties, so if he thinks he's getting lucky, he's got another think coming." This was said with a flip of her crazy mane of red curls and a hand on her hip as she sauntered out of the kitchen.
Laughing, I told her "Duly noted. Maybe he'll be gay and you won't have to worry about a thing."
Ditching my bag in my room and peeling off my Happy Cup t-shirt, I wandered around the apartment sipping my beer. It wasn't the nicest place around, but it was homey. Darla was quite the crafter as it turned out and managed to make most of our Salvation Army finds look like items from a home magazine. The walls were all painted bright, vibrant colors (D said they inspired creativity.) and the furniture was a hodge podge of different styles but somehow it blended together quite well. Lots of healthy plants (of which I'm sure a few weren't legal in this state) filled the window sills  and corners, adding natural charm and character to the space. Marley slept on a lime green padded bench under the biggest window (Ok, the only window) in the place, soaking up the sunshine and enjoying his afternoon nap. Looking out the window, I took in the view below. We were on the fourth floor, so we had a decent view of the park across the street and into a few of the neighboring buildings windows. Not that we ever spied on anyone. Especially not the hottie on the third floor (Apt 310) who loved to do his workout half naked every morning at approximately 9 a.m. Nope, not us, we never peeped.
Wandering over to the sofa and flopping down, I sighed. This was my life, huh? I was 25,  worked at a coffee shop, drove a car that was older than me, shared a decent apartment with my best friend (ok, that part wasn't so bad) and had no man to speak of in my life. Eat your heart out Kim Kardashian. I looked across the room to the cabinet in the corner that contained my cameras and assorted equipment. They were all collecting dust instead of making my dreams come true. I suppose I couldn't exactly blame the inanimate objects themselves, could I?
Ever since Alec and I broke up, I felt like all my creative juices (and certain other generally damp areas) had all but dried up. When we had been together, it seemed like anything was possible. All my ideas were award winning and the world just seemed brighter. That was until I caught him underneath his co-worker, being ridden like a mechanical bull. Since that day (had it really been almost 2 years?) I haven't even picked up my camera or had a creative thought. Well unless you count all the creative ways I made Alec regret pissing off the wrong girl. Those were brilliant. But nothing since. Maybe I wasn't cut out to be a filmmaker. In which case, I should really look for a new line of work. Being a 65 year old barista wasn't my long term goal. Not that I had many long term goals, but that definitely wasn't one of them.
Snapping myself out of my pity party, I decided I should find something halfway decent to wear out to dinner. Not that I wanted to impress Paul, but he was a nice guy, and the least I could do was put on a clean outfit. And maybe a little make-up, I was looking a bit green around the edges today.
After a quick shower and an even quicker shave (let's be honest, the guy owns a pet store, he's used to fuzzy things) I threw on a blue and yellow flowy skirt, courtesy of D, and a matching tank top. Combed out my hair, took a little extra time with my make-up, grabbed my bag and some sandals and was out the door.

Exactly 2 hours, 27 minutes and 12 seconds later, Darla and I were making our way home. I won't say it was the longest 2 hours, 27 minutes and 12 seconds of our lives, but it wasn't exactly the "Time flies when you're having fun." situation either.
"You owe me major for this crapfest of a night, Brooke."
"Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. But in all fairness, at least Paul's friend was nice." I replied.
"Nice?" Darla spat. "Did you say nice? 'Cause I think I heard you say nice. And yes, SHE was delightful, but contrary to popular belief, I am not a lesbian!" shouted Darla as she slammed her way into the apartment and flung her giant purse onto the sofa.
"D, I'm sorry, I really am. I honestly didn't know. But if it makes you feel any better, Paul may as well be a woman. All he talked about all night were puppies, kittens and his mother. Ugh! At least Kelsie was charming and funny."
In lieu of a response, Darla gave me an over the shoulder death look that I took to mean she wasn't quite ready to forgive me yet.
"And I shaved my legs for cripes sake!" She shouted from her bedroom.
Cringing, I picked up all the spilled contents of her purse and hung it up on the chair. D really hated to shave her legs. She's been known to go weeks in between trimmings (much to my utter disgust) and considers it a special occasion when she does. Tonight's "date" did not in fact, meet her special occasion requirements. Oh well... I tried.
Taking out two spoons and a pint of cookie dough ice cream, I made my way into her bedroom.
"D? I know I messed up, but I hope you still love me." I whispered, as I crept into the room ice cream first.
"That better not be fat free." she quipped.
Laughing, I flopped down on her mess of a bed and handed her a spoon. "It's full of fat and calories, I promise." I winked.

To be continued... 
(Part 2 coming soon)