ChapStick

Chapter 4 – A cup of Joe

Chapter Song – Anything New - Bibio

With a tray balanced on one hand and a teapot clasped in the other, I swerved by the tables to avoid collision. I braked on my heels before a group of four waiting on their spread of croissants, bagels, cannolis, and bear claws. I served the tray of pastries with a smile. They tipped me generously with four dollars and a dime.

“Hey, sugar cane, where’s my coffee??”

I turned to the side and met a brute who wanted a second cup, “here’s your coffee sir! Nice and piping hot just the way you like it,” this time my smile was choreographed. I didn’t get a tip.

I was now sixteen and had been Americanized. Thanks to the kind-hearted people who took me in without thinking twice. It had been two years since the warehouse incident. Yet I could still smell the blood under my nose every time I poured coffee grinds in our compost wastebasket.

“Vander, sweet cheeks, ‘ungry people need servicin’ on table five please!” exclaimed Bertha, owner of the Manhattan breakfast joint I worked in. She was ghetto, but I loved her all the same.

“You know it lady luck!” I shot back. She was a dear friend to me, and I loved her so dearly.

“Hmm-mmm … child, werQ,” she pouted. We’d always top each other’s words like this. But I’d always let her have the last say in things as a sign of reverence, since she was the boss of me.

Bertha’s a stout African-American woman who loved wearing tight neons to contrast her dark Medusa curls. She’s good friends with Lupo, the catty buxom stripper who signed my papers after the police found me lying on a ditch somewhere.

Lupo got questioned of our relation. She testified that we were cousins. It wasn’t the most convincing for she was full-blown Barbie while I was a small Asian kid. But I’m glad she did because I wouldn’t be here now if it weren’t for her compassion and sympathy. Maybe knowing first-hand how hard it must be to come from nothing made her compassionate enough to pick up garbage like me, with no thought or reservations. What I had now was a life in front of me, and for the first time I could see clear where it was heading.

Lupo worked at a 'Red-Light District'. There was really no permanent red-light district in New York anymore, because certain neighborhoods had problems with prostitution and solicitation. Areas of ill-reputation were mostly located in the outer boroughs. Places where Lupo stationed.

In terms of location, Lupo frequented the Meat Packing District. A place I tried to avoid as much as I could because the stench of freshly killed animals was nauseating. It reminded me the horrors I experienced that night in the warehouse. I had been trying to forget about it ever since.

“Yo chinky banana! Get your chinky ass over here and service me!” a voice pierced through my stupor. His ridicule traveled all the way from where he sat across the breakfast tables. He wore a burgundy button down which made him look like the pig that he was. I hated pompous men. They irritated the hell out of me. I winded around three tables to get to him. And as I made my way towards the douche, all I could think of was how his breeding paled in comparison to the downtrodden pigs that got slaughtered in the Meat Packing District. I pulled up my notepad against my face, let out an exasperated sigh, and then greeted him with a choreographed smile.

“What can I get you this morning?”

“Choke it,” he chuckled. Oh boy.

“Excuse me? I don’t understand code. Would you mind going at it, again?” I revisited kindly with a touch of distaste. Damn.

“Chou…quettes…” he slurred.

I looked around, tapped my pen, and drew attention. “Uhm, someone call 911. I think this guy’s having a seizure,” I prodded.

“I said, you can choke on it,” he remarked distastefully and grabbed his nuts. Wow. Just wow.

In a way I wasn’t moved to step backwards, yet not so drawn as to step forward. Simply, I froze where I stood. He had a very appetizing view from where I was standing. Oh no, I was salivating from the inside. Bad boy, bad! Despite his unwarranted pomposity, I had to say, he’s adorkable.

My eyes examined him. He had clean cut dark hair, thick eyebrows suggestive of male s****l potency, strong hooded eyes that could strip anyone’s dignity, a plump yet substantially stemmed nose, a sexy butt chin numbed by a day’s worth of stubble, a jaw line that could impregnate a colony, a broad thick neck, dusting of hair below the collarbone peeking over the rim of his shirt, chest muscles that moved as he breathed ... and low and behold Mr. Happy. Oh Christ, I needed to get away from him.

I swallowed hard. Jesus, what was wrong with me? I squirmed and brought my legs together to subdue what I felt. My heart pounded in my chest as I regarded the indecency that was growing inside my pants.

It felt like time slowed the longer I stood. Why was I drawn to such arrogance? Was there something in me that craved the masochistic feel of another man? Maybe. Oh, shut up brain!

I found myself wanting his attention so I smiled and managed an awkward stance. I look stupid. I couldn’t remain civil in the presence of another man. ‘Act normal’ mocked my subconscious. And so I did. I righted myself, c****d my jaw to the side, tilted my head, and resumed where I left off as I huffed an abhorred sigh, “Call me back when you’re sane,” I chided, feeling smug.

It took me a lot of control to turn on the balls my feet as I made those first few steps. ‘Heel…toe…heel…toe…hell?’ Abruptly, he grabbed my hand midway down my third stride. The force was strong enough to propel me back to him. I felt so weak in the knees. Oh f**k it, damn.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I was just messing with you,” he apologized, quite sincerely with his brow creased in the middle, “I’ve been calling, waiting, but you seemed so busy,” he added with puppy-dog eyes. Oh my, those eyes. Stick a fork in me, I’m done. I’m hooked like Lindsay Lohan.

I was a flaming fruit about to get grilled. My breathing was shallow. I felt so nasty. I shook my errant thoughts, “there’s three of us here, so if one looks busy, call the other,” I whispered coyly.

“I don’t want them. I want you,” his face was riddled with anxiety. I felt a tug in my heartstrings, “I’m so sorry for calling you names, please stay,” and that was it. I officially became a w***e.

It was hard to form a coherent thought with my heart lodged in my throat. I wasn’t used to the attention. I was just a lowly Asian kid, “that’s fine. I get mocked all the time,” I whispered into his ear. It surprised me how brave I was becoming. I felt like a stripper. I was so proud of myself.

He chuckled, smirked, and bit his lower lip. Oh God, what an image that is. I shuddered at the sight of teeth tugging at lips. His chin lifted slightly up giving me a vision of what he’d look like if he were to reach ... I’m not even going to say it. I swallowed hard, and blushed like a fanny.

Wow, this guy was cute. The dorky kind of cute. Adorkable. Yes, that was it. He was adorkable. Yet his face was capable of looking stringent if he wanted to. He’s got a nice balance that amused me, intrigued me, and shamelessly, aroused me. How long had I been in a stupor? I needed to say something quick before I combusted in front of him.

“Chouquettes, right?” I reaffirmed and pushed my indecencies aside.

“W-wha—?”

“Your order.”

“Oh, yeah … right, that’s it … yeah,” he mumbled. Finally he snapped to reality. I guess I wasn’t the only one.

Warmth built around my wrist. His hold on me was quite the vice grip. The longer his hold was the tighter my pants felt. I covered the junction of my thighs with the notepad to hide my lasciviousness. I wanted to melt in his hand but I couldn’t, for I had order slips waiting on me. I was starting to unravel. It wasn’t pretty, “You can let go now,” I spoke to save me from burning.

Customers cleared as the hour closed in on lunch. Their departure signaled my time to catch a breather. And I badly needed one. I hadn’t had breakfast nor a coffee since the morning began. I scanned the tables needing cleanup, only to see Mr. Nox tucked in his seat reading The New York Times. I pegged him Mr. Nox, short for obnoxious for the way he treated me earlier. I think it suited him just fine. The name had a hint of character and a touch of sexy. I’m a bad boy, bad.

Occasionally, he would look up at any which direction I found myself in. I would blush whenever our eyes meet. Thank goodness I was a few feet away from him, far from his lust-inducing pheromones and body heat. And as I looked at him I thought, ‘hmm, wish I was his’.

“Hmm-mmm … You a gorgeous banana, eisha. Wotcha standin’ up here for? Go get your man and slap ‘is ass,” Bertha leered and gyrated her hips behind the counter. She was scandalous.

My jaw dropped. Bertha’s vileness was unannounced yet expected, “Bertha, you’re such a slutty hoe,” I shot to her just in case she didn’t know.

“No, I isn’t! You…you…you a stupid hoe, you-a you-a stupid hoe!” she krumped like Nicki Minaj at her post, dropping it low. Really low.

“Oh my God,” I scowled at her primitive display of skankiness, though it made me laugh too.

“Drop your reservations and get over there before the dough rises,” she exasperated like an Italian then pouted her big lips towards him.

“I do this you give me a raise,” I bargained.

“Oh hell-no a won’t!” she refused my barter.

I sloppily made my way past the tables to walk up to Mr. Nox. ‘Heel, clack, toe, heel, clack, toe, help?’ My stomach churned the closer I got to him. Oh no… I wasn’t sure if I was hungry or nervous. Maybe both, considering I hadn’t eaten anything, and that I was starting to like him.

‘Heel, toe, heel, toe, slip!’ Thud!

I fell face first to the floor with my back arched. My butt was scandalously up in the air cheering for the Yankees. I slowly pushed against the floor, lifting one foot in front of the door like a runner competing for the marathon, “f**k!” I barked at myself and the cube of butter on the floor. It must have fallen from one of the many pancakes I served up this morning. Ugh. f**k.

I brought my head tighter against my stomach and saw two legs behind me. I panicked and quickly rose up. My butt grazed and connected with his crotch. Surprised by the sudden contact, he bucked forward to try and steady me, but failed miserably as he tipped over and landed on his back with me straddling him backwards. This was very unlikely to happen in real life, but it did.

“Ow … well, nice to meet you too,” Mr. Nox huffed out with his face painted into a tight grimace.

I turned to look back at him, utterly embarrassed, and with an apologetic face, “Coffee?” I proposed.