Coffee and a Party

It was already a tough day. Hot coffee stained the front of Rue's blue polo and khakis, and she wasn't sure which hurt worse; her raw pink skin underneath, or her pride. Every time a customer wrinkled their brow, looking her up and down with a mixture of pity and laughter on their face, she felt pathetic.

And it was only 8 AM.

Rue couldn't fathom why the spelling bee championship had to start at the asscrack of dawn, or what child was ready to spell disestablishmentarianism first thing in the morning. But the regional title was held in conjunction with the university, which meant Rue and her fellow concession stand servants had to be there. She had the extra good fortune of being a part of the opening shift, so she had to sit in her coffee-stained clothes from the time she brewed—and spilled—coffee at 6 AM, until she left at 3 PM, after the lunch rush.

"Can I get a..." Standing at the counter, the bald man's eyes ran up and down Rue's front. "...a coffee?"

Holding in a sigh, Rue glanced towards the pot. "Sorry, sir, we're brewing more now. If you want to wait, it'll be ready in about five minutes."

He scoffed a laugh. "Did you spill it all on yourself?"

She gave a humorless laugh back. "Only the first pot."

"How about a bagel?"

She gave a wincing smile. "We have bagels, but the toaster is broken. Would you like one untoasted?"

The man frowned, his thick eyebrows drawing down. "Can't you just stick it in the oven or something?"

"No, we only have the toaster oven. I could microwave it for you."

"That wouldn't make it toasted, would it?" He laughed. "I thought you college kids were smart."

And spelling bee parents sure are assholes. She puffed out another humorless laugh, saying nothing.

Shaking his head, the man walked away. The young woman behind him passed a curious look at his back as she approached the counter. That gave Rue a moment to take her in. With long, wavy black hair, a strong jaw, rich, red lips, and gold shimmer on her high cheeks, she was immediately striking; a dazzling beacon in a painfully ordinary sea.

When she turned back, her brown eyes and polite smile blessing Rue with gentle light, Rue's heart struggled to beat.

"Imagine being butt-hurt over a bagel." Her voice was deep, quiet and slow, like telling her a secret.

Rue snorted and put a hand over her mouth. Smooth. "Right? Some people gotta get the carbs, I guess."

"Me included. I'll take a bagel. Untoasted. Whatever kind you got. Throw some cream cheese on there and I'm happy."

Somewhere out of Rue's tired mind and exhausted spirit, a genuine smile fought through. "You got it." She slid an everything bagel in a paper sleeve with a tube of cream cheese and a butter knife, and handed it to the striking woman. "You can, uh, you know—cheese it up. However you like."

Cheese it up? Cheese it up?! You did not just use cheese as a verb, you idiot.

But the woman laughed. "Thank you."

"Can I get you anything else?" Rue's cheeks burned.

"Yeah. If that coffee's ready, I'll take a cup."

"Um," she leaned back and glanced again at the carafe, nearly full. "Couple more minutes."

"I'll wait."

As Rue rang up the total and ran the woman's credit card, she started smearing cream cheese on the bagel. Rue tried not to steal glances at her long, elegant fingers, but failed. "Do you, um... do you have a kid in the bee?"

"Oh, god, no." She chuckled. "My little brother is in it. I go to school here, so I figured it would be a pretty dick move not to go."

"Oh, really? Me too. What's your major?"

"English lit." She took a bite of the bagel and licked cream cheese off her red lips. Rue stared. "We're a family of very good spellers, and very good useless-major-pickers."

"Nah, I don't think so." Carefully twisting the lid on the carafe, Rue heaved it into place on the counter and handed the woman a coffee cup and lid. "People who say that—I don't think they realize how empty they'd be without books and stories."

The woman blinked, her sculpted brow rising as a smile lit her face. "That's a very good way of putting it. What's your major?"

"I'm studying film-making." Rue gave a wry smile back. "So, believe me, I know all about that 'useless major' shit."

"Story-teller meets film-maker." She looked up, deep into Rue's eyes, and held her gaze for a moment. There was some meaning in her eyes Rue couldn't decipher. In the back of Rue's mind, half-hidden underneath the igniting attraction, she felt something familiar in that gaze. "Get us a music major and we'll make us a killer movie."

Biting her lip, Rue looked away, unable to hold the woman's smoldering, mysterious eyes. "Might need some actors."

"Documentary-style." As she secured the lid on her coffee, she waved a hand theatrically in front of her. "Scandal at the Spelling Bee."

Rue laughed with her. Ask for her number. She's into you. Her name at least. Anything. Ask her!

"Do you have any clothes to change into?" The woman nodded towards Rue's stained front. "That looks really uncomfortable."

"Oh." Looking down at the coffee stain, Rue's confidence dwindled. "No. There's no spare uniforms here and I don't have a car."

"Here." Setting the coffee and bagel on the counter, the woman unzipped her blue, university sweatshirt, shrugged out of it, and extended it to her. "This should help."

"What? N-no, I couldn't—"

"Come on. Let me check off my good-deed card today." She winked.

Rue's heart fluttered as she took the sweatshirt. "Thank you. Really. That's so—"

"Excuse me!"

Rue and the woman both glanced. Bagel Man was back.

"Well. Good luck." The woman raised her eyebrows with a silent look they both understood. She started to turn.

"Wait, how will I get this back to you?"

She turned back with a grin as she walked away. "I'll see you around. Rue."

Bagel Man started talking, but Rue just stared at the woman. What does that mean? There was something strange, something knowing, in her parting look. How did she know my name?

As she turned around to get Bagel Man's coffee cup, she pulled the sweatshirt—still warm from the woman's body—around her. The fresh, zesty smell of mint and citrus filled her nose as she zipped it up. She smiled.

Bagel Man walked away with only a coffee, and Rue didn't hear his parting remarks. She puzzled over the bright, beautiful, generous woman. How did she...? Then it hit her. Oh. My name tag. Duh. She unzipped the sweater to unclip her name tag from the coffee-stained polo.

But it wasn't there.

Rue looked around the space. Her blue and white name tag sat, face-down, next to the large coffee-maker. She'd taken it off when she'd tried to dry off the coffee.

Running her fingers over the soft blue sleeves, Rue tried to think of where she knew the woman. She must know me. From somewhere. With fresh heat rising to her face, she pictured the woman's deep, intent brown eyes.

That familiar feeling tickled the back of her brain again.

Where do I know her from? How could I possibly not notice her?

#

Rue mounted the stairs towards Tony's apartment with a six-pack of red ale in one hand and a fifth of Jameson in the other. After a nine hour shift, then two more hours working on her History of Film essay, then three more hours working on her short film group project at the media center, it was an ungodly long day. And, now, it was time to relax. Tony's place was perfect for that.

Rue knocked on the door.

"It's open!"

The scent of weed, beer and incense slipped into her nostrils as she entered. As she took off her shoes, she glanced down the short hallway towards the living room. Sitting on one side of the couch, Tony waved a hand at her as he strummed his guitar. Another young man and two young women she didn't recognize lounged on the floor. She glimpsed a knee of someone else sitting next to Tony, and assumed someone was sitting on the other side of the couch. Rue expected nothing less; Tony was a nice guy, making fast friends with everyone he met, and his place was always popular.

"Hey, Tony." Rue waved as she stepped towards the kitchen.

"Whoa, whiskey and beer?" Tony chuckled a bit between riffs. "Long day?"

"You have no idea." Setting the whiskey on the counter, she pulled a can of red ale off the pack and opened it. Taking a deep drink, she sighed. "Nobody drink my whiskey. I mean it."

"We won't," came the chorus of voices from the living room. Rue didn't believe them, but she also doubted she would care in a few hours if anyone dipped into her whiskey. Besides that, Tony's friends were always cool. Before too long, she knew she'd be offering everybody shots.

Starting off with a beer, she found a spot on the floor between the two women. "Hey." She smiled at each of them.

"Hey Rue, this is Christina," Tony nodded towards the woman on Rue's right. A metal ring cut the middle of her lower lip, making the straight, white teeth of her smile even more striking. She waved, thick silver rings clicking on her fingers, and Rue just glimpsed the colorful tattoos over her lower arm.

"That's Olunne," he nodded to the woman on Rue's left, with deep, dark skin and long, impressive dreadlocks falling over her shoulders. She gave a cool nod and passed Rue the hookah hose she held. As Rue took the mingling flavors of earthy weed, vanilla and coffee onto her tongue, Tony gestured to his left, at the young, black-haired man lounging by the sliding glass door to the balcony.

"That's Federico." Federico held the other hookah hose, but waited for Rue to finish her hit before he hit it. With his other hand propping up his head, he gave her a mild salute with the hose. His half-mast eyes were almost obscured with black eyeshadow, his thick, dark eyebrows pierced with metal posts.

"And you met Fatima," Tony smiled at the woman sitting next to him in the middle of the couch. Rue remembered the dark-haired woman with impeccable, dark red lipstick, a perfect smokey-eye, and movie-star good looks. Though, by the utterly enraptured look in his eyes—and the fact that the two were snuggled close on the couch—Rue got the feeling Tony and Fatima had gotten closer since the last party.

"And?" The young man on the other side of the sofa spoke softly, not looking up from his own guitar.

"Oh yeah." Tony smiled and nodded towards him. "And this asshole."

Releasing a cloud of smoke into the air, Rue looked at Tony's brother through it. She smiled. "Hi, Angel."

The quiet young man's long, dark, wavy hair hung into his face as he gently played a few bars from a flamenco song. He glanced up at her once, his deep brown eyes catching hers just for an instant, and leaving a burn on her cheeks. Rue kept looking at him, watching his long fingers play across the neck of the guitar. Angel was at most of Tony's parties, though he seldom said much. Rue wasn't sure if he kept the guitar in front of him so much because he really loved to play that much, or because he didn't like people getting too close to him.

On the rare occasion Rue got him in a quiet place to talk, he spoke softly, his deep voice almost poetic, as he described his visits home to Peru, or the flamenco-pop song he was working on, or the Don Quixote-inspired novel he was working on. As Rue looked at him, she wondered how many other people he told those things to. She tried not to think she was special. But, looking into his captivating eyes, it was hard not to fall into the fantasy.

More people arrived in the hours that followed—friends of friends from English classes and Spanish literature clubs, student government and international affairs classes, death metal bands and symphony practice, poker clubs and improv groups. As the night wore on and Rue dipped into the whiskey, she weaved through the crowded apartment, meeting people seemingly from every corner of the university.

She noticed the room tilting when she downed a whiskey shot with Olunne and a fellow student from Nigeria, Christina and the spiky-haired, death metal bassist from Federico's band. Sucking her teeth, Rue steadied herself on the black-clad bassist's shoulder.

"Whew." Rue shook her head hard, trying to shake the acid out of her throat.

"You okay?" the bassist, a tall, lanky figure with dark makeup and an indeterminate gender, leaned forward a bit to study her.

"Yeah." Still holding the bassist's shoulder, Rue leaned back to look out of the kitchen, towards the edge of the couch. Angel was still there, strumming his guitar, smoking the hookah as it was passed to him. Federico was sitting next to him, making a motion with his fingers that was either casting a spell or imitating a guitar chord. Angel nodded slowly, listening to Federico, though still looking at the guitar.

His dark eyes lifted in that moment, connecting with Rue's, like he had never lost sight of her.

Taking a sharp breath, as if he had pulled on her heart with that gaze, Rue leaned hard on the bassist's shoulder, retreating back behind the kitchen wall. 

Christina caught her before she fell too far forward. "Dude, what's the matter with you?"

"Sorry, sorry." Rue shook her head. "I, um... nevermind."

Christina and the black-clad bassist both leaned over, looking into the living room. "Ooooh," they both said at once, knowingly. 

Rue looked between them. "What?"

The bassist's black lips curved. "You used to date or you want to date. Which one?"

"Huh?" Rue took another sip of whiskey, hoping her cheeks weren't getting redder.

Christina gently eased the cup out of Rue's hand. "Drink some water. And then go talk to him."

Rue shook her head. "What are you talking about?"

"You've been eyeing Angel all night," the bassist observed. "You two never fucked?"

"What? No." Rue dared another glance and saw Angel still looking at her. She turned back. "But I wouldn't mind," she quietly confessed.

Christina handed her a red Solo cup full of water. "Drink. Drink," she ordered. "Finish that water. Then, go talk to him."

"I..." Rue took a sip, and then another, not realizing how thirsty she was. "I dunno."

Leaning against the counter, Olunne had been watching the conversation, and tilted her head. "Why not? He has been watching you, too."

"What?" Rue looked at her. "Really?"

The tall, modelesque Nigerian woman next to her with tight corn-rows and bronze eyeshadow chuckled. "He has been making eyes at you all night."

Rue's heart lifted into her throat. "Well..." she took another sip of water. "He's talking to Federico. About guitar stuff. I don't want to interrupt, y'know?"

"He's talking to Federico?" The bassist leaned to look into the living room again. "I'll get rid of him. Just make sure you get that seat. Girls love the guitar-player."

Rue chuckled. "Really?"

The bassist glanced sidelong through their dark lashes at Christina. "Yeah. Works for me and I'm a fucking idiot."

With a beaming, beautiful smile, Christina took their face in both hands and kissed them on the lips. "You are not. And you weren't even playing guitar."

"Yeah, well." The bassist blinked, trying not to appear shaken by the kiss. "Uh. One sec. I'll be back." They handed their drink to Christina as they started towards the living room, to distract Federico.

"Um..." Rue turned back around to the other women, sudden feeling frozen.

"Keep that water," Christina instructed.

"And take this," Olunne handed her a fresh cup with ice and whiskey. "Give to him."

"I don't even know if he drinks whiskey," Rue objected.

"Girl," Olunne's tall, glamorous friend smiled "it will not matter." She flicked her pink nails. "Go get him! Go!"

Taking a breath—and stealing a sip of whiskey—Rue turned and headed towards the living room. As her socked feet crossed over from tile to carpet, Federico was getting to his feet. Standing in front of him, the bassist turned as Rue approached. Their black lips turned in a wry grin and a coy nod as Rue passed. Biting her lip, Rue grinned back, mouthing a silent and, she hoped, inconspicuous, thank you.

Rue fell into the couch heavier than she meant to. She turned her head to meet Angel's eyes. "Hey." She extended a cup, hoping it was the whiskey, but her mind was too blurry to remember. "Want a drink?"

After a moment, he tilted the guitar into his lap and took it. "Sure. What is it?"

"Jameson. Kinda my go-to."

"Right." He took a sip, and didn't even flinch. She wasn't sure if he actually drank it or not. "It's good."

"So, um..." she searched the air for something to say. The fragile moment stretched, about to break.

"I like your sweatshirt." With his free hand, Angel skimmed his thumb over her sleeve. A jolt traveled up Rue's arm when he touched her. A small smile spread over Angel's lips.

"The craziest thing happened to me today." Bringing her knees up to her chest, Rue moved closer to Angel. "I was doing the morning shift at concessions, and I spilled coffee on myself."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Right, yeah, it sucked--but then this gorgeous woman came up to me that morning and gave me her sweatshirt. Like, out of the blue. It was so weird."

Angel looked down at his guitar. "Like, bad-weird?"

Rue laughed. "No. I was actually glad I spilled coffee on myself."

Angel's shy smile climbed. He was quiet a moment. "You thought she was gorgeous?"

"She was. I wish I got her number or something." She bit the inside of her lip. She shouldn't have been talking about someone else in front of him. But that smile stayed on his lips.

Something familiar tickled the back of Rue's brain.

"I know her, actually," Angel said quietly.

Rue studied him. "What? Really?" She thought about it. "Was that how she knew my name?"

"Yep."

Rue waited for something more from him, but he was silent. She nudged him. "Well, don't leave me hangin,' Angelo. How do you know her?"

Rue watched his tongue slide over his teeth, under his lips. Slowly, as if with effort, he looked up at her. "Can I ask you something?"

Rue looked into his dark, entrancing eyes. Again, that familiar itch tickled her brain. "Sure."

"Do you... Do you like guys or girls?" he asked.

Rue bit her smile, glancing away, but bringing her eyes back to his. "Both. Everybody. Y'know, if it feels right, it feels right."

Angel nodded slowly. "I like girls."

"I kinda guessed that."

He looked back at the guitar, plucking the strings. "Sometimes people think I'm gay."

Rue shrugged. "It's probably none of their business either way." She inched a tiny bit closer. She wasn't sure if she hoped he noticed or not.

"It's 'cause of the way I am."

"I think you're beautiful." The words leaped from her lips before she could think.

Angel met her eyes again. "I know that girl's name." Rue saw a lump slid down his throat.

She studied his face; the large, dark eyes that seemed to know her soul, the high, proud cheeks, the thick, kissable lips, and the long, gorgeous, wavy dark hair. The dual sparks of attraction that had been fighting in Rue's chest turned to fireworks of realization she could barely contain. She beamed and leaned closer, speaking softly to him, "Can I keep your sweatshirt?"

Angel's enrapturing smile glowed from beneath his shy lips. "Yeah, okay."

"And can I kiss you now?"

His gaze dropped, but his smile brightened like she had never seen before. He nodded.

Slipping a hand under his jaw and her fingertips through his hair, she kissed his lips. The guitar slipped from his grasp as he pulled her closer.

"I really like you, Rue," he said against her lips.

"I really like you, too." She kissed him again. "All of you."