Coffee for Two

It was the 5-gallon salad bowl filled with chipped ice and creamer packs that finally broke Sheri.

Starting over after her divorce had been hard, moving from her hometown even harder. Now two months into her new job she’d gotten her first big assignment: a shoe-string budget to coordinate and lead the 3-day new manager training.

Everything seemed like it was coming together so well. No last minute cancellations. All the materials were ready on time.

Airline ticket prices cooperated and travel costs were down. The caterer and musician were both available for awards night and under budget.

The hotel had plenty of rooms, and even included two conference rooms in the package price. Yes, it was all coming together so nicely.

~

Until she pulled up to the hotel entrance and saw the picket signs and protest line. The hotel workers were on strike. No just any hotel workers. These hotel workers were from the hotel where, starting tomorrow, she was in charge of her first training assignment.

There was no question about what she had to do. All of the plans were in place; all of the trainees were arriving in a few hours. She would make the best of it.

"What could go wrong?", she murmured out loud. As it turned out; a number of things could and did go wrong.

The hotel manager ran the front desk during check-in, but there were no porters to help with the bags. Sheri set up the conference rooms herself, and fumbled through the projector and speakers. No housekeeping and no restaurant staff meant dinner out.

"I just need a good night's sleep," she told her boss. "I'm sure they will have everything back to normal tomorrow morning. I can handle it. A quick cup of coffee and the paper in the morning and I'll be ready for action!"

No USA Today was at her doorway in the morning. Worse than that, there was no coffee package in her room. No time for a drive-through breakfast; she’d grab a cup of coffee in the lobby to tide her over until the caterer set up the morning break.

Worse than anything up to this point- there was no coffee in the lobby, and judging by the number of trainees milling squinty-eyed around the elevator, it didn’t look like any of their rooms had coffee packages, either. Sheri apologized for the un-caffeinated start to the day and encouraged them to hold on until the break’s coffee and muffins the hotel had arranged with a nearby caterer.

The caterer didn’t show. Sheri hit the phone, trying to provide much needed caffeine and sugar for the trainees.

"Your driver won't cross the picket lines? Are you kidding me?" she moaned quietly into her phone. "What do you want me to do? Hey! I can meet you at the corner, will that work?"

That did NOT work. After dividing the new managers into two groups and giving them 30 minutes to prepare for a role-play, Sheri made a quick run to Dunkin Donuts. As she elbowed her way back through the lobby doors with three dozen donuts and two carriers of blessed coffee, she was relieved to see, not the hotel manager, but someone new standing behind the hotel counter. Reinforcements! Maybe there was a break in the protest negotiations.

"Thank goodness they've found someone to help! Can you grab these bags for me?", she gasped out, just as he lunged for the ringing phone with an apologetic smile her way.

He held up his finger and kept nodding Sheri's way as he spoke, promising Room 114 clean towels. In one motion, he hung up the phone while scooping up a stack of towels, then looped the donut bags through his fingers and followed Sheri to the training room.

" I'm Bill; my dad's the manager. So far he's the only person left on the staff, so the rest of the family is here to fill in. We'll clean your rooms, wash the towels and linens, and get work on lunch", he said reassuringly, his deep voice rumbling pleasantly. Sheri breathed a quick sigh of relief. Coffee, donuts and reinforcements, maybe it would all be OK.

~

It was not OK.

Lunch was odd. Sandwich buns were in the middle of the table, still in their grocery store wrappers. A large tray held cold cuts, stacked in solid-looking blocks. Sliced cheese-food sat next to the meat, each slice encased in plastic. A head of iceberg lettuce dripped in a colander. Ten large bottles of store brand pop. Bowl of ice. Paper cups. Napkins. No plates. A jar each of mustard and mayo. Bill stood proudly beside the table, two large bags of potato chips in his hands.

Smiling through gritted teeth, Sheri declared "Great! A fun picnic lunch!" Glaring at Bill she tore the plastic off a slice of cheese, wrapped it in a lettuce leaf, and stalked out of the room.

The rest of the day was better; the trainees worked together fueled by the chocolate and pretzel sticks Sheri provided. Dismissed for the day and on their own for dinner, everyone but Sheri left the hotel by 7 PM. She started planning for the next day as she sat in the training room eating the last of the packaged cheese nested in a dry sandwich bun.

By the time Bill came into the room whistling and holding two large grey unfurled garbage bags and started cleaning the conference room, Sheri had the next day under control. She’d get up early and have coffee, donuts and breakfast sandwiches ready to start the day. Pizza would be ordered for lunch. The awards dinner was at a small restaurant down the street, and she’d placed a call to make sure everything was ready, including the musicians for dancing after the awards.

"Are you done here?", Bill smilingly, if tiredly, asked. "How did it go today?" He was clearly pleased with himself.

Sheri couldn’t believe it. It was one step above being on their own; she’d had to manage everything! Ignoring both his dimples and his hurt eyes, she swept out of the room without a word.

The restless sleep (caused in part by the carbs she's had all day and part due to thinking of those dimples), left her irritable and slow the next morning. Her arms once again full of donuts and coffee carriers, she pushed through the lobby the next morning with a scowl on her face.

Although the training was going well, she was exhausted trying to keep up a good front and keep everything running smoothly. She wished the budget would have allowed for help, and then reminded herself no help would have been needed if the hotel was fully staffed.

Bill and his family were nowhere in sight as she set out the coffee and goodies in the lobby for the trainees that were slowly gathering. The welcome smell of coffee filled the lobby. Sheri poured herself a cup and sipped it slowly. This could still work out; everything would be OK.

The morning did go smoothly. Breakfast was a hit, the coffee much appreciated. The trainees were working well together and Sheri started to relax. She was exhausted but there would be time to sleep tomorrow night after the training session. Leaving the teams to debate the merits of proactive coaching and reactive counseling, she slipped into the lobby to refill her coffee cup. She’d been sure to buy enough to last until the pizza arrived for lunch.

Barely a trickle of coffee came out of the spigot on the first carrier, so she moved on to the second. Nothing.

She tilted the carrier forward and was stunned to feel how light it was. It should have been at least halfway filled. Hearing Bill’s tuneless whistle, Sheri turned to see him slip behind the counter as he sipped coffee from a paper cup. Coffee. Her coffee.

All the frustrations of the last two day, of the last year, bubbled up in her chest. How DARE he! She scowled at him, but unbelievably he raised his cup to her in a silent smiling salute and walked into the back office. He smiled! Infuriating! Sheri took a deep breath and turned to reenter the training room.

As she did her foot slipped on the floor. Looking down she saw a puddle of coffee. A large puddle. Her eyes followed the drips off the side of the table and to the back of the coffee carrier. Bill hadn’t taken her coffee. It had slowly seeped out of the torn corner in the carrier. And she scowled at him! Shaking her head, she went into the conference room to moderate the last of the morning’s presentations.

Mercifully, the pizza was on time and piping hot. Fortified by tomato sauce and cheese, the rest of the afternoon went without a hitch. Bill, his sisters and mother, too, were nowhere to be seen, and Sheri breathed a sigh of relief. Two days down, one more to go. Just the dinner tonight and the wrap up tomorrow morning, then she’d head back to her small quiet apartment and put this behind her.

~

Sheri got to the restaurant thirty minutes before dinnertime to make sure everything was in place. It was: the room was rich with the smell of tomato sauce, pasta and beef. The tables were set perfectly, and the corner for the band was tucked into the back of the room. At least there would be no surprises tonight! Everything was exactly as planned. It would be the perfect celebration for the training class.

Dinner really was perfect; the food was delicious and more than made up for the horribly mean lunch the day before. The group had gelled and Sheri could tell they’d really gotten a lot out of the training, regardless of the complications in the hotel. Several bottles of wine were opened and glasses were kept filled as they laughed and talked. Soon, mellow music started to play from the back of the room, signaling that it was time to move on to the awards.

Plaques were given for the best business plan, the most creative, the best break-through moment. Sheri was touched by the comments of the trainees; it was clear that they appreciated the training and the work that she had done. A few comments even were made about the way she had gracefully coped with the challenges at the hotel.

"They should put you on the payroll, Sheri!", called out Carla. "You could run this place single-handedly." Others murmured their agreement.

Then, it was time to really unwind. The dishes were cleared, the tables restocked with wine and beer, and the lights adjusted.

Soon, the soft strumming of a guitar was heard as the band started to warm up. A clear, low voice started to sing, then the drums picked up the beat and a bass guitar took over the song. Sheri closed her eyes for a moment, relaxing, the glass of wine she’d had was already making her drowsy and she was glad the hotel was within walking distance. She moved her head side to side with the beat until the band announced a break.

The hand on her arm surprised her and she snapped open her eyes to see Bill smiling down at her.

"Are you OK? Need a lift back to your room?"

Disoriented and unsure why he was at the restaurant, she looked towards the back of the room as one of the band called out to Bill; she realized Bill’s soft voice was the one she’d heard earlier: he was the lead singer of the band.

"Are you always going to show up where I least expect you?, she asked, the blushed. She dropped her eyes as she realized that the last time she’d looked at him she’d thought him a coffee thief.

"I guess I owe you an apology for scowling at you this morning. I though you'd taken my lifeline away from me when I went to get coffee and there wasn't any left..."

"No problem!", he said laughingly, dismissing the apology. "I'm just glad you didn't slip on that leak. the last thing my Dad needs is other grievance. Why not let me get you a refill and get to know each other better?"

Sheri wasn't so sure that was the best idea, but then realized it had been many weeks since she’d enjoyed talking with a man. She laughed and nodded. As they sipped she was surprised to discover she liked talking with Bill.

He was from a tight-knit family that was trying to make a go in the city with the new hotel franchise. Everyone was willing to do their part while the labor dispute was getting worked out, even though Bill’s band had to reroute their tour through this tiny upstate town. It looked like things would work out soon.

"It's hard" he said, "I sympathize with the protestors and we want to recognize the union. But I also want to help my Dad. so... I guess there's no easy answer."

Sheri was glad, even though it would be too late for her training class. The more she learned about Bill the more she liked him and hoped that things would turn out well for his family. She was glad he wasn’t in the hotel business, though.

"You know, Bill, the trainees loved their rooms. But, the lunch from the other day? What was up with that?"

"What?", he asked. "I have the same thing at least five days a week. We bachelors are used to deli cuts and pre-wrapped cheese for lunch sandwiches !"

~

The next morning had none of the happy glow of the previous evening. Sheri’s head was still muzzied from the wine, and combined with the little sleep she'd hit the snooze button too many times. She threw on the clothes she'd set out the day before, ran a comb through her dark hair, and tore up the street to the by-now-familiar Dunkin Donuts.

Skidding into the lobby just minutes before the start of the last class she set out the coffee and cups only to find that she’d forgotten the creamer. Checking her phone she saw there was no time to go back to Dunkin Donuts and get the creamer she’d left sitting on their counter.

"C'mon, c'mon! Can't just one thing go right for me?" She looked around for help, and pinged the bell on the hotel counter.

A young girl was behind the counter. "Hi! can I help you with something?"

"I have almost everything I need, just... there's no creamer and I don't have any. Aren't there ANY supplies left in the hotel?"

"Bill, that's my brother? I'm Julie? Bill can get that for you, he'll bring it out it right away."

Relieved, Sheri went into the conference room to set up for the final day. She heard the conference room door open and turned to meet the group with a smile on her face.

There was no group. There was just Bill standing there with a packet of creamer in his hands and a smile on his face. One packet of creamer.

"Are you kidding?!", she exploded. "I need enough creamer for everyone, not just for me. I already had to buy all of the coffee for the event, the least you and the hotel could do was provide the creamer!" Her sadness, tiredness and anger for the past year built and boiled over and threatened to erupt in angry tears.

"Wasn’t it bad enough that I had to do it myself? That I always have to do everything myself? Is it too much to ask that someone else get the details right? Do I need to take care of her coffee and creamer for myself the rest of my life? Am I always going to be the one that has to think of everything?"

Bill’s smile dimmed, and then died. The more she said the more sad he looked, until he turned and slipped out the door.

Sheri closed her eyes tight and sighed. It figured. Just when she met someone she could talk to, someone gentle and, well, and NICE, she frightened him off by unleashing all of her frustration.

The door opened again and she opened her eyes to see Bill.

"Will this do?" He was smiling, standing there with a giant 5-gallon stainless steel salad bowl filled with chipped ice and creamer packs. There were enough creamer packs for all the coffee in all the cups in the entire town.

Or maybe, Sheri thought as she started to laugh, just maybe there was enough for her… and extra to share with someone, somewhere, for the rest of her life.

~

In 2015 I decided to enter the NYC Midnight Flash Fiction Challenge. I'd never, well OK- not since I was 8 years old- written a fiction story before. And it was certainly years before Vocal, and even before I tried my hand at my own blog.

The rules were to pay your money (I think $135? ouch), and you'd get your prompts and the category. A group would read your entry and send you feedback, then you'd find out if you progressed.

My prompts were a protest, a professional musician, and a romance. Dang. The last romance I had read was probably in my teens when we traded Barbara Cartland books on the bus coming home from high school.

I dithered. I dathered. I wrote about the dithering and dathering. Yesterday I turned that paragraph into a poem:

I wrote and submitted it only minutes before the deadline. I sat back and waited. A few weeks later I got an email.

I did NOT move on. The feedback told me why.

I wrote a good story, the reviewers all agreed. But it wasn't engaging. You see; I had absolutely NO dialog in the original submission. It was straight story-telling from me to the reader. A narrative, not a story.

After several folks said they'd like to read it, I found it in old files (how old? three laptops ago, and a million false starts to locate it!) and added some dialog. And that's what you read.

I'm sharing this because, well, the original one had good points, but it wasn't where I am now. In fact, I don't think this reworked story would have qualified, either.

Based on a situation from when I was a trainer, and the hotel was on strike and we had to stick it out, and I had a roommate obsessed with coffee (and REAL cream only!), and paired with my very real ignorance of contemporary romance writing: i think it turned out more cute than romantic.

Barbara Cartland would have approved.

~

If you are open to Critique from other writers, stop by the Facebook Vocal+Assist group and get into an upcoming Critique session, imagined and offered by Rick Henry Christopher.

As for me- I joyfully anticipate your comments and critque here!