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“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I’m worried about my brother,” I say, waving my hand.
And it’s not all lies.
Andrew listens while I explain a condensed version that summarizes Shane’s problems.
“Maybe it’s the new medication they gave him. I had a buddy in high school that was a total fuck up. Tried a bunch of cocktails and finally found the right meds and now he’s successful and just made his first million. It’s amazing what the right mix of pharmaceuticals and a good shrink can do.”
“His lawyer said they were trying something else. Maybe it’s making him worse,” I say. “Or he’s just super-depressed. But I feel pretty helpless and no one’s taking me seriously.”
“Cross. Over here.” Andrew steers me off the sidewalk with his arm around my neck for a second and we head toward a coffee cart. A very familiar coffee cart.
While I’m still processing that he’s got his arm around me, I jolt.
“You’ve got to be joking,” I grumble and storm ahead of him. I stomp directly to the front of the line, actually, which is four people deep.
“Mr. Bolliano?” I accuse.
My old boss looks up from the coffee machine and winces.
“Hey, wait your turn. There’s a line and we all want coffee,” the old lady with the heavy New York accent in front of the cart says.
“Sorry,” I say to her and shoot Mr. Bolliano a questioning look. “I’m not budding to get coffee first; I have a bone to pick with this man.”
He winces again and gives me the index finger for ‘one minute’ and resumes making coffee.
I get in line beside Andrew and fold my arms over my chest.
“What the fuck, Jada?” Andrew whispers. “You wanna start a riot jumpin’ the line like that?”
“This is the coffee cart I worked at,” I tell him.
“Huh? This one?”
“I worked for that guy on the other side of the park and he took off and didn’t pay me two weeks’ pay and I was evicted because of it.”
“Uh oh,” Andrew says. “Shit.”
A tall black man in front of us looks over his shoulder. “This guy’s only been here a couple weeks. Took the spot from another guy that had it. People think he got the spot out of somethin’ shady. This is a busy spot. He makes good cake here and should pay you your money.”
“Damn straight,” Andrew says.
A woman in front of the tall black man looks back, obviously overhearing as well. She’s got a baby carrier on with a newborn in it.
“You’re gonna pay her, aren’t you, man?” she calls out.
Mr. Bolliano squints at me. “What’s this? This is a misunderstanding, Jada.”
“You owe me thirteen hundred dollars, Mr. Bolliano. You just disappeared. I got evicted because I couldn’t pay my rent!”
“It’s a misunderstanding!” he says.
The lady at the front of the line takes her coffee and drops money down. “Make sure you pay that girl!” she says before she walks off, nodding at me. “No tip for you today!”
I offer her a smile and she nods again.
The next guy gets in line. He’s my age or a little younger, has earbuds in, and pulls one out to give his order, then plunks the earbud back in. He clearly hasn’t heard the commotion, or finds it uninteresting.
“Unbelievable,” the mother with the newborn shakes her head at me. “You should sue.”
“I just want what I’m owed,” I say. “I thought something bad happened. The cart was just gone and he told me he’d had problems and would take care of me when he got on his feet.
“This cart always has a lineup,” the guy between me and the mom says. “He’s on his feet. Believe you, me.”
By the time I get to the front, a red-faced and stuttering Mr. Bolliano writes me a check and apologizes. “Things went crazy, Jada. I broke my phone, so I lost your number. It’s just a misunderstanding. You don’t know the stress I’m under. I’m so sorry.”
“That check bounces we know where to find you,” Andrew warns, leaning in.
Mr. Bolliano leans back, holding his hands up like it’s a stick-up.
Andrew’s a big guy and he looks intimidating, scowling now at Mr. Bolliano.
The man who was in front of us is still standing off to the side, watching this while he drinks his coffee, and he pipes up.
“I’m here every day of the week at this time. Your check bounces, you come here and say so, and I’ll make sure I get my coffee at Starbucks and stand here and tell everyone who lines up that this dude doesn’t pay his staff.”
“Okay, okay,” Mr. Bolliano holds his hands up. “The check’s not gonna bounce. I told her, it’s a misunderstanding!”
I pocket my check and Andrew pays for the coffees.
“Doesn’t even give her a free cup of coffee after gettin’ that poor girl evicted?” The man calls over.
