Pardon My French

That creative writing course I took senior year of college taught me to never question the virtue of a writing prompt.

A writing prompt: a vague suggestion of where to begin a story or poem. It can be in the form of a “what if” scenario, an introduction to a strange new character or describing one’s own reaction to a song. It can be anything.

My most recent encounter with a prompt came as a single word and went by the name “coffee.”

Phil has lately been sending me tons and tons of Craigslist postings of Journalism and blogging related jobs for my perusal. But, the other day, he came upon this entry labeled “writing contest.”

A group of editors are putting together an anthology of one-hundred short stories called The Coffee Shop Chronicles.

The instructions ask that all entries are from one paragraph to one page in length and include the name of the author’s favorite coffee shop. $100 cash prize is awarded to the most interesting story and all published entries will receive a twenty-five dollar coffee gift card.

My aim to write a one page short story, falling in line with the work I’ve been doing for my novel, turned into many pages, which means I probably won’t be able to submit it to The Coffee Shop Chronicles.

But, I am still grateful for the inspiration.

For the last year, I have been building a body of work, a project that I hope to turn into a novel, about the ups and downs of friendship and a break down of the gay best friend stereotype.

Like anything else that I’ve written for this story, the characters and scenarios are completely fictional but, are inspired by the lives of real people.

Please post any constructive feedback that you think would help make my story stronger. I want to produce the best writing possible.

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“Coffee Stains”
By Caitlin M. Foyt

“I don’t care that you have delusions that coffee stains your teeth,” Deidre sassed between breaths. “I need it.”

Her friend Tommy glared back at her but, he didn’t protest.

The premature Michigan winter winds thrashed the girl’s long brown hair and her hand instinctively flew up to hold fast her burnt orange beret. Her features scrunched into tiny wrinkles, a contortion the result of equal disgust for the cold and her inability to breathe.

She grabbed hold of Tommy’s hand for stability and the two pushed through the gale and the glass door of the coffee shop.

“Who’s idea was it to put an outdoor mall in Michigan, anyway? And whatever happened to winter lasting just three months out of the year?”

At six-three, he towered over his best friend. He shook himself out of his tan fitted jacket and faced his reflection in the glass door for guidance on how to fix his tangled mid-length hair.

“Well, it’s October, guy. And can you remember a single Halloween as a kid not wearing a snowsuit under your costume? This isn’t news.”Deidra unraveled her unending matching orange scarf and scanned the room for an open table.

“Precisely why there shouldn’t be outdoor malls,” he screetched. “Idiots. And speaking of idiots…” Tommy frowned at the soaked rug where he had hoped to wipe the moisture off of his brand new designer shoes, a pair whose outrageous price tag he was so proud of, he’d brought them up in conversation that afternoon on three separate occasions. He hesitated before stepping further into the store, looking around at the tile floor, which was saturated with puddles.

“If I wanted to fall on my ass” he started, suddenly speaking loudly enough for everyone in the coffee shop to hear him, “I would have stayed in that hurricane out in the parking lot.” His eyes flashed to the cashier at the effeminate-looking barista who was too busy helping a pair of middle-aged moms to notice the nervy gay man in the doorway.

Deidre’s whole face turned rosy as a 20-something year-old man with a beard, a tweed newsboy hat and thick black framed glasses looked up from his laptop and stared at them with indignation.

Tommy turned to her, his lips tightly puckered as though he had stepped in a pile of dog shit and realized it only from the awful stench in the air.

“Well, I guess you’ll care when the court notice comes in the mail,” he mumbled.

“Can you please behave yourself!” Deidre quietly hissed, smacking Tommy in thearm. “It would be nice if I could just once take you somewhere without you embarrassing me!”

Two high school kids, who appeared to be on a date, stopped talking to stare at them.

Tommy innocently smiled back at the kids. “I was just merely pointing out that it’s a lawsuit waiting to happen,” he softly enunciated each syllable through his unbroken smile, teeth clenched, and motioned to the floor.

Deidre’s face remained stern. She scanned the room again.

“OK,” she whispered. “I get that you don’t want to be here. Let’s just get a coffee. “Five minutes and we can leave. Promise.” She draped her coat and scarf over her arm as they approached the coffee counter, passing three open tables on her way. There was no way they’d be staying here to enjoy their coffee now.

It wasn’t about the puddles. It was never about something as simple as puddles. A slippery floor just meant treading carefully. With Tommy, you could be cautious every step of the way and it would still result in disaster. She sighed as she skimmed the menu.

Standing next to a rack of bagged French Roast beans, Deidre began to fidget uncomfortably. She felt guilty shopping here. Thoughts of the protesting voices of Free Trade organizations and her friend’s parents’ speaking of their struggling nearby local business floated through her mind.

“I don’t even like coffee, Deidre,” Tommy whined from her side, interrupting her thoughts.

“Quiet, Tommy. I’m trying to read.”

She already knew he hated coffee. He reminded her of this every time she mentioned the stuff. And Tommy had made it clear that he didn’t want to be here by glaring at her, never mind the fact that she wanted coffee. Tommy’s Rule No. 1 was that one must never do anything Tommy doesn’t want to do. And there were always consequences for disobeying Rule No. 1.

“White Strips, Tommy. White Strips.” Deidre didn’t look away from the menu, doing her best to get them out of there as quickly as possible.

“But they make my teeth sensitive. Remember when I did those for prom last year?” Deidre impatiently rolled her eyes, quickly growing tired of this conversation. “Even a tiny gust of wind would hurt so badly,” he put emphasis on the word tiny as he pinched the air to demonstrate the amount. “Never again.”

“You can drink it through a straw, you know,” she stammered. “That won’t affect your precious pearly whites.”

He froze. “I never thought of that.” He began to look over the menu. “Maybe I will get something.”

Deidre sighed again.

“Annnnnd…how are we doing over here?” The barista asked, his voice carrying a heavy lisp.

At first, all that she could see was his smile, blinding white and covering most of his face.The overly enthusiastic, pale and skinny barista, who probably had one too many shots of espresso himself, had suddenly hopped in front of Tommy and Deidre. His perfectly straight name tag identified him as Steve.

Tommy turned a moment to stare at Steve’s softly glowing skin, his blonde hair that poofed out over the top of his green visor and his single earring, before turning back to the menu.

“Do you guys have any seasonal drinks? Anything with pumpkin?” Deidre asked.

“We just got in our famous Pumpkin Spice Latte,” Steve announced in his best game show host voice. He pointed to photo advertisement that was posted right beside the cash register and Deidre felt foolish. “Perfect for getting you in the mood for this time of the year.”

Even his blue eyes grinned widely at Deidre and she could have sworn that his teeth sparkled.

“Sure… I’ll have that,” she smiled. “Make it a double.”

“It’s pretty cold out there, so something warm for you, yes?” He nodded at Tommy, who didn’t look away from the menu.

“You know, we’ve already done the weather discussion once today,” he snapped. “But, good effort, thanks.”

“Tommy!” Deidre elbowed him. “Be nice.”

“Don’t tell me how I should act in front of other people, Deidre” he hissed through gritted teeth.

Steve laughed heartily, apparently unfazed by the comment.

“Aw, I’m always a little crabby without my coffee, too,” he cooed.

Tommy ignored him and turned back to Deidre.

“What should I get?”

Deidre didn’t have a chance to answer.

“Our Pumpkin Spiced latte is great this time of year.” That’s when Steve began to deliver a pitch that the two sensed that he recited several hundred times per day. “It’s a delicious blend of pumpkin and traditional fall spice flavors combined with our signature espresso and freshly steamed milk. We can even top it off with whipped cream and cinnamon and nutmeg if you like!”

His smile was wider than ever.

Tommy turned to look at Deidre, whose grave expression read, “Behave.”

“It’s good?” Tommy turned and quietly asked Steve.

“It’s dee-licious!” he cheered. “I make two at the end of every shift! I love, love, love ‘em! I just LOVE ‘EM!” The barista’s right eye twitched before he returned to his trademark grin.

“Ok, then. Guess I’m having that,” Tommy mumbled.

“Ventis for you both, amiright?” Steve laughed.

“Talls are fine,” Deidre corrected him. She paid the man and she and Tommy sat at a small nearby table while their drinks were prepared.

To their left, the two middle-aged moms, in similarly cut, but different-colored sweat suits, chatted aggressively about their children’s soccer skills, ignoring the steaming cups of joe that sat before them.

“Do me a favor, don’t correct me in front of other people. K? It makes me feel like I’m four.” Tommy again glared at Deidre, the same kind he gave her outside.

She looked surprised. “K, sorry, geez. But, you were being a little mean to the guy. I had to do something.”

Tommy ignored this and looked back over to the occupied barista.

“The guy is such a bottom.” He paused for a dramatic effect. “I hate bottoms.”

Deidre thought back to that night at the gay bar when she first became aware of the term “bottom.” A group of gay men stood in a circle, brightly colored umbrellas on the edge of every drink, and giggled as Detroit gay circuit regular Marcus Halter passed by.

“He’s such a bottom,” one of the gays announced, laughing hysterically.

“What’s a bottom?” Diedre whispered inconspicuously to Tommy as the laugher faded.

“You know, he’s always on the bottom,” he said in matter of fact tone. “Bottoms are always bitchy.”

“Doesn’t he know that we’re not bleaching our hair anymore?” Tommy was staring at the barista with contempt.

“Tommy, I’m afraid you don’t speak on behalf of the entire gay community and thank god for that.”

“It’s a fact, Deed. How many people, even non-gay people, have you seen with their hair bleached recently?”

He turned to face her.

“I don’t know. I feel like I’m not exactly conscious to hair color, unless it’s some really out-there color. Like green or something.”

“Whatever. No one bleaches their hair anymore. No one.”

She sighed and turned to examine the door. The two friends were supposed to catch a movie later, but the way he’d been weighing on her nerves… she decided she would instead just drop him off at his house after they got their coffee. Tommy was the kind of friend who came with a timer. Deidre could only handle him in intervals.

“Just be nice for another couple of minutes. You can talk all of the shit you want in the car.”

Deidre never understood it, but Tommy was a gay who despised other gays. Notably those who were more flamboyant than he was.

“Two double Pumpkin Spiced lattes, one no whip, one extra whip!” Steve’s co-worker announced their order from behind the counter.

“I’ll go get them.” Tommy leaped up to go grab the coffees while Deidre collected their belongings and stood up, preparing to leave the shop.

He slowed his walk back over to his friend to sip the pumpkin latte.

“Ugh!”

Tommy’s face unevenly contorted, making it seem as though more skin from his nose and cheeks had found itself on the right side of his face than on the left.

“This is NASTY!”

He didn’t spit it out, which Deidre half-expected. Instead, he choked it down and his whole body quivered with disgust.

“What’s wrong with it?” Deidre calmly walked over to sample the drink herself. “Don’t like the pumpkin?”

“NO! It’s the drink I don’t like!” Tommy shouted, not at Deidre, but in the direction of the counter.

She took the cup from his hands, steam dancing from its tiny spout, and guardedly took a sip.

“It tastes fine, Tommy. I think you just don’t like the pumpkin.” She looked around the room and saw that Steve’s co-worker, the middle-aged moms, the bearded 20-something and the teenagers on the date were all silent and staring at them. Her face was beginning to turn red again.

“We can get you something different from the gas station,” she suggested, ushering him toward the door. “It’s time to leave.”

“No!” he insisted and started to storm toward the vacant counter, despite Deidre doing her best to push in front of him and block his path. He easily pushed her out of the way. “I’m going to get your money back.”
She was shorter than he was, and a lot lighter. Tommy grabbed hold of her by the shoulders to keep from slamming into her body, and then darted around her.

“Where’s Steve?” he shouted at the other barista. “Steve said THIS was GOOD!? Steve is a MORON!”

“Would you please just chill out? I don’t care about the money.” The volume of Deidre’s voice became louder. “Let’s just go.”

“Is there something the matter with your drink?” Steve coolly asked, suddenly behind the counter again.

“Yeah, there’s something wrong with it. It sucks. Pumpkin sucks,” Tommy stormed the counter again. “I have no idea why you would recommend this drink to anyone.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I can give you a couple of coupons for a free beverage of your choice.” His grin wasn’t as large as it had once been, but he was still smiling politely.

“Listen, bottom!” Tommy’s emphasis on the syllables in the word bottom were hard, which made them sound especially mean. Steve’s smile disappeared from his face and he looked taken aback by the slur.

“We don’t want COUPONS,” he shouted, tiny drops of spit flinging out of his mouth with every word. “Starbucks sucks. We’re never coming back here again. I’m telling everyone I know that Starbucks is an awful, evil corporation and the employees that work here don’t care about the customers.”

“Yep, never coming back. That’s us. No one worry.” Deidre felt the room full of eyes on her and Tommy as she yanked hard on his arm, using all of her strength to pull him away from the counter and toward the door. But he was too heavy for her.

“You are shitty at your job and obviously you’re a shitty human being because you have to work here in the first place! You’re ugly and your hair looks like pubes.”

“TIME TO LEAVE, TOMMY!” Deidre began to shout over his insults.

Steve’s coworker began to walk toward Deidre and Tommy, and it sounded like he had begun to tell Tommy that it was time for him to leave, but it was difficult to hear over all of the shouting.

Deidre yanked hard one final time on her friend’s arm just as he, too, pulled away from her. She lost her balance, slipped in one of the puddles on the tile floor and fell hard to the ground. Her beret fell from her head as her elbow cracked loudly into a coffee display cabinet, spilling two clunky travel coffee mugs onto the ground.

The whole room went silent and the teenage boy abandoned his date momentarily to offer Deidre his outstretched hand. He cautiously pulled her off the floor, then bent down to pick up her fallen beret.

Instead of responding to his question of “Are you OK,” she just began to cry.

“I just want to go home,” Deidre whimpered and used her hat to wipe her eyes.

Tommy reached out for her hand, but she pulled away from him before he could make contact and ran out into the cold.

“And I’m suing your asses because your fucking slippery floor hurt my friend,” he shouted through the open door as he followed her out.

Deidre heard the sound of customers clapping — applauding because they were leaving — as she stomped out in the direction of her parked car. The high winds had met her at the door, but she hardly felt it burn on her face, exposed arms and neck as it had before.

Her mind was a spinning wheel of faces, each and every single one of those coffee shop patrons faces glaring at her, judging her. He jogged to catch up to her.

“Coffee?” his outstretched arm offered her the pumpkin latte.

She didn’t respond or look up at him as she ripped the cup from his grip. Her hot tears burned as they streamed down her cheeks and were taken by the wind.

“Look, I know I behaved badly back there. I overreacted and I’m sorry.”

Deidre stopped walking and turned to face Tommy.

“You’re sorry?” She laughed and wiped her eyes, further smearing the mascara across her current visage of contempt and disbelief.

“God, why couldn’t you just listen to me? For once? Sometimes I wonder why I even bother trying to be friends with you.”

She started to tear away from him but, he quickly grabbed her firmly by the hand.

“Don’t be pissed at me. I know, I was selfish back there,” She looked up at his face, now home to a new pair of very sincere green eyes. “You know how I get.”

Deidre did know, but it really was no secret to anyone that Tommy was a bit of a bastard. He was often cold-hearted and malicious, a little child who cared for no one else but himself. Little of what she said to him ever seemed to matter because he never listened, she realized. For a moment, she imagined that when she spoke to him, Tommy could be found somewhere else, possibly daydreaming up a new and exciting way to dress her up for their next excursion to a public place or the line with which could effectively segue his newest snarky comment. She too often felt like an accessory, like the expensive shoes that matched his designer coat.

“I’m getting real tired of that excuse” came out as a grunt when she tore away from his grasp.

She could hear Tommy’s cries behind her but, the whipping winds distorted any meaning that they held.

She didn’t care. She couldn’t care less about what he had to say right now. He had some serious soul searching to do, she decided. She walked to the parking lot without looking back. When she reached her car, she pulled her coat over her shoulders, climbed inside and drove away.