In the Coffee Shop

PROMPT:
Two women sit at a coffee shop in a busy city. One is amazingly beautiful; the other is not. The beautiful one is agitated, distraught. She picks at her food, lights up cigarette after cigarette. She finally looks the other woman square in the face and says, “I want you to leave him alone.”


Like most sisters, Arla and Katherine were complete opposites. Katherine, punctual as usual, sat sipping her Chai Latté and reviewed the notes for her lecture to the Intro to Behavioral Sciences class at 2:00. Her Blackberry showed 12:15. She sighed and took the last bite of her muffin. Eyeing the second one on the table, she considered the miles she’d need to run on the treadmill just to work off the one and shook her head slightly in a futile attempt to banish the distracting temptation and returned to her reading. As she was taking the last sip of her latté, Arla glided in, drawing every male eye. Oblivious to the open-mouth and glazed look of admiration on the spotty cashier’s face and the array of sweet temptation, she slid into the chair opposite Katherine.

“Trouble on the way here?” she asked, returning her lecture notes to her briefcase.

“Not really,” Arla muttered, tapping perfectly manicured fuscia-painted nails on the formica table in a staccato rhythm. Katherine observed her in silence for a moment. Arla was rarely calm and not terribly stable emotionally even before they lost Mom and Dad in a plane crash two years ago.

“I bought an extra muffin for you.” Kathy pushed the paper plate toward Arla. She picked it up, broke it neatly in half. Putting one half in the plate, she pulled off a miniscule piece and laid it on the middle of her tongue with surgeon-like precision. Methodically, yet absently, she took the muffin apart as if dismantling a 500-piece jigsaw.

“You seem a bit out of it. Are you taking your meds on time?” Arla was still an out-patient in the psych hospital attached to the university where Katherine was a teaching assistant. Arla, the pampered pet had barely survived the last of four suicide attempts in the two months after their parents’ funeral. She was kept in the hospital for well over a year past the time most would have been released. There were evidently some deeper issues but Arla said little and Katherine didn’t pry. All she knew is that Arla was seeing a psychiatrist twice a week; that it was a man, and that she liked him. Katherine was grateful. If Arla didn’t want to attend the sessions, she wouldn’t go at all. Katherine hated to consider the likely result of that decision. Arla only said that she looked forward to going. Katherine strongly suspected a crush but shrugged it off.

It was none of her business. She had her own life and career to think about. Not homely, but not pretty either; she focused on using her brain, not her body to do well in life. She was so close to getting a position as a professor, she could taste it. She and Doctor Haggert published a research paper together last month that was hugely successful. Now they were collaborating on a novel. They had met here yesterday to go over the plot and create some minor characters for the psychological thriller.

If only Mom and Dad were still here. But all they’d likely say is “how wonderful dear” and rave about how well Arla was doing as a model. That was no longer true. The scars on her wrists, not to mention her mental and emotional state, limited her modeling career considerably.

Snapping out of her reverie, at Arla’s barked out statement, Katherine noticed the stubbed out cigarettes, barely smoked and some bent and broken. She’d seen Arla tense, excited, even furious. But this was different; exactly how, she couldn’t put words to her uneasy feeling.

“What did you say?” Katherine asked in a carefully friendly and neutral tone. Lowering her voice, Arla hissed.

“Leave him alone. I want you to leave him alone.” Arla dropped the lighter she was gripping and clutched Katherine’s wrist.

“Leave who alone?”

“Steven. He’s mine. Stay away from him.” Arla’s expression didn’t change. Her voice dropped and her long fingers squeezed.

“Steven Haggert? He’s your psychiatrist?” Katherine bit the inside of her cheek; partly to hide the pain in her wrist and partly to keep from laughing. Not a good idea with Arla in this state; especially not here. Steven, as she called him in her thoughts but never to his face, had transferred all but a few of his patients to other colleagues in preparation for retirement. All but the “special ones”, he told her last night as they discussed researching the thriller.

“Don’t play the Innocent! I saw you together yesterday.”

“So did everyone else who was here then,” Kathy remarked. For all the romantic interest Steven showed to her or any other woman, he could have been gay. Rumor was that his wife had been both beautiful and unfaithful before killing herself and a passenger in a car crash. There was a lot of speculation about her state at the time of the accident. It was at least five years ago and Steven still had little interest in women, especially attractive ones.

“You’re not interested in him?” Arla asked, eyebrows raised in mock astonishment.

”Of course I’m interested! I’m alive and breathing aren’t I? Every woman on staff and all his female students can’t keep their eyes off him.” Katherine pulled her hand slowly and carefully from Arla’s relaxed grasp.

“Much good it will do any of us though.”

“Is he gay then?” Arla asked, much calmer now. Katherine pulled her coat over her shoulders and shoved her arms quickly through the sleeves in short jerky motions. The long sleeves of the coat and her blouse hid the finger-prints on her wrist. There would be bruises tomorrow.

“Why not ask him?” Ignoring Arla’s shocked expression, Katherine picked up her purse and briefcase

“I have to get to my lecture. Take care of yourself.” Giving Arla a quick hug and kiss on the cheek, Katherine hurried out into the cool bright autumn day. Staring at the crumbled muffin and half-smoked cigarettes, Arla scooped the mess in a napkin, careful to leave no trace on the table. Placing the napkin holder, the salt, pepper and sugar neatly in a row on the table, she placed the napkin in the trash. Taking another napkin, she wiped the table in slow, alternate horizontal and vertical motions, counting under her breath. After reaching some magic number she abruptly pulled on her coat and left the shop. Katherine’s used mug and the slightly creased napkin left abandoned, waiting for rescue by the spotty-faced cashier.