Serendipity Ch. 01

It was 4:12 in the afternoon and, thankfully, it was not quite rush hour yet. Apart from a chattering group of performing arts kids clogging the back of the car with their collective musical instruments and cases, Darren Jemison had the train to himself. And that was fine with him. Thanks to Mandy, the overzealous (and under-practiced) new dental hygienist, his gums were sore and the scalding coffee he was sipping still did not quite mask the taste of blood in his mouth.

Even though most of the seats were empty, he was standing, holding onto the rail closest to the doors. He could not wait to get home, climb into bed, and put this day behind him. He had suffered through the most boring meeting of his life that morning (with a new client...a paper company), he skipped lunch to catch up on the work that the meeting had caused him to get behind on, then he left work early to get his teeth cleaned...leaving his coat hanging on the back of the door with every intention of going back to the office afterwards. But there was some tie-up with the patient before him and their insurance causing his appointment to be delayed by almost 45 minutes, so there was no point in going back to work now. In the mid-afternoon sun, his slate gray suit had been plenty warm enough, but now that the sun was setting, it was getting chilly, and he was not looking forward to the walk from the Metro station to his apartment.

The train slowed to a halt at the station and Darren stepped out onto the platform before the doors were even completely open. He sipped his coffee again, feeling it burn in all of the tiny scratches on his gums. As he walked through the terminal, he stopped at a trash can to discard the lid from his coffee cup. It was cooling off now and he wanted to drink it all before it got tepid and gross. Turning around, he saw a yellow flier taped to a column. Walking toward it, he read the advertisement:

One Night Only

October 3, 2010

@

Lennon's

Darren had dated a Farrah Duval in college. She was a gorgeous aspiring singer, with skin the color of tea-stained paper and long black hair that she spent entirely too much time and money on. She was beautiful, but she was a bitch, much more concerned about her hair and her voice (which belonged in a niche more adequately filled by teeny-boppers like Justin Beiber) than about him or being his girlfriend. And he got a jolt of spiteful pleasure at the thought of her having to trump up her name just to play shows at a shitty club like Lennon's. Smiling to himself, he walked out from behind the column and raised his coffee cup to his lips to take a drink.

He hit something hard and felt warmth spread across his front. Looking down, he saw his gray-and-white striped silk tie, white dress shirt and slate gray blazer now a shade darker and covered in hot coffee. He opened his mouth to accost his obstacle but was cut off by it instead. "I'm so, sooooo sorry," she said. Her voice was smooth but raspy, somewhat akin to Scarlett Johansson's voice. She was kneeling on the ground, gathering up soggy, coffee-covered sheets of paper and stuffing them into her bag. She collected the last, particularly ruined page off of the concrete and stood up again. She was wearing a pair of tailored camel colored slacks, tan high heeled boots and a navy pea coat with large, gold buttons. Her dark chestnut hair was just longer than shoulder length and fell in soft curls around her heart shaped face. She looked up at him, although she was not much shorter than he was, and looked at him exasperatedly, "I am so sorry," she said again.

Darius looked down at himself, now wearing the rapidly cooling remainder of his coffee. "It's okay," he sighed, brushing himself off as if it would help at all.

"Look at you," she said, looking ruefully at his suit. "There's a coffee shop upstairs. Can I buy you another?" she asked.

He looked down at her, meaning to tell her thanks but no thanks, and heard himself say instead, "Sure."

She smiled gratefully and he was reminded slightly of a pixie, then they were off. He walked beside her, nodding appreciatively and trying to convince her that it was an accident and it was, indeed, okay as she poured apologies all over him as she had inadvertently done with his coffee.

He climbed the escalator behind her and she looked down at him over her shoulder, "I'm Haley, by the way," she offered.

"Darren," he replied, grateful to have something to respond to other than an apology for something that was, he knew deep down, probably his fault anyway. He had not been paying attention to where he was going and since he had been caught up in a moment of internal spite about his success compared to his ex's relative failure at life as a whole, he was reminded that, as his grandmother always said, "God don't like ugly."

Haley reached the coffee shop first and wrenched open the heavy glass door, holding it aside for him. "After you," she said earnestly. Darren walked inside and looked around and the bright yellow room. "What were you drinking?" she asked from behind him. He turned around, "Just plain old coffee," he lied. It had had some fancy name but he did not remember what it was.

"Okay. You run to the bathroom and get cleaned up. I'll get your coffee," she said, getting in line behind four of five other people.

Darren turned, locating the unisex bathroom and weaved his way through the clusters of little round tables and spindly metal chairs trying way too hard to look like props from some twisted, live-action episode of the Jetsons. He knocked on the bathroom door, got no response, and opened it, stepping inside. It was stark white in there, an uncomfortable transition from the surface-of-the-sun ambiance that the café interior provided. He looked at himself in the mirror over the white sink. His white shirt was now almost the same mahogany color as the rest of him. Reaching up, he pulled a few paper towels out of the dispenser that was surprisingly not already empty. He blotted at his shirt a few times, but it was already too dry to make any difference. Tossing the towels into the almost overflowing trash can, he ran his hand over his close shaven head and looked at himself in the mirror. His high cheekbones and straight nose, a genetic gift from his French grandmother, framed the dark, chocolate brown eyes that he had inherited from the rest of his African-American ancestry. He was a pretty good looking guy, with reddish undertones to his brown skin. Clenching his teeth, he opened his mouth and looked at his throbbing gums in the mirror. He could not see that they were bleeding, but it still tasted like they were. With a sigh, he closed his mouth and accepted that he could not salvage his suit by himself in an off-brand Starbucks bathroom, so he washed his hands and turned to go back out into the café.

He walked out of the bathroom and looked around the small café. Haley's coat was draped over the back of a chair at one of the tables, and her bag was sitting in the seat of the chair. Darren sat down at the table and looked around. Haley was still waiting at the counter, smilingly making small-talk with the barista. Her arms were folded on the counter and she was standing slightly on her toes, leaning forward to hear the barista over the sound of the coffee grinder. Now that she had shed her coat, Darren got a better view of her body. She was tall, even if she had not been wearing heels, with a lean build, like a soccer player. And as he studied her, he could not help but notice how perfectly round and firm her ass was.

The barista slid two large cups of coffee across the counter and Haley thanked her genuinely before turning around to walk back toward the table. As disappointed as Darren was that he no longer had the view of her from behind, she was equally impressive from the front. The ruffled dark blue and gray paisley patterned blouse she was wearing had a matching sash which, along with her wide hips and large chest, accentuated her already narrow waist. Haley put Darren's coffee down on the table in front of him and he noticed her pale gray fingernail polish. She sat down across from him and smiled sheepishly, "I'm so sorry about your suit," she apologized again. "It's fine. Really. It needed to be cleaned anyway," he lied. It was one of his favorite suits and this was the first time he had worn it since it had come out of the cleaners last. But he knew the whole incident had been an accident and she had been so nice about the whole thing that he did not see the use in being a dick about it.

She smiled knowingly, as if she somehow knew that the dry cleaning tag was still pinned to the label of his blazer, "Well, then, I'd like to pay for it."

"No, you don't have to do that."

"I want to. I feel awful. Coffee is a bitch to get out."

"I'm sure they can fix it. And anyway, my suit wasn't the only casualty of our collision," he said, gesturing to her bag.

"Oh, yeah," she laughed as if she had forgotten she had it. "It's fine. My students are used to getting their papers back with pizza sauce and gravy on them. I like to multitask."

"You're a teacher?" He was truly surprised. She was so trendy that he had her pegged for a graphic designer or something artsy like that.

"Sure am. I teach history, government and economics at Llewellyn."

"That's a really good school, right?"

She stuck out her chest in a dramatic show of pride, "Number four in the country. And rising," she said matter-of-factly.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. I get paid to make a difference, you know? It doesn't get any better than that."

He nodded appreciatively. All of his teachers had been old ladies with blue hair who had been in the game for so long that they hated children almost as much as they hated the subjects they taught. None of them had been particularly bothered with making a difference.

"And what is it you said you do?" she asked, sipping her coffee.

"I work at Preston-Brewer."

"Oh, cool. Advertising or legal?"

"Advertising."

"Nice," she said enthusiastically. "Some of my students have done internships there. Do you like it there?"

Darren hesitated. "I...am very good at my job."

She smiled, and again he got the feeling that she saw right into his soul, "You hate it, huh?"

He sighed, and before he could stop himself, he was telling her all about how Preston-Brewer was just supposed to be temporary, how he had taken a year off from college to get some work experience before he went back for his Master's degree, but something had gone terribly wrong along the way and he had never gone back to school, so here he was, six years later, still somehow stuck there.

He looked up, surprised by how out of breath he was. Haley was looking at him with an odd expression on her face. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was open slightly.Great, he thought,Way to freak her out there, Darren.Finally, she licked her lips, which he had up-till-now failed to appreciate the fullness of, "Well, it's never too late, you know? And it's not like you're old anyway. You're what? Twenty-eight? There are loads of people older than you are who go back to school, Darren. You're only as stuck as you let yourself be." Her eyes, which he now noticed were a fierce shade of green, were wide with emphasis.

"You're a good teacher. I can tell," he said honestly.

"What?" she asked bemusedly.

"You care about people. It's a nice way to be. I like it."

"Thank you," she said warmly.

"I'm sorry, Haley, but we're about to close," called the barista from the register. Darren, stunned, looked down at his watch. How long had he gone on and on about his stupid job?

Haley smiled, fidgeting behind herself with her coat, "I guess that's our cue to exit." Slipping her arms into her coat, she stood up, collected her bag from the floor and the two of them walked toward the exit. It was right at 6:00 and the sun was fully set now. As Darren stood aside, holding the door open for Haley to walk out first, she turned over her shoulder and called another thank you to the barista, whose name was apparently Caitlin.

Stepping outside, Darren buttoned his blazer and stuck his hands in his pockets. There was a brisk wind and it was more than just a little bit cold. But even though he knew that the more quickly they parted ways, the more quickly he would make it home he was not ready to leave her yet. There was a magnetic quality about her and he had thoroughly enjoyed spending the evening in her orbit.

"Where are you parked?" Darren asked.

"The seventh circle," she said sarcastically. "I was running late this morning," she added, extracting her keys from the side pocket of her bag.

"Do you want me to walk you to your car?" he offered, hoping to sound chivalrous rather than creepy.

She looked up at him, surprised, but (to his relief) grateful, "That'd be great. Thank you," she said.

"My pleasure. Lead the way," he said, holding out his arm in an 'after you' gesture.

"I didn't think gentlemen could survive above the Mason-Dixon Line," she teased.

"Well, chivalry isn't entirely dead anywhere," Darren pointed out.

She smiled over her shoulder at him, "I know. I was joking. I'm from Alabama and we have our share of assholes too."

"Alabama?"

"Yes, suh," she said with an exaggerated drawl. "Bo-wan an' raised."

"I thought I heard an accent in there."

"Yeah, well, old habits die hard," she said, smiling indulgently as she brandished her elephant shaped key-ring at him.

"So I hear," he replied, smiling back at her.

They reached her black Dodge Charger too quickly and Darren once again racked his brain for some excuse to prolong their exchange. Haley opened the rear driver's side door and shrugged her bag into the backseat, then looked up at him as she slammed the door shut. "Where are you parked?" she asked.

"I'm not. I just live a couple of blocks that way, so I usually just walk," he explained.

She nodded. "Get in," she suggested. "I'll drive you."

"No, it's fine," he said, emphatically.

She gave him a look that said very clearly that he was to get his happy ass in the car. "It's freezing. You have no coat. You have no car. Get in." She opened the driver's side door and looked over her shoulder at him, "Get in the car, Darren," she said firmly before she slid inside the car.

He sighed again and ran his hand over his head, then walked around the car and got inside. It was impeccably clean, like she had just bought it. There were no empty bottles or cans in the cup-holders. The carpet was not covered in the tiny bits of paper that seemed to follow Darren around wherever he went. In fact, the only sign that someone owned the car at all was the iPod adapter cord hanging out of the mouth of the CD player and a sort of oddly shaped, square-looking cross hanging down from the rearview mirror. "Tell me where to turn," she said. He directed her the few blocks to his apartment and, far too soon, she pulled up in front of the building.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, turning to look at her.

"You're welcome. Thanks for not being a dick about the coffee debacle."

"It's fine, really. Shit happens."

"True. But," she reached over and opened the glove compartment. Pulling out a Hampton Inn tear-pad and an old red lip pencil, "this is my number. I want you to call me and let me know how much your dry cleaning bill is, okay? Promise me," she said, holding out the page to him.

"I'm not going to let you pay my dry cleaning bill," he said firmly. "But..."he paused, not sure whether to say what he was about to say or not. It sounded corny, even in his head, "But would it be creepy if...if I used your number anyway?"

Haley smiled. It was a different kind of smile than the one she had been flashing all afternoon. It was a happy smile, and it lit up her face, "Well, I don't suppose I'd have given it to you if I didn't want you to use it."

It was 9:00 and Darren was slumped down on his chocolate brown sofa in a par of old sweatpants that had been black at some point in their past, with the remote in one hand and a beer in the other. There was a plate on the seat next to him holding the crusts of the leftover pizza he had eaten for dinner. He was flipping channels without really paying attention to what was on the screen. Finally, he muted ESPN and picked up his cell phone.Now or never,he thought. He leaned forward and picked up the piece of paper Haley had written her number down on. He dialed the number before he could talk himself out of it and held the phone, hand actually trembling slightly, and waited. "Hello?" he heard. "Hi, Haley?" he asked.

"Yes. This is Haley."

"Hey. This is Darren...the coffee guy."

She giggled, "I know. I recognized your voice. What's up? Did you find a twenty-four hour dry cleaners or something?" she teased.

He smiled, "No. And I thought we established that you'll never get that estimate."

"Fine. Let me feel guilty for the rest of my life."

"Well, there is something you could do to make up for it."

"And what's that?"

"I know I should probably have waited until tomorrow or Wednesday to call you, but um...do you maybe want to go out sometime?"

"Sure," she said without hesitation.

A rush of relief washed over him. "Are you free Friday night?"

"Yeah. Absolutely."

"Cool. Um, I figured we could go out to dinner, maybe see a movie after?"

She sighed, "This is going to sound completely creepy..."

"What?" he asked, puzzled.

"I have this thing where I don't like to eat at restaurants."

He was thunderstruck, "Why not?"

"I don't think they clean the utensils well enough and they wipe down all the tables with the same rag. That really creeps me out. I'm a teacher. It's hard enough for me to avoid catching every flu, cold, virus and plague out there. And the food is really bad for you."

"O...kay," he replied, unable to come up with anything else to say.

"But if you want, you can just come over to my place and I can make us dinner," she offered slowly.

"You'd rather slave over a hot stove than eat a high-calorie steak off of a questionably clean fork?"

"Yes."

He laughed silently, leaning his head back. This girl was too much. "Okay. Okay. I'm down with that. I'll see you Friday night as seven. What's your address?"

Darren was sitting at his desk with his blazer draped over the back of his chair, his sleeved unbuttoned and rolled up to his elbows. His tie was loosened and the top button of his shirt was undone. Under the desk, he was in his sock-feet. There were short stacks of paper all over his desk and the keyboard of his computer. He threw his pen down onto the desk and leaned back, running his hands over his head. He cracked his neck and looked at the clock over the filing cabinet behind his desk. It was 6:48 PM. He sighed and picked up his pen again, staring back down at the document he was reading. Then it dawned on him. It was Friday and it was almost 7:00. A knot rose up in his stomach and he looked desperately around the desk. He bent over and banged his forehead against the desktop. He pulled his keyboard drawer out and picked up his cell phone. Closing his eyes, he dialed Haley's number and held his breath.

"Hello?" she said, answering the phone almost immediately.

"Hey," he said, exhaling sharply.

"Hey, you. Where are you?"

"Please tell me you haven't cooked dinner already."

"Um...yes, I have," she said slowly.

"I'm sorry, Haley. One of my coworkers went ape shit and had to be escorted off the premises this morning so I got assigned his half-finished case and there was all this half-assed shit to fix and familiarize myself with and I thought I could get it done but I completely lost track of time and I'm nowhere near finished. I'm so sorry," he said, feeling a searing guilt in the pit of his stomach.