The Transylvania Coffee Shop

The Transylvania Coffee shop in the mall.

Phil wore a nineteen-eighty-nine Batman t-shirt on the first day of work. He got Vicky, his girlfriend, a job there too. She would come in later, about five. They were twenty; both started dating when sophomores in a south Florida high school down the street from their apartment. Phil greeted his manager at the cafeteria coffee bar. He was a young manager named Brad, with a slouching posture. He handed Phil a green apron.

"You play ball?" Brad said.

Phil; tall and lanky, shaved head, with a blue-eyed baby face; unfolded his apron. "I'm more into karate and Manga," he said.

Brad was thirty-two, with Elvis sideburns, and a fat-belly from ten years of drinking at the local Irish Times Pub. He had a cooler of Guinness under his desk. Breast cancer took his mom when he was eleven, and his roommate; his musician father, strummed a meager living at the Irish Times Pub; all his tips slid back across the bar for Jameson Whiskey. It was the only time Brad saw his father so animated. At home, he lay in bed.

"I'm a black belt and a published Manga artist," Phil said.

"What the hell ya' working here for?" Brad said.

"Don't want lots of stress, I'm young," Phil said.

"That brunette...Victoria," Brad said. "That is your girl?"

"Sure is."

"She's nice."

"Whatcha' mean?"

"What do you mean what do I mean?"

"Nothin'," Phil said.

"Good," Brad said. "You ready to work?"

Phil imagined bringing a roundhouse kick in front of the whole cafeteria to Brad's cherry-red temple. What do you think of me now? You...fat ass frat boy. You...fucking obtuse, dime a dozen frat boys grow on trees. We always have to deal with your type.

Brad glanced at Phil's cheeks as they raised up and popped as if on strings yanked by a puppeteer. Phil cleared his belligerent imagination with some karate belly breathing.

"This is where you will stand, smile, and make the people drinks...ok?" Brad said.

Vicky answered her cell phone from Phil's mom: "Hi dear...why is he not answering?"

"He started his shift already...first day...remember?" Vicky said.

"I thought you were working today," Sarah said.

Vicky listened to Phil's drunken step-dad, Jake, in the back. "Sarah, get off the fucking phone, I cannot hear!" Phil hated Jake and sketched him as a red-skulled villain in his Manga comics. Also; a reason of Phil's karate, he trained himself to be able to rip out Jake's heart with a tiger claw Kung Fu move.

"You kids getting along in the apartment? You need money?" Sarah said.

"We always do," Vicky said.

"Swing by the condo before your shift dear," she said. Why are you giving your son money? I thought he started his new job. (click)

A curly haired twenty-six-year-old with thick glasses joined Phil behind the bar.

"I'm supposed to train a Fred?"

"Phil."

"Phil. That is it...Hi Phil...I'm Ralph...or, just call me New York Ralph."

"Can I call you Ralph, instead?"

"Sure...I guess nobody calls Brad, Blow-Job Brad in public," Ralph said.

"Why is he called that...is he gay?"

"Not at all... his twenty-something lady employees end up blowing him in his office," Ralph said.

"No fucking way...my girl is starting here tonight...I know Karate...I'd fuck him up," he said.

"I'd love to see that, I hate that arrogant prick," Ralph said.

Brad sat back in his blue chair, in an office, tucked away thirty yards by a cement floored tunnel behind the coffee store's secret side door. His ash-gray slacks and Guinness boxers strangled his ankles as Kelly's lips and tongue climbed around his erection. Kelly was a twenty-year old surfer blonde living in a half-way house. She wore long sleeve Billabong shirts to cover her heroin tracks. Brad palmed the top of her blonde hair like a basketball.

"I need this today, babe; (Oh yeah! Nice rhythm!) ...I have to train this fucking bald, douchebag, Manga, ninja fucker and his bitch. A fucking double they gave me!"

"Slurp...slurp...that sucks...slurp," Kelly said.

"Want to fuck later?"

"Can you ask me nicer?" she said.

"Can I blast inside your ass later, please?"

Phil followed N.Y. Ralph like a puppy.

"What is your ladies name?" Ralph said.

"Vicky."

"Do you trust her?"

"With my life."

"You seem like the jealous type," Ralph said.

"I do?"

"Maybe...I don't know...okay... smile, ask how they are doing today, tell them about our specials..."

At five, Vicky arrived in her tight white jeans. Her bubble ass, swollen like two balloons, jiggled out loud. Not even a quarter would fit into her back pockets. Her long brunette, strawberry hair, perfumed any lust in the air. Her young tits, loose from a bra, swayed with each strut. Her soft breasts shimmied free under a black V-neck.

Phil greeted her by the mall's loud fountain.

"You mother fucker!"

"What?"

"You are dressed like you're going to a club to pick up guys!"

"Won't it help to sell coffee?"

"You are paid by the fucking hour."

"I could get promoted one day."

"Yah, if you suck Blow-Job Brad's Irish Beluga Whale cock!"

"What?"

"Nothing...don't work too hard."

Phil marched to the escalator, not looking back at his wounded lover. The sky in the parking lock, draped pink and purple, with smeared faint clouds, greeted him. He stood by his mom's Volkswagen Beetle and flung roundhouse kids that reached over the antennae. He found his baby face in the driver door's reflection. Why am I like this? Why do I have no solid convictions? I have only anger and will die for nothing or nobody...not even Vicky...to hell with her!"

Phil took the back streets home with soft Jazz. The crisp piano and haunting horn alienated his love further. He fantasized roundhouse kicking Vicky's Adam's Apple. Her voice popped into a breathing fit as she fell off a roof crackling every oak tree branch until her body mimicked a hot boneless pretzel on the lawn below. He did a U-turn.

"You must be Vicky?" Ralph said.

Vicky grew up on the island of Palm Beach. She had three poodles she cared for. Fresh Filet Mignon delivered to her house daily. And her bathroom, the size of the coffee store. She was raised Christian and still attended a Presbyterian church with her married parents and two brothers. Phil attended alongside once a month.

"Brad?"

"No, Brad is in his office...do you know where that is?"

"No clue."

Brad's bare feet smeared a long sleeve Billabong sweatshirt into the floor. He held Kelly's bare hips like you'd hold a medium size canine about to be sick on good carpet. His pelvis and hard dick seemed to swallow up Kelly's entire ass. That is what seemed to be going on in Brad's mind. In reality, his tiny cock slid into her pimpled buns.

"Get dressed, I hear talking...someone is coming!"

Brad dressed and vaporized the room with Drakkar. He opened the door to Vicky and Ralph.

"How is it going...the new girl is here," Brad said.

All Brad dreaded was getting drunk to his dad slurring and strumming Bob Dylan songs and going home alone. He didn't come inside Kelly, and they did nothing outside of work. He needed to see Vicky's white jeaned behind.

"Come in," Brad said. "Bye Kelly"

Brad closed the door and tilted his head. His jaw dropped. The denim friction by her ass cheeks drained all the blood from his skull. He nearly dropped. He imagined her booty sitting on his open hand and awakening it. His hand would run on its own. Tickling her ass best it could against the coarse denim.

"Pesky fucking denim," his hand said.

He imagined his hand sliding around the curvature and middle crease, trying to pinch and squeeze. His hand followed the crease north, and its fingers pushed against a soft patch: her pussy; it was being rubbed. She moaned.

"Pesky, so pesky, fucking pesky denim, daddy," Vicky said.

He imagined her leaping up and thrusting down her white jeans and hot pink thong. With his office A/C stinging her new nakedness.

"Let's try this again, my hot bubble butt bourgeois bitch...sit down!" his hand said.

He imagined her warm wobbling bubble butt and all its malleable skin flattening his opened hand. With no more coarse denim, but cold bareness, his hand rubbed her fleshy curvature and middle crease. Vicky lifted off and his hand and it smacked her ass. His hand squeezed. His hand molested, fingering her, and pinched her cheeks deep.

"You okay man," Ralph said.

"What?" Brad said.

"You have been staring at Vicky for..." Ralph said.

"I am so sorry," Brad said. "Ralph, have you not clocked out?"

"I did."

"Well...see ya' tomorrow my man!"

It was a werewolf moon. A line formed in the cafeteria for The Transylvania Coffee shop's popular Vampire latte. Nobody was there to serve any. Under the werewolf moon, Ralph spotted a silhouette of a Kung Fu person swinging a roundhouse kick high into the sky—over and over again.

"Phil?"

"New York Ralph?"

"Vicky is right now in Brad's office man...he was looking at her like she was a piece of meat."

Phil was gone. He didn't even hear Ralph's words flutter away in vein like vampire bats over an Atlantic breeze. "Have you been out here this whole time?"

Phil could see Brad sliding an Irish Beluga Whale cock between Vicky's ass. With broken brimstone waving bright orange flags and smoke puffing into the ceiling vent. The moans and crackling seeming to grow with each step that Phil closed into on the office door.

Phil made it to the closed blue steel door. He heard voices. He twisted the knob. His lungs filled with cement. His eyes watered like swollen cacti.

Brad laid on the floor holding his neck. Vicky stood over him. She stomped her heel into his "blue balls". She planted both feet back down and looked up.

"I roundhoused this son of a bitch like you taught me," Vicky said.

"I don't deserve you...I have been pacing in the parking lot this whole time."

"It's been like fifteen minutes, hun."

"But jealousy destroys," Phil said.

"And...blind trust can lead to destruction too," Vicky said. "Let's get out of here, your mom gave me cash for like four months' rent."

"And go?

"Let's go to the Irish place, get some bangers and mash, drink Guinness, and watch that old drunk with the guitar play, "Lay Lady Lay" over and over again.

"I love you."

"I love you, too."