Time Difference Pt. 02

Part 2 -- Coffee Breaks & Locked Doors

//Astrid//

I placed the float in the register, mostly on automatic-pilot. I slipped the bills in under the plastic clips. Stack of green. Stack of purple. Stack of blue. Matthew was mopping up and down the aisles, somewhere out of sight.

"You'll come running back. You'll come running back. To me-e-e!" I could hear him just fine, though, as he belted out a musical accompaniment in his deep voice.

With the store not yet open for business, I was the only one to benefit from his performance. A few feet away from me sat his 'MacGuffin': a portable record player. He had been so tickled to get it, he now played music on it whenever he had the chance.

"There's just- there's something about hearing things on vinyl, Astrid." He had said when he first unveiled his prize. I had no idea what he meant, and it must have read on my face. He waved my attitude away. "I can't explain, just believe me. This is completely worth it."

It was special to him, but I found it ironic that he didn't seem to own many records. The Rolling Stones album that was currently on the turntable was frequently in use.

The needle reached the edge of the record and the turntable stopped. Matthew came up the aisle towards the front, sliding the wide mop in front of him. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled to his elbows, revealing his powerful arms.

"Any requests, mademoiselle?" He said, he let the mop lean on the elaborate scratching post by the door and made his way behind the counter to pick a new record. He lifted a few albums up from his stack under the counter, holding them together like a giant dinner menu. He eyed me, pursing his lips and raising his brow, as though this were some seductive choice I was making.

"Uh... ok, how about that?" I provided, tapping the album on the right. He grinned.

"The movie soundtrack? Great choice!" He drew the record out of its sleeve and swapped it with one on the turntable. He paused before resetting the needle.

"We need a wider selection, I know," he said. "We'll have more soon. I'm going after some vintage selections."

"Oh yeah? What kind?" I asked.

"Billie Holiday, for sure," he replied.

"I didn't know you liked that kind of oldie, Matthew."

"I-" he hesitated, hopping over a brief thought, "I do. But I'm a pretty eclectic fellow. Not to mention full of surprises." He gave me an over the top wink.

~

//Mendax//

"I'm sorry, it's going to be a bit of a wait," said the woman who took my order. Poor dear. She looked worn out. No doubt the problems in their kitchen were flaring the tempers of many. People with limited time, and even more limited patience were blaming her for their inconvenience.

"That's no problem, I can wait," I said. I smiled with as much kindness as I could, hoping it would improve her spirits. She didn't seem quite happy, but at the very least, she was relieved.

I made my way to the back of the coffee shop, where the completed orders were handed over. Many people were already milling there. Some were hanging back while others stood directly in front of the counter. The latter were often in the way of those trying to grab their coffees or teas or various baked goods.

I skirted the bulk of the people, standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the opposite side. I leaned against the window frame and kept an eye on the counter. Another customer, an office worker in a pine green suit, followed a similar path through the gathering. He stood a polite distance from everyone, looming with his lanky frame and keeping his hands tucked behind his back. He let his sight flit about in front of him, his blue eyes holding no emotion. I turned my attention back to the employees bustling to fill orders behind the counter.

"I'm so sorry to bother you," a man's voice began in a crisp British accent, "but we've met somewhere, haven't we?" I glanced to my side. The man in the green suit had gotten closer. He was looking at me, waiting for me to provide an answer.

I tried to take in his details, to see if they jogged my memory. He was likely in his early forties, with some lines across his forehead but not much to suggest he was older than that. He had short, light blond hair, the tone matched exactly by his brows. Clean-shaven, with none of the shadow I always seemed to retain. Nothing stood out in his features, except that his eyes seemed just a bit small in his face.

"Sorry, I don't think so," I said after my deliberation. He looked a little confused, clearly not satisfied with my reply.

"Are you quite sure? I've worked in the city for years now," he explained. "You look incredibly familiar, but I can't place you."

"If so, I really don't remember you," I said, shrugging an apology.

"I'm Benjamin Geiger." He extended his hand. The name rang absolutely no bells, though the man's aura was so courteous that I accepted the handshake without any unease. He gave three firm shakes and released his grip.

"I'm Mendax," I provided in the silence between us, smiling, "people I've met don't usually forget that name."

"Ah," Geiger's face brightened in a brief smile and he nodded a concession. "You are certainly right, there! Mendax. That's a very memorable name."

"Number 538!" Called a barista from beyond the counter.

"Excuse me," I said, and wove my way through the thick of people.

I picked up the tray with Rachel's french vanilla and my tea wedged into it. A carrot muffin and a raisin tea biscuit respectively occupied the two remaining holders. I moved through the crowd, tucking my elbows to avoid collision. I hesitated at the door, my hands full. There was a clunk from overhead and the door slowly opened for me. Benjamin Geiger had come over to press the wheelchair-access button.

"Have a nice day, Mendax," he said to me in farewell.

"Oh, thanks. You too!" I replied over my shoulder. I strolled down the sidewalk with my tray, hearing the bells of the Presbyterian church behind me. Uh oh. Noon. Rachel was going to wonder why I took so long. I quickened my pace.

~

//Astrid//

I walked up to the coffee shop, listening to the tolling of the church bells a few blocks away. The building didn't really mean much to me from a spiritual standpoint, but there was an appeal to the sound of those bells nonetheless. A charming, archaic sound, I suppose. A rich echo of the past. I don't know that I could put it plainly if anyone asked me about it. I guess it's the same for Matthew and his records.

I pulled open the front door of the shop. A bit of a rush had already begun. There were many people standing down at the other end of the counter, waiting for their orders. Others were seated at the tables already, mostly in twos and threes. There was no line at the front, and it seemed neither cash register was currently being manned. I stood where the line should have begun and waited for an employee to return.

Maybe it wasn't worth it? I weighed my options. I could always walk to another cafe or restaurant. Or let the caffeine craving subside and get back to work. I peered at the clock on the far wall. I could give it ten minutes and see what I felt like doing then.

"Pardon me," a man with a posh British accent had stopped on his way to the front door, holding a large coffee and a crunched paper bag in one hand. There was a click in the back of my mind. A warning, but I didn't have any idea what it was trying to tell me.

"Uh- yes?" I answered, looking up to meet his eyes. He was blond, middle-aged and sharply dressed. The deep green suit was maybe a little thin for a cool spring day. Did I know him?

"You might have a bit of a wait, miss," he said, shrugging. His tone and air were both kind. Even so I had to fight the urge to take a step away from him.

"Oh..." I looked towards the registers again. No one had come up to them yet.

"There's trouble with their kitchen outlets, from what I gathered," he went on, "not everything has power. It's slowed them down a good deal."

"Hm, well thanks for letting me know," I said. My instincts kept nudging me to 'get away'. What the hell?

Wanting a better idea of what I was feeling, I tugged at the power tucked away in my mind. 'Let it all. Just. Stop.' Sounds fell away as I brought time to a halt.

"Wow," I muttered to the emptiness in the air. It was bizarre to see so many people caught in a tableau like this. I moved around the now-frozen business man. I took a peek at the huddle of people by the far counter. It was more than a tableau... not the slightest hint of life in these statues crowding the coffee shop. Motions that were impossible to pause deliberately. Half-blinks. Semi-expressions. Incomplete gestures. The entire scene was beautiful and eerie in equal measure.

I took a closer look at the solicitous British stranger. I paced a half-circle around him, trying to prod this impression of him. Tall, friendly, clean-cut... what was it about him that was setting me on edge?

Nothing sprung to mind. Whoever he was, I had nothing more than this vague impression. I stood back where I had been before and released the moment. The man smiled politely and continued on his way out of the shop.

~

//Mendax//

My tea was perched on the window sill. I sat in the back room on a low step-stool, surrounded by boxes in various conditions. The back-orders and store trades that had been delivered needed to be inspected. Anything wrapped in plastic was not a problem, but all the used albums and singles had to be examined for quality. If they didn't play passably well, they were rejects for the 'as-is' bin.

I checked my list of requests. 'Best of Queen.' I had seen that earlier. I flipped through the box beside my left leg, skimming the contents. 'Bagpipes', 'Swan Lake', 'ABBA', 'Englebert Humperdink'-

"Ah, there we go," I said. A burgundy album covered in plastic. Easy find. I picked it out and set it in the empty box on my other side. "Okay, next?"

The process was fairly rinse-repeat. I could practically do it by muscle memory. I organized several orders at once, seeking out records and sorting them. With tea to sip every now and then, it was hardly arduous work. Maybe a bit tedious.

Already finished with a few of the orders, I lifted the page to read off the next item when I got caught in another hallucination. I felt my cheeks get flush, the memory of another occurrence springing to mind. That night and that crazy, sexual moment. My skin got tingly and my mind wandered into dirty territory. It was almost a reflex. She was an obsession I couldn't help having. I glanced towards the sketches of her from the last few days. A few pages set on a box nearby.

I thought of those sweet, soft lips kissing me. Of her eyes looking up at me while she... god, was I really thinking that? The vision faded out and I felt a strong urge to touch myself. Rachel was in the other room. I figured I would instantly die of shame if she caught me fondling myself at work. Or anywhere, really. Though at work would be especially bad.

But the ideas were refusing to back down. With the persistence of these urges there was no question in my mind of resisting. I needed this. Still, I couldn't do anything where I might be discovered. What to do?

The desperation clouded my mind but eventually a vivid thought found its way to the surface. The bathroom. The employee bathroom. A small space where I could lock the door and have my privacy. Driven by my own obsession I abandoned the task at hand to seek out my release.

My motions on autopilot, I locked my self into the bathroom. I leaned against the wall, opposite the sink, which was barely two feet away. Undoing my fly, I shifted my pants, freeing my manhood for proper access. Stroking myself, I let my thoughts return to the lovely features of my obsession. As my focus conjured up her hypnotizing green gaze, something happened. A dreamy fantasy of tumbling into bed with her sparked in my brain.

I imagined us both, my hand working faster in reality as I beheld her entire form. Shapely and enticing in her nudity. I was pulled into a mental scene of lavishing her body with kisses. In it, my lips were on her neck, her collarbone, marking a path of licks and sucking between her breasts. I trailed my attentions down along her stomach, my kisses wandering over to one of her hips.

"Oh... mm, oh fuck," I mumbled through heavy breaths. The fantasy was so powerful. I felt the urge to moan for her, to call out to her... not knowing her name, I was left with an ache that I couldn't soothe. It was a heated desperation that pushed me further into my lust.

Despite being nameless, my mind seemed to jolt my senses with intoxicating details. Smooth, soft skin. Her every scent, her heat, her taste. The small room had fallen away and the only thing left was the sexual oasis of her body and mine.

With the rushing of pleasure along my nerves, I felt myself climax. The strength of the orgasm made my legs tremble as my ejaculate spurted from me, spattering on the floor.

"Wow..." I whispered, my body shuddering as the intensity ebbed away. No one had ever pushed me to those levels before. Not to the level of need that had me hiding from my boss to achieve orgasm. Not to that level of pleasure, all triggered by an illusory face.

I diligently cleaned up my mess with paper towel from under the sink, flushing away the evidence.

~

//Astrid//

I made my way down the sidewalk, leaving the pet store behind me. The wash of golden light that glinted against brick facades was becoming scarcer. Darkness would not be long in appearing on its heels. With the address penned on the back of a receipt, I moved towards my goal. As a favour to Matthew, I had agreed to pick up an order of records for him. His schedule didn't allow him the time to pick them up before the store closed.

"Pleeease," he had begged, clasping my hands, "I'll drive you home from your rehearsals!"

It was a generous bargain on his part, ultimately. Not that I intended to turn him down to begin with.

I didn't usually go this far west of the coffee shop, it wasn't in my routine. It wouldn't be too much trouble, as afterward I could find my way northeast, to home and then complete the triangle to the pet store in the morning. I watched carefully for the intersecting side street where "Spin Off" would be located.

The sun was hidden from my street level view when I stepped inside the small, musty store. The tall, imposing woman at the counter made the slightest frown when she first laid eyes on me. She didn't appear angry or annoyed with me. Only mildly bewildered. Maybe she was expecting someone else? It was none of my business to ask. Letting it pass, I walked up to her and smiled, resting my hands on the counter in between us.

"Hi there." I greeted her. "I'm looking to pick up an order that was due today."

"Absolutely," she said. "What name was the order placed under?"

I hesitated. Oops. I hadn't considered this. "Um, the name was Matthew Flint," I provided.

The woman gave me a very direct stare and smiled. "Are you Matthew Flint?" she asked in a jovial tone.

I gave a small laugh, "well no I'm not... but he asked me to come and pick up his order for him. Is that going to be okay?"

"It's really no trouble," she waved off the idea, "it's not as if we have problems here with people trying to steal the customers' orders... Mendax!" She called over her shoulder, projecting her voice quite well across the store.

"I need the Matthew Flint order!" After the space of about a minute, it was clear that her employee was otherwise preoccupied.

She gave a light shrug, paused and finally she said, "I'm sorry please give me a moment."

She went out from behind the counter and walked the length of the room, briefly disappearing behind a plain door. She retraced her path carrying a cardboard box, depositing it on the counter.

"There, that's for you," she said.

~

//Mendax//

Returning to the backroom, I noticed that everything was not the way I left it. the boxes of my work had been shuffled around and one of those that contained an order was missing entirely. A single drawing of the woman, my seductive hallucination, was left face down on my seat.

I went into the next room, my attention directed towards the cash. A slight breeze and a sudden rattle of wood against the frame announced the departure of a customer taking away a box full of records. A windbreaker hood pulled up over their head disguised them as they stepped out onto the sidewalk.

"Oh, there you are," said Rachel, raising a brow as she glanced in my direction. "I guess I caught you at a bad time... or should I say the customer did. I had to leave her and go into the back room for the order."

"Yeah.." I felt a twinge of shame. "I'm so sorry about that I didn't mean-"

"Oh don't worry about it." Rachel shook her head, dispersing my apology. "That wasn't the sort of woman to turn around and try to rob the place. She seemed decent to me."

"Well, I'm glad either we were completely safe or, otherwise, oblivious to the fact that we were at risk," I said.

"You don't have confidence in my ability to read people?" Rachel jibed.

"It's not that," I insisted, "I have every confidence in you. It's the rest of the people that shake me up."

Rachel fumbled beneath the desk, gathering up a satchel and her purse and a package. It was a private delivery she had had shipped to the store for her convenience. She made her way to the door, fishing in her purse for her car keys as she nudged the door with her hip.

"Don't take too long finishing up," she said, "and can you lock the front here? I can't juggle well enough to do it myself."

"I'll take care of things and be out soon enough. There were a few other back orders called in, weren't there?"

She nodded, wedging her way out of the door. I walked up to it and flipped the little business sign to the closed side. I reached into my pocket and at the same moment my cell phone went off, buzzing against my fingers. I pulled my hand back, surprised, before realizing I was being skittish about an inanimate object. Shaking my head I took out the phone to see who was calling, it was an unlisted number so I wasn't about to pick up. I made my way back by the counter, flipping the light switch for the front room.

Returning to my seat in the back, feeling a tingle as I moved the sketch of my fantasy woman which lay in the way. I glanced around for the other two drawings, to set them all aside. But the boxes were in a state of chaos, from their brush with Rachel and her urgency. It seemed like everything had been rifled through before she found the box she needed. The drawings were not in sight. I shrugged, setting the lone survivor on a shelf. Hopefully they would not be too creased, wherever they were.

I went through the ritual of my tasks in a relatively good mood. The glow from my earlier indulgent moment still permeated my mind. I finished the last of the sorting and got up, looking about for the last place I had left the broom. I figured the store could use a good sweep before I left for the night.

Finding it tucked by the door, where I had left it, I grabbed the handle.

Before I had made it halfway back towards the front room, I heard music playing in that direction. The sound quality was slightly grainy and the saxophone solo that I could hear from beyond the door had a distinctly vintage quality to it. I didn't recognize the tune right off the bat.

My problem, the much more pressing matter at hand, was the fact that nobody should have been in the front room at all. But somebody was playing that record. I pushed the door open into the semi-darkness. The small mercy of visibility was provided by the street light beyond the window. Everything was cast in deep shadows. I could tell from a quick scan about me that the room was in fact empty. No one was infiltrating the space. The only unwelcome presence was the song playing when it shouldn't have.