Coffee, Quiet Man?

We had a Christmas party to go to a few days after Fred’s party. Quiet Man had made arrangements to get me there because I did want to go alone, and plus, he arranged for all of us to sit together.

The weather forecast for that night was bad and for a couple of days prior we were wondering if it would still be held.

“Muse,” Quiet Man would say, “I no think the party will go on-the snow is coming.”

Damned snow, I thought because I wanted to go to this party. Quiet Man arranged for Ricky to pick me up at my house because he and Fred had to give someone else a ride.

The day before the party, I had called Quiet Man about some photographs I had of myself, to see if he would give me an opinion. He had to call me back, but gave me his email address to send them to him.

He did call me back and gave me a run down of which ones he liked and then told me he had a favorite.

We chatted for about two hours on the phone. I can’t remember what he talked about with me, isn’t that odd? As I was speaking with him, I heard him go outside to a car. As he was talking to me, he was driving to Fred’s, but I did not know it. He asked me to meet him for coffee in Starbucks.

“Muse, you have coffee with me at Starbucks now?” he asked.

“You want me to have coffee with you?”

“Yes,” he said.

I was so exited. And I so told him.

“I can’t believe you want me to have coffee with you!” I gasped.

I laughed and he laughed.

“You want me to have coffee?” I asked in a girly sing songy voice.

“Yes, I want coffee with you,” he said in a very gay like sing songy reply.

“OK, I will go down. Give a about 5 minutes,” I told him. Fred’s store was like one minute from my office.

“Ok, Muse, see you,” he said.

I get to the plaza and we went into Starbucks. He was in Fred’s store and then came out as soon as he saw me pull in.

He bought me my tea and he bought his usual grande latte or whatever it is he drinks. I offered to pay and he refused, shoving aside my hand which held the money. As we were waiting for the drinks to be made, he ran to the bathroom.

We had to make a stop for me to put in some skim milk into my drink. He was swiping packaged honey for me, but I was not putting honey in the tea that day.

We go into Fred’s store and get to the back office. We sat down and started joking around with each other. We talked about going to the party in two nights, but also about the impending snow. Fred, I think was getting annoyed because we were really only talking to each other and leaving Fred out of it; well Fred had to keep running out to tend to his clientele.

So we bid Fred goodbye as Quiet Man had to get back to work, having spent most of his day talking to me.

“Quiet Man,” I asked him as we left Fred’s store, “can you give me a ride to the party? I don’t want to go alone.”

“Of course, Muse,” he replied, “First, we see if snow comes, don’t worry.”

“Thank you Quiet Man. That is so nice of you.”

We made plans to keep abreast of the weather.

The next day, Fred calls me at my office.

“Muse, can you come to see me?”

“Why, Fred? I am busy now.”

“No, when you are free sweetheart,” he said.

“Ok, it won’t be until towards the end of the day, Fred.”

“No problem, sweetheart. See you when you get here.”

Fred wanted me to help him with some business he had, which meant I had to bring my lap top.

I get to Fred’s store. I waited for him to come out.

“Come, come Muse,” he directs me behind the counter to go into the back.

I walk into the office and who is sitting there but Quiet Man.

He looked very handsome and authoritative, sitting in the chair in front of Fred’s desk.

“Muse,” he said as he rose to greet me.

“Hi Quiet Man,” I said.

So Fred sits at his desk and says, “You know Muse, I have no heat for three days!”

Fred’s store had not any heat, it was broken and he was using electric heaters. Since I had to plug in my lap top, Fred and Quiet Man were having issues with the electric. Fred amazingly had only two outlets in his office and they were all overloaded with his closed circuit TV to monitor the store, in addition to the electric heaters. To see the two of them trying to plug in my lap top in the mess of other plugs was funny.

Quiet Man got a phone call. He told the caller he would meet him at 7 pm. We drank our drinks and I prepared the documents Fred requested while we chatted and laughed with each other.

Fred had to go into the store to help a customer. I looked into this small black and white TV monitor and thought, hmm, he never mentioned he had a TV, he said he had a bell. So weird, I thought, remembering the times I would wait for him to come out front, now thinking he would watch me on his black and white TV. Then Quiet Man wanted to get up to leave as he had to meet someone. Geez, I thought, what a social agenda Quiet Man keeps.

So we go into the store and start to walk down the aisle behind the long counter holding all of Fred’s wares which where flanked by other things for sale along the entire length and width of the neighboring wall.

Fred was mumbling about something. Quiet Man and I were on the customer side of things and Fred brings out this large shopping bag. It was one of those shiny bags you get in shops similar to high end department stores. It was yellow and black with a man flirting with a woman on it. In the bag, it looked as if Fred had crumpled the tissue paper meant to adorn the bag into a messy looking toilet papery mess.

Fred places this bag on the counter and asks us what we think.

“What is this, Freddy?” asks Quiet Man, scrutinizing the bag.

“Quiet Man, it’s the gifts for Mr. and Mrs. Wrong. What do you think Quiet Man?”

Oh no. Here we go again. Another unique round of communiqué between these two. Man, that bag was ugly. It looked pretty crappy.

Fred went over to admire his handiwork, commenting the man on the bag, who had on a turtleneck, as Mr. Wrong is never without, was supposed to be Mr. Wrong. The woman on the bag, in not any normal comparison, could never be Mrs. Wrong.

“And the woman, Fred, is a go-go dancer that Mr. Wrong is trying to always bag,” I chimed in without being asked.

“No, Freddy, this is all wrong,” surmised Quiet Man as if he was assessing the latest decision coming out of the Federal Reserve.

“What do you mean, Quiet Man!” said Fred, who now was digging in his bag pulling out his expensive gifts from his store for the Wrongs.

“Look, Quiet Man, this is for Mr. Wrong and now, that is for her. No one has this. No one!” argued Fred, who was dismayed at the lack of approval of his bag and now gift choices.

“Freddy, this no work. Bag is inappropriate for this event. You need to use other bag, red one, you know which one,” directed Quiet Man, who was motioning to the corner of the store where this red bag supposedly was waiting to be used for gift giving to the Wrongs.

After Fred locates the bag, then Quiet Man starts to question the gift choices. Fred, like a puppy dog, follows Quiet Man’s logic about his assessment of the personalities of Mr. and Mrs. Wrong.

Quiet Man, who was supposed to have left for a 7 pm meeting, decided instead to carouse around Fred’s store, looking for the personality matching gifts. He was correct. Fred was attempting to gift to Mr. Wrong a gift that was worthy of a much more macho man. Mr. Wrong was the polar opposite of a man, much less a macho one.

So, Quiet Man began to “shop” Fred’s store with me next to him. He pointed out various choices to me and asked my opinion. We did this whether Fred had other customers or not. We laughed hysterically about Mr. Wrong. He was living in the 70’s with his pin straight hair hanging by his earlobes and parted on the side. The hair parted was pretty long as well. He was never without his signature turtleneck whether worn alone or under a blazer. He could have been part of the Mod Squad.

I was wondering why Quiet Man took such a keen interest in Fred’s gift. Heck, I knew they would be the only ones bringing a gift, because no one else would.

As we discussed less macho items to gift to Mr. Wrong, Quiet Man and I flirted with each other and as time went on, I found myself leaning into his shoulder as we both stared at the merchandise on the shelves in front of us.

Soon, the conversation turned to the tastes of Quiet Man. We spoke of cologne and I did not remember what, if any, he ever wore. Oh, he was particular. When he asked me to smell a bottle, Fred retrieved it, and I was instantly taken by effect on my olfactory nerves to remember that this was the smell of Quiet Man.

As my face showed my recognition, Quiet Man looked down at me approvingly. I told him I envisioned his taste to match how he projects himself, coolly and confidently and mysteriously. The scent was not that at all, yet it was him. Davidoff CoolWater.

He told me his favorite scent on a woman was Thierry Mugler’s Angel. I knew that scent well. It was my sister’s.

“Really, Quiet Man, that is your favorite?” I asked.

“Yes Muse. My favorite.”

“Well, it is heavy scent,” I replied.

We bantered back and forth about Angel. I did not dislike the scent, it was not something I would choose to wear.

Fred chimed in about how he knew it was my sister’s favorite and dragged it out to prove to me it was not heavy.

“Yes it is Fred,” I told him.

Fred wanted me to put it on, so I did. I had on a heavy turtleneck cotton sweater.

“Quiet Man,” I said, “would you like to smell?”

Quiet Man for some reason was discussing the subtleties of one’s personal chemistry and the effect of which it had on scents we placed on our bodies.

I was holding out my turtleneck, exposing my neck, because by that time I realized I had sprayed myself quite heavily with Angel and I was getting a sick feeling.

Quiet Man reaches in towards my neck and breathes deeply. I had to step back quickly, for my own sake, not trusting myself.

“It’s my favorite,” he said looking at me.

“Well, it is making me sick right now,” I told him pondering the probability of Mrs. Quiet Man having gobs of Angel all over herself.

Quiet Man sat down by the end of the counter. I was standing next to him and Fred in front of us. Quiet Man’s phone rings and he tells the caller he was not going to make the meeting. It turns out the caller was Dane and I believe they were supposed to meet at the go-go club. I rolled my eyes. Quiet Man luridly smiles at me and laughs as he was putting away his cell phone.

After a while, Berman comes into the store. It was a surprise to see him and he was surprised to see all of us in the store chatting.

Berman and Quiet Man exchange what I would deem unpleasant pleasantries. They would say things to each other that bordered on appropriate comments that were daggers in disguise. So weird.

Eventually, Mrs. Quiet Man calls in to her husband. I believe it was her because he was jibber jabbing in his language to her. I thought it was odd since he previously had plans with Dane for what I believed was a meeting at the go go club to oogle all the trashy girls.

Not one to spring to action to get home after a phone call reminder, Quiet Man and I chatted a bit more, and Berman and Fred scuttled into the back office.

We walked out together while Quiet Man lit up a Marlboro. We talked about the party the next night and bid our goodbyes.

After I arrived home, Mr. Wrong called to tell me with the impending snow storm, they were not taking any chances. Ok, Mr. Wrong, I told him.

I rang Quiet Man on his cell.

“Hello Muse!” he said into the phone.

I told him the party was cancelled due to the weather and it was rescheduled for the next week.

“OK, Muse, thank you,” he told me.

“You are welcome, Quiet Man,” I replied as I hung up to his talk to you tomorrow Muse.

I flitted around my kitchen with the events of the day with Quiet Man looming in my brain.