LA BELLE EPOQUE

LA BELLE EPOQUE

At best, his barista skills could be classed as rudimentary. In fact, the last time he had been forced to actually work a shift at the cliff face of a Wega 4 Group coffee maker, the type his establishments preferred, they had suffered more complaints over quality than actual coffees sold; most regulars, upon seeing that it was him, Jonah, manning the steaming wands, would simply retreat as unobtrusively as possible, preferring to chance a cup of instant from the kitchenette of their various workplaces.

He couldn’t cook either and was banned from all of his kitchens, labeled a danger to himself. He could give a passable imitation of a front counter server but, unfortunately, had a terrible memory for names, forgetting them almost immediately they were pronounced and causing mayhem when completed coffee orders needed to be matched to the correct customer; a barista could hardly be expected to announce the I.D.s that he had scribbled on each cup: big nose, spotty face, HUGE tits, among some of his more descriptive monikers. The black marker pen had to be hastily employed on such occasions and redaction became the norm.

In short, for a man who was making a seven figure profit from selling, primarily, coffee, he had no clue as to the actual day to day skills needed to keep his five establishments running efficiently. Yet, showing willing, to the dismay of his various managers as they saw him walk through the door, Jonah insisted on visiting all five of his stores every day, hoping that just being around the sounds, sights and smells of a commercial coffee enterprise, he might, somehow, absorb the necessary prowess that was expected of each of his employees.

To be fair, Jonah was the boss, the sole owner of La Belle Epoque group, so he was perfectly entitled to do whatever he wished, whenever he desired, in any of his establishments. To be even fairer, he spent an equal amount of his working day at each of his outlets and, therefore, none of his five extremely capable managers was forced to bear more of the brunt than any other. Until, that was, Jonah had first set eyes on her.

Unexpected staff illness, coinciding perfectly with Jonah’s arrival at La Belle Epoque No.1, that particular morning, meant that, to his delight, and the concerns of all other employees, Jonah had been pressed into service at the front counter. So far, so good, he thought to himself, proudly wearing the striped apron; La Belle Epoque, woven across the chest. Closing the register, having successfully completed serving the last customer, he looked up and found himself staring into a pair of beautiful eyes and he was, literally, struck speechless. Gaping stupidly, unable to tear himself away from her face, Jonah only vaguely heard what she was saying, somehow, hazily, managed to process her payment and scribbled, almost illegibly, on the allotted cup: Cap. Gorgeous.

As he watched her walk from the shop, Gorgeous turned and looked his way, proffering a smile of gratitude. His heart pounding wildly, Jonah forced himself to return, what felt like, a frozen grimace but had enough sense to glance at his watch and note the time: 8.30am. From now on, no matter what, the boss would be at this store, behind this counter and serving that woman, every morning.

Maggie could see it, not initially, but quite early on. As the manager of this branch, she had been rather put out that, for some strange reason, for the last three weeks, her boss had come rushing through the door of her store before opening time, each morning, grabbing an apron and insisting on manning the front counter.

Maggie, ran a very tight ship, La Belle Epoque No.1’s numbers were always ahead of other stores, discipline was excellent, hygiene rigorously maintained, so she felt her authority undermined at Jonah’s sudden attendance each morning. Then, she had realised the cause; witnessed this successful young businessman, literally, turn to jelly upon the arrival of a certain female, fumbling with the electronic transaction machine or dropping coins on the floor if payment was made by cash. Maggie made a point of checking the cups that were passed back by Jonah for this woman’s order. The only legible word was CAP-for cappuccino, boldly and stably written, probably before her arrival, in anticipation of her usual order. Underneath, each day, the identifying name was nothing but an obscure squiggle, Gorgeous having mutated to Gorg, on a good day; to Gor, on a bad day or, simply, her, on a very bad day. Her boss, Maggie realised, was well and truly smitten.

One positive thing, however, had come out of this situation: by turning up and working on the front counter, every single morning, during the morning rush, Jonah had morphed, unexpectedly, into an excellent FOH employee; except for the time when the young lady in question arrived in the store.

Very occasionally, she would sit down for breakfast and, unlike the normal ten minutes or so awaiting her coffee, during which Jonah gave his very decent impression of a blithering idiot, her stay would last, perhaps, thirty or forty minutes and Maggie would be forced to relieve her boss of his duty at the front counter as he was completely incapable of doing anything cohesively while the young woman remained in the store.

Maggie, herself, a young, attractive, tousle haired blonde, was bemused to see her boss enamoured to the point of ineptitude with a woman who, to Maggie’s mind, at least, was not ugly but, certainly, no beauty, and, against her better instincts, she decided to get involved. At the next opportunity, she, personally, served the breakfast to this young lady and spent a minute or two chatting in a friendly manner, aware that Jonah was observing everything. Shrewdly and patiently, she waited for her employer to approach her.

“Uh, Mags, uh...that woman you were just...uh...serving, the poached egg on toast...”

“What about her?”

“Well, I couldn’t help noticing...uh...that you were talking to her...”

‘I talk to all my customers, Jonah. It’s my job”.

“Of course, of course. I just wondered...well, what it was you spoke about”.

“Oh, my God! Jonah, do you fancy her?”

Spluttering, stammering, face turning crimson, there was no need for Jonah to answer; his face betrayed his affliction.

“Office, Jonah, now!”

Once squashed together in the tiny office space at the back of the kitchen, Jonah, shamefaced, sat and listened as his favourite manager told him the facts of life.

“Right, I’ve seen some of your girlfriends, Jonah, and there’s been quite a few. They’ve all been drop dead gorgeous, models and the like. You’re a good looking man and you’re set up for life. You, also, happen to be a nice guy. So what is it about this girl? Why is she having such an effect on you?”

Jonah struggled to find the right words.

‘I...I don’t know, Mags. I can’t explain it. She’s...different. Yes, I’ve had a lot of girlfriends but I’ve...never actually been, you know, in...”

“Oh my God! It’s that serious, is it?

“I’m afraid I’ve bitten off a bit more than I can chew. I can’t sleep at night for thinking about her. Bloody hell, I don’t even know her name. She has to remind me every morning, which is an embarrassment in itself, but she might as well be speaking Swahili. My brain just can’t seem to take it in”.

“It’s Eliza, you big donut”.

Jonah looked askance at Maggie, half expecting to discover that she was pulling his leg.

“Are you sure? I was certain it was something like Beth...or Betty”.

“Dear oh dear. You have got it bad. It’s Eliza. I promise you. She just told me. Now...”

“Eliza. E...l...i...z...a. Gosh, what a lovely name”.

Maggie felt that it was her duty, God help her, to do whatever she could to assist Jonah in his quest.

“Look, Jonah. If you’re serious about this girl, then you have to make your feelings clear. You can’t carry on the way you’re going. I won’t be able to hack it, never mind about you. You need to make your interest understood; you can’t just expect her to know how you feel about her”.

“No? Really? Women’s intuition and all that? I thought women...”

Rolling her eyes, Maggie knew that the moment for flaffing about had long since passed and, biting down on the bullet, she let Jonah have both barrels.

“Right, mister, it’s crunch time, d’you hear? How do you know she isn’t already engaged, married even? Or just has a steady boyfriend or, unsteady boyfriends”

Jonah, listening carefully to Maggie, looked horror stricken.

“You mean you think she’s a wh...”

“No! That’s not what I meant but you’re pining your life away over somebody that you know nothing about, don’t you see? It’s time for decisive action. Buckle up, Jason. It’s time for you to go out and actually talk to Eliza”.

Maggie may just as well have told Jonah to jump off the Eiffel Tower judging by the appalled look on his face.

“Relax. Nothing too crazy; you don’t want to frighten her off. Just...just clear her table, smile, ask if her breakfast was okay. You know the sort of thing. Small talk. You can do this. I have complete faith in you”.

Jonah looked at this woman, without a doubt, his favourite of all his managers. La Belle Epoque No.1 had been his very first to open and he had relied on Maggie to make it happen, far more than he had cared to admit. Ever since, she had been a rock, always suggesting new ways to increase revenue; ideas that he had, then, implemented successfully in the other group stores. Maggie was wise beyond her years and Jonah felt that he could not let her down, now. He stood, purposefully, took a deep breath, nodded at Maggie and, determinedly, strode out, through the kitchen, and into the restaurant area... but Eliza had gone.

The following morning, boss and manager, met at the restaurant an hour before opening so that Maggie could rehearse with Jonah on exactly what to say when Eliza appeared later that morning. Over and over they went: the warm, welcoming smile, the brief verbal salvo: good morning Eliza, usual today? Nothing too elaborate. Short and sweet.

Maggie made Jonah a coffee and, sensing his jitters, she secretly added a dash or two of vodka from a flask she had brought in that morning for this exact purpose. Just calming his nerves, she told herself; and it worked. By eight o’ clock, Jonah was the very essence of bonhomie, greeting customers, relaxed and smiling. They might just pull this off, she thought.

“Mags, couldn’t knock me up another of those espressos, could you? It was delicious”.

Well, it couldn’t hurt, could it?

Maggie brought Jonah his second cup and he beamed in appreciation.

“Feeling good, Mags. Positive thoughts only”.

Just then, the door from the street opened and Eliza walked in and joined the small queue waiting to order coffee. Both Maggie and Jonah saw her simultaneously and the manager watched with anguish as her boss gulped down his laced espresso in one urgent swallow. Staying close, so that she could bolster morale, Maggie knew the very instant that the second espresso began to wreak havoc. First came the ridiculous, lopsided grin. Then the slightest of slurred words as Jonah struggled manfully to rush through the queue so that he could get to Eliza. As each customer was dealt with, the slurring became worse until, finally, as Eliza reached the front counter, Maggie watched, in slow motion horror, as she heard Jonah’s distorted voice.

“Gmorninishbettyusualtoday?”

At least, Maggie, who had written the script, imagined that was what Jonah had uttered. But, to Eliza, who had not had the good fortune to read an advance copy, Jonah simply sounded... drunk. To make matters worse, somehow, through his alcoholic stupor, Jonah realised that, for a weird reason beyond his comprehension, he had lost the power of speech. Through his befuddlement, he could see the puzzled look on Eliza’s face and tried to repeat his welcoming greeting.

“Gmorninshbettyusualtoday?” This time, beautifully rounded off by an involuntary burp.

Eliza’s look of puzzlement quickly turned to one of mild disgust and, with a withering look, she turned and walked out of the restaurant.

“I’m so sorry. I thought it would help you. Oh, my God, I’m mortified”.

Jonah, devastated, was sitting in the office gulping large mouthfuls of coffee, sans vodka.

“Dontshrinksh”.

“Sorry? Can you say that again?”

“Dontshrinksh”.

“Don’t drink? You mean, never?”

Jonah shook his head, his hangdog expression melting Maggie’s goodnatured heart. No wonder the vodka had been so lethal.

Being such a good sport and recognising, only too well, how much Maggie had gone out of her way to assist him, Jonah was quick to forgive her little, over enthusiastic faux pas. She had made sure that he arrived home safely, being in no fit state to visit any of his other stores, by personally driving him home, that day.

In his penthouse apartment, she had made him more coffee, forced him to eat the scrambled eggs that she conjured up and, then, sat beside him in the bathroom, rubbing his back, as he leant, headfirst, over the toilet voiding the contents of his stomach.

“This day is just getting worse. Your eggs and milk are two weeks out of date; I thought there was a bit of a smell. I’m so, so, sorry. I never thought to check. Actually, nothing in your refrigerator is safe to eat. How often do you shop?”

“I ownfive blrestaurants. Why need to shop? Cleaningwomancomesin, once a week...”

“At least your voice sounds almost normal again. Come on, let me help you brush your teeth and I’ll put you to bed. You can sleep it off and, if I still have a job, tomorrow, I will explain everything to Eliza when she comes in. Okay?”

The following morning, when Jonah emerged from the shower, he realised that his bathroom had been meticulously cleaned; no sign of his retching remaining. The kitchen, too, was immaculate and, when he opened his fridge, he found it fully stocked with fresh food.

Maggie! Dear, reliable, dependable Maggie.

He felt immense gratitude, momentarily, but, then, the memory of yesterday: his parlous state, the disgusted look on Eliza’s face, his inability to talk; all came flooding back and he swore to forget Eliza, erase her permanently from his mind and, also, to stay away from La Belle Epoque No.1 for as long as it took to recover from his embarrassment.

Two weeks passed. For Maggie, they were two very strange weeks. For so long, she had become so used to seeing Jonah’s face appear before opening time that it seemed weird, somehow, not to have him working beside her. He must, obviously, be upset and annoyed with her, she thought. But, as the days passed and Jonah did not even making a passing appearance, she began to become very concerned. Was he that angry with her? She carried on as normal, managing the restaurant professionally and doing her job to the best of her ability but was unable to shake a disconcerting feeling that possessed her throughout her working day and beyond; she missed Jonah.

Four or five days after vodka day, Eliza returned to the store. Finally, Maggie thought, she could make things right and, when Eliza took a seat for breakfast, Maggie approached and asked if she could have a word. Sitting across from Eliza, still unable to fathom Jonah’s infatuation for this girl, Maggie did her very best to explain what had happened that day, determined to salvage this ill-fated relationship for Jonah, no matter what.

When Maggie had finished relating her tale, the two women had laughed uproariously at the absurdity of it all. Then, Eliza had spoken and Maggie, listening, could not help but express her surprise, eyes staring wide, mouth agape. The two women had parted, friends now, the breakfast courtesy of La Belle Epoque No.1.

The following day, as Maggie was busy behind the counter, her heart skipped a beat when, looking up, she found her boss standing in front of her.

“Jonah!”

“Hi Mags. Do you have a moment?”

“You’re the boss, Jonah. My time is your time”.

The two sat in the office, an awkward silence between them. Finally, Jonah spoke.

“Look, I realise that I made an awful ass of myself by my behaviour...”

“I should never have interfered. The vodka...”

“No, no. I know you meant to help. Forget about the vodka...”

“I spoke to her, Eliza. Yesterday, we had a good chat and I explained everyth...”

Jonah brushed this aside, impatiently.

“Look, let me get this out or I never will. It’s taken me two weeks to find the nerve...”

“Oh, my God, it’s almost 8.30. Eliza will be in any minute. We...I need to tell yo...”

“Mags. I don’t care about Eliza. That was a stupid infatuation. I’m so sorry I’ve kept away all this time but I was trying to figure everything out in my head but not seeing you for two weeks has been agonising. Bloody hell, whoever said this was easy? Look, it’s you, Mags. It’s you. It’s always been you. I’ve missed you so much these past two weeks. I need you beside me, always. I...I lo...”

At that moment, FOH, Eliza entered, hand in hand, with her new romance, a muscular, tattooed and pierced, leather jacketed woman of indiscriminate age.

BOH, Maggie cupped Jonah’s face with both hands.

“Ssh, you big donut. Just kiss me”.