The Sheer Magnetism of Tea

The Sheer Magnetism of Tea

He was running away from someone the day I met him.

The jingle of Masie’s Tea Shop’s bell made me turn. He surveyed the room.

 An ordinary guy, short, compact. Out of place, tee shirt, jeans.

His glance landed on me, classic sheath, sleek bob, sitting alone.

 As if I had stepped into a magnetic field, I could not turn away.

Head up, his blue eyes held mine as he came closer.

“Would you mind if I joined you?”

The shop was not crowded.

A recent survivor of a rip-your-heart-out divorce, the words “wary of men” didn’t began to cover my fears.

He slid into the booth across from me before I could answer.

“I’ve had such a bad day, tea seemed like good idea,” he said, as he picked up the menu. “But I’m not familiar with any of these selections. Would you help me?”

Tea and sympathy? Perhaps. Every day since the break-up had been a difficult day and sipping tea did help. But now in hindsight, I realize the reason I had not ordered this stranger to leave me alone and let drink my tea in peace was the connection I suddenly felt. Like I’d been plugged into the right socket.

I’d read somewhere that attraction has something to do with familiar things or people, aromas, good memories, or even bad ones. Did I sniff a hint of Old Spice like my dad used to wear? Did his blue eyes remind me of Brad’s, the serial adulterer? There must have been some logical reason for the way my body leaned toward him, my breasts grazing the tabletop. The steam from my oolong curled up under my glasses.

My voice sounded wobbly. “The rooibos has an earthy taste. It’s made from fermented leaves and-

“Fermented leaves? Yah, that sounds right up my alley. I’m Jack Hunter, by the way. What is your name?”

I pulled off my steamed glasses. “Ellen.”

The door jingled again. Jack studied the menu. A beefy man with prominent eye bags stepped in.                                                        

He quickly swiveled his head, right-left. Bang, jingle, jingle. The door slammed behind him as he stepped back onto the sidewalk.

The server hurries over to our table. “What can I get you, Sir?”

 “I’ll have the row-bows, Ellen here, suggested.”

“Can I get you something else, Miss Simmons?”

Oh great, now he knows my last name.

But did I rush drinking the rest of my tea and unplug from the electricity running through my veins?

The contract I was to review sat on my desk in my office pleading to be completed. I ignored its dry papery rustle in my head.

“I’ll have a regular cup of chamomile with honey and a hazelnut scone.”

After the waitress left, he leaned across the table, which now felt impossibly small. “Well, Miss Ellen Simmons, tell me about your day. It’s got to be better than mine.”

His voice was maple syrup flowing over pancakes, sweet, tantalizing.

My day so far had been a conveyer belt of facts and figures passing under my scrutiny before being sent out to make big bucks for Olson, LTD.

“My job is so exciting that CNN and CBS are vying over who will do a feature piece on me.”

 Jack chuckled, “Pretty and funny.”

 I’ve been told I’m pretty. This expensive hairstyle and regular gym visits must have done some good. But no one calls me funny. My Ex told me I have no sense of humor when he told me yet another racist joke.

I smile as the pots of tea come wrapped up snug in knitted cozies.

“Shall I pour you some?” he asked, nodding his head.

I’m smiling again.

“Not yet, the tea leaves inside the infuser ball need to steep for a bit to bring out the flavor.”

“So, it isn’t tea bags?”

 Now, I’m laughing. A strange, but blissful sound to my ears.

The chamomile doesn’t calm my flutters, but the hot liquid mixed with honey flows down my throat in an orgasmic waterfall. The flavor of hazelnut and the crisp outside and soft warm scone’s insides mingle on my tongue.

“Tell me about what happened today that made you seek solace in a tea house,” I say. Refuge would have been a better word.

He leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head.

“Well, I’m a cement contractor. This morning, the mixer went on the fritz. When our crew finally got it going, the forms the company had purchased were defective and we couldn’t finish the job. We’re behind already and we can’t get started until tomorrow.”

Reluctantly, after small talk and a persistent ache in certain girl parts, I rose and shouldered my handbag.

“I’ve got to get back to work. It was nice meeting you, Jack.”

I reached out to shake his hand.

He held my hand too long as bright sparks flew onto the tiled floor.

“You know, Ellen, you just made my day better. I could get into this tea thing. Do you come here regular like?”

Every day since my life blew up in my face.

I leaped off the highest diving board into deep water.

“Yes, I hope I see you again.”

So, it began. A relationship I couldn’t explain or understand. He liked motorcycles, fast cars, football, and drinking beer out of a bottle. Men falling in piles on a playing field while people hollered had never appealed to me. But all my nerve endings pulsed as we sat side by side watching the game.

My favorites were plays, concerts, reading books, and foreign movies.

And though he made no moves yet, he embraced my interests like they were his own.

“I’m oozing culture these days because of you,” he told me.

He brought me, a visiting Princess Diana, to meet his crew.

“You’re out of your league, Hunter,” one said.

A marital split often puts mutual friends in two camps. My camp had thinned considerably with Racheal Hernandez, my closest friend sticking close, male, and female workmates who dished with me at restaurants, and college buddies who kept in touch still hanging on.

But even Racheal, who knew me so well, was surprised at my choice of companion.

“He seems to be really into you, but I mean, I can’t see you have that much in common.”

The waitress at Masie’s Tea Shop says it best when we come in, “Hi, Miss Simmons and Jack.”

After five months of enjoying each other’s company, I began to wonder where we were headed. I tried insulating my smoldering feelings, but sometimes my thoughts would flame out in fantasies dancing in my head.

 Gathering courage one evening, I said, “Jack, are we ever going to be more than friends?”

His reaction was unexpected.

“You want us to be lovers? I have wanted that ever since getting to know you. But I was scared to tell you how I felt. This time it is special. I just couldn’t screw it up and lose you.”

 He began laughing. “I never knew I had it in me to wait so long.”

That night the circuit breakers blew out in my apartment.

I’d never had a champion before, but now I had a fighter in my corner.

“Anything for you, Baby.”

He wanted to “Go down and beat the crap out of my Ex and give what for to your stupid boss for not appreciating you.”

“Stop,” I said, “I want you here with me, not in jail.”

An odd look passed over his face.

“I’ll be good,” he said.

 After he proposed, took me to meet his mother, and married me, my original wild longings never abated, sizzling red hot below the surface erupting in late night couplings and sleepy  Sunday morning waltzes that sent my head spinning.

Three years into our marriage, the economy took a downturn. Construction took a nosedive. Not that many foundations laid. I still had my boring job, but we cut back on entertainment and other niceties.

I was away at the office Monday through Friday. I knew he felt bad about cutting back his crew. I didn’t know what he did on days when there was no work for him.

But I found out one day when I came home. A police car parked in front of our apartment. Inside, the man I loved in handcuffs.

“Sorry Baby,” he said.

Like the day he had met me, a drug deal had gone bad and this time he’d been caught,

Visiting him in prison, he admitted his weakness for quick, easy money.

“You were my savior that day, that guy might have killed me.”

I couldn’t save him this time.                                    

I went home and reflected. People are not black and white, good, or bad, just somewhere in between.  You still loved them deeply. I sloshed a tea bag up and down in some hot water. I would wait for the water to cool a bit to drink it, and I would wait for Jack.