Pulses Quicken at Starbucks

Olivia and Jim, both young professors, walked through the woods behind their apartment complex. They saw a baseball field full of high school boys who were throwing a ball around and yelling obscenities. Olivia and Jim glanced at the boys, dreaded that they might be teaching them someday, and quickened their pace.

Within minutes, Olivia and Jim arrived at a small shopping center, and they entered the only Starbucks in town. They had both joined Franklin Park University six years earlier, in different schools within the university. Jim was an associate professor of poetry specializing in Wordsworth, Keats, and Coleridge. Olivia was an assistant professor of finance specializing in asset pricing, FinTech, and cryptocurrency. Opposites attract, but sometimes only fleetingly. Olivia felt that Starbucks would be a safe place to break the news.

Olivia smiled at Jim with a sigh after they collected their coffees and sat down on soft leather chairs. Her hair was jet black, straight, and shoulder length, and she wore round, John Lennon-style glasses. Olivia sipped her latte and winced. She blew on it and looked at Jim with pained eyes. “I thought I was on track to get tenure, but it is not… looking so good right now.”

“You’re kidding,” said Jim. His wrinkled turtleneck sagged under his shoulder-length brown hair while he slumped deeply in his chair.

“Sadly, I am not,” she said as she adjusted her glasses and wiped a tear away. Olivia’s mind filled with images of her hopeful, proud parents waving goodbye to her as she boarded a plane in Shanghai. She choked back more tears.

The promotion and tenure committee of the business school had recommended tenure, but a member of the committee, a close friend, told Olivia confidentially that her dean had nixed it. The dean, Robert O’Toole, was a former executive of a Fortune 500 company hired by the provost to impose order on the business school faculty.

Olivia sighed as she pulled out her Mac. “What does he have against me?”

Jim put his hand on hers. “It makes not one iota of sense. You have many good publications and glowing student evaluations.” He shook his head. “What happened?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping the dean saw me as a rising star.” Olivia dabbed her puffy eyes. “Maybe he doesn’t like assertive women, or anyone who speaks truth to power, or anyone who thinks at all.” Her upper lip curled in indignation.

“Oh sweetie, not to take their side, but…” Jim looked at Olivia with hesitation. “Could it be that the bar for tenure, the standard, is simply higher in the business school than it is for those in the arts or humanities… much like the pay?”

“Well, my dear poet, someone has to subsidize your pencils, paper, and Zoloft.”

“Touché, but even this brooding poet understands that granting someone tenure is risky for the university. They may fear that you could turn into the proverbial deadwood.”

Olivia glowered while peering into her coffee. “I’m not a star researcher yet. That is true. My grant proposals have not been funded yet. Damn it, is that all my dean cares about? Anyway, I wanted to tell you something…”

“Yes?” said Jim distractedly, as he eavesdropped on a complex coffee order being placed, something involving extra shots of hazelnut and caramel syrup.

“I’m pregnant…and I want to keep this one.”

Jim’s jaw dropped open but there were no words forthcoming. He stood up slowly, with eyes closed, cleared his throat, and finally whispered:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A baby bump just put a lump in my throat

You and me and the magical other make three

Our lives will no longer slumber.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That’s sweet. Just one problem.”

“What’s that?” Jim asked.

“The Starbucks is on fire.”

A Cappuccino machine had clogged, causing high pressure hoses to detach, which spouted scalding-hot milk at a barista, who was standing next to the pastry oven with a propane lighter. Stunned, she had dropped the lighter, which ignited a stack of napkins, creating a conflagration fueled by pastries.

The store manager disappeared into the back room and returned with a big bucket of iced tea. He doused the flames, dismissed all the employees, and left the store abruptly while yelling into his phone.

Subtle looting commenced. Some customers pilfered scones, while others bagged French press machines on their way out. Olivia and Jim turned away from the chaos to get their bearings.

“Should we leave? The fire is out, but the smoke hasn’t cleared.” Olivia asked as she looked down at her Mac. “Hold on. The WiFi seems to be faster, and the lines for the restrooms are shorter. Let’s stay as long as the kitchen doesn’t explode.”

Jim squinted at Olivia. “Are you Athena, goddess of wisdom, courage, and strategic warfare, making me… Dionysus, god of wine, dance, and chaos?”

Olivia shrugged her shoulders and gave him a coquettish smile. “How about finding us some snacks, Dionysus?”

Jim walked over to the well-lit display case. He inspected it and stuffed a $1 bill in the tip jar before returning with a muffin and a small flan. Jim took a bite of the scone as he handed Olivia the flan.

A group of students entered the Starbucks. The boys were uniformly dressed in faded, ripped bluejeans topped with Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirts. All the girls wore a full face of makeup and leggings. All the students were staring at their phones, oblivious to the distressed condition of the Starbucks.

“Let’s binge-watch some Netflix after coffee,” said a girl in the group.

“Good idea,” acknowledged a boy, “but how about browsing some memes first? There are some new ones I have to show you.”

Another girl gasped as she looked up, noticing the puddles of coffee for the first time. “C’mon guys, let’s look for another Starbucks. I need to cram for my math exam. Can’t join you for Netflix, sorry, but I am sooo hungry.”

The boy reached behind the counter, found a large bag, and stuffed it with cookies, biscotti, and banana bread. The Netflix girl asked “should we pay for these?”. The others laughed while she dropped a quarter in the tip jar.

Jim looked at the students leaving and shook his head. He then looked over Olivia’s shoulder and saw a large man with a toothy grin and ill-fitting dark suit stopped beside Olivia.

“Hello Olivia,” he said. “How are you?”

“Fine, Dean O’Toole” she replied, pasting on a smile.

“Still on pins and needles?” he continued. “Well, don’t worry, I supported your case and passed it along to the provost. Fingers crossed!” The dean had low hanging jowls with eye bags to match. His ample belly undulated like that of a professional bowler well past his prime.

Olivia glared at the dean’s plastic smile and felt her stomach tighten. She cupped the side of her head, turned to look at Jim, and mouthed a single word, bullshit. She cleared her throat and turned to face the dean. “Dean O’Toole, do you know Jim Brice? He’s on the faculty in the English department.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” said the dean while shaking his hand with a brief, sharp tug. “Say, Olivia, do you know those students who just walked out?”

“Sorry, I don’t.”

“One of them, the blond girl, comes from a very wealthy family. I was hoping to bump into her, engage in some chitchat about her interests, and start to monetize that relationship.”

“Sorry, I’ve never seen her before,” Olivia said with eyebrows knitted in disbelief at the dean’s crassness. “What’s her major?”

“No idea,” said the dean, “but then again, I never have ideas,” and he laughed. “Well, anyway, I sure hope they clean up this Starbucks. This could make the university look bad.” O’Toole looked around at the mess. “The provost sent a memo to the other deans and I suggesting that we stake out this place for graduating seniors and recent alumnis.” Dean O’Toole walked toward the pastry display case. “Are these free for the taking, or is this beautiful display just a, um, pigment of my imagination?”

Olivia cringed and whispered to Jim, “My dean is incredibly bright, a veritable suppository of knowledge.” Jim laugh-snorted into his coffee, adding to a puddle on the floor.

The dean took three muffins, dropped a nickel in the tip jar, and turned quickly to see whether anyone was watching. He stepped in a coffee puddle and skidded, nearly falling as he caught his breath. The dean scurried toward the door, pursuing the students, while swearing under his breath.

Jim stared at Olivia. “That is your dean?”

Olivia nodded at Jim with pupils dilated and eyebrows arched. “He is a vulgar and vacuous vampire.”

Jim looked out the window at two birds sitting on a tree branch. “You know something. I have tenure, which is nice, but it means nothing to me if you have to move to another university far away.”

Olivia’s heart skipped a beat.

“My poetry has been getting stale and trite, as deep as doggerel. I want to be hungry again, digging deep for some new truths. The poet needs to keep reinventing himself.” Jim paused and turned to Olivia, gazing into her eyes. “I am willing to give up tenure and jump ship, so that we can stay together.”

Olivia stared at Jim with the intensity of a sun going supernova. “That is noble, my daring, dashing poet, but what if you end up not getting tenure at the new place?” she asked.

“Then we would move on and try again, with our little human by our side.” Jim gazed at Olivia again, then stood up to return to the counter. He placed a $10 bill in the tip jar.

Olivia’s fingers traveled lightly on a website for academic job listings. She specified no search criteria, checked no boxes, and clicked Go. Hundreds of positions were listed, but she knew few universities would be hiring for both poetry and finance professors. She nevertheless smiled — eyes sparkling — sat up straight, and started to hum. Olivia switched over to a different tab with Twitter already open in it and typed “Life is good with a man, a plan, and a flan. #LovingTomorrow.”

They left the smoldering Starbucks as the fire department arrived and re-entered the woods. They retraced their path toward their apartment complex while holding hands. They saw the baseball field from earlier, but this time with an organized game in progress. Silence was followed by the crack of a bat, some oohs and ahs, and the soft thud of a ball falling neatly into a glove.

The sun was beginning to set, the woods were teeming with squirrels gathering nuts, and the birds were building their nests. The sky framed a sun that blazed erratic streaks of orange, purple, and yellow across its canvas. Olivia looked at the lines of color as if they were a data visualization of bitcoin speculation and blockchain optimism. “You know something?” she said. “All’s well that trends well.”

~~~

Arnold Kamis © 2019 All Rights Reserved

My other stories on Medium: https://medium.com/@akamis

My blog: https://arnoldkamis.blog/