Coffee, Croissants, and Broken Dreams
She descended the stairs quickly, she had all day. It was a rainy Saturday morning, she wanted to relax. Sit in a cafe, alone, drink coffee, maybe a croissant. Then wait for the phone call.
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She walked along the street. She had no time for slow coaches who blocked her path. Her heels clicked, she stopped and pushed the cafe door open, looked around and chose a table next to the window. She could watch the street while she waited for the call.
The call would come through, it was important. Her career depended on it. She had a good agent. She had made the right choice.
Her friends had had agents. She would get hers now.
She ordered a croissant and some coffee.
“Can you warm the milk?”
“Yes”
“Not too much, just above room temperature.”
“Okay.”
“Anything else?”
“No. Wait. Yes.”
“What?”
“The butter should be cool — from the fridge.”
She opened her bag, took out her mobile phone and checked the battery level. Fully charged. Good, happy. The call, it would come soon. What time did he say, she can’t remember the agreement about time. Surely they had said a time.
She frowned. Her fingers nervously rubbed the surface of the table.
She felt the cool air brush her face, the door opened and a man walked in. She liked his dark jacket, expensive. She looked out into the street. Maybe the silver Mercedes, maybe that was his.
She looked down at her dormant phone, and anger threatened to rise in her. She had waited long enough. She suppressed her feelings.
Maybe that was the agent, not a phone call, a visit. That could be it.
She tried to catch his eye, but she couldn’t see if he noticed. He was smiling, happy to see her. She calmed herself, he doesn’t know her. She was nervous and making assumptions. Stop. She looked at the phone. Frowned and pushed it to the edge of the table. She noticed the empty seat opposite her.
