As Roy saw it, a coffee shop implied a place to drink coffee, but the coffee shop didn’t see it that way. He had to settle for little sample cups that contained barely a throatful. “Barrenberg Ross,” he told the counter, gesturing at the glass jars that held the blended beans. “Legendary Sweats. And let’s try that Crankleberry Floater.”
The lady at the counter was still smirking over having bested him. “Sure,” she said, turning to snatch the jars from their cubbyholes in the shelves behind her. Aromatic steam rose from an array of infusers as she dumped a handful of beans into the hopper atop each one. “Give me five minutes.”
Dani hadn’t arrived yet, so Roy settled for stalking the perimeter of the shop, reading posters that described in exquisite detail the sun-drenched fields where the beans were grown and harvested, and the loving attention that went into selecting just the right beans for each blend, with a detour for celebrating the pedigrees of the experts who had pioneered them. The early morning sun sent shafts of golden light through the windows, flickering with the passage of pedestrians on the sidewalk. Roy eyed a collection of coffee cups that appeared to be painted in scenes from classic works of literature; though he had not read View from a Foyer or Beg Bust Bargain, he was pretty sure that he recognized the silhouettes of the characters. There were also supplies for infusers, and flavored oils for people who didn’t like the taste of coffee.
“Any pastries?” he called to the counter, who shook her head.
“Not that kind of shop,” she said, triumphant once more. Roy considered pointing out that he was her only customer and there was little evidence that selling but not serving coffee was some kind of genius business move. Before he could formulate a reply, Dani breezed through the door.
“Ah,” she said, catching sight of him. “Hello, Roy. Let me get an order in and we’ll sit.”
“Not that kind of shop,” he said, shaking his head in regret, “they don’t serve coffee.”
“No, but they do sell it.” She walked toward the counter. “Hello, Shara dear. How is your mother?”
“Better now, thanks.” Shara was beaming at the older woman in what looked like genuine affection. “She loves that chair. She told me her biggest regret in life is getting out of it.”
“She’s a lucky woman, then. I read her in the Beacon last night. Very clear-minded way of looking at things, I thought. If Cleary was still writing the column it would have been twenty paragraphs of wind, and you can tell her I said so.”
Shara giggled. “I will. She’ll love that.”
As this was going on, Roy was looking from one woman to the other with an expectant half-smile, waiting to be let in on the conversation until it became clear that this wasn’t going to happen. He slumped and walked over to a table that was about the circumference of a dinner plate. The chair made a screeching sound when he tried to pull it out, and the conversation behind him paused just long enough to let him know that both women had turned to glare. He sat.
“Last week,” said Dani, once her displeasure had been fully communicated, “you mentioned the possibility of an exhibition.”
“Yes!” The younger woman’s voice went up an octave and several decibels. “It’s confirmed. The showing’s at Siné on Roesday, in the annex. I’ll be there all day. I’m so nervous, Dani.”
While they were chatting, Roy took out his hand augur and idly set it for short-term forecast, then pushed the read button.
“Step by step, dear. Another step, but one to celebrate, naturally. If I can’t make it I will send some friends of mine in my place. If I can make it, I will bring more.”
“Thank you so much.”
The dials of the augur whirred and spun, then locked with a click.
“Not at all. Friends do for friends, always remember that. How about a bag of Crisp Cheer? I always thought it was one of Baestrom’s finer exports.”
“Of course.”
The reading on the dials was FRESNIAN 4:86/7, meaning the seventh statement of the eighty-sixth section of the fourth chapter of the Fresnian reference. Roy flipped through the pages in his mind and located the verse.
*The mask is drawn away and the clown laughs; he was always there.*
Without consulting the full commentary he couldn’t be sure, but it probably meant this wasn’t going to be a fun meeting. Roy put the augur away with a sigh.
“Thank you, dear. Excuse me while I attend to business, yes?”
Her footsteps approached like raindrops on clean stone. “You should be more social, Roy.” Without waiting for a reply, Dani went to the chair across from his. Its legs slid across the tiles with the faintest whisper and she sat with the grace of a bird gliding to a perch. “Shara went to Harcome, you know. You said your father was there, didn’t you?” she said, placing her shoulder bag on the floor beside her.
“Yes, but he’s a patient.”
“I see. Try not to upset the table, dear.”
This was in response to Roy’s attempts to cross his legs. He gave up and sighed in no small frustration. “Why did you ask to meet here, anyway?”
“I was nearly out of coffee.” She rubbed at a few invisible spots on her clothing. Though autumn had barely started, Dani was already sporting a dark plaid blazer and elegantly crocheted scarf. Checking them for stains was a tell that Roy had picked up on over the years. She had good news, at least from her point of view. “Looking for work?”
“Mostly always.”
Dani nodded in satisfaction and picked up her bag. It was wide and stiff, in dark leather with silver highlights. “This came in yesterday,” she said, pulling out papers. “Long term, no performance penalty, no cumulative cap.” She made no move to show him the papers. “I thought of you immediately.”
“Rate?” said Roy, expecting the worst.
Dani named a figure that was some distance from the worst. “Invoices would go through me, you understand.”
He did. Dani was setting herself up to take a percentage instead of her usual fee. He couldn’t blame her; the rate was enough to take care of both of them, and without a cap, he could submit as much as he could clear. Had the obvious occurred to her?
“You could get a whole team of pickers on this,” he said, trying to sound casual.
She all but rolled her eyes. “Of course. This isn’t The Roy Vachon Show. I will be reaching out to other trusted associates.”
It was a small thing, but being referred to as a trusted associate warmed him. “Who’s the client?”
“Bear and Bucket, Grand Esteem.”
Roy frowned. They sounded vaguely familiar. “I think I worked for them once.”
“You have.” She riffled through the papers in her hand. “Nearly twenty years ago.”
Roy sighed at the thought of time passing. “What’s the request?”
“They want round things.”
Roy sat back and pondered how long he wanted to wait before accepting the job. As he let his gaze roll around the ceiling, Shara appeared with a jar of fresh grounds and set it on the table. “Here you are, Dani.”
“Thank you, dear.”
“Your samples are ready,” she told Roy over her shoulder.
“Thank you, dear.”
“Don’t be childish,” said Dani, tucking the glass jar into her bag. “Do we have a deal?”
“Coffee first,” he said, and left her pressing her lips together in passive annoyance. The three sample cups were lined up on the counter, no larger than shot glasses, steam rising like smoke from little chimneys. He gathered them between his fingers as Shara ignored him and brought them back to the table, hissing at the scalding heat.
“Would you like to try one?” he said, setting them down in a row.
“No.”
He considered downing them one after another in front of her, just to draw out the moment, but decided against it. She had brought him good news, after all. He reached into his inside pocket and drew out his sealing kit.
“Very good,” said Dani, relaxing her shoulders. She held one of the papers out and gestured with it at the line of sample cups; there was no room for both on the tabletop. He took the paper from her and glanced over it. The terms were as stated. For all of her affectations, she was completely solid in matters of business.
He pressed the paper flat against the window and flicked open his sealing kit, lined it up with the signature box and pushed it into place. It grew warm under his palm and buzzed. When he withdrew it his seal had been embossed into the box.
Dani accepted it with a nod and tucked it back into her bag with the others. “Work can begin as soon as tomorrow. I’ll send you the formal notice once I have it.” She rose from the chair with her usual quiet elegance.
“Ah-” Roy felt something more was required of him. “How is everything?”
She blinked at him, halted halfway in the process of extracting herself. “What?”
“Just asking. How’s life, you know? How are you?”
“I see.” Dani had probably never shrugged in her life and was not about to start now. “I am fine. Now, I do have other clients to visit.” She picked up her bag and slid the chair back into place.
“Okay, okay. You said I should be more social.”
“Yes, dear. With other people.” She tapped the table twice, gently, then waved to Shara and slipped out of the shop.
Do we deserve everything that happens to us? Roy wasn’t sure, but he suspected there were traces of truth in this. He reached out with unsteady fingers for a tiny sip of a tiny cup of coffee.