Café Yoko’s is a small café on the edge of downtown with pay-by-the-hour-but-no-one-does-so-it’s-free parking, which is always nice. A table’s usually not too hard to find and, most importantly, its open twenty-four hours; which made it one of our favorite places to hang out.
It was a little over three years ago when I first walked into the joint and my first impression was that late night Café Yoko’s only had two things going for it; half-naked goth chicks and outdoor scenery. I haven’t had to revise that impression yet, and probably never will. It’s still a haven to late night social misfits and its front porch still has dozens of white Christmas tree lights strung overhead, giving the entire place a gentle, unobtrusive glow. I’ve spent many a night leaning back in my chair and gazing up at the ceiling as those lights filtered through my beer addled brain.
When we got to Café Yoko’s that night the place was already in full swing. A few of the tables already had a full crowd; talking, joking, flirting. One of the groups seemed to be preparing for a full scale production and was holding tryouts for the role of the tragic heroine. A few boys were vying for the opposite lead, probably hoping to sympathize the winner into bed. On the whole it was a pretty noisy affair, but this was standard for Café Yoko’s, so no one even bothered looking at them.
“You know Brent, you put them all to shame,” I muttered under my breath as we passed. He scowled at me.
We got to the door and looked around. There were no empty tables inside and the porch was filling up fast. “Well, shit,” I muttered. “Grab a table. I’ll get our drinks. What do you want?”
“Coffee and a pizza.”
I gave him a look. “Coffee?”
“Yes, coffee,” he said distractedly. He was busy looking around the café like a scared rabbit.
“Your loss, man.” I wanted to say something else, something about his unhealthy obsession with Amy, but at least he wasn’t actively trying to hide. I guess he really couldn’t help but worry about seeing her and nothing I could say would help. But the coffee, at least, I could do something about. Coffee? How about an Irish Coffee.
It took ten minutes to get the drinks and when I got back, Amy still hadn’t manifested and Brent still hadn’t relaxed. He seemed grateful enough though, when I sat down and passed him his mug. I put the metal stand with the laminated number “12” taped to the top between us, our identifier to the wait-staff, and slumped back in my chair. He was waiting for me to say something while I was waiting for him to take a drink.
“So how much do I owe you?” he asked.
“One-twenty five, as usual.”
He nodded again, still looking into the coffee. I don’t know if he was deep in thought or simply avoiding looking around in case Amy appeared. “You know,” he said finally, “it’s just not fair.”
I braced myself. This was going to go one of two ways. Either he would start in about his major not being worth anything or he would start from high school and complain about his luck with girls. I had hoped dragging him here might shake him out of his suicidal mood.
“I mean really,” he continued when I didn’t say anything, “all we ever do now is go to bars. I hardly drank before I met you.”
Now that caught me flat-footed, but I couldn’t help but grin. “You should thank me. All you did freshmen and sophomore year was sit at home and download porn.”
“It wasn’t porn. I needed those pictures for my life drawing class.”
“Sure.”
He hadn’t really heard me but he grinned anyway. It was a sad grin, though. “You know, there was a girl in art class I hung out with some….”
Christ, was he pre-programmed or something? “Yeah. Julie wasn’t it? You’ve mentioned her before.” I was hoping that would cut him off. They had been a couple, sort of. They looked like a couple, at least. Julie had been quite an attractive girl and I remembered staring at her around campus, wondering why she was hanging out with such a loser. Admittedly, I still kind of wonder. Brent wasn’t exactly a loser, per se, but he was kind of pathetic. “You haven’t told me a lot, though. Weren’t you just friends?”
Brent didn’t answer immediately. “I think she liked me.”
I stopped to consider this. That made sense. But whenever he talked about it, it always sounded like he was just following her around like puppy. “What makes you say that now?”
He shrugged. “I’ve just been thinking. Ever since Sara broke up with me, I’ve been wondering why I’ve had such a shitty luck with girls.”
No balls? “And you’ve decided what?”
“That maybe I haven’t. Maybe my luck hasn’t been that bad. Maybe I simply haven’t acted…” He let his voice trail off. “It’s just when I think about; things she said, things she did.”
“Such as?”
Brent was quiet for a few moments before answering. “Going to lunch with me, hanging out with me. She always made it a point to walk with me if we went somewhere during class. And she hinted at things… I just don’t understand how I missed it all.”
He went silent, so I spoke up. “Well, maybe you weren’t attracted. I mean, whenever you mentioned her, I wondered why you didn’t try anything.”
“I have no idea. Looking back… I just managed to convince myself she couldn’t possibly be interested.” Brent was still looking at his coffee, which was probably too cool to be any good now. “I mean, if I knew then what I did now…. Or just had more self-confidence.” He shook his head. “I suppose I should thank you for that, at least. I don’t think I ever could have walked up to Amy if you hadn’t been pushing me to make an idiot out of myself with every girl we met.”
“I wonder if you should really thank me for that.”
Brent shook his head. “I think I’m going to need a beer,” he said, then took a drink of his Irish coffee.
I laughed. “I already took care of that, actually.”
Brent put the mug down. “No, I mean after the Irish coffee. Seriously, how many times have you pulled this? If I actually wanted real coffee, I’d buy it myself.”
I frowned. I was getting predictable, was I? “I’ll have to come up with something else then.”
“Still just one-twenty five, right?”
I grinned at him slightly, a little impressed. “Sure. But before you get too wasted, we still have to figure out what to do with the gun.”
Brent took another drink and nodded. “Couldn’t we ask the guy in the back?”
“You mean Dali-Llama man? Mr. Sit-on-a-table-and-pretend-to-be-one-with-the-coffee?”
“I don’t know if I’d say it like that, but yeah, him. I mean, why not?”
I frowned. “Because I’m not going to buy him something so he can think of something I would have anyway?”
Brent shrugged. “A lot of people seem to like his advice. You’ve seen the line on Fridays, right?”
“Yeah, but I haven’t seen any of them driving a new sports car, have you?”
“I don’t think that’s how it works. Besides, have you seen anyone going back to complain?”
“But still….” I trailed off, watching Brent take another drink. It occurred to me he had probably gone to the guy himself, though I could barely remember the last time he went somewhere without me having to drag him out. “Ah, hell. Maybe you’re right. How bad could his advice be? I mean, look at the racket he’s got going.”
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