The humid warmth outside Jackson's vehicle was as smothering as if someone had put a stifling blanket over his face, and his glasses fogged within seconds. Oh, nice. Irritated, he took them off. He'd put them back on once he was inside where it was cooler.
He strode across the street, folders under one arm, inhaling the oddly stimulating smell of damp, hot asphalt. Steam rose from the pavement in low wisps that undulated as cars passed. Excitement mounted in him as he reached the sidewalk and started toward the café, classic rock drifting to his ears as he neared it. He glanced at the sign over the door - Carmelita's.
Outside the café, a waitress was drying the bistro chairs with a green towel. She smiled at him. Jackson returned the smile and went inside.
The place was about as he had expected, a coffee shop-bar-restaurant hybrid that wanted to please everyone. The lighting was low. Jackson declined to sit at the conspicuous bar, opting for a small two-seater booth in a back corner that would give him a good view of the whole café. Walking to it, he kept his eyes from roaming, in case he should pass close by Lisa. This was the riskiest part, and his pulse quickened until he seated himself and allowed himself to survey the room.
Initially, he did not see her. Unperturbed, he opened a few folders on the small cherry wood table and put his glasses back on. Set his cell phone to vibrate, since he would never hear its ring over the loud music. And at last began a discreet scan of the room.
The bar was the most populated area, filled shoulder-to-shoulder with an assembly of youngish patrons. Lisa was not amongst them, however, so Jackson's eye proceeded to the tables and booths.
And found her. Lisa was not thirty feet away, another young woman across the table from her. Both were sideways to him, enabling him to observe their body language easily. Lisa was listening intently and nodding as her friend talked; it appeared the friend was telling a story. A long one.
Jackson leaned back in his booth, directing his attention to his "work" occasionally. People, women especially, seemed to sense when they were being stared at, and he did not want to set off either woman's creep radar. He glanced at Lisa. Her hair was pulled back in some sort of clip, exposing the sides of her face. Perfect. He would almost be able to lip-read her, if the angle were a little better.
Another Saturday night, and Lisa was out with a girlfriend. Most times, she was home alone. Jackson had come to the gradual realization that, unless she were somehow carrying on a long-distance relationship, Lisa had no boyfriend. It hardly seemed possible. Yet it pleased him.
A waitress approached Lisa's table, her back to Jackson. He focused sharply as Lisa turned more in his direction, facing the waitress. "Um, yeah, I'll have a Sea Breeze," Lisa's smiling lips said, and Jackson dropped his gaze to his table again to avoid any inadvertent eye contact with her. A Sea Breeze again. Third time in as many weeks.
He picked up a pen and began writing mindlessly down the margin of one of his printouts to maintain his pretense of an overworked techie, student, whatever.
A waitress approached him at last. "Wow," the girl said, eyes widening at the spread of papers and folders across the table. "You must be a real workaholic!"
You have no idea. Jackson smiled. "Don't ever work on salary if you can help it," he said.
"Looks like good advice," the waitress said, pulling her notepad from her apron. "But just think, one day you'll probably run the company," she reassured him, pen poised. "What'll you have?"
"A Long Island Iced Tea."
"Anything to eat?" the waitress asked.
Jackson glanced at Lisa's table. Neither she nor her friend had ordered any food. She might have only stopped in for a drink and could leave at any time. He was not about to order a plate of something he would have to abandon to follow her out. "No, not just yet. Maybe later," he said politely, though his pinched stomach grumbled.
The waitress left, and Jackson turned back to Lisa. She was making sympathetic faces to her friend, who was becoming increasingly animated in her storytelling. Neither of them were smiling or laughing as one would expect two young women having drinks to be; it seemed Lisa's role tonight was that of supportive shoulder.
Jackson leaned back in his booth again, envisioning Lisa coming home from work to find a distressed message from this friend - a break-up, perhaps, or some other melodrama that needed to be rehashed over drinks. And Lisa, trusty friend and good listener, had rushed to her aid. More proof that she had no personal life of her own.
His drink arrived and he started on it, surreptitiously watching Lisa. He wished her friend would shut up. He had come to watch Lisa; to glean what he could about her from this little excursion, and so far she had done nothing but nod and sip her Sea Breeze.
But he was not disappointed. Just being in the same room as his target without her knowledge, observing her so closely, was enough to send a low but constant buzz of excitement through him. This was the highlight of his week.
That's fucking pathetic, he thought uncomfortably. Looking down, he saw he had written this thought out on paper, and he scribbled through it quickly.
Whoa, whoa…what's this? A man had approached Lisa's table, drink in hand, grinning down at her. He said something Jackson could not make out, and Lisa smiled up at him. Laughed. Despite the laugh, Jackson noticed her unease in the way she brushed nonexistent loose hair back behind her ears repeatedly.
Jackson narrowed his eyes and removed his glasses even though the prescription in them was very light; wanting to see the scene as clearly as possible. Lisa could not possibly be shy, but she was plainly uncomfortable with this man. The guy was tall, tan, athletic looking; clad in the polo shirt, khaki shorts and flip-flops of the standard beach yuppie. Should be her type.
Something encouraged the guy, and he pulled out a chair at their table. Lisa's friend did not seem to mind the interruption, but Lisa herself looked less than thrilled, though her smile hung on gamely.
Jackson bordered on staring openly at their table and knew it, but Lisa was entirely too distracted to notice him in his corner. He gulped the rest of his drink and rolled his pen tightly in his fingers, watching. Did she know this guy? Or was he a stranger to her?
Lisa said something that made the guy laugh, loud enough that Jackson could hear him above ELO's "Sweet Talkin' Woman" blaring from the bar. His jaw tightened. The guy was probably half-drunk, and obnoxious. Lisa had begun to lean away from him, and her smile was fading.
Edgy, Jackson repositioned himself in his booth, annoyed that the guy was too dumb to pick up on what he himself could see from across the room. She's not interested, shitface, he thought, his own level of hostility catching him off guard. Just then he saw that Lisa's friend was looking directly at him in his corner, and he tore his eyes from their table.
He should leave. Now. What the fuck was wrong with him? He started to stuff a few pages back into their folders as if picking up to go, but it was half-hearted; he could not ditch his post now. The scene was far too irresistible. This was the most interesting thing that had happened to Lisa for well over a month. He stopped shuffling his papers and ventured another glance at her. She had folded her arms over her chest, just as the asshole laughed boisterously again.
His view was suddenly blocked. A girl had slid into his booth across the table from him, grinning broadly. "Hi!" she said brightly.
Jackson stared blankly at her for a moment. "Uh…hi," he said, feeling ambushed. The girl was young, probably college aged, with wild, curly hair. And looked a few drinks past her bedtime.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked. Without waiting for an answer, she barged ahead. "You looked so lonely over here in the corner by yourself."
Jackson tried to peer around the girl's head, but her hair had such volume that it literally obscured his view of Lisa's table. He forced a smile and injected smoothness into his voice. "Well, that's very thoughtful of you. But…"
"How can you concentrate?" the girl asked, peering closely at him in puzzlement.
"What?" Jackson asked distractedly.
"How can you concentrate?" the girl repeated more loudly, hiking up her banana yellow tube top. "I mean, whatever you're reading," she gestured to his papers. "How can you work in a place like this?" She flapped a hand toward the bar.
Jackson was already tired of her. "It's really not that difficult. What's your name?" he asked.
The girl grinned, showing a row of laser-whitened, expensive teeth. "Crystal."
"Listen…Crystal," Jackson said, smiling to soften the blow, "I really need to get this work done tonight. I'm sorry."
"That's ok. It doesn't bother me at all," she said, her fingers exploring the edges of one his folders. "Go ahead."
Jackson sighed inwardly. He slid over in his booth seat until his shoulder bumped the wall, and looked past Crystal, resuming his observation of Lisa.
"I thought you looked really lonely," Crystal said. "I've been watching you all night."
"I've only been here twenty minutes."
Crystal laughed riotously. Jackson ignored her, eyes fixed on Lisa, who was shaking her head at Asshole - refusing him something.
"You have the prettiest eyes," Crystal said unabashedly. "I bet they get you in all kinds of trouble."
Have another drink, Crystal. Jackson picked up his glasses from the table and put them back on.
Lisa was shaking her head again, and the guy was getting up from her table with a look of defeat.
Watching the guy retreat to the bar, Jackson relaxed, unaware that he'd been tense. Lisa glanced around the room, and Jackson looked away quickly, dodging her eyes. She appeared relieved that the man had left, but her friend looked at her sadly, disapproval visible in her features, and said something to her. Lisa responded with a casual shrug.
"Boy, you don't have much to say, do you?" Crystal said, jolting Jackson out of his vigil.
She was a nuisance, and it was an effort to hide his growing irritation. "I told you. I'm here to work, Crystal. If you're looking for someone to buy your drinks for you, I'm not your guy." He'd tried to be diplomatic and honest, but his temper leaked into his voice.
The effect was immediate. Crystal's face contorted in offended fury. "I was going to buy you one. Asshole," she spewed.
Uh-oh.
Crystal picked up his glass, insult glittering in her eyes. Rattling the ice and water left in it, she plucked the lemon from the edge of the glass and tossed it, with a sidelong flick of her wrist, onto the table. Then upended the glass onto his folders with deliberate slowness, never taking her eyes from his. Without another word, she slid out of his booth and walked away.
Jackson stared at the wet mess before him, anger mixing with amusement. Well, at least she'd been quiet about it. For a terrible second, as she'd picked up his glass, he'd thought she would throw the ice water in his face; causing attention to be drawn to his corner.
As water from the puddle on the table began to run off the edge and patter onto his thigh, his eyes flicked towards Lisa. Oblivious…good. Another classic sign of obsession, he reflected; that he would pass up the chance of an easy lay with Crystal merely to eyeball Lisa Reisert some more.
"Oh, you poor thing! Did she dump that on you?" his waitress said, seeing him sitting at his dripping table. She produced a dishrag and began to immediately mop up the water and ice.
Jackson smirked. "Guess I wasn't her type."
"Oh, no, it's all over your…stuff!" the waitress exclaimed in a hushed voice, not wanting to draw attention to his predicament. Jackson sent her a silent thanks.
He picked up the pile of sopping folders, water dripping from them. "Do me a favor. Throw this away, would you? It's more trouble than it's worth."
The waitress took the files hesitantly. "Are you sure?"
Jackson picked up the lemon wedge from the table and set it on top of the folders in her hands. He smiled. "I'm sure." His papers were nothing more than printouts of various internet sites; dummy sheets he had put into folders for public occasions like this. His real work documents had been shredded weeks before, their contents secure in his memory.
"Okay." She turned to go, grabbing his glass deftly between two fingers. "How about I bring you another of these?"
Jackson considered, his eyes playing over Lisa's form.
He turned back to the waitress. "Uh, yeah, thanks. But…could I have something else?"
"Sure! What can I get you?"
Jackson smiled. "A Lusty Lisa."