Serena James pulled her sweatshirt tighter around her small body, shivering as a chilled wind ravaged the sad tree leaves, planted in the New York sidewalk. They whipped up around her ankles, traveling down the pavement and reminding her of snapping dogs—merciless.
"Autumn in New York," she grumbled, "Is not all it's cracked up to be." She hated it here. She hated how cold it was and how the people always seemed to stare, as if she stood before them naked. They knew she wasn't from around. It was so obvious; she might as well have been wearing a sign. Everything she had tried to get away from back home was magnified ten-fold here. For such a large state, Texas had been surprisingly restricting. She hadn't been able to live, caught in a choke-hold between school and home, and in high school, she had been teased for being a "Mary." It was intriguing to her to wonder what it would be like if she had done something wrong, crossed the line just once, but there were always consequences, and those outweighed interest.
She looked cautiously from side to side before crossing the street, and her feet shuffled swiftly to avoid the dangers of the oncoming car but most of all, the man who had been eyeing her hungrily, taking down her image like a slab of meat. She hated the prying gazes of men. They always looked as if they were able to see more than they should have been. When she used to hate the shelter of home, now, she longed for it, but it was so far away.
She pushed open the door to a little corner bistro, and the pungent smell of coffee flew over her like a wave, just as it did every morning. She hated the stuff, only served it for a living, and it was the only thing keeping her off the street.
The entrance bell jingled—the cheap, sour din that greeted her entirely too early in the day. It had become a wake-up call to an unfortunate world every time someone came through the door. It took everything in her power to keep from ripping it off the wall.
"Good morning, welcome to Friday Mornings. How may I…" the statuesque blond at the counter stopped short of a sentence as she noticed Serena in the doorway, "Oh, it's just you. Running a bit late are we?"
She gave a sarcastic snort, "Thanks, I was getting dangerously close to feeling a little appreciated."
"Now, we can't have that, can we?" she quipped.
Serena pointed a finger towards her own hair, "Wig or dyed?" Lita was constantly making changes to her hair or to herself in general. She said she prided herself in being "New York," always on the go. Just last week, it was a pale, but still shocking blue. Oddly, she always managed to pull it off. She had a kind of down-to-earth beauty that nothing seemed to be able to shake, but she was hardly the girl-next-door stereotype. It wasn't difficult to take notice in her foot-loose attitude.
Lita pulled upwards at her hair, "This baby isn't coming off. You know, they do say blondes have more fun. After all," she grinned, ducking below to grab a pastry from the display, "There was something about the old color. It seemed unnatural."
Serena laughed, "Maybe because it was blue?"
She cocked her head to the side, contemplating the comment, "hmm, maybe. But, I must say, I do feel much better. I really think you're on to something here. You're the blondest of the blonds. I would dye my hair like yours, but they don't sell that color in a bottle. Was your mother a blond like you too?"
She shrugged vaguely, not wanting to delve too deeply into the subject of her mother. Her own hair was a silver blond, not white—silver, so silver it almost glowed sometimes, giving her an almost ethereal appearance although, more otherworldly than heavenly. As for her mother—she just didn't know. She turned her head, searching around the low-lit house for something to speak about in place of mommy dearest.
"Slow business today?"
Lita scowled, "What? Haven't you noticed? Slow business everyday lately. People just aren't coming anymore, and I don't know what to do Serena."
"It'll pick up soon. I know it will," she reassured, "Once winter hits, the place will be packed." Serena frowned, watching her friend bury her head in her hands in frustration. She wished she felt as confident as she sounded, but the coffee-house had been consistently empty for days on end.
She had met Lita at the airport nearly a year ago. Grinning, she recalled her blatantly obvious greeting: "You're alone," and that, she had been. She had traveled clear across the country just to be frightened to death by the busy New York airport, and seeing her retreat into a corner to escape the rushing crowd, Lita approached her, at the time, wearing a black leather ensemble. After nearly thirty minutes of wary questioning, Serena finally decided to take her offer of help, for lack of any better option. However, now, nearly a year later, Lita was her best and only friend, as well as the only thing keeping her off the streets. She didn't quite understand how she could afford to be so generous with her money, especially because of the coffee house's inherent lack of success. She suspected Lita had money coming in from another source, but she didn't pry. They all had their own secrets.
Lost in thought and slightly dazed, Serena snapped to attention, surprised by Lita's animated beating on the counter.
"There's a man headed this way—potential customer!" she gasped. A nervous edge crept into her voice, "Can't you do something about your hair Serena? You know you're supposed to have it pulled back. It looks unprofessional in your face."
She gave a small grunt as she pulled herself up from the couch, giving her friend a half-agitated glance. She hated having her hair up and away from her face. It made her look thin and haggard and even younger than she already appeared. She had never been a big child, and now, she wasn't a large woman. She stood at exactly five feet. Lita called it delicate; she called it one foot in the grave. In her opinion, looking unprofessional was the lesser of two evils.
"Well is he coming in or not?" she mumbled, her voice stifled as she struggled with the immense length of her hair.
"Patience is a virtue Serena. He's making a phone call. By the looks of him, it's probably important. He's probably selling off millions of dollars worth in jewels!" she breathed, her eyes sparkling.
"Chill out Lita. You make him sound like some kind of mob boss."
Lita snorted, ignoring her comment, "Open the door a little. Maybe the smell will entice him."
"Or knock him out," she retorted. She brought up her gaze just as a tall man in a business suit walked in. He had a sort of casual confidence as if the world were at his fingertips; she could see it in the way he walked.
"Oh, he's handsome," she thought, doing a double take. They were far from where he came from. Friday Mornings wasn't in the shadiest parts of New York, but it was damn close. Everything about this man was immaculate. Not a single strand of his blond hair was out of place, his suit was crisp and perfect, and he was more than just handsome. He retained the quality of boyish charm, but the look of success tarnished its innocence. He reeked of Wall Street.
Serena watched Lita's eyes widen in awe from the look of him, her mouth following close behind. She wasn't going to get any help from her. A bright smile mechanically painted itself upon her face.
"Good morning sir, welcome to Friday Morning, what can I get for you today?"
He smiled, his hair shining in the sunlight, "A cup of coffee and something else," he paused, his eyes perusing the display, "I'm in a slight hurry, and this all looks wonderful…Why don't you surprise me?"
Serena surprised herself, flashing him a genuine grin. He was warm and charming with plenty of charisma, not what she would have expected from him, but she wasn't quite as taken as Lita. Her newly blond friend sat behind the counter, sneaking shy glances in his direction as he bit into the fruit-custard tart she had speechlessly handed him.
"Delicious!" she heard him exclaim, and she chuckled, imagining the blush creep into Lita's face. So this was what it took to finally get her tongue-tied.
She routinely snapped a lid onto the steaming, plastic cup. "One coffee to go," she laughed, "This is my specialty. I don't bake or cook. You know, coffee's the only thing I'm good for on this Earth. Do you take it with cream or sugar Mr…"
"Call me Andrew, and black is fine with me," he chuckled, watching Serena scrunch her face, "Not a big fan?"
She shook her head, "It's bad stuff—coffee in general. I haven't touched it in years."
Andrew laughed again. She was cute, "And yet, here you are."
She grinned, "Here I am."
"Well," he said, receiving the cup, "I best get going. It was nice meeting you ladies. You have a charming little place here. Good day!" He flashed another toothy grin, especially at Lita who still hadn't managed to utter a word and began backing out of the store.
Serena's eyes widened, predicting the looming catastrophe, "Watch out for the…" she stopped suddenly, just short of a complete thought as a wave a hot coffee washed over her, the pungent smell overwhelming her nostrils.
"Door," Lita finished. She gave a small whimper, "It opens in." She watched with open horror as Andrew brushed specks of coffee from his face and suit, and then directed her attention to Serena who had gotten the worst of it all.
"I'm terribly sorry," she heard him say.
Serena shook her head, "No, it's alright. Let me get you another cup of coffee. It's the least I can do." She moved towards the coffee machine, wrinkling her nose at the sticky smell of herself.
"I'm fine," he cut in abruptly, stopping her with a touch to her arm, "I don't need another cup of coffee. If anything. I should be getting you another cup." He chuckled at her complacency, "I wish there was something I could do to make it up to you."
"It's fine really. I don't need anything; it wasn't your fault at all."
Andrew smiled, ignoring her rebuttal, "I'm holding a big gala at the Plaza Hotel this Saturday. That's—a good five days away I'm afraid, but I'd love to have you as a guest."
He looked her over, his eyes studying her closely, but it didn't take much to come to the conclusion that she wasn't swimming in wealth. From the looks of it, not many people in this part of town were. She wore sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and even doused in coffee, he could tell they weren't new. Chances were, she didn't have the correct attire for his gala or the money to pay for it.
"She won't fit in either," he thought, but a gift of any kind would come off looking like a pity party. She didn't look like the type to either welcome or appreciate his sympathy.
"Call my number," he said, handing her a business card with careful deliberation. No personal numbers—no room for misunderstanding, "I'll make the necessary arrangements for you., so there's no need for you to worry about anything. Now, I should probably take you somewhere to get cleaned up…"
"No!" Serena cried hastily. The prospect of going anywhere with this man seemed nerve-wracking. Not because she deemed him untrustworthy, but rather because of their gaping differences. It would have been like a serf hitching a ride on a king's horse in feudal Europe. She laughed nervously, "I would feel terrible about leaving Lita here alone. Business gets rough sometimes you know. And anyways, we've probably made you horribly late. Man like you. Chances are you have an important meeting that will play a big role in predicting the future of America to get to. I couldn't stand it if I were in any way responsible when we all plummet into a terrible economic depression."
He laughed, "You're sure?"
"Positive. In any case, I have an extra change of clothes in the back. Girl scouts honor."
He paused before setting out for the exit, "I didn't quite catch your name…"
"Serena James!" Lita shouted from behind the counter, "And I'm Lita Hunt!" she added hastily. She looked as if she had completed a lifetime's worth of good deeds, practically glowing.
"Alright then," he said, pulling open the door, "I'll be expecting your call Serena James. Good-bye. It was nice meeting both of you."
Serena craned her neck, watching him disappear round the corner, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw her friend doing the same but with a decidedly hungry quality to her face.
"Well," she laughed, "That doesn't happen everyday around here does it? At least something exciting happens every once in a while. I can't remember the last time I saw a man so nicely dressed. I think it was in a magazine, and I haven't been able to afford those in a while," she paused, watching Lita slowly come back down to Earth, "I don't think you've blinked in the last minute." Her eyes danced in laughter, "and it might do you some good to close your mouth just a little. I take it you liked him?"
"Liked him!" she gasped, "Be still my beating heart! I've never met anyone so amazing—the way he dressed, the way he smiled, and ohh," she paused, mentally playing a picture of him; Serena chuckled. In all honesty, she wouldn't have been surprised if her friend was currently undressing him in her head. "the way he moved. Can't you just see what might have been under that suit?"
"Not really," she grinned, enjoying the alarm play out on Lita's face.
"The body of Adonis!" she breathed, letting her head roll back in her reverie, "Can you imagine being with a guy like that? God, think of the prestige, the wealth!" She stopped, a naughty gleam sparkling in her eye, "Think of the sex."
Serena shrugged, laughing, "He's not really my type."
Lita crawled over the counter in shock, a half-maniacal look to her as she endeavored to shake some sense into her friend, "He's everything everybody looks for in a man! You're crazy! And you were crazy not to go with him when he offered. Didn't want to leave me here, my ass! And I know for a fact, Serena Kimberly James, that you do not have a stash of extra clothes in the back. So you gave up a chance to ride in a limousine with the man of my dreams to reek of coffee all day long?"
"You don't even know if he has a limousine."
"Oh," she waved her hand, dismissing the comment, "I bet he does, and what do you bet he comes to pick you up for his gala in one!" Her eyes widened, "Have you ever ridden in a limo Serena? God, it must be amazing. It'll be like Cinderella; you'll show up in a long, flowing gown with him on your arm. Promise me you'll bring a video camera so I can live the night binging on ice-cream and popcorn on my living room floor. I'm jealous as hell." She laughed, twirling on her toes with clumsy grace until she fell comically onto the sofa.
"Yeah," Serena muttered, "except there won't be any long, flowing gown. Ugly stepsister's don't get to be the belle of the ball, you know. That man was oozing wealth. Just touching him would probably make me feel a world richer. I probably couldn't even afford a button on that suit he was wearing."
Lita pulled herself up from her awkward seat in disbelief, " 'Don't worry about a thing' remember? He said he would make the necessary arrangements. The man's not an idiot. Anyone can see that someone from this part of town wouldn't fit in with his people. He's probably got plenty of money to throw around—enough to buy you hundreds of dresses."
"I don't think so, Lita."
Her eyes expanded even further, "Oh no?" she retorted, her face now nearly touching the portable TV. screen that sat on the counter. The old thing had a habit of switching on and off. It had long since stopped paying heed to any sort of command given to it.
"Smart thing," Serena thought. Obedience was for wimps and small-town girls like her, and it didn't look like she was going anywhere fast.
"Give me that card he gave you," she shouted, squinting to make out the picture obscured in the television static, "I think…" She trailed off, "this is him—on the news."
Serena turned around, mildly surprised, "The news? Is he anyone important?"
"Important!" she hooted, "God, do you know who he is? He's the owner of Shieki's Toys. Forget about the gala, girl, and get straight to the wedding. You could be rich!"
"Don't be ridiculous," she laughed incredulously, "You can't see a thing through all that fuzz, for all you know, that could be a middle-aged, balding old man."
"I've been watching this TV. for eight and a half years. Don't tell me what I do and don't see; it's him, I know it. Take a look at that card. It'll say Shieki's Toys."
Serena shook her head, letting the card dangle by her side. She didn't have to read it to know Lita was right. His face had seemed familiar, but it was something she couldn't quite put her finger on. In her slumps, she often found it was easier to follow the lives of other people rather than her own. Last year, she followed supermarket tabloids with religious devotion, reading headline after headline, waiting in line at the local grocer. He had been married and divorced from actress Mina Hart, and his business had become an almost overnight success. Such an economic miracle, that her Intro to Business teacher insisted on squeezing them into the curriculum. They started out small but grew at a tremendous rate, expanding exponentially once they shed their confining advisor, Damen Billings.
"Don't get any wild ideas into your head Lita. Even if I did go to the gala, he's not interested in me."
"No, you are not interested in him. You need someone to come wake you up from that wacky dream world you live in. You're waiting for your Prince Charming, but they don't get much more charming than that nowadays. Get your head out of the clouds and into a bucket of water. Maybe then your eyes will open up a little."
Serena sighed, vainly trying to run a hand through her sticky hair. Lita was right. She knew; her feet had long since floated off the ground. Hopeless dreams—all of them, but despite everything, she had expressed an almost inherent disability to let them go. She still thought…maybe…
"I'll find him someday."
Lita clucked her tongue in a motherly fashion, placing a gentle hand on her friend's shoulder. She had been there once—hopeful and dreaming, but she had had to grow up fast and grow up tough. She learned one of the first rules of survival the hard way: take what you can get, and take it fast. Waiting around for something better got you nothing, but she shook her head softly. Realization came with a price—and it wasn't worth the loss of innocence.
"Yes," she whispered, "Maybe you will."