Something's Changed

Something's Changed - Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings(listen in new tab)

K almost always opens the door for Maura. Though they’ve been together a few months now, he still puts his hand on the small of her back, as if giving her a little push, nudging her past. It’s Monday evening. K does this small familiar act as he and Maura enter Café Ulysses.

The café is full, but at the moment no one is ordering. Almost everyone is dressed in expensive looking running gear. K knows that Claire’s worry about the place has been palpable, but for 7:00 PM this isn’t bad.

Hera waves hello as she washes cups. Claire doesn’t notice them. She’s leaning far over the counter talking to a customer. A man in a dark pin-striped suit. It looks expensive and fitted, but he has one of those builds that would be described as handsome no matter what he wore. The cut of the suit seems superfluous.

Claire’s eyes lash like lassos as she laughs at something he says. She’s flirting hard.

K heads to the counter to order. His hand is clasp in Maura’s and he feels a sharp tug on his arm. He turns.

Maura: “Do you know that guy?”

K: “No. Never seen his back before.” He thinks he’s making a joke, that it’ll loosen her sudden inertia.

Maura: “Well. I mean. Oh nevermind.” There is a note, a distant ring in her voice. Not quite concern, but a tolling memory that until now had been shiftless and still.

K: “Do you know him?”

Maura: “Maybe. I dunno. Probably not. What’ll you have? It’s my treat.” She lets go of his hand and heads with brisk strides to the counter. “Hey, Claire. It looks busy in here.”

Claire looks at Maura then looks back at the man in the suit. She holds up one finger of one hand. To him:“One sec. Ok?” Her eyes wide and lit, her lips, and the lilt in her voice are earthy and suggestive. A half-second ticks, and at the tock she’s ready for other people. “Hey Maura. Where’s K? Oh, there he is! How’s our star today?”

At this, the man in the suit turns to see who arrived. His face is chiselled and clean, broad jawed. He has softened eyes that seem unsuited or unused to softness.

K: “Well, you know how we do. Candice’s replacement has been driving everyone crazy. A good crazy, though.”
K can’t see Maura’s face, but the intensity of recognition on the suit’s face, the way he says “Maura?”, the way Maura’s hand sought out K’s without her looking. It has him intrigued.

Maura, her voice cold: “Edmund.” The air in the room becomes elastic, stretched, and taut.

Claire, oblivious or unconcerned, slaps the counter, and repeats his name to herself in an aside.

K feels the air charge. At the same time, all the runners stand-up. Chairs scrape, cup rattle, spoons scrape. The café fills with a clamorous heap of laters, next times, who’s-running-back-with-mes, almost incoherent over the shuffle of expensive light-weight shoes.

K, Maura, Claire, and Edmund watch the troop of neon, reflective nylon leave, and disperse on the sidewalk by the window. The little bell on the door rings as it closes behind the last one. The café is empty.

K breaks the pause with a quiet “Huh” and then looking at Maura: “Oh, so you do know him.” He reaches out his free hand. “I’m K.”

Edmund takes K’s hand, shakes it with a practiced grip. It’s feels like an essay on handshakes. Firm, confident, laced with difference and promise. “Edmund Gloucester”

At the same time Maura squeezes K’s other hand. It’s feels like they were competing.

Then release.

Hera appears, practically bounces over and places a to-go cup down. Her face beams with pride. “Hey mister, you’re latte is ready. I put a little face in the foam.”

Claire looks down at it. K does too. It looks exactly like the wine glass/face optical illusion gag, marked in brown smudged, wispy lines on the white foam. Both of them are piqued by her unexpected grandstanding.

K: “Hey, that’s good. How did you do that?”

Edmund and Maura have locked gazes. His eyes stiffen, become sharp. Maura’s too. K has not seen her make that look before.

Edmund grabs the cup, barely looks. “Hey, umm, thanks.” His voice is glib, casual, shaking off whatever Maura has invoked. “Nice see you again Maury, and to meet you, K.”

Looking at Claire he smiles. It’s a smile crafted, squared for such moments. It’s cavalier and unaffected. He holds up the paper cup. “And, I guess next time I need one of these, I know where to go. Claire, right?”

He leaves. The door jingles open. And then closes. Claire melts. Maura watches him go. Her face still unfamiliar and stern. K rubs the back of his head, considers the exchange.

Hera puts her hands on her hips. “Did he tip?”