the napkin containers. When the crowd had settled down, Frank thanked Matt and Clarissa. Walter joined Frank behind the cookie case with some coffee-soaked washcloths. She pointed him toward the small sink next to the brewing pots and said, “Cleaning up exceeds your Mr. Coffee duties.”
“It’s nothing.” He smiled bashfully.
“No, really. I want to thank you,” she said, still on a Clarissa high.
“You don’t have to insist, Francesca.”
Frank had to ask: “Besides your thing with Clarissa, and your supposed bottomless craving for positive reinforcement, why are you doing this?”
He wrung out a rag. “Doing what?”
“If you’re a big J. Crew model, why do you care about free coffee? Don’t you have bookings, or sittings, or go-sees? Whatever it is you models do, how come you’re not doing it?”
“Let’s just say that I’m no fan of the homogenization of America, which Moonburst has made a huge contribution to.”
“Unlike J. Crew?” she asked.
He laughed. “It could be worse. It could be The Gap. Besides, J. Crew is mainly a mail-order business.”
“They won’t open up on my block,” she said, nodding. “But every year twenty million trees will give their lives for that catalog. And why do I have to get one in the mail every single day?”
Walter laughed—again. He thinks I’m funny, Frank thought. Yeah, funny looking. She hadn’t been paid this much attention by a handsome man in…could she even remember when? Maybe Clarissa’s tacit acceptance made Frank irresistible to others of her kind.
Walter said, “I said I had a problem with homogenization, not deforestation.”
“So thousands of spotted owls can come live at your place?”
“Honestly, I don’t give a hoot.” He paused, as if waiting for her to laugh. She resisted. He said, “I’ve never seen a spotted owl up close, but I’m sure their feathers would make a great stuffing for a quilted jacket.” Another pause. “Man, you’re tough. If you don’t at least smile at my jokes, I’m going to start crying.”
“I’ll smile when you say something funny,” she said. As he rinsed his hands, Frank studied his profile. His nose was pug. She hated that in a man. But she did admire his tiny pores and his sideburns—they nearly touched his sharp jaw. Most important, he didn’t have that blockheaded, macho-feminized, cock-forward posture of most male models.
He grabbed the soap when he said, “The truth is, I got involved with the contest because I saw someone in trouble, and I wanted to help her out.”
“Helpless wasn’t my initial impression of Clarissa,” said Frank.
Walter leaned forward and grabbed a dry towel off the rack. Walter said, “I wanted to help you, Francesca. I like you. I liked you on that first day I walked in here to apply for the contest. You pushed past me like you didn’t even see me. I vowed that I’d get you to notice me, like I noticed you.” As he stroked his forearms dry, he looked down at Frank. She felt a sudden undeniable rise in the temperature of her skin.
Walter said, “God, you’re so intense. Your features seem locked together, like they’re holding each other in place. I bet if you smiled, your whole face would change completely. Do it, Francesca. Let me see.”
Sirens blared, lights blazed.
Frank turned toward the storefront windows. A police cruiser had pulled up on the street outside. The uniforms ran inside, guns drawn, prepared for action, ready to take the place down. They quickly realized that forty-odd ruffled women, already flying from free caffeine and adrenaline, weren’t in need of another boost. Before the two cops could saddle their weapons, a rumpled man in a dirty brown unbelted trench scuttled into the store. He quickly snapped some photos of the cops with his thirty-five-millimeter camera. Frank was caught in the background of a few of the frames.
Frank stepped forward. “This is my coffee bar. I’m not sure why you’re here,” Frank
“It’s nothing.” He smiled bashfully.
“No, really. I want to thank you,” she said, still on a Clarissa high.
“You don’t have to insist, Francesca.”
Frank had to ask: “Besides your thing with Clarissa, and your supposed bottomless craving for positive reinforcement, why are you doing this?”
He wrung out a rag. “Doing what?”
“If you’re a big J. Crew model, why do you care about free coffee? Don’t you have bookings, or sittings, or go-sees? Whatever it is you models do, how come you’re not doing it?”
“Let’s just say that I’m no fan of the homogenization of America, which Moonburst has made a huge contribution to.”
“Unlike J. Crew?” she asked.
He laughed. “It could be worse. It could be The Gap. Besides, J. Crew is mainly a mail-order business.”
“They won’t open up on my block,” she said, nodding. “But every year twenty million trees will give their lives for that catalog. And why do I have to get one in the mail every single day?”
Walter laughed—again. He thinks I’m funny, Frank thought. Yeah, funny looking. She hadn’t been paid this much attention by a handsome man in…could she even remember when? Maybe Clarissa’s tacit acceptance made Frank irresistible to others of her kind.
Walter said, “I said I had a problem with homogenization, not deforestation.”
“So thousands of spotted owls can come live at your place?”
“Honestly, I don’t give a hoot.” He paused, as if waiting for her to laugh. She resisted. He said, “I’ve never seen a spotted owl up close, but I’m sure their feathers would make a great stuffing for a quilted jacket.” Another pause. “Man, you’re tough. If you don’t at least smile at my jokes, I’m going to start crying.”
“I’ll smile when you say something funny,” she said. As he rinsed his hands, Frank studied his profile. His nose was pug. She hated that in a man. But she did admire his tiny pores and his sideburns—they nearly touched his sharp jaw. Most important, he didn’t have that blockheaded, macho-feminized, cock-forward posture of most male models.
He grabbed the soap when he said, “The truth is, I got involved with the contest because I saw someone in trouble, and I wanted to help her out.”
“Helpless wasn’t my initial impression of Clarissa,” said Frank.
Walter leaned forward and grabbed a dry towel off the rack. Walter said, “I wanted to help you, Francesca. I like you. I liked you on that first day I walked in here to apply for the contest. You pushed past me like you didn’t even see me. I vowed that I’d get you to notice me, like I noticed you.” As he stroked his forearms dry, he looked down at Frank. She felt a sudden undeniable rise in the temperature of her skin.
Walter said, “God, you’re so intense. Your features seem locked together, like they’re holding each other in place. I bet if you smiled, your whole face would change completely. Do it, Francesca. Let me see.”
Sirens blared, lights blazed.
Frank turned toward the storefront windows. A police cruiser had pulled up on the street outside. The uniforms ran inside, guns drawn, prepared for action, ready to take the place down. They quickly realized that forty-odd ruffled women, already flying from free caffeine and adrenaline, weren’t in need of another boost. Before the two cops could saddle their weapons, a rumpled man in a dirty brown unbelted trench scuttled into the store. He quickly snapped some photos of the cops with his thirty-five-millimeter camera. Frank was caught in the background of a few of the frames.
Frank stepped forward. “This is my coffee bar. I’m not sure why you’re here,” Frank
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