A PERFECT CUP OF COFFEE

by JoAnn Baca

 No friendship is an accident.
   ~ O. Henry

What impulse had caused Isaac to seek out a deeper shadow amongst the night-dark alley detritus, he didn’t know. Some sixth sense, honed from years of street-wise living, made him turn and stare, trash bag in hand. A figure, cloaked and hooded, stood as still as the wall behind it, yards away, invisible but for the momentary glitter of eyes that had caught the feeble rays of a faraway streetlamp.

So. Isaac was being watched. Yet he sensed no threat.

One of the city’s homeless? No…the figure held itself with a quiet confidence which those who were unhoused had lost long before appearing in his alley, scavenging for food or shelter.

Ah, yes. The memory surfaced, a memory which had intrigued him since that night weeks ago, when a former student had asked his help in finding a good friend in desperate danger on these streets.

Isaac had melted into the background once Catherine Chandler found her friend. But a door had opened, literally and figuratively, into a world of which he had had no previous knowledge. Rumors abounded, of course. But he now had actual proof that the rumors were true, both of a hidden place well below street level where people sheltered and a person considered some kind of avenging angel by the poor and the preyed upon in this neighborhood and beyond.

Her friend…Vincent. She’d said she owed him her life. That was enough for Isaac to consider him a good man. And he felt intuitively that the person wrapped in shadows in the alley was this Vincent.

“I’m Isaac,” he called out to the figure. “Come on inside.” He tilted his head quickly to the side and up again. “I’ve got coffee.” After that he tossed his trash into a receptacle, completing his initial mission. He had planned to pay bills tonight, but there was no way he would lose this opportunity to find out more about the secrets his friend Cathy was keeping.

He went through his back door, then held it open. Seconds passed. He thought perhaps his invitation had been declined. But a soft footfall alerted him a moment before the darkly clad man appeared in his doorway.

“C’mon.” He left Vincent to enter while he moved to the hot plate where his old coffee pot was percolating like crazy. Should be good and strong by now, he thought. While he took another mug off a low shelf, he heard a chair scrape back. Out of the corner of his eye he noted the man was seated now at his scratched Formica table, a relic salvaged from his grandmother’s house…how many years ago now?

“Milk? Sugar?” Isaac dumped a teaspoonful of sugar into his mug, followed by a dollop of milk, and stirred. The chestnut color boded well for it being a perfect cup of joe.

“I’ll take the same, thank you,” a rough silk voice said.

Kinda sexy in a gruff way, Isaac thought, and he turned with the filled mugs in hand. “Here ya go.”

He seated himself across the table from his visitor. The hood was masking the man’s face almost entirely. How he was going to drink his coffee with one hand holding the hood closed at chin level, he didn’t know. But that was his guest’s problem to solve.

Frank blue eyes stared into his. Assessing him, Isaac figured. Calculating odds. Well, maybe he could help with that. “I saw you, you know. Before. When Cathy found you. When you were hurt.”

Angled eyebrows lifted in surprise under the hood. But his revelation had the desired effect. The gloved hand released its hold on the hood, and a moment later, the hood was shaken free, revealing a surprising amount of burnished golden hair that seemed to match perfectly with a leonine face.

“Catherine…” the man began, caressing the name with his voice in a way that sent shivers up Isaac’s arms, “trusts you. She told me how much you helped her. I hoped to have a chance to thank you.”

Isaac nodded. He lifted his mug and took an exploratory sip. “Coffee’s drinkable.”

Vincent nodded in turn. “It’s my fault she couldn’t tell you much about me. She made a promise.”

Isaac leaned back and threw one arm around the back of his chair. “I know. It didn’t bother me any. She needed my help and I was happy to give it. Cathy’s good people.”

That last elicited a small smile from Vincent’s unusual lips. “The best.”

“She said…” Did he dare inquire? “She told me you saved her life. So I imagine I’m in debt to you for that.”

Vincent’s gaze focused on the contents of his coffee mug. “She was in trouble once. I found her, took her to…my…father.”

Isaac was rapidly putting clues together. “The guy who came out of that tunnel to help you? He a doctor?”

A deep sigh came out of Vincent, reluctance warring with a desire to provide answers. Finally… “Yes.”

Nodding, Isaac replied, “Don’t worry. I’m as good at secret-keeping as Cathy. You’ve got nothing to fear from me.”

Broad shoulders slumped a little in relief. “Thank you.”

“I appreciate your trust. Can understand what it costs you, too.” Isaac drained his mug. “Want another cup?”

Vincent shook his head. He hadn’t touched his coffee, but now he sipped it and, seeming to like it, drank it down. “It’s good coffee.”

“All part of the service!” Isaac gazed down into his empty mug. Out of nowhere, an idea bubbled up. The man didn’t look like he was used to talking about himself…and his “friend” Miss Chandler. Isaac had realized when he was helping her find this man what Cathy felt for him…and it was obvious the guy was head over heels about her as well.

“Look. If you ever want to come by…just to talk…heck, just to hang out…feel free.” He looked up into those disconcertingly blue eyes. “Anytime after ten, I’m usually here and by myself.”

Vincent frowned. “That sounds…lonely.”

Isaac shrugged. “Yeah. But…it is what it is. I keep busy, I work out…” he indicated their mugs, “I drink a lot of coffee.” A broad smile showed his white teeth, and he noticed that Vincent had to struggle not to return his smile…and show whatever kind of teeth he had in that strange but compelling face of his.

“I’ll…I’ll come back again, if you wish,” Vincent offered. Did the man seem surprised at himself that he’d said that?

“Good. Anytime. Just give a knock.” Isaac rose when his visitor did.

Vincent stood for a moment, hesitant, then he pulled off the glove on his right hand and extended it.

Isaac noted the fur, the sharp, elongated nails…but the grip was firm and friendly, and he instantly knew he and this unique man would be friends.

Vincent departed, flowing quietly back into the gloom of night. When Isaac stood at his door to lock it, he could neither hear nor see the man.

The bills could wait until tomorrow. Isaac turned off his hotplate and flicked the lights off in the kitchen. As he crossed his studio to reach the loft where he slept, a sudden thought came to him.

This is an end to my aloneness.

And something within him blossomed.