CoffeeBeanShop

The Curse of The Coffees

by Jane FitzGerald (bio at end of story)

He'd been working too hard, he was sure of it when he looked over the bar and saw her come in. The daylight streamed in behind her as she opened the door and Mike Coffee thought he'd never seen anyone so beautiful, so perfect, so...not quite real! He couldn't take his eyes off her as she looked around the room for a table, selected one and glided into a chair. Her hair was a little more blonde than red and her eyes were as blue as the heavens.

It was early and Ruthie, Mike's part-time employee wouldn't be in until after her day job, so he sidled out from behind the bar and grabbed a menu.

"Welcome to Coffee's."

"Thank you" was all she said as she took the menu and smiled. But "Thank you" was enough to betray a brogue.

"All we have this time of day are coffee and soda" he heard himself say. He felt as though he were in a trance, somewhere else, but here at the same time. Wherever he was he was clumsy and inarticulate. "Or, the stronger stuff, of course."

She smiled up at him. "Just coffee, please. Black."

Mike fetched the coffee pot and managed to pour and serve her without spilling. Her eyes followed him the whole while and when he returned, she put her elbows on the table, cupped her face in her hands and asked where everyone was.

"We don't get a lot of customers this time of day" Mike answered. "We don't get as many as I'd like at any time of day" he added, wondering why he'd admitted that out loud.

"What's the problem?" she asked.

"That's what I've been trying to figure out." He wasn't in awe of her any longer. Somehow he felt completely comfortable and wanted to tell her everything about his struggle with the café and bar.

"Hey, what brought you in?" he asked.

"I wanted coffee."

"Did you know this was a pub, too?" He was having an identity crises here. He needed help. He needed sleep and he needed help.

"All I knew was I saw the word coffee," she shrugged. If they were going to talk, she thought he'd be more comfortable sitting. "Join me?"

Mike sat down opposite her, happy to sit. Happy to talk.

"You have a lovely accent. Where are you from?"

"Ireland. I'm here traveling...mm, visiting."

"Visiting who?" He didn't know why he asked it.

"It's your story I want to hear. Tell me about your pub."

"Well, I always dreamed of owning a bar. I bought this place and ordered that big sign out there, but they kind of screwed it up and left off the apostrophe, so instead of reading C-O-F-F-E-E apostrophe S, it just reads COFFEES. People got confused. They'd show up on their way TO work, instead of AFTER. So I thought I'd get twice the business and started opening early and selling coffee and scones. The people who'd come in the morning would find out we're open late as a pub, but they're not coming back at night. We have a few regulars, but not it's not what I dreamed it would be."

"How long have you been in business?"

"Five months. Five very long months. I'm here at 6 a.m. and leave at 2 a.m. I'm working my butt off for a handful of customers and barely making enough to keep the doors open."

"It's the curse of the Coffee's." She said it as if it were common knowledge, like the time of day.

"The curse of the Coffee's... is that what you said?"

"You're a Coffee...your family has a very colorful history...goes back thousands of years. The original name was O'Cobhthaigh, or O'Coffee as you would say it. Have you never traced your family history?"

"Not really. How do you know about the Coffee's?"

"We're from the same county...Tipperary. Coffee's a well known name there, and so's the curse. The tale is told about Dermot O'Coffee who was a strong man and a hard worker, though not skilled in any trade. The townspeople of Carrick-on-Sur commissioned a clock to be made ? in England, I think, but it was to be assembled by the locals. Dermot showed up bright and early the day the clock face arrived. Stones had been collected from the farms all around, and Dermot was helping to stack them for a base for the clock. he sun had not risen completely above the horizon when the clock was wheeled into town centre on a horse-drawn cart by travelers. The traveler men went to lift the clock off the cart, but Dermot, being a proud man and proud of his town too, he said that it should be a Carrick man who placed the clock. The travelers took it that they were being scorned and started to drive that cart away, clock and all. Well, Dermot set off like a shot and stopped that wagon by grabbing the horse which spooked and set the wagon off its wheels. The clock tumbled out and fell in the road. It was a miracle it didn't break. But Dermot and the travelers stood looking and one another and then looking at the clock and then at one another again as if to dare any man to be the first to move. It was Dermot O'Coffee who moved first, and with the iron will that matched his brawn, picked up the clock and put it in its place for all the town to see. The travelers told him ‘Don't think by placing a clock that time favors you, Dermot O'Coffee, because from this day forward, you and yours will work from the first sun through the night, without a coin to reward you.' The curse stuck. Dermot did all sorts of odd jobs for everyone in town and he and his wife and sons survived only through the kindness of his neighbors who shared in providing them food and cast-away garments." He died young and penniless. His sons eventually moved away to find work, but stories are told that they met similar strife."

Mike sat silent for a moment. "So I'm doomed?"

"'Tis only a story. Yours might have a better ending than Dermot's."

"Who ARE you?" Mike suddenly asked. "You show up when the place is empty and know more about my family than I do! What's going on?"

She sipped the last of her coffee and stood up. "Just someone who likes coffee and has a few stories to share. What do I owe you?"

She rose with total grace and dignity and a certain air that let him know he knew he wasn't going to get any more out of her.

He stood as well. "Skip it; it's on the house."

She smiled and nodded her head in appreciation. As she opened the door to leave she said, "a generous kindness from a man who can't earn enough for all his time spent."

She closed the door and Mike felt a chill. He busied himself with setting up for Happy Hour. At least he was always ready for a real happy hour, whether they came or not.

A little after 4 o'clock Ruthie breezed in, full of excitement, opening the mail. Ruthie handed Mike a brochure of a place that looked like the kind of Irish Pub he'd always wanted. "Look, Mike, this place is a real coffee-bar, you know, with all different kinds of coffee drinks, laced with with spirits and topped with whipped cream and liqueurs and stuff. Look at the coffee drinks they offer."

Mike looked at the list Ruthie pointed at. A couple dozen hot coffee drinks, laced with all sorts of spirits and combinations...Amaretto Au Lait, Black Russian, Caribbean Cream, and three variations on Irish Coffee. We can do this he thought, when his eyes drifted to the brochure's picture of patrons bar sitting at the bar. There she was! The Irish beauty who'd been sitting in his bar earlier. She was in the picture on this brochure!

Ruthie handed him a piece of plain white paper. "This was in the envelope with the brochure."

Mike took the paper and read "Dermot knew only how to work. You know how to dream. The curse is lifted." It was signed, "Your traveler."

Ruthie slipped behind the bar to practice making a few coffee drinks. "Hey, boss, you want to try one?"

Mike leaned against the bar and steadied himself. He couldn't make any sense out of it all. Had he imagined all this? Who had she been really? Surely it wasn't really someone showing up to end an ancient feud and call off a curse. Did he believe in curses anyway? He held his head.

"Mike, you want a coffee?"

"Yeah, Ruthie. Make it an Irish."

© Jane FitzGerald. All Rights Reserved.

$50 Finalist - The Curse of The Coffees by Jane FitzGerald

Jane FitzGerald studied journalism but fell into advertising working as a copywriter for 20 years before starting her own company which produces customized on-hold message programs for business telephone applications. She still writes, not for her own company, but for fun. This is the first time she's entered a short story contest, but it won't be her last!

Editor's Note: "The Curse of the Coffees" is a delightful fairy tale - just right for an Irish Short Story. Just enough suspense without too much angst. Someone did their research!

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