Heaven knows that working for the hotel sucks. I might as well throw hell in there, also. I never should’ve told them I could work during Fall break. I’m either too much of a pushover or a damn idiot.
Only a few places are open on Sunday mornings in Blowing Rock, except for a few Main Street shops and the Bean There Coffee Shop. The downtown is uncrowded, which seems odd with yesterday (Saturday) being oversaturated with leaf peepers. The restaurants, shops, and sidewalks were filled with crowds of fall visitors that all seemed to disappear once the clock struck ten p.m. like some vanishing magic spell.
I should be somewhere really hot right now. The guys went to the Outer Banks. I could be in O-B-X. But no. I wrongly decided to stay in town. Grief, Keaton. You’re a pushover, an idiot, and a prat.
The morning air feels colder than the 49 degrees the weather app reports. The wind is howling, and there’s no sunshine. All the children running around Memorial Park are bundled up in hooded sweatshirts and long pants. The parents are also dressed warmly in jackets and cardigans. Some are sipping hot drinks from the coffee shop and watching their kids play on the playground equipment until the restaurants open for brunch.
I worked 5.5 hours Friday. I went in at 11 last night and just got off at 9:30. That’s one, two, three, four, eight, nine, ten fingers. That’s ten hours already, and I’ll be back for another seven tomorrow. I’ll worry about tomorrow. I need a drink.
The order line at the Bean There Coffee Shop is so long that people are waiting outside, including Keaton. It is made primarily out of tourists and college students who need their morning caffeine. He opens the door to check out the inside situation. Some guy believes he’s cutting in line and politely tells him the end of the line is back there. He counts seven people lined up waiting to order, three coffee shop employees, and five waiting on the other side of the cash register for their coffees and expressos. The blonde from the other day is inside. Keaton doesn’t know this gal from Eve, but he’s become smitten with the stranger. She appears slightly different this time, but he instantly recognizes her purple Patagonia fleece from the entry.
That’s definitely her, but with red hair now. Who is she? She must’ve dyed her hair because she’s witnessed a murder and is now on the run from mafia hitmen. She broke down on the Blue Ridge Parkway and hitched a ride into Blowing Rock. That must’ve been her green Silverado truck with Texas plates that those men in expensive suits and black sunglasses asked the hotel front desk lady about.
There’s enough room now for Keaton to move inside. He’s trying to warm up, but the guy behind him is propping the door open like some human door wedge. Keaton wishes the guy would decide to stay inside or outside because the morning’s chill is breezing in through the cracked door. Keaton looks at the giant chalkboard drink menu on the wall behind the cash register. Something looks different to Keaton. He noticed someone drew a steaming coffee mug in pink chalk in the northeast corner of the menu.
Scratch that. She’s not running from the mafia. She must be an actress. She’s here filming one of those made-for-TV holiday movies. Blowing Rock would be a location for one. They’ve decorated Memorial Park and town with all those pumpkins, gords, and haystacks for the big Fall Carnival scene. She must be playing the famous New York City journalist who breaks down in the North Carolina mountains and falls in love with the handsome single-dad mechanic who fixes her car. They hate each other at first but are engaged by the end of the approximate 90-minute movie.
People at the hotel joke that Keaton can’t be trusted because he doesn’t drink coffee. They find it strange that he’s a regular at the Blowing Rock coffee shop. Still, he never orders coffee or anything resembling coffee. Now, at the order counter, Keaton asks for his usual 16-ounce hot chocolate with extra chocolate and whipped cream. And he adds to make it as close to room temperature as possible because his mouth burns quickly. The coffee shop employee relays this extra request to her coworker, and he walks around the counter. Still, there’s no redhead with the purple jacket anywhere in sight.
Where’d she go? Hmmm. She’s no actress. I knew. She must be the international spy known as the Red Flame. The English operative working for MI-6. She can speak ten languages and is a death shot with her revolver. She’s in America on assignment to thwart the evil Council of Chaos from world domination and destruction. Wasn’t that the plot of the third Red Flame movie? She had to jet out right quickly to go do some spy things. Hell yeah! That’s it
“I have a latte for Norma,” one of the coffee shop employees yells out. Keaton doesn’t see anyone reaching for the espresso and steamed milk drink. “Latte for Norma,” the same coffee shop employee repeats. Norma emerges from the back seating room for her latte. Norma the Red Flame must be back from kicking some Council of Chaos butt.
That’s her. Her name is Norma, just like Norma from Twin Peaks. I love that name.
Keaton sees the smiling coffee shop employee give Norma her latte. They speak to each other, but he can’t make out what they’re saying. She turns around and tucks her red hair behind her ear in what looks like one of those slow-motion movie scenes to Keaton. He wants to say hello but freezes up when she walks by to the back exit. He wants to meet her. No fantasies. No imaginings.
Keaton spontaneously grabs a draped black tee shirt from the back of a high chair and rushes outside to catch up with her. “Hey miss, I think you left this,” he hollers.
Norma stops and twirls around on the sidewalk. “Keaton? Red Flame number one fan,” she responds to her admirer, holding up the tee-shirt he snagged.
What in the blazes? She just said my name. What’d she say about Red Flame?
“Can you read minds?” Keaton asks Norma. He should’ve paused and thought before saying his last thought out loud. There’s apparently no other way she could’ve known those things.
Norma laughs, “No. Even though that would be cool. They called your name out one time at Bean There Coffee Shop. Aren’t you also hot chocolate with extra chocolate and whipped cream?”
Oh! He’s relieved that Norma thought his random stupid question was amusing. He’s happy with how she knows his name. But still, what about the bit about the Red Flame. “Are you a Red Flame fan?” he wonders.
“The Red Flame movies. Sure. But I was reading what the tee shirt says. It’s not mine, by the way,” Norma explains.
Keaton checks out the front of the shirt and sees that’s precisely what it says in white cursive letters (but “number one” is spelled with the # symbol and the numeral number 1). “I can’t believe I asked you if you can read minds,” he giggles, “and I took this tee shirt to meet you.”
“Yes, you did. We better return this shirt to Red Flame’s number one fan. They might be missing it,” Keaton agrees with Norma. The two head inside the coffee shop to return the black tee to the back of the chair.
“Are you hungry? There’s a great place down the street.”
“Yeah, that sounds nice.”
Norma ordered chicken and waffles. Keaton ate scrambled eggs and gravy biscuits. He forgot about his hot chocolate with extra chocolate and whipped cream. Doesn’t matter.
<END>
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