Chapter 2: Two

Lucas Kramer wasn’t a small man. He hated the faintest whiff of coffee. To him, it was always either too bitter or too sweet, and the dark murky color was always a turn-off. It could never live up to the passionate brown of his ex-wife, or perhaps she was the reason he could no longer stand the drink. It had been swirling in his thoughts since the driver had opened a cup, the smell filling up the town car.

As he stepped out of the sleek town car, he saw the sign above the closed café and couldn’t help but grimace. The small Asian man who’d picked him up at his house waved him along. Their ride had been quiet; neither of them had imitated any form of dialogue after the driver had asked for identity in a thick Chinese accent. But now the short man led the way through the alley as they walked around the storefront and slipped into a space between the two buildings. There were two homely looking apartments sat on either side and considering the part of town he was in, Lucas knew they were both completely out of his price range.

The alley was musty and dark. A few puddles hung around, remnants of the rainfall earlier. He kicked a soggy trash bag out of his way. Then thought better of it and picked it up, despite the water that rushed down its plastic sides, and dropped it neatly into a bin.

“We’re here, sir.” The driver bowed with his arms gesturing towards a gray door on the side. A small light bulb hung above it. Two moths danced around its abysmal shine. Lucas nodded, thanked the man who looked curiously at him as if he expected a tip. But Lucas turned the handle, and the door swung open with a tiny creak.

The stench attacked his nostrils before he could even take a step. He clenched his teeth and took in his surroundings. Hanging on the walls were watercolor paintings of yellow sunflowers, the vibrant red and blue hues of a Chinese dragon, and a pale-faced geisha whose smile looked grimmer than the scowling man whose lap she was fastened to. Lucas was in the kitchen.

He took a deep breath, filling with agony as he begged his brain to get accustomed to the smell, then pulled off his gloves and unzipped his leather coat. It was warm and cozy, as he expected a café to be. He could do this, he told himself as he steeled his mind against the bags of coffee beans that sat on a table.

There was another door, this one made of wood with another painting hanging in its center: a lake beside a mountain dotted with pine trees, the world thickened by a mysterious fog. He thought it was rather pretty, probably his favorite of the bunch, then he grabbed the knob, and the door opened into darkness.

It was an orange lounge complete with brown couches, a softer, earthier brown than coffee. Lamps sat on round tables, but almost all of them were off, leaving the legs of upside-down chairs pointing at the ceiling in secret. In the center of the room, with her legs crossed on a high bar stool next to the counter with the only source of light in the room, sat the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.

The enchantress wore a black skirt, lifted by her propped up knee to reveal juicy calves attached to long slender legs. A buttoned-up red blouse struggled to embrace at the center of her bust. It covered her arms up to her elbows, and her lips were colored a deep shade of maroon. He watched her sip from a mug as her eyes looked him up and down. Beyond her, on the wall further behind the counter, hung several more paintings, their pale figures washed in the eerie glow of the single lamp. But Lucas could not bring himself to look away from the woman.

“You must be Mrs. Chung,” he said, holding out his hand and silently begging her to take it. She eyed it coolly, then turned in her seat after a brief moment of eye contact. Lucas glanced around at the darkened room; they were alone. He bit his lip as his hand returned to his side while he admired her posture: sleek and tall, her head held high and shoulders straight, almost military.

“You may have a seat, Mr. Kramer.” Her voice rang clear, with only the slightest ghost of an accent. He walked over to the other stool she had pointed to with a long finger, but he sat facing away from the counter; he didn’t want to turn his back to the door. She didn’t say a word as she calmly sipped from her mug, and for some reason, he got the eerie sense that she could see everything in the room.

He cleared his throat. “You can call me Lucas.” He glanced down again at the pale skin of her legs, the slender shape of her thighs, and the righteous curve of her underside as it pressed into the leather seat. She had delightful hips, and he couldn’t bring himself to glance any higher. He feared it would compromise his stature.

“I understand my father sent you, Mr. Kramer.” She placed the mug down on the counter with a finality that meant introductions were over. 

Lucas swallowed as he looked up at her eyes and tried to hold the ferocity he found on her face. She looked young, possibly in her mid-twenties, but her scrutiny held too much. “Yes, Mrs. Chung. Your father tells me you’re the lady with the answers.”

When she took a deep breath, he glanced instinctively at the source of the sound and saw her lips part. She turned in her seat so that the point of her shoe prodded his kneecap. Then Lucas almost flinched when she brought her face to his with one swift movement. 

“I’m not the most trusting lady, Mr. Kramer. Who are you? How did you come in contact with my Baba?”

There was barely an inch between their noses, and he could feel the heat building up under his arms. She was undeniably beautiful, and up close she smelled of strawberries. But her gaze held daggers against him. Who the hell was this woman? “I’m sure your father has…”

“My father isn’t here,” she said, her breath landing on his lips. “He can only speak from across the world. I want to see things for myself.” 

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Lucas bit down on the inside of his cheek. She reeked of coffee, but she was gorgeous; not the best blend in the world. “What would you like to see?” He watched her eyes travel down his face, pause at the scar on his chin that seemed to throb under the weight of her attention before she returned to his eyes. He almost got the sense that she might lick him, a sign of ownership, and he almost wanted her to.

But she pulled away, finally allowing him space to take a deep breath, which he almost regretted. With the absence of her strawberry aroma, the coffee was present once more in full force. He crossed his legs, feeling the uncomfortable strain in his pants she’d left behind.

He didn’t want to look away from her face, the sharpness of her cheeks, the twin arches of her eyebrows and their permanent scowl. But when she opened her mouth, he saw that her teeth were slightly crooked. And that was the tipping factor; it drove him wild.

“I wonder why you knock on my door, Mr. Kramer.” 

He took a deep breath, still struggling not to glance down at her chest. “It’s for my daughter. I want to assure her future.” He paused, unsure why he’d said that. He had an answer prepared beforehand: that he was in this for the money. 

But there was a look on her face. It lasted for a fraction of a moment, a brief glimpse inside her head. Her scowl had lightened, her features had softened, and her eyes had widened into something akin to sadness.

Lucas blinked, and the expression was gone, leaving behind the icy severity he’d been introduced to. 

She didn’t respond, but he followed her hand as she raised them from her lap, and he swallowed hard as she slipped them into her cleavage. He was finally looking directly at the twin roundness, the tenderness that struggled against her outfit, and now her hand as she withdrew her fingers and revealed a plain white card. 

He took it from her outstretched arm, fighting the urge to bring it to his face and inhale, and saddened that he no longer had an excuse to ogle at her breasts. They looked natural, with a perkiness and softness that most men pray only for a glimpse of. But he figured a woman like her already had a lover, and that he would never have a chance with such a powerful figure, so he turned over the card and saw what was scribbled on its back. 

Dock. 2 Am. Wed. 

Her handwriting was terrible.

“I want you to be here, Mr. Kramer,” she said as she uncrossed her legs then leaned forward to place her hands on his knee. The aroma of strawberries washed over him once more. Her fingers gently caressed the jeans he wore, and her eyes looked up at him with deep expectancy. “I hope I won’t be disappointed after all I’ve heard about you.”

He nodded, accidentally stealing a glance down her blouse before hurrying back up to maintain eye contact. She pulled away from him, despite his entire body begging her not to, and she jumped off her seat. She turned and walked away, towards the kitchen, and he sat mesmerized by the movement of her hips before realizing he had a question burning in his head.

“Which dock?” he called out.

She stopped and looked back over her shoulder; a fresh chill traveled up his spine as he met her sharp gaze. “If I need to specify, then you are not the man I need.”

Lucas nodded, swallowing as he watched her walk into the shadows and shut the wooden door behind her. Her face, her teeth, her legs were seared into his memory, and he feared she would be haunting his dreams. 

He turned towards the mug she'd left behind on the counter, eyeing the lipstick stain. There was still a bit of the murky brown liquid left inside. He wondered if taking sip would get rid of the bulge in his pants so that he could stand up and leave.

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