The Writers' Circle

Chapter 3. Tom, Dick and Jenny

It has been a week since John opened The Coffee Pot.  He visited the place once or twice a day, and got to know a dozen or so regular customers who all lived on Lamma Island.  He usually checked the lock box late in the evening after the shop was closed.  It took in on average 7-8 hundred dollars a day.  John figured after deducting the rental and utilities and the cost of goods sold, he could net around eight thousand a month.  That wasn't much - a small fraction of what John used to take home - but it was more than enough to cover the rent of his flat all of his living expenses.  It's amazing that once you moved out of the city, you could get by with so very little.   The coffee machine had a built-in device that counted the number of times it has served.  From this and the money he collected in the lock box, John figured that everyone paid for the coffee.  No cheaters, not even one -what a pleasant surprise!

It was a bright Sunday afternoon when John walked into The Coffee Pot.  He has spent the whole morning on the beach composing on his palmtop and watching a bunch of city-dwellers frolicking in the water and baking under the sun.  Weekends were busy days for The Coffee Pot.  There were around 10 customers in the shop. It smelled of the strong coffee.  A few of the customers were reading on the sofa.  Others were engaged in quiet conversation.  Three of them he recognized around a coffee table (Tom, Dick and Jenny), the rest were "tourists".  He got his coffee and went over to them.  

"Hi, everyone," he placed his coffee on the table and sank into an armchair right next to them.
"Hi, John!" In a place like Lamma Island, people remembered your name. 
"You look like you just came in from the beach," Tom said.  He was an ex-insurance agent in his late fifties, the out-going, friendly type.
"Yes, and it's damn hot on the beach today!"  John replied.
"Our farm is just as bad.  That's why we're hiding out here!" Dick said.  Dick was Tom's younger brother.  He was a retired schoolteacher.  Jenny was his wife.  Pretty and diminutive, she looked 20 years younger than he was.  She didn't talk much, just sipping her coffee, looking at John all the while.

"It must be worse in a farm with the sun bearing down - what do you guys grow in your farm any way?" John asked.
"Mostly fruits and herbs," Tom replied, "the kind that we can sell in the market."
"It's a small farm, and we don't use any chemicals," Dick added.
"That sounds interesting.  Maybe I can visit your farm sometime?"
"Maybe," Dick replied.
John took from his bag the sandwich he has prepared this morning and started savoring the smooth avocado and sliced tomato on rye.  

"That looks delicious, John, but I don't think the owner of this shop would appreciate you bringing your own food in here," Jenny said, breaking her silence.
"Well, I don't think he mind at all," said John, "as long as I keep the place clean and not making a mess."   
"Has anyone met this 'J.R.' person?" Jenny sounded curious.  "I wonder what kind of person would run a shop without keeping an eye on it."
"He must be a very secretive fellow," said Tom, "or a very trusting one."
"Trusting?  We don't know that - maybe he's watching us right now, to make sure we pay for the coffee!" said Dick, scanning the place for likely suspects, anyone who might fit the nondescript, mysterious "J.R."

"You guys are assuming it's a 'he'.  It might very well be a woman, you know?" said John.
"No, John, it's a man!  No woman will pull something like that.  Believe me, I know - I am a woman," said Jenny, "and I'm pretty sure that this 'J.R.' has a skeleton in his closet.  He's a man with a deep dark secret, a man with a tormented soul."
"Wow, Jenny, dear - you're being very perceptive today," said Dick, "you can tell all this without even meeting the man?"  He squeezed her shoulder gently.
"You better believe it.  It's a woman's tuition, and it's your wife speaking!"  Jenny said, poking a finger at Dick's bulging mid-section, repeatedly.

John took another bite from the sandwich, chewing slowly, all the while looking into Jenny's eyes, her black round eyes set on a youthful, slightly tanned face.  She's got olive skin and her nose was narrow and pointed, with freckles all over it - a strong indication of Eurasian blood.   Dick is lucky to have such a young and lovely wife, he thought to himself, and a very smart one indeed.

"It's time we go back to the farm, gang.  We've got work to do," said Tom, getting up from the sofa.  Dick and Jenny got up too.  
"See you around, John," they said.
"See you tomorrow," said John.  (This trio came to the shop almost everyday.)  Jenny turned and waved goodbye before she went out the door.  "How sweet!" John mused.  

He finished his sandwich and was sipping the rest of his coffee when he saw a woman walking through the door.  She was wearing a white Oxford cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, khaki shorts that were cut wide to her knees, and white tennis shoes.   She's got dark brown shoulder-length hair.  Her high cheekbones accentuated by the Gucci sunglasses.  She stood at the doorway holding her LV handbag, scouted around the place for several seconds, found what she was looking for and headed straight towards John, smiling - almost.   John felt his heart leap to his mouth, throbbing - his blood pressure cranked up several notches.  Dear God, how did she find out?    


Chapter 4. Mary the Ballerina

"Hi, John," the woman said, pushing her sunglasses over her forehead, showing her almond-shaped eyes that were piercing yet demure, with just the right touch of eye shadow and Mascara to divert one's attention from the fine wrinkles around the eyes.   
"Hi, Mary, how do you know where to find me?"
"I'm fine - thank you!" she replied.  "No 'how are you?'.  Not even a 'hello'!  Your manners have really gone from bad to worse, John!"

"HELLO, you looked FINE, Mary.  Now tell me how you found out!"  He was hoping that his clandestine operations of The Coffee Pot could be kept secret for a while and was obviously upset that his ex-wife was able to track him down within a week. 
"And you don't look too bad yourself, John - lost quite a few pounds, yes?  Good for you!  I almost couldn't recognize you!  And look at your hair - and your ponytail!"  She's an expert in ignoring questions she didn't want to answer.  

"Never mind my hair, Mary!  Now what brings you here?" 
"Well, John - I haven't heard from you since we met at Emil's funeral.  I heard that you've quitted your job and just disappeared.  I'm worried about you.  I just wanted to know how you're doing," she sounded earnest - almost.
"So how do you find out that I'm here?"  
"Well, John - please don't get upset.  I'm really worried about you, so I hired a private investigator."
"You did what!"
"You covered your tracks very well, John.  They came up blanks until they sent someone to the Lease Records Department to check."
"So you must have known that I'm living on Lamma Island for sometime now," he interrupted.
"Yes, but I didn't want to visit you at your flat.  I wanted to see you at the shop.  I'm curious at what kind of business you're running here.  I visited this shop a couple of times last week and you weren't around.  I tried your coffee.  It's very good coffee, John - anyway, I'm glad I ran into you today - J.R!" 
"Hush, hush, please!  I don't want anyone to know!"

"Oh, so sorry!" she apologized.  Her girlish smile reminded him of the young ballerina she once was when they first met.  They met at a charity function hosted by the Hong Kong Ballet Company over twenty years ago.  It was love at first sight for him and although they have been divorced for five years he couldn't get over the feeling no matter how hard he tried.  The love has long gone, yet the feeling lingered on.
"So, John, tell me - how are you doing?"
"I'm doing fine, Mary.  I enjoy my freedom and I've started writing some serious stuff - my first novel."

"You know, John, we have known each other for a long time.  I know you enjoy writing, but I never figured that you would enjoy writing full-time."
"Well, I've worked for over thirty years since I finished college.  But now that I've retired, I'd like to do what I really wanted, and I want to write.  It soothes me."
"Would you like to publish your work someday?"
"No, I don't plan to publish anything.  To me, writing is a hobby, not a career."
"But would you let me read it when you're done?"
"Oh yes - when it's done!"

They looked at each other in silence for a minute.  They did not communicate very well even during their marriage, often preferred to keep their feelings to themselves.  They had actually got along better after their divorce, but since Mary re-married about two years ago, they have not talked much.

"So - how's life as the tai-tai of a rich industrialist?" He was just trying to make conversation.  Mary married a rich garment manufacturer twenty years her senior.
(Silence)
"Mary?" he persisted.
"I didn't get along too well with his children," she replied reluctantly, "but that's not the worst part."
John maintained eye contact but kept his tactful silence.

"I think he's having an affair," she continued, "with an employee at his company - she's barely thirty years old."  She looked away.
"I'm sorry to hear that.  What are you going to do?"
"I am planning to file a divorce as soon as the private investigator collects enough evidence."
"The same private investigator that tracked me down?"
"That's right!"
"Well, you will probably get a very nice divorce settlement.  He's a billionaire."
"Not as much as you would think, John.  He made me sign a prenuptial."
"Oh, I didn't know that!"
"It will limit my divorce settlement to only fifty million."
"Well, that's a whole lot more than what you've got from me."
"Don't tell me you're still sore, John.  Our divorce was quite amicable, wasn't it?"
"Well, it was - up until the part when your lawyer was checking and rechecking all my assets and holdings!"
"Let's not talk about that now, John.  It's water under the bridge, right?"
"You're right - Mary.  Your lawyer was just doing his job.  Besides, money doesn't mean much to me now, not anymore."
"Hmmm, it sounds like you've come to a different way of looking at money.  Tell me more."
"OK. You have time?"
"I've all the time in the world, John."
"I'd like some more coffee.  May I get you some?  I'm buying!"
"Ha! Ha!"

They talked for another hour or so, like two old friends, sipping their coffee slowly as they talked.  Then they left The Coffee Shop.  He walked her to the pier and watched her getting onto the ferry.  His eyes followed her straight back, slanting shoulders, narrow waist and shapely legs that were moving with a feline grace that reminded him of the young ballerina he used to watch on stage many years ago.  He was feeling a lump in his throat and his eyes turning a little misty as he turned around and walked away from the pier.  When the ferry sounded its two long bellows and was leaving the pier, tears started rolling down his cheeks: Oh damn it, how long is this going to take before I get over this woman!  How long is this going to take before I can forget!

For the past five years, John must have gone out with half a dozen of women.  He had a good job, lived in a nice flat and drove a BMW convertible.  He was physically fit and was considered good looking and fun to be with.  Getting dates was not difficult for him, but all of his relationships seemed to end on rather similar notes:
"John, you're not ready for a long-term relationship.  Call me when you're ready!"
"Your mind is somewhere else, John.  Maybe you should call your ex-wife!"
"We're getting no where, John.  I can't compete with your ex-wife!"
"Let's face it, John.  You're using me to get over your ex, and it isn't working, John!"