Coffeehouse Angel (23 page)

"Who can give me an example of a damsel in distress in a fairy tale?" Mr. Williams asked.

Brianna's hand shot up. "Sleeping Beauty."

"Go on."

"Well, she can't wake up until the prince kisses her. He has to hack his way through those vines to get to her."

"Okay, any other examples?"

"Snow White," Ashley said. "She's dead in that glass coffin, but then the prince comes and kisses her and she wakes up."

Mr. Williams nodded. "Thanks to Walt Disney, you are all familiar with damsels in distress. This theme is common throughout mythology. The female, traditionally viewed as the weaker of the sexes, and historically the more vulnerable, is placed in some sort of jeopardy. Her survival depends on the heroic action of the male, usually a prince but sometimes a man of lowly means who is rewarded for his good deed.

Often the reward is a kiss, which in a larger context means sexual availability."

Aaron puckered his lips and made some kissing sounds. "Where can I find a damsel in distress?"

I stared at the chapter illustration of a girl looking out a window that was set high in a tower. Her long blond hair framed her sad face. She leaned against the panes, watching, waiting for the prince to rescue her. I stared hard until my vision blurred and her face morphed into mine. Last night I had looked out my own window, waiting for Malcolm, hoping he'd show up with his magic bean to make everything right again. Waiting to be rescued.

And wasn't that what I had always expected from Vincent? Calling him whenever I needed something, relying on him to take me to the movies and to go places with me if Elizabeth couldn't go. To show up if I got scared because I found a stranger lying in my alley. To be the one person I could call any time of the day or night.

Holy crap! I was just like that stupid girl in the tower.

"Mr. Williams?" I raised my hand, interrupting his reading.

"Yes?"

"What about the stories where the damsel in distress saves herself?"

"What?"

"When she doesn't wait for the prince."

He laid the textbook on his lap. "The damsel in distress doesn't save herself in these stories, Katrina. She can't save herself because a curse or a magic spell has imprisoned her."

"But maybe she can save herself, if she tries," I blurted. Everyone stared at me. "Um, I've got to go to the bathroom." I grabbed my backpack and rushed from the room.

I was sick of feeling like a loser, like I couldn't do anything right. I was sick of feeling like everything I cared about was about to be taken away. I wasn't the swim team captain or president of the Glee Club. I was the Coffeehouse Girl and I wasn't going to lose that without a fight. Grandma couldn't stop me, because she wasn't home to stop me. If I knew exactly how much we owed, and how much we had coming in, then I could make a plan. Maybe it was pure ignorance on my part, but somewhere deep inside I felt that I could do it.

Get some business experience,
Mr. Prince had said.
Every entrepreneur needs
business experience.
What better experience is there than saving a business? But was there enough time?

I hurried past the glass display of Heidi's successes.
Good for her,
I thought.
She's not
waiting in some tower.
In the library, I went back to the business/technology aisle and found a book called
How to Be a Successful Entrepreneur,
written by this really rich guy from New York. The bell rang for second period, but I stayed in the library. The author wrote that the most important thing to guarantee success is to select an excellent support team.

I rushed to the office. "Ms. Kolbert? What class is Elliott in? Elliott Minor. I need to see him right away."

Ms. Kolbert's fingers clicked on her keyboard. "Elliott Minor is in Trigonometry.

Room eighteen."

Waving like a crazy person outside room 18's glass window, I finally got Elliott's attention. He raised his hand, asked to be excused, then joined me in the hall. "What are you doing?"

"Elliott, I need your help." I started pacing. "Do you really understand all that stuff about marketing surveys and small business loans?"

"I think so."

"Well, my grandmother's coffeehouse is going to go out of business unless I do something right away. She owes a lot of money. I need somebody who's good with numbers. We'd work together. I'll pay you, just as soon as I can, if you'll teach me how to set it all up on the computer."

"Why are you asking me?"

"Because I'm supposed to get the best support team I can get, and I think that you're the smartest kid in school." He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And I'm going to get Elizabeth for the team too."

The corners of his mouth turned up in a little smile. "When do we begin?"

Elizabeth wasn't in her Biology class. I called her. "What's wrong? Are you sick?"

"I've been in bed all day."

"Why?"

"I just feel so depressed. I hate feeling this way."

"Is this because of Face?"

"Yes. Isn't that pathetic?"

"It's not pathetic. You got your feelings hurt. There's nothing pathetic about that." I leaned against the wall, pressing Elliott's cell phone to my ear. "Face is a moron. So what if he doesn't like you? It's his loss. Now, get out of bed."

"I'm watching this show on insects. Did you know that the praying mantis eats her boyfriend's head after they mate? I wonder what she does if he rejects her?"

Elizabeth, not-to-be-messed-with artist-extraordinaire, had wrapped herself in a blanket of self-pity. Some stupid jerk who couldn't see past her weird clothes and pudgy face had reduced her to watching television in the middle of the day, which is a pretty bad sign.

"Elizabeth, I know you feel crappy right now, but we both need to stop moping around. Face is history. Vincent is history. And the coffeehouse is going to be history if I don't do something. I need you to get out of bed, get dressed, and meet me down there."

The crinkle of a plastic wrapper filled the earpiece. "Why?" she asked with a full mouth.

"Because you're the most talented person I know. Because you have vision. Because you make everything interesting and beautiful. Because without you, this will never work."

"Really?" She sniffled.

"I need you."

"Okay. I'll meet you there."

Elliott and I left school in the Buick. I pretended to have a stomachache, he forged a note for an allergy appointment. I shared all the coffeehouse details without shame or embarrassment. Grandma Anna would forgive me because facing the truth was the only way forward. I turned onto Main Street. Last night's craft party at Java Heaven had produced hundreds of foam snowflakes. Shopkeepers had hung them in their windows and from their awnings. Ropes of snowflakes dangled across the street and wound around lampposts. We drove past Viking Square, where the blue spruce stood, decked out in snowflakes and lights. Magical. We passed Anna's coffeehouse, the only shop on the street not decorated, unless you consider the
Closed by Health
Department
sign a festive addition.

There was no time to worry about snowflakes.

Elizabeth had parked in the back alley and was waiting for us. "What's
he
doing here?" she whispered when Elliott got out of the car.

"You'll see."

Inside, I turned on the heat and lights. Elliott gave Ratcatcher a good scratch while I started the coffeepot. We'd need lots and lots of caffeine. I made a platter of buttered toast and while they ate, I described the plan that was bouncing around in my head.

"We have three days before the Solstice Festival. I think there's money to be made from Ratcatcher's fame. I want to transform this place into the Ratcatcher Emporium.

We've got my grandfather's retirement check and about two hundred dollars in my grandmother's checking account to work with and a credit card in case we need it. I've got some cash from tips. What do you think?" I held out my arms and waited for their reaction. They stopped crunching.

"Is this okay with your grandmother?" Elizabeth asked.

"She doesn't know anything about it. She'll still be in the hospital. And anyway, she decided to close down the coffeehouse, so I might as well use the space while I can."

"Won't she get mad if you spend her money?" Elliott asked.

"Probably, but it's our only chance. That money would only pay a few bills and then we'd still be in debt
and
without a coffeehouse."

Elizabeth leaned across the counter and whispered, "Why don't you just get
you know
who
to give you the
you know what?"

"I don't need that third bean. I'm going to do this myself. Everyone still wants to meet Ratcatcher. We can't compete with Java Heaven in the coffee market, so why not do something completely different? Elliott, I need you to work the financial end.

Elizabeth, I need you to work the marketing end."

"What about the Health Department?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'm not serving food, so who cares about them?"

"It's a risk," Elliott said, wiping crumbs from his mouth. "But every great endeavor begins with risk."

Elizabeth finally smiled. "The Ratcatcher Emporium. I love it!"

Elliott set up his laptop in the office and I brought my computer downstairs for Elizabeth. Elliott and I went through all the files and drawers. He created a spreadsheet that listed all the money we owed and current and future expenses.

Elizabeth and I brainstormed products. We took a photo of Ratcatcher, then e-mailed it to a company that pasted it onto coffee mugs, sticky notes, and cookie tins. We paid for next-day shipping. Elizabeth created a cute logo of Ratcatcher's smiling face and set up a simple Web site, then sent it off to all her blogger friends. She contacted the
Nordby News
and some local radio stations.

I answered the messages, then left a message on the phone letting callers know that the Ratcatcher Emporium would officially open on Friday for the Solstice festival.

Evening came. I called the hospital. Grandma said she'd had way too many visitors and not to worry about stopping by. She hadn't seen Irmgaard and was worried. I called Irmgaard's apartment, but no one answered. I hadn't seen her since the encounter with Malcolm at the hospital. I kept expecting each of them to show up.

While I would have welcomed Irmgaard's help, it was probably best not to have Malcolm hanging around, clogging up my brain with all those
feelings.

"This is going to be an all-nighter," Elliott said. He called his parents. His dad stopped by with a bathrobe and sleeping bag and a bunch of packaged snacks because Elliott had this low blood sugar thing. Elizabeth's mom brought us a chicken and rice casserole, which was great.

I felt energized and it wasn't from the caffeine. Something powerful surged through my veins. Was it confidence? Do confident people walk around feeling like that all the time--like everything will work out? What a great feeling.

"You know what's missing?" Elizabeth said, drinking her third cup of coffee.

I shook my head. My answer would have been Vincent, but I didn't say that. While Elizabeth, Elliott, and I made a great team, it wasn't the original three. Vincent didn't know anything about spreadsheets or marketing, but it would have been nice to have him there. He could have passed out flyers in his calm, friendly way. I should have waved to him when he had looked up from his bike. I should have run out there and hugged him and said,
It doesn't matter. You broke a promise and I acted like a
jealous, insecure idiot. And we both said mean things. Let's just forget it and move on.

"I'll tell you what's missing. The stupid rat is what's missing," Elizabeth said.

"Huh?"

"We need to get that rat back." She pushed her chair away from the desk. "Why did they take it anyway? Seems to me it belongs to you. It was in your shop."

"You're right," I said, suddenly indignant. "Why did they have to take it? People will want to see that rat. I need to get it back." Then I remembered. "But it smelled disgusting."

"You can get the rat stuffed," Elliott said. He was stretched out on his sleeping bag, plugging numbers into his laptop. "My dad went hunting last year and had this client of his clean and stuff the deer he shot."

"That's a great idea." I remembered this place in Seattle called Ye Olde Curiosity Shoppe, full of all sorts of weird stuffed dead things. People love those stuffed dead things. I imagined tourists posing with the massive rodent. "That's a really great idea."

"My dad's an attorney," Elliott said. "I'll call him. I bet he can get the rat back."

We worked through the night, drifting off around 3:00 a.m. I fell asleep on the desk.

Elizabeth curled next to Elliott, which didn't surprise me. They'd been working together all day, sharing snacks, talking about art classes. They both snored, but it only woke me up twice. Ratcatcher, completely unaware that she was the center of our universe, gnawed her way into one of Elliott's animal cracker boxes. I wished I had someone to curl up next to-- someone warm.

The phone woke me up. Expecting another "fan" call, I didn't answer it.

"Katrina?" The answering machine's speaker muffled Officer Larsen's voice. "I've got a young man down here at the station who says he's a friend of yours. Picked him up for trespassing. I can't locate his family and he's refused to make his one phone call.

Thought you might be able to clear this up. Says he works as a messenger."

T
he last time I was inside the Nordby Police Station was for a fifth-grade field trip.

We were bored out of our minds because the place was nothing like the movies. No guys in striped pajamas and no drug-sniffing dogs. No prostitutes lurking in the hallways saying things like "Hey, girlie, how 'bout gettin' me a cig?" or "My lawyer's gonna sue ya, pig!"

Nordby wasn't the kind of place that overflowed with criminals. Most of the arrests listed in the Police Blotter section of the paper were DWIs, followed by bored teens caught spray painting and blowing up mailboxes. That kind of stuff. As I parked the Buick I thought about the generic coffee invoice, still lying on the backseat. I could accidentally drop it on the police department's floor. Consumer fraud would be an interesting addition to the blotter. But I had already used Grandma's credit card without her permission--I didn't want to break my promise too.