Old News

Albert Flemming drummed his fingers anxiously on the table as he hunched over the newspaper in front of him. It was nearly a week old and rather tattered, but Albert was scrutinizing the page in front of him intensely. He had circled an ad on the page in blue marker. DF. 40-ish. Hates animals. Loves food and antiques. chiccollector595@yahoo.com. In the breast pocket of his flannel shirt, Albert carried a small stack of printed e-mails folded into a neat square. Chiccollector595 was beautiful over e-mail. She had responded to his introductory e-mail in short, colorful sentences, making quips about everything from the weather to the government. Albert had known he was being tested by her delicious words, so he did his best to respond as quickly and interestingly as possible. Chiccollector595 responded a second time, and a third, and finally requested the meeting in the tea parlor in SoHo.

Albert was not the kind of man who frequented tea parlors, but he had gallantly and enthusiastically accepted the invitation. He had arrived at said tea parlor, SubtleTea, an hour early so he could have time to appear relaxed and inviting before Chiccollector595 arrived. Albert’s only experience with tea had been the glass bottles one could buy at a convenience store. The miniscule, multicolored chalk on the menu blackboard unnerved him. He had no idea there were so many kinds of tea and ways to drink it. What kind of tea would Chiccollector595 order? What if she was a tea aficionado and judged him by his order? He decided his order should reflect some kind of individuality, but not be so adventurous he couldn’t stand to drink it. He had asked the girl at the counter for suggestions, and after he fumbled through an unenlightened explanation of what tea flavors he liked, dancing around references to ascorbic acid or petrol fumes, he had ended up with a steaming cup of earthy green tea with honey melting in the cup and a thin lemon slice floating on top.

Albert was settled in to a two-person booth in the back corner of the tea parlor which gave him a clear view of the door. Beside his cup of tea and worn newspaper he had carefully placed a folded dog leash. Chiccollector595 had suggested the dog leash would be a funny way to identify each other since they both hated animals. Really though, Albert did not hate animals. In fact, until his beagle Buford died six months ago, they had been close companions. It was the absence of Buford that made Albert realize he missed human society. Female human society. Nevertheless, he had purchased the new leash from a pet store, and it sat pristinely on the table, a beacon for Chiccollector595.

As their meeting time neared, Albert held the newspaper high enough that he could move his eyes slightly and sneakily up to view patrons entering the tea parlor. He lowered the newspaper whenever a female patron walked in, searching intently for signs of an empty dog leash. He became hopeful when a bold looking woman with raven hair looked searchingly around as she entered the shop. He had been almost ready to raise his hand in a wave when a fit man with salt and pepper hair swooped in and pecked the woman on the cheek. Albert looked down at his belly pooching over his belt buckle, stretching the flannel shirt. His hair had not started to gray, but he nervously brushed his hand over the thinning patch of hair near his crown.

Another woman entered the shop. She was small and slightly mousy. She looked furtively over her shoulders as she made her way to the counter and ordered. She did not look around again until she grabbed her cup of tea and found a seat in a corner across the parlor from Albert, who had started to feel very nervous indeed about meeting Chiccollector595. People, especially women, were sometimes difficult to handle. Buford’s worst day might mean a little poopy on the carpet, which, when dry, could be easily gathered by a gloved hand and flushed down a toilet, the carpet cleaned. Women sometimes cried, Albert knew. They wanted to go out on dates, and Albert suddenly saw more tea parlors and anxiety ridden ordering in his future. What if she found wine romantic? Albert knew nothing about special wine, or special cheese, or special chocolate. He had begun to feel very warm and sweat beads pricked out of the pores on his forehead and neck and under his arms. And what if she really, truly hated dogs? Albert was not yet ready to replace Buford, but someday, wouldn’t he like another cuddly companion to take to the park or share the couch with him as he watched the evening news?

Albert, breathing heavily, was snapped out of his fretful fit when he saw another woman, larger, walk in the door. She had poofy, curly red hair that sprung from her head at all angles, and she was draped in an assortment of colorful, patterned fabrics that he supposed were composing a dress. The woman loudly approached the counter, commenting on the crowded streets and angry that a favorite drink had been removed from the menu. She was demanding the tea girl make her drink anyway when she upended her own purse with a particularly exuberant gesture. The contents were scattering on the counter, some rolling to the floor, when Albert saw a red dog leash dangling half-in, half-out of the emptied purse.

Albert hastily snatched his windbreaker from the booth next to him and threw it on. He grabbed his dog leash and nearly ran between the closely set tables for the door. His gut swung dangerously at tea patrons as he moved quickly so as not to be noticed by the strange, loud woman. His hand was pushing the door open when he heard the woman shouting, following him to the door. Albert did not wait to listen. He broke into a run. As he was puffing away from the tea parlor, he heard the woman yelling, “Come back! I’m Chiccollector595! I’M CHICCOLLECTOR595!! COME BACK!!”