Chapter 7

Light flooded from across the street, calling me from the darkness. I pinched my arms twice to see if the vodka I've consumed from the club was playing tricks on me. Sometimes Casper would get hallucinations from being drunk. I've never experienced it firsthand, but from his stories alone, it sounded like shite. "Will you look at that, Scottie," I murmured. "Lady luck is still on our side." I tucked the recorder in my pocket and crossed the street.

What should you do when you're overly excited? Should you dance and prance around while waving your arms? Should you scream? Dearest readers, I too had my moments of silliness. While no one was looking, I jumped and clicked my heels together in the air like a leprechaun. Now for the gold.

No sooner have I reached the door of the cafe when it was pushed from the other side. Girls after girls streamed past me as if they were water, and I, a lonely stone in the river. I managed to stop one of them from crossing the street. "Where are you going? I just got here," I said, confused. They weren't wearing flower crowns tonight, but neon wrist bands of rainbow colors.

The girl I've cornered looked annoyed for a second before she focused on my face. Yes, yes, I was pretty. Answer my question. "The party got cut short. Our hostess is not feeling well. Must be the old age," she explained. "I have work tomorrow, and my girlfriend can be unbelievably jealous, so. . ." So she wanted me to get out of her face. I could take a hint. She maneuvered so I wasn't in her way anymore. "See you in our next meeting."

"Don't you mean see you tonight?" I asked.

"You're new, huh? We don't meet every day. It's more of a see you when I see you event. You have to be present when the hostess announces when the next party will be, like an invite only, except almost everyone is welcome. It keeps the haters from turning up." She tugged at her wrist band worriedly. Whoever she was in a relationship with must be terribly insecure.

"Do you mind if I ask you when it will be held again?"

"The day after tomorrow at midnight," she said. "The hostess is serving coffee on the house as an apology."

It wasn't exactly a bump on the road, I thought as I went home. It was just a pause. An extended time to gather my ideas. I needed to contain my excitement until the next party.

Lulu was on the sofa, eating a tub of ice cream when I got to the house. Her eyes had the fresh puff of a recent cry fest. I expected her hook up with the guy she was talking to on the bar, not watching chainsaw massacre movies alone. She snuggled to me when I got on the couch. "The way you're crying, I'd have thought you're watching a drama," I said. She was a mess. Curly hair was stuck near her wet eyes, and her mascara had spread out to give her a raccoon face.

Lulu answered my unspoken question. "He wasn't Casper," she said. "I couldn't bear to look at him."

I wiped her tears. "You didn't drop a kettlebell on his foot did you? We're going to get sued by a lot of guys if you keep doing that." She smiled faintly. "Here's some good news to perk you up. I stumbled on the open cafe again. And you know what's even better? Someone from there told me about their system."

Lulu scraped the last bit of ice cream from the container quietly, digesting my small information. The screams from the television filled the void of our silence. The killer was seen walking on the kitchen, dragging the remains of the guy he slashed to death.

"It was stupid of me to assume that I could get over Casper that easily," Lulu murmured. "It's too soon." She dumped the spoon in the empty ice cream container and looked at me with fire in her eyes. "But I sure as hell will try. Are you with me or against me?" I squeezed her leg. She'd been there for me countless of times. It was my turn to be the sane one for her. Nope, I wasn't crossing my fingers behind my back. Not at all. "Promise me that you'll do great on your project too," she said. "Forget that person you chased on the restaurant. I want to see that research of yours realized."

"You don't have to say it twice," I affirmed, glad that we were moving forward.

The waking hours of the next day were spent with menial tasks, like waiting for the people from charity to take some of our stuff away. We also ordered things online as replacement for the clothes we lost. Couture would have to wait. I wasn't with my parents in California anymore. I was supposed to be blending in and working on my goals as Lulu had so blatantly reminded.

Finally, the day I've been waiting for arrived. Twirling the keychain on my fingers, I checked if the small recorder was in my pocket. Couldn't afford to leave it behind on the first day of observation and interview.

Lulu was skipping ropes on the living room, clad in her sweatpants, tank top, and training shoes. She declared this morning that she'd start working out again. I was afraid that she'd bite my head off if I asked if this was Casper-related, so I let her be. She hasn't mentioned him today once. "I thought you're going to the cafe," she said, following me with her eyes without leaving the spot. The whoosh of the rope she was spinning made me want to work out too. We've always been active girls.

"I am. I need to get there early to observe from the car. That's how you study, Lu. You don't leave anything behind, even the things you think are inconsequential. I'm sorry I can't take you with me. It's best if I do the early stages of the data gathering alone." That and I wanted her to get a good night's sleep. A broken heart with a broken sleeping pattern was a recipe for disaster. Though admittedly, I haven't been heartbroken before to call myself an expert, and I probably wouldn't.

"Give me a ring if you need anything," she said. Lulu breathed through her nose and exhaled slowly with her mouth as she completed the last set of skips.

I got to the cafe at nine o'clock sharp. The barista with the goatee was still behind the counter, taking orders from the last few customers for their shift. All of this I saw from the car, parked across the street. It was a little after ten when the crew closed the lights, locked the door, and said goodbye to each other. I remained in the car, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel.

To pass the time, I decided to call Casper. He picked up after two rings. "You miss me?" he panted. I could hear sneakers pounding on pavement in the background. It was scary how in synch he was to Lulu, but at the same time they didn't understand each other as they should. Was that possible?

"Me, missing someone?" I breezed. "You wish." The cafe was still dark outside. I wonder when they'll come, or if anyone was coming at all. The girl I talked to could have been pulling my leg. I should have realized that sooner.

"Why did you call?" he asked.

"Easy. I want you to dump Jessie, move here, and get another life," I said. "The house is big enough for the three of us. Okay, it's not that glam. It's like the help's quarters back home, but you can rent an apartment unit near us. It will be fun."

"It hasn't been a month and you're already homesick." He sounded patronizing. Geez, where did he get that idea? "I can't dump Jessie. I love her."

"Love?" I said, staring twice at my phone. "You haven't been together that long. She'll get over it. It's not like you're special, Caspie. Someone will replace you after two, maybe three months, if she's not interested with your inheritance."

He snorted. "I should record this so you'll hear the craziness coming from your mouth. It's not that simple. Jessie is the one." Years of reverse psychology on my brother has made him immune to my sometimes sadistic ways. I could call him awful names but he still wouldn't believe that I was insulting him. "How's Lulu?" he said.

You broke her heart. "She got a hot date from the club. Really handsome dude." That she left in a ditch somewhere, I meant to add.

The sound of running was succeeded by heavy breathing. He paused to rest. "Getting a date from the club is not safe," he said. "Guys you'll meet there are only interested in one thing. Jesus, Scotland, aren't you and Lulu thinking? You were always ahead of people. How can something so simple be confounding? I shouldn't be explaining this."

I decided against teasing or contradicting him. Casper was in his outburst state. He'd progress into full blown nagging which I was in no mood for tonight when I was so close to beginning my research. "Lulu knows what she's doing. You can call her to give a lecture. It's better coming from you."

"I'll do that tomorrow," he said. "Jessie needs me." He hung up without saying goodbye. What was it with Casper and his tomorrows when it came to Lulu?

I wasn't given more time to ponder on it. The cafe's lights flickered on again, and with it I caught sight of the old woman. Despite her age and her stooped state, she didn't look sickly to me. She moved with the efficiency and the speed of a middle aged lady, dragging the chairs and tables to her preferred position. How convenient.

It wasn't until midnight when the guests started to come. At first it was just one or two, but then they came in batches of three to five. I took the recorder out. "Research subjects are in the vicinity," I said. "From what I noticed, most of them are friends or at least acquaintances. Though the tables were scattered, they'd nod to the people in the other tables as acknowledgement. I'm going in. Wish me luck."

There was a hint of recognition in the old woman's eyes as I traveled the distance between the cafe door and the counter to her. Two other lady's were brewing coffee and doing their jobs, while she simply stood there, hand on the surface, yellow apron on, ready for me. "Every coffee served tonight is on the house," she said.

"Yeah, I've heard. A bird also told me that you're the hostess of this party. I thought this was a normal coffee shop when I came here. I was mistaken. Can you enlighten me about that?"

She shook her head. "There's nothing to know. We cater to a different client."

I put an elbow on the counter. "Why the secrecy though? Why open at midnight, granny? You don't mind if I call you that, do you? I've been waiting for days. I've been trying to come back since that night since you conveniently left me the important details."

Granny was a lot like the monk who trained me in Cambodia, I realized in the last two minutes I've gazed at her. She had a silent calm about her. But underneath the facade, she could probably turn into a dangerous foe when ticked, like a cute cat that hasn't revealed her claw. "I'm doing a research about lesbians," I revealed when she didn't answer. "My goal is to help society see them in the perfect light. If not, then it might be useful for self-actualization. I want your cafe to be my research pool."

The edge of her eyes crinkled. "That has been done before," she stated. "What makes you think yours will be different? What's your credentials?" I sensed the mother bear coming out of her. There was a need to protect the people here, but alas, there was also curiosity in the way she asked.

"I don't need credentials to start a research or a book, only the hunger for it," I said. "And mine won't be boring. There will be figures and facts, yes, but the way it will be told is an adventure. It will be something that people would want to read in their spare time, not breeze past in the dustiest, corner most part of the library. The part that doesn't see the light. The part that readers never touch. While I will also conduct interviews on the opposing part of the spectrum, or those who identify themselves as homophobes, I will stay as neutral as possible. My only wish is for you to let me do as I want here without getting on my business."

"What if I don't agree?" she said.

I shrugged. "I will move on. But you would have lost an opportunity to give the people here a chance to speak for their kind." Come on granny, just say yes. I haven't asked my parents for help once in the past weeks. I'd be devastated to go back to my old ways. I knew I've won when she sighed. "Yes!" I said triumphantly, attracting a few stares our way. "Thank you granny. You won't regret this decision."

She left my side to attend to a staff who called her for help. I took the chance to look around while she was busy. Where should I even begin? After a moment, Granny came back with a cup of coffee for me. I reached for my wallet. "On the house," she reminded. "How can I assist you with your research, if you don't mind me asking."

I could never get tired of her coffee, I thought as I sipped on the cup. It was still that perfect brew. I licked my still warm lips. "You don't have to introduce me to them. I can do that myself," I said. "What I'd like to know is the grouping system here." I motioned to a table in the middle. "For example, that table seems to attract diversity. Women with different hair length, attitude, and styles of clothing are concentrated there. However," I pointed to the table on the far left, "some tables are exclusively for a specific group. How do I know? Everyone sitting there either have men's hairstyles or are wearing outfits that can be classified as 'for boys only' by society's standards. The opposite could be said for other tables. How come?"

"Great observation skills," she said. "I never would have pegged you as the smarty type with that pretty face, especially after you came here the first time looking drunk." I didn't correct her. She'd know me better soon enough, and all those misconceptions would vanish like bubble popping. "A question for you, dear, before I answer. How do you define lesbians in your dictionary?"

"A woman who is sexually or romantically attracted to other women," I said.

Granny nodded. "While there's that, it will also benefit you to know that lesbians are often classified into types, sometimes by society, other times by themselves. It's bad to label people, but for the sake of research, you should go deeper into that too. Only after you've done your observations can you ask me. Or better yet, talk to the others."

"Can't you give me a short view on what the stereotypes are called?" I said. Granny shook her head. "Oh come on! Just this once. It's not like I'm only doing this for myself. Think of the society. The children, granny. The children."

"You're a persistent un," she said. Granny directed me to a group on a table. "We have the butch." She pointed to the next table. "The femmes, the tourist, and the futch. Keep in mind that these are stereotypes and the only reason why I'm telling you this is so you can debunk them later. No matter what clothes they wear, they're all women who loves women. Humans who just wants to be loved."

"Copy that," I murmured, a sense of respect growing for the old woman. "Err, granny, how about her?" I motioned to the table I sat in, the first time I came to the cafe. It was occupied today by a person with tumbles of wavy hair draped on the back of the chair. She was facing the opposite direction, so I couldn't see her face.

"That's Lynx," she said with a vague smile. "Drink your coffee. It tastes best warm."

Granny told me that the next meeting would be on Monday, four days after. She'd been suffering from bouts of colds the few days, so she couldn't open the cafe at midnight as much as she wanted to. I also decided to call the place, 'Midnight Cafe,' after its hours of opening. When asked again about the secrecy by which she operates the coffee shop, Granny's answer was a short, "For convenience."

It wasn't until I glanced at the glass panes hours later, did I notice that it was raining hard, almost zero visibility on the street. I was among the last ones to stand under the roof of the shop outside, shivering, pondering how to get to my car without being completely drenched. I could not afford to be sick at this time.

Soon, I was followed outside by a woman who was inches taller. I did a double take at the side of her face. It was half hidden by the darkness, half revealed by the dim streetlight to our right. She had a tumble of wavy hair that was golden auburn in color. They had a specific term for that, if I wasn't mistaken. In the 19th century they called it 'Titian,' and was often used in painting.

What made me kept staring was how well she could resemble those works of arts, but whereas others were completed, she looked as if the person who painted her couldn't make a strong decision on how she should end up. Her eyes, from what I could see, was neither blue nor green. The painter could have liked both colors and said, "Oh well, let's blend them together and make her eyes." She was neither smiling or pouting, but she wasn't Mona Lisa either.

I had the slightest chill when the woman fixed her gaze on me, a cold that had nothing to do with the rain or the time, a delicious, electrifying sensation. After that, she opened a black umbrella, and to my surprise, handed it to me. "Don't get wet," she said in an unmistakable, familiar voice, then ran to the rain.