Caramel-Flavored Coffee
by Susan Gladney
He watched her fix the flower centerpiece on one of the tables in the small café as he sipped the caramel-flavored coffee. The word “honey” spoken in her rhythmic Spanish voice still rang in his ears. She always called him honey. It used to be special. It used to have meaning and it used to be his alone. Now, it was just a word she used for the other pathetic men. Her long, curly, black hair was beautiful, her smooth brown skin was beautiful, and her big brown eyes were also beautiful. It was a shame that such beauty was wasted on a succubus.
“Would you like anything else?” Her voice was cunning and shameless. The other customer stared at her nametag while he told her what he wanted. At the end of his order, he said her name, Maria, in a kind of sly, fox-like tone. She had caught that tramp’s eye, and now he was ready to sink his fangs into her luscious skin. It was just what she wanted.
“Sure thing, honey!”
There went that word being spread to the hungry vultures who hovered around the café. The word used to be special, and it had gone well with caramel.
“I’m surprised that you didn’t order the usual blueberry muffin today.”
Maria’s cheerful voice could have melted snowcapped mountains. It made his heart ache to know that he wouldn’t be able to hear the soft voice again.
“Yes, well people change.”
And people become corrupted. He thought about the rope and black gloves in the trunk of his car. She still could be saved.
“Is that so, honey?”
That flirtatious laugh was what had drawn him to her so many months ago. Back when she used to be pure.
“I’ll get you that muffin now!”
Her hips swayed like a cobra to the beats of the Latin music that played quietly in the background. Mesmerizing, attractive, sexual, he remembered how she danced at the clubs. Hypnotizing was the correct word.
He glanced toward the male customer at another table. She was giving him his order, the drink was probably caramel-flavored. The man wore old jeans, a stained white T-shirt, and he needed a shave. Where did he attend school? If he even did. How could men like him easily taint angelic women like Maria? He wondered who should be blamed more, the men who acted as the devil or the women who allowed them. Or maybe it was the women who were the wolves in sheep’s clothing. They always had a crafty air about them. And they never ceased to get what they wanted.
At least, the coffee in the café was good. Delicious all the way down. It was starting to run low. He imagined her coy smile from two weeks ago. She was using it on her date, a bastard of a man. He had the same appearance as the deadbeat customer with the 10 o’clock shadow. He remembered her laughing at all his stupid jokes in the restaurant, holding those hands with the dirt-filled nails as they walked home and the sloppy kiss that she used to get him in bed. It probably wouldn’t have taken much to get him to go upstairs though. Why did she have to change like all the others?
“Here you go!” Her words penetrated his thoughts in an almost violent kind of way. She had set the muffin on the table and was already leaving as he murmured his thanks. Her hips were still rocking back and forth. God, she knew how to entice men. He dropped a few dollars from his wallet onto the table and grabbed the muffin.
His office cubicle was bare and plain. It had a state-of-the-art laptop on the desk, a single white coffee mug, and a nameplate that read, “Paul Bollinger.” The walls were blank, no pictures, no papers, cards or comics. He sat at his laptop with thoughts on his mind other than pharmaceutical sales.
“Maria, dear sweet, Maria, why?” he whispered softly as he thought about the different men she had been with. She was heading in a downward spiral of filth. In his pocket, his left hand felt the orange container full of benzodiazepine pills. Soon, she would face redemption. He glanced at his wristwatch, counting down the hours until work was over.
In the warm night air, he stood outside the bar. It was one of the bars she frequented. His watch read 9:15 p.m. He loved digital watches. Any second, she would turn the corner on her way home from the café.
“Honey, what are you doing here?” Could she never think of any other word?
“I felt like getting a drink. Want to join?” He chose each word carefully. It was the same line that the last man she had slept with had used.
“I guess I could spare some time.”
She fell into rhythm, using the same words she had the last time. They went inside exactly as he had planned. He gave her a drink that tasted of graham crackers, or so she described it. He drank scotch, the drink of choice.
“Honey, this drink is so good!”
The damn word again. He bit his lips in annoyance. Ten minutes passed after she was on her second drink before she went to the ladies room. It was about time, he thought, as he quickly slipped pieces of a crushed pill in her drink. When she returned, she finished her drink as slowly as she had the first one. Her cheeks flushed as he helped her stumble out of the bar.
“How is my house? I feeeel dwosy.”
Her sentence was accompanied by the giggles that came from schoolgirls. He led her toward his silver Dodge Stratus, hoping she wouldn’t pass out in the next minute. He opened the door for her and locked her seatbelt in place. She caught his neck in her hands. With red fingernails digging into his skin, she shoved her mouth against his. He felt the kiss throughout his body. It was hard to push her back into the car and slam the door. She attacked him again when he was about to buckle himself in. Her hand found its way to his lap and her tongue knowingly moved around in his mouth. He aggressively kissed her. The way she moved her fingers caused his mind to lose focus. He cursed loudly when the drugs finally took effect. He pushed her unconscious body back to the passenger’s side and shoved the key into the ignition. The engine revved as his foot hit the gas hard. The car pulled out into the street and headed toward his spot.
The streetlights reflected off the windshield. The sound of tires running on the street, the engine purring, and people on the sidewalks blurred together in a messy distorted music box. He thought about the first time they had met in that café three months ago. The image of her in uniform and him in a suit formed in his head. The smell of regular coffee and the scent of caramel flavoring were almost real. He even tasted the honey-coated candy. It was always about taste with her. She loved honey and caramel. The blurred, flashing signals of cars making left turns seemed to be in unison. The beating of his heart increased as he neared his destination. The sound of the city was being left behind. Now, it was just him on the highway, and the number of trees grew. The trees, the street and the sky were the only things that surrounded them.
Sometimes, he glanced up at the blinking yellow and white dots stuck in the blue background. A slit of brightness in the sky seemed piercing and frightening. His throat would go dry, then moisten again. A lump formed as he pulled off the road onto a hidden dirt path. The sound of crunching branches further disrupted his disappearing, peaceful state. He finally stopped the car at a small clearing.
In the trunk, there was a blanket, a bottle of wine and two glasses. He laid her sleeping body on top of the blanket and poured the wine into the glasses. He drank slowly, savoring the taste of redness. He reached into his pocket for a piece of candy. He popped it into his mouth while he felt the ground next to him with his other hand. The rope was there. He was wearing the gloves. When the candy was wet, he rubbed it against her lips. He was gentle and careful. He kissed softly and tasted the honey. He didn’t want to do this, but he had no choice. She couldn’t be left to wander into darkness alone. He caressed her neck, feeling the tender skin. Beyond her skirt, her legs were bare, and he touched them. His own desires were going to be filled, and hers would be satisfied one last time.
He lay there half-naked with his exposed chest rising and falling heavily. Sweat rolled down the sides of his forehead. He was exhausted and his gloves moist.
“Hmmm,” she startled him. He turned over toward the rope and tried to grab it.
“Honey? Where am I? What the …”
The rope kept slipping out of his gloves, and she was already sitting up. She drew air until her lungs were full, but her scream was cut off. She struggled violently, kicking and clawing at everything around her. He felt stronger than ever as her body twisted against him. But the time was too short.
Her struggles lessened into twitches, then subsided into weak pushes, and then she gave up. Her body jolted twice, and then it was still. The rope left a deep impression on her neck. Her brown eyes were open. A single glimmer of light shone on her nakedness. She really was beautiful.
He pulled out another piece of candy from his pocket and sucked on it. He placed it inside her mouth; she would always taste honey. The rope, the gloves, the blanket, and the glasses were burned in a small fire built near the clearing. Her body was buried next to another one a few yards from where she had passed away. He left the shovel against an oak where it had been waiting for him.
On the way home, he listened to her favorite Latin station. He thought about the café and Maria. He would never love another woman as he had loved his Maria. His stomach growled. Where would they serve food on a Friday night at 11:15? He thought about the fast food restaurants near his house. His fingers clicked the radio to another station. He remembered the family diner a few blocks from his street. The white daughter ran the diner late at night. She had pretty blue eyes and lovely blonde hair. Her hair came down to her shoulders and her face was from an antique painting created by a master.
“Lisa,” he whispered it, breathed it and felt it. Her name was Lisa, and she was pure. She was Lisa, and she was innocent. She was his Lisa, and she was true. He pushed harder on the accelerator, suddenly craving roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy. The sound of soft rock, tires rotating on asphalt, and breathing mixed in his ears.
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