No Kind of Man
No Kind of Man
Topher sat with his feet propped up on the coffee table, leaning back casually, reading the Sunday paper on a stranger’s couch. My girlfriend and I lay in bed talking, planning the day, when the smell of coffee drifted into her bedroom.
“God, that smells good,” I said, “would Melissa care if I went and had some of her coffee?”
Bailee looked a little confused. “Melissa hates coffee.” I was up now, pulling on my shorts, and reaching down to pick up my shirt when I saw Melissa walk by our door.
“Mel,” Bailee flagged her down. “Did you make coffee?”
Mel stopped just past the door and came back and stood wearing a man’s button-down shirt and her underwear. Her tan legs and dark hair were made for the morning. It always treated them best, her hair askew and legs tender from a night’s rest. She stopped in the doorway in her bare feet.
“No. Did you?” she looked at me, and I shook my head.
“Did you bring somebody home last night?” Bailee asked.
“Oh.” Melissa balked, and slowly confessed, “I might have brought Toph home.”
I was pulling my shirt over my head and was having a little trouble.
“Who’s Toph?” I asked from somewhere within my t-shirt.
I knew she had been flirting with a guy the night before, we were all pretty lit, and she’s never been shy. While Bailee sat in my lap, I had watched Mel talk to a guy, who looked like he was still in college. He wore a hat that was worn at the edge of the bill. His hair puffed out from underneath and curled up in waves of semicircles. The guy smoked and laughed a lot, and gave her less attention than she was after.
“Toph’s the guy from last night, babe,” Bailee reminded me in her sweet and measured drawl.
“What the hell kinda name is Toph?” I wanted to know.
“Like Cristopher. He’s really sweet. Is he still here?” Mel asked, then turned around and looked down the hallway. Seeing nothing, she bounced away on her toes, following the strong smell of coffee into the kitchen.
“God, she’s a mess. I love her,” Bailee smiled.
“She is a mess,” I said.
I lay back down on top of the covers next to her and waited to hear Mel’s report before going to get my coffee.
I heard Bailee shuffle around in the sheets, and I took that opportunity to slide my right arm beneath her head. She rolled over on her side and faced me, draping her arm across my waist. She pulled up my shirt and put her cold hand on my chest and began rubbing my stomach, to get warm. Up to my chest, down to my waist, gentle and cool, over and over.
“What kind of name is Toph?” I asked again.
Her laugh hit my neck and fell to mattress quietly. “I don’t know. You thought he was cool last night.”
“No I didn’t. Did I?” I couldn’t remember the latter part of the evening as well as I’d have liked.
“Yall were like best friends by the end of the night,” she informed me.
I shrugged. “Well if I liked him, he’s probably cool.”
“Says the man who’s never met a stranger,” she said, and slipped her last two fingers beneath the waistband of my shorts. Then back up to my chest.
“He made coffee!” Melissa walked back into the doorway.
“I guess you were quite the host last night, he feels right at home now,” Bailee poked at her. “How was he?”
“Yeah Mel, how was ol’ Toph last night?” I asked.
She hesitated. Then smiled, turned around and walked into her room. I could see black on the bottom of her feet from the night before. I got up out of bed to go to the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” Bailee asked.
“To get some coffee, do you want me to get you something?”
She rolled onto her back again, running her fingers through her sandy blonde hair. She stretched her arm out above her and inspected her hand as if it was some great artifact. With her left, she pulled a long strand of hair that was hanging magically off of her wrist.
“No,” she said. “I don’t want anything.”
I walked out down the hall, and peeked into Mel’s room, where she stood at her dresser, messing with pins and jewelry. She looked up into the mirror she was facing, saw me and smiled. I waved and walked on to the kitchen.
“Chris!” I saw Topher sitting on the couch, his socked feet up on the coffee table, reading.
He twisted his head around and smiled at me like I was a welcome guest in his vacation home.
“My man!” he almost yelled. “I made some coffee, bro! Help yourself.”
“Thanks.”
“You gotta start your day off right, man.”
I poured the black coffee in the same mug I always used, a clay one that Melissa had made. It was white with blue leaves and vines wrapping around the base and up at the brim. “Happy Birthday Geoff,” was carved into the bottom, an old boyfriend, and her initials.
“Did you hear about this shark attack?” Toph said, holding up the paper above his head, pointing to a picture of something I couldn’t make out. “Two guys were killed, and a third injured off the coast of Florida yesterday. They were surfing. In November! I didn’t know you could even surf in Florida. Do you know, is there good surf there?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“They heard their friend screaming and went to help him out, but by the time they got there, there was only blood in the water, the report says. Shit. They were only 30 yards from shore.”
I thought about the two friends swimming in their buddy’s blood. I took a sip of my coffee, it was cold in the kitchen. “What happened next?” I asked.
“It says they were trying to scare the shark away, slapping the water and making noise, when it went after the second one. They tried to fight him.” He read like my dad used to, in parts, reading the whole thing to himself, and then without looking around to see if anyone was listening, continued.
“I think they’re trying to use some tact in how they say this cause it just says ‘severed’ here and there and doesn’t get too specific.” He kept reading as I watched the back of his head. “’The third man, Jackson Corbin, of St. Petersburg lost his right arm as he attempted to pull Mr. Palmer away from the attacking shark. He then returned to shore as the lone remaining survivor. Mr. Palmer was 28, and Mr. Taylor was,’ blah blah blah,” he said, turning the page.
“Listen, I’m gonna go smoke a cigarette out back,” I told him. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Hey smoke mine. I bummed a shitload from you last night.” He pointed to a pack of Parliaments on the kitchen table.
“You had these the whole time?” I asked, as Melissa walked in still wearing Toph’s shirt, and some tights.
“No, I bought them this morning when I went out to buy the paper. Take as many as you want,” he insisted.
“Can I have one?” Mel asked us.
“Of course, baby,” Toph yelled from the sofa.
I looked at her and raised my eyebrows. She slapped my shoulder with the back of her hand to shut me up.
“Let me pour myself a cup real quick, and I’ll be out there. Do you have a lighter?”
“Course, baby,” I said, and slipped through the screen door to the cold morning outside.
A couple minutes went by, then I heard her nudge the door open with her hip, and she backed out with a mug of coffee, a blanket, and my sweatshirt.
“Bailee said you should wear this,” she conferred, handing the sweatshirt to me.
They had a big deck overlooking their back yard. It was overgrown and untended, but the porch was nice. We sat on the top steps together. I gave Mel my matches and she lit hers. She held them out for me to take. Our hands touched when I grabbed them. Her hands were as cold as Bailee’s had been in bed. I pulled the box from her hand, but it was like she was glued to it. She slid over to me as I took it from her. Her hip to my hip, her shoulder to my shoulder. I put the cigarette to my lips and struck the flame. I held it to the end of the cigarette, close enough to draw the fire in with my breath, not so close as to snuff it out. I could feel her leaning on me. As I exhaled, I took my left hand out of my sweatshirt pocket, and put it around her shoulder. I smoked and drank my coffee one-handed, with her head on my shoulder in the cold.
“Did Toph tell you about that shark attack?” she asked, concerned.
“He did,” I said.
“My God. Isn’t that so fucked up?” her voice was one of disgust and despair.
“It is,” I said.
She left the square in her mouth and slid her right hand across my inner thigh, down to my knee, holding on tight. I closed my legs on her hand, to keep it warm. She grabbed the smoke with her left hand and held it out away from us. Her ash was about to fall into her coffee.
“Watch yourself, now,” I said.
“What?” she said and moved her hand out from between my legs.
“About to ruin your coffee,” I pointed out. She looked over at where her ash hung precariously over her coffee cup.
“Oh,” she said, and held the cigarette out in front of her, and ashed on the steps. She picked up the mug for the first time and brought it up to her lips to drink, but didn’t. “It’s so hot,” she smiled.
“It’s coffee, Mel,” I told her.
She put it down and put her head on my shoulder again. She turned her head so her lips were buried in the shoulder of my sweatshirt, her forehead just touching my ear.
“I don’t even like coffee,” she confessed, and slid her hand back between my knees.
“I do,” I said. “I love it.”
I looked over my shoulder and saw Bailee walk up to the door. She peered through the screen at me curiously. I looked at her and gave her a reassuring smile and winked at her. She smiled back at me and held up an empty coffee cup and pointed to it, asking if I wanted more.
My face lit up, and I nodded yes. She turned around and disappeared.
I tried to follow her, but I lost her in a reflection of trees and house. I turned my head further to where there was no glare and saw into the living room where Toph still sat, reading the Sunday paper with his feet propped up on the table Bailee and I found at a resale shop a couple months before. I could hear him reading loudly to Bailee about the shark attack, wondering whether there was good surfing in Florida. I couldn’t see it, but I pictured her smiling, going along, wondering out loud with him, taking out an old filter, putting in a new one, and hitting brew.
