The Call Card.

A (very) short story.

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On the broadway road, there was a snazzy little cafe that had opened a few months ago. It somehow fitted into the range of fashion shops and noisy bars because it looked so out of place. A little cute, small time shop in a row of elite franchised shops, i somehow like the sound of that.

Thats why i go there often. The woman who works there seems like she was born with a subtle smile on her face, and she's become a bit of an aquaintance. I nearly always order the same drink, (unless im having a bad day) and its become a bit of a ritual. I walk in and say "Hi!" and she smiles (of course) and asks "So, same as always?" and i nod.

These little cafe visits pretty much outline what im doing after work, i like to soak in the atmosphere and the soul of the city before i go back into hibernation. That sounds pretty pretentious, but at least the coffee is good.

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I walk in and after The Hi and The Question and The Nod i sat myself on an outside table. The umbrella's up because its raining, slightly. They call it a "light shower", and i like to think they've called it that because the city is always covered with a thin film of subtle but intrusive grime. The traffic is slightly worse than usual because the police are trotting around on horses. Ignoring the clop-clopping of the road i return my eyes back to today's paper and today's drink - sponsored by Barista With The Cute Smile.

Today's news report of the death and destruction is then disrupted by a voice. "Excuse me, i know this is kinda weird, but can i sit here?". I look up and i see a young girl - perhaps 18 or so - brown-reddish hair and blue eyes. "Sure. That's no problem." I reply, moving the paper (and not the voice) out of the way as if it was a rude obstruction.

She looks back over her shoulder nervously. At this point im thinking, "shouldnt i be the one she should be nervous over, after all im a stranger" but then its probably one of those things where she has bigger, more invisible demons to worry about, queuing up behind her back. These insignificant curiosities end when she turns around again.

"So, im just wondering, why'd you let me sit here? Most people would tell me to get lost....."

"Oh that? Well firstly, i dont really own this cafe, so i dont really think i have the authority to tell people where they can sit .....and secondly, the coffee here is really cheap, so i pretty much thinking that for the price of the coffee, im paying for the coffee, and her wages" i point to Ms. Cute Smile Barista, "doesnt seem like im renting a place to drink coffee like how all the other places do it. Charge you way too much money either way." I stop neglecting my coffee and take a sip.

She laughs. "Oh, that was such a long explanation! Are you like, a writer or something?"

"Something like that. I get paid to chat shit." I reply, morosely.

Another short burst of laughter from her. She brings her bag round and opens it. Its brown, slightly tattered and it seems like its secured with a thin rope. Thats probably the point, earthy and authentic. She brings out a little notepad and pencil. "So im guessing you're a writer too huh?" i ask, eyeing the notepad. "Hm? Oh no.....nothing like that. Im into stuff like graphic design, illustration, but nowadays i just cant complete what i create anymore." Her lips purse and she looks down at her notebook. There's something upsetting about it. "Interesting, so, any particular reason why that might be?" I admit im curious. But when the moment comes i like to seize it.

She raises an eyebrow and hesitates. "Mmm...but you're just a random stranger i've met right now. How do i know if i can trust you or not?"

I drink the last drop of my coffee, which by now has gone slightly cold. It doesnt take me long to figure out what to say. The empty coffee cup agrees with my idea. "You just cant. Whether you want to or not is a risk. Whether you wanna take it or not, i dont know." I shrug.

She considers this, almost appreciates it. Then suddenly her eyes glint. "Haha ok. So i've come up with a great idea...." she puts the notebook down, leans back while gently twirling the pencil in her hand quite skillfully. "I'll give you a bit of information. But half of it i'll make up, and half of it i'll tell the truth. I dont feel comfortable telling you the entire truth, so confusing you seems like a better option." She adds with a sly grin.

This girl is sharp. My compliment comes out in the form of a chuckle "Heh, fair enough. Go ahead."

"Ok. So the deal is, i've run away from home and im randomly wandering the streets. Since i dont have a computer, (oh how i miss it so) i cant really experiment as much as far as design goes. So im forced to draw my ideas out here on this little notepad." She turns the page over, as if seeing the drawings will confirm what she just said "And also, my ex boyfriend is stalking me which is why i look so nervous, but then im determined to give him a lecture next time he calls. Now all this for my teeny little head is a bit too much, and an artist always needs space and freedom to properly work, and so my creativity leaves me like how i left my boyfriend." She laughs and looks at me pointedly. Testing to see whether i can figure out when she was lying or not.

"....Right so you've got me. I really have no idea what was true or what wasnt. That was your plan all along so i guess you've succe-" My phone's ringing. A short one minute call ensues and the boss is asking me to finish the article tonight. Which means i have to get home. "Well i've gotta go. Do you have like a card or anything? Im interested in maybe hiring you to do a few pieces for us." She nods and hands me her card. I stuff it in my pocket without reading it, and bid farewell. She chooses to stay at the table, and her smile fades, and a depressing aura is released into the air like a poisonous carbon emission because something is wrong. Something about her composure, some distinct worry in her mind. I cant go on thinking about it forever though, and put it out of my mind.

----

I come home and write that article straightaway. Its one of my principles to never let people have an excuse to screw at you with. Messing your stuff up is basically handing people the metaphorical bat to beat you with. Im pretty sick enough of that as it is already. With work out of the way, i heat some food up and call a few friends. A pretty average evening, and i like to live my life as simply as possible. Because for every interesting thing you add to your life, there's also a price tag that comes with it. Having an interesting conversation with a cute girl means now i have to pay the price - worrying about her.

Getting bored i turn the TV on. "And now for today's sports results, and in first place-" next channel."Breaking news - A devastating car crash on Highway 52 claimed the lives of Brendon Tate and Hayley Regent, authorities are currently- " nothing but death and destruction, next channel again. "No i absolutely believe the current policies in regard to our education system need some serious revi-" I turn the TV off. I consider selling the damn thing and not having to put up with the bullshit that comes through it everyday.

Restless now, i pick up the phone and decide to call her. Just one call is fine right? I look at the clock anxiously. 11 PM. She should still be awake at this time anyway. Taking the card out of my shirt and picking the phone up and holding it with my shoulder, the phone drops when my eyes scan the card. It reads :

"Graphic Designer - Hayley Regent."