Chapter 12 #2
Levi Lee thought about this for a few moments. A few more customers went in and out of Starbuck’s. The smells coming out of the place each time the door opened were heavenly.
“They’re an artist,” Levi Lee explained. “So, maybe they have the lights on so they can see whatever they’re creating?”
“Yeah,” I said, “that sounds reasonable. But lasers?”
Levi Lee chuckled.
“I didn’t see the lasers,” he said. “That is odd.”
“So…no idea?”
“Not really,” he said. “I’m sure that if the lights are keeping you up at night that—”
“Oh! No!” I stopped him. “Nothing like that. I’m not complaining at all. Just curious about the barn and the lights.”
Levi Lee just smiled, glad that there wasn’t a problem.
“I guess I’m just nosy,” I said.
“Well,” he said, “if I see them, I’ll let you know. Maybe you can meet them. Are you going to stick around and have a coffee? We have Nutella Lattes today.”
He leaned in to wink at me when he said the coffee name, as though anything about Nutella or a latte was all that revolutionary.
Putting coffee, milk, and chocolate together—no matter what type of chocolate, coffee, and milk it was—was not all that unique.
I liked Nutella all right, and coffee was good, but putting the two together didn’t make me squeal with joy.
“Do they have anything to eat in there?” I asked, glancing over at the door. “I’m kind of hungry, actually.”
“Cookies, biscotti, scones, muffins—a sweet for every tooth, my good man,” Levi Lee announced. “Just tell Starbuck you’re hungry. He’ll tell you what’s good.”
“Uh, Starbuck?”
“Starbuck.” He nodded. “He’s the owner. Of Starbuck’s.”
“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” I snorted. “I thought maybe the owner kind of plagiarized the name or something.”
“Of course not!” Levi Lee stood erect defiantly. “Starbuck was the first mate of the Pequod! Starbuck—who owns this coffee shop—was named after a great fictional character from American literature!”
“Oh,” I said as I looked up at the pirate ship. “Um, but wasn’t the Pequod a whaling ship from Moby Dick?”
This didn’t seem to process well with Levi Lee as his head cocked to the side and he gave me a curious look, as though I had spontaneously grown a second head.
Which was kind of funny, considering he was dressed and made up like a robot.
After a few moments, I realized Levi Lee wasn’t going to be able to come up with a response.
“So, Starbuck owns the place?” I asked.
“Owns and operates!” Levi Lee answered enthusiastically, his confusion suddenly gone. “He’ll be behind the counter. Just let him know that Levi Lee sent you and he’ll set you up, my good man!”
“All right,” I said. “Thanks, man. Good luck with the robot thing.”
Levi Lee gave me a strange, robotic salute, and then he was back to moving his arms, legs, and head as though he was once again a robot.
I still had no idea whose benefit his act was for since not many people came or went from Starbuck’s and no one except for me stopped to watch anyway.
Instead of worrying about Levi Lee’s performance art, I pulled the door in the hull open and stepped into the air-conditioned interior of Starbuck’s.
Immediately, I realized that it wasn’t just the exterior of the building that looked like a pirate ship.
In fact, it seemed like Starbuck’s really was a ship.
It had just been hauled out to Possibly, the bottom stabilized, and the interior converted into a shop.
Wood plank walls, wood masts and beams, and portholes were the main décor.
Nets of varying sizes hung everywhere, as well as stuffed fish and other aquatic paraphernalia.
A few circular wooden standing tables were in the center of the room.
The coffee bar and check-out counter itself were to the left of the door—or towards the stern.
That was the only part of Starbuck’s that looked modern. Everything was wood, rope, and glass.
It was…a lot. But it was cool. I really felt like I was below deck in a pirate ship. If a fish swam past one of the porthole windows, I wouldn’t have been all that shocked. The boat was that authentic—and we were in Possibly, Texas, after all. Anything odd seemed to be possible.
Huh. Maybe that’s the reason they named it such an odd thing?
Behind the counter—which, of course, was all wood as well—I found a middle-aged man, dressed, unsurprisingly, like a pirate.
Red and white striped, long-sleeved, billowy shirt, black vest, pirate hat, and eye patch showed over the counter.
I assumed this was the namesake of the coffee shop.
When he saw me approaching the counter, and especially since no other customers were present, the man smiled with pleasant surprise, one gold tooth showing. Because, why not?
“Ahoy, me matey!” he growled at me, raising one fist in the air triumphantly. “Are ye’ here for a coffee?”
It’d be odd if I came to a coffee shop for a pizza. I had thought to myself.
“Yeah,” I said cautiously. “Uh, Levi Lee—the robot guy outside—told me to say he sent me. I’m new to town and stuff. He said you had Nutella Lattes today?”
“Aye!” The man barked. “That we do, me matey! Wouldjer be likin’ one?”
“I’ll try it.” I shrugged. “I’m also kind of hungry. What have you got?”
“Right over here,” the man said, waving his arm at a display case to the left of the counter. “Ye’ just see what ye’ might be interested in while I make yer coffee!”
“Yeah,” I said. “Okay.”
I watched the pirate—Starbuck, I was still assuming—go about whipping up a Nutella Latte behind the counter while I checked out the treats in the case.
The standard snacks were on display. Blueberry muffins.
Vanilla iced scones, almond biscotti, a few croissants.
Something that looked like banana bread or maybe even slices of carrot cake without icing.
Starbuck was a master of his craft—coffee making, that is—because I had barely made my mind up on a giant blueberry muffin when he was handing me my coffee.
“Um,” I said, “I’d like a blueberry muffin. They look really good.”
“That they are,” Starbuck growled jubilantly. “Ye’ won’t find a better muffin anywhere in town!”
Well, sir, I haven’t seen any other place in town that sells muffins. I found myself thinking smart-alecky thoughts again.
Starbuck made a spectacle of pulling out a piece of parchment paper before reaching into the display cabinet with a flourish and grabbing a muffin.
He extracted the muffin wrapped in paper and deposited it into a small paper bag he had produced from behind the display case.
I took it from him gratefully as he held it over the counter to me.
My stomach was positively rumbling. Then I moved down to the cash register—which was painted sea blue and had shells and gold coins glued to it.
“How much do I owe you?” I asked as I struggled to hold my coffee and paper bag with one hand and reach into my pocket with my other hand.
Starbuck inched down to peer at me over the counter with his one eye that wasn’t covered with a patch.
“Ye’ said you was new to town?” he asked. “An’ Levi Lee sentcher here?”
I shrugged. “Yeah.”
“First time is free, matey,” Starbuck said with a wink of his good eye. “Keep your pieces of eight this time.”
“Uh…okay?” I slid my hand that held Jack’s twenty back into my pocket. “Thanks.”
“Nothin’ doin’, matey!” Starbuck stood tall and pleased with himself behind the counter, then his good eye shifted when the door squeaked. “Ahoy, mateys!”
Starbuck’s sudden greeting had me turning my head to see whom he was speaking to at the door.
A couple of women were venturing in, their purses clutched at their sides as they talked excitedly to each other about whatever someone found exciting in such a small town.
Them, and their purses, had gotten Starbuck’s attention, so I felt dismissed.
I was sad as I walked away from the counter towards the door since I hadn’t had a chance to ask Starbuck about his name and the fact that the coffee shop should be a whaling ship instead.
However, since I had gotten a free coffee and a muffin, I didn’t let it bother me too much.
I exited the pirate ship back out into the late morning warmth of a Texas summer.
Right next door was The Pueblo that Jack had mentioned and had caused me to embarrass myself, so I figured I couldn’t do anything better than to check it out.
I gave Levi Lee a nod of my head, which he returned, but in a more robotic way.
It wasn’t perfect, but he was doing much better as a robot than part of the hull.
I wandered over to The Pueblo, a mere six or seven yards away from Starbuck’s, wondering how such an odd building popped up in Possibly of all places.
As far as I could tell, there wasn’t even a church in downtown Possibly.
This made a mosque-like building even more unusual.
Not that I cared one way or the other—religion wasn’t my thing, and mom certainly didn’t drag me to religious services while we were on the road.
However, in small town Texas, I would have assumed a Christian church would have dominated the corner of the street instead of a mosque.
Possibly often presented the opposite of what I expected, which could be annoying. In this case, it was refreshing.
Way to be progressive, Possibly.
When I walked up to the entrance to The Pueblo, though, I immediately realized that the building was not for Muslim services or anything all that religious.
In fact, the sign at the front proclaimed that the place was closed for the day.
It also let me know that The Pueblo was actually an “artist studio and exhibition space.” So… mosque, yes. Religious? No.