Forty Degrees Below

Chapter 8

Jake made it to the French Press with five minutes to spare, and walked in, trying not to make it too obvious he was meeting someone there for the first time. It dawned on him he'd never asked Curtis what he looked like. So, he slowed down scanning the tables to see if someone was trying to catch his eye, but they all preoccupied and not the least bit interested what was going on around them.

So, with coffee in hand, he walked back outside and sat at one of the tables. Mercedes wouldn't like that, he mused. She had this crazy notion that sitting outside was for the underprivileged, the equivalent of homeless, or down and outs. She had a weird logic sometimes. Nothing to do with fresh air, being out in the open environment, or the sense of freedom, he considered sarcastically. She did have attractive qualities though she could be such a snob at times.

He had mixed feelings about Santa Barbara. Although this was probably one of the main streets and had a summery feel to it with its broad pavements, populated tree sidewalks, and well managed shrubbery's climbing along the white-walled restaurant on the opposite side of the road, the people looked fake, unreal. As if they didn't belong, and were acting out a part. 

Others started to filter outside, and soon all the tables were taken up with people in idle gossip.

He felt a hand on my shoulder. "Jake?" He turned and came face to face with a man, someone shorter, and stockier than he'd imagined. "I'm Curtis, pleased to meet you," he said, taking Jakes, hand. "Want a fresh coffee?" He said, pointing to Jakes cup, and not waiting for an answer promptly disappeared into the store. On doing so, though, Jake noticed he appeared to be limping as he did so.

Soon, he reemerged and sat himself down opposite him. "I have to hand it to them Jake; the service here seems to get better and better. They're bringing the coffees out to us."

"Well now we've got the 'small talk' out of the way, let's have a conversation about what's on your mind," finished Curtis.

"That's fine Mr Neumann," Jake responded.

"Oh please, just call me Curtis. I hate formality, although I do draw the line at Kurt. Only my wife calls me Kurt, and only then when she wants a favour from me," he answered with a smile. "No, Curtis is fine."

In some ways, he reminded him of Dr Hay from his childhood days.

"So, what are you currently reading? Not, 'The Hidden Room' l trust." He smiled. "You know that's the only reason I decided to meet you, don't you?" Jake couldn't tell whether he was joking, or being serious.

"You'll have to forgive me; I don't know where that came from..." Jake replied apologetically.

"Ah," interrupted Curtis, "there are more things in heaven and earth ... to quote Shakespeare."

That's where the similarities are, Jake thought. His restrained, 'stiff upper lipped' Englishness.

"I'm sorry," commented Curtis. "Please carry on," he said rather pompously.

There was also something slightly irritating about him. It was as if he knew he was well educated, talented and articulate, and it came across to Jake like a game of one-upmanship.

Pushing his negative thoughts to one side for one moment, Jake replied, "I Dreamt I Woke Up, is my current read."

"And, what attracted you to that fine body of work?" He replied smiling.

"Well, what I like about your work Mr Neu... sorry, I mean Curtis is the contrast. It's a work of fiction obviously, but it's like, in amongst everything that goes on in the story there's a hidden message, a truth ... Am I making sense?"

"Go on," encouraged Curtis with a knowing smile.

"And so, yes...  it's fiction, but with a strange factual exclamation of truth buried in it."

"Very good... Yes, very good. But, like I said on the phone, it's all pure fiction dear boy, nothing empirically proven, just me being facetious..."

"Rather than being open and candid!" Jake remarked. "Yes, makes for much more interesting reading, I can see that now."

Curtis was rather taken aback by these remarks.

"Don't get me wrong Curtis, I'm a great fan of your work, and part of why I'm here is to understand that more."

"And the other part?"

"Sorry?"

"You said 'part of why you're here...'What's the other part?"

He realised that He'd said more than he should have. "I'm a bit of a wordsmith myself. Dabbled a bit, if you know what I mean," he replied deceptively. "I didn't mean to offend. What I meant by my statement was ..."

"... that I create fictional scenarios, so people can more easily digest my works without feeling preached at ... I know," Curtis retorted. He looked across to the other tables, and Jake followed his eyes, and just at that moment caught sight of a man's head turning away in whispered conversation with a colleague. Occasionally they glanced over their shoulders looking directly at Curtis. 

Curtis got up and moved his chair beside Jakes and talked in hushed tones. "I don't want to come across as paranoid, but I've got this uneasy feeling we're being watched."

"Yes, I get that impression as well, but maybe they just recognise you, perhaps one of them wants to ask you for your autograph."

"Let me ask you something, Jake. Did you recognise me when I first arrived? No, and you know why? Because I don't exist. I'm not on the internet. I don't do photocalls, publicity launches, or pick up awards, because that's all hype and image. I'm an average person, trying to live a normal life... whatever 'normal' is. I'm just a guy Jake who's had a lucky break, and made it big; that's all."

Jake looked back at the two guys. They were pretty distinctive, perhaps to the point of being obvious in the way that they dressed in cheap, loud, brightly coloured shirts that wouldn't have looked out of place on a Hawaiian beach store, but here in Santa Barbara? They certainly didn't go out of their way to make themselves look inconspicuous, he thought. They looked more like Mr Smith clones from the film, The Matrix with their matching shades, and facial expressions.

"Well, it looks as if they know you!" Jake exclaimed.

"I wonder what they want?" he questioned.

Jake shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, there's only one way to find out!" replied Curtis, and immediately got up and walked over to the table. 

Jake panicked, shaking his head, buried his face in his hands. He couldn't bare to look for the embarrassment. If this was a typical reaction by Curtis, he wanted out. Mercedes, or no Mercedes this would be the death Knell for his career. Curtis was simply mad, he thought. But, at the end of the day, there's only one thing for it. He stood up with the intention of joining him, but when he looked up, the table was empty, leaving Curtis staring at two empty coffee cups and a rolled up newspaper. Jake looked down the street and watched them walk hurriedly away.