Helena’s Coffee Part 1 by Fated Blue
It happened two weeks ago.
Helena my, for lack of a better word, “girlfriend” asked if we could meet today at lunch time in her favorite cafe in the metro. This was weird. Really weird. She often made me decide where to go, where to eat, and where we could sleep. Her suggesting a place meant something was up. Still, she was so carefree it annoyed me.
Helena was of Russian-Japanese descent, green, almond shaped eyes, thick brown eyebrows, luscious lips, ash blonde hair, around 5’9″ tall, and won the genetic lottery when it came to her hourglass figure and size-D breasts. It wasn’t just her beauty that made me garner an interest, though. She happens to be an MIT graduate who took up a degree with focus on Brain and Cognitive Science. So no, she’s not exactly a dumb blonde.
I met her last June 2015 in Coron, Palawan. She was there with her team of models and crew for a beach photoshoot and a local form of luau. I went there, by myself, because none of my friends took me seriously when I told them I’ll be booking flights to Palawan six months back.
To keep it short, she knocked violently on my room at 3:00 AM thinking it was her and her room mates’. She was obviously drunk with her face all red like a tomato’s and her body looking like it got a serious case of the rashes (she was in a red two-piece swimsuit) and screamed at my face, telling me this was her room and if I didn’t let her in she’d sue me for millions.
“Millions! I tell you! MILLIONS!” were her exact words. She had that Russian-English dialect going on with her. A bit thick and deep but clear. She pronounced them loud enough for you to hear them echo across the long expanse of the hotel’s corridors.
I didn’t want to make a scene so I just grabbed her. I checked if anyone saw us and when the coast was clear, I shut the door, locked it, and confronted the beautiful lady who just screamed at me.
When I finally did confront her, she was already passed-out on my one good bed. “Would you look at that,” I told myself “a hot woman on my bed, in her two-piece, drunk and passed-out. Lucky me. Guess I’ll be sleeping on the floor,”
No, it didn’t cross my mind to do “things” to a drunk and passed-out supermodel, you sick fuck.
I woke up to her screaming at me at 7:00 AM (again, with the screaming!) with a knife pointed at my face, asking me where she was, what I did to her, and why her head hurts.
It took a while before she calmed down but when her memory finally returned, she ended up laughing about the whole ordeal. We became friends then became really close friends until we decided to see where it was headed and here we are. You can call us a couple if you want but we’re really just casual lovers. Not too strict, not too romantic, but definitely exclusive.
And no, she never apologized to me for that day in Palawan. I didn’t mind.
I arrived wearing my plain red shirt and jeans because I’m not the type of guy to dress up for fancy coffee shops. I like coffee as much as the next guy but come on, who dresses up to go to a coffee shop?
Apparently, she did.
She entered the cafe with probably the most head-turning get up anyone can wear in the middle of a hot summer day in the country.
As if in direct social contrast, she wore something a guy liked me could only describe as classic Audrey Hepburn: black dress, black arm sleeves, a small silver tiara on top of her brunette updo (she wasn’t brunette the other day) to complement the pearl necklace carrying a thumb-sized diamond pendant, and a pair of sunglasses. Breakfast at Tiffany’s indeed.
She arched her neck left and right, eyeing the whole place, acting as if she hasn’t seen me when she parked her pink Porsche – the kind of Porsche that screams “I’m a rich bitch” what with it being a convertible with bright and shiny pink mags – just outside the window of the table I picked for us, her two favorite spots.
When she finally “saw” me, she acted out all surprised and charmed at the sight of her plain red shirt and jeans boyfriend who now wore a raised right brow and gaping mouth, two things he didn’t plan on wearing that day or ever again after being with such a wildewoman (like a wildebeest) for over a year. All because of what, no, who she decided to wear that hot summer day.
And because I’ve been with her for a while, I’ve learned to stop asking about her choice of garments, whether they’re weather-appropriate or not.
Going back, she casually walked over to our table like she was walking down a fashion runway. Just before she sat, she asked the barista to make her usual coffee.
She ate lots of cakes but she only really drank one type of “coffee” which isn’t even really coffee. That abomination is anything but coffee.
It’s basically a strong iced matcha green tea made weak by whole milk, a shot of vanilla and hazelnut syrup, a good serving of whip cream, freckled with cinnamon, nutmeg, and chocolate to top it all off.
The cafe has apparently named it after her, calling it “Helena’s Coffee” and has since garnered much interest among other patrons, partly because it sounded like a drink a social climber would definitely take selfies with, and mainly because she’s a famous Russian-Japanese supermodel who bagged a huge two-year contract as a host for a noontime show with one of the country’s biggest TV stations.
She once told me she experimented with hundreds of recipes which cost her thousands in a span of a few weeks until she settled with this one.
Knowing what it was made up of had me question my knowledge of calorie intake and its relationship to the human body. I’m almost sure that drink had more than five hundred calories yet here she is with an hourglass body defying the laws of “proper diet and exercise” like a superhero defying physics.
“Don’t you just love this place?” She broke the ice. She always does. I can’t seem to break the ice. Ever.
“We’ve been going here every now and then,” she continued without allowing even a second for me to answer her question which I realized, on hindsight, wasn’t really a question at all. “But I just can’t seem to get sick of it no matter what we do here. Can you guess why we’re here on a bright sunny Thursday?”
“Surprise me,” I replied mockingly.
As I said earlier, she usually asked me to pick where to go. The only times she suggested the place, specially this place, were occasions where she would break up with me, which she always did especially when she has nothing better to do, or tell me an evil thing she just did to fuck me over.
“I saw her last night,”
Definitely to fuck me over.
“You know,” She often finished with this when she knows I know who or what she’s talking about and this ‘who’ is definitely a touchy subject in my case.
Since you need to know just who this person is, I need to give you a short briefing first.
Without getting into detail, I’m the owner of a small-time inbound marketing company offering solutions for big and small businesses and three days before we and Helena had our coffee date, I took her with me on a business meeting with one of the country’s biggest clothing lines, BENCH.
I took her with me because BENCH wouldn’t have considered had I not told their marketing team of my relationship with Helena.
Before you call me out on using her as a marketing tool, Helena was their featured model a few months back, right after she got the TV contract. Helena basically had fresh connections, connections I needed. She was ecstatic to come with me since she was still on vacation last Monday and got bored of doing nothing but rest and relaxation. Models sure have it rough.
The marketing team sent to us were composed of just four people, three of which I’ll get to later for the purpose of keeping this a briefing instead of a Leo Tolstoy epic. As for the woman, her name was Teresa.
Teresa is one of the most cold-hearted woman I’ve ever met and it was definitely an act of the gods and the universe when I just happened to fall madly in love with her. Or at least used to.
We used to work together for a food company but that was three years before I ever owned a business and way, way before Helena ever thought of starting a career in the Philippines. She was one of the company’s brightest prodigies, a fresh graduate from one the country’s best business and marketing schools with more than her fair share of awards, medals, and speeches and bows.
I was that one guy who was popular not because I was cool but because I was funny and made fun of people without getting on their bad side. I also wasn’t in Teresa’s group; I was a food scientist among just eighty unfortunate souls who were often overworked and underpaid.
My relationship with Teresa wasn’t exactly something out of a romantic comedy. We were mostly cold to each other for the entirety of our work history. Why so cold, you ask? Well, I told her I had feelings for her and she rejected it. I didn’t mind but somehow I didn’t care either.
I know. I know. I’m an insensitive piece of shit of a person who didn’t care about a woman’s feelings. I will not deny it. To my defense, I haven’t exactly fell in love until I saw her and being a loveless 21 year-old can make you do things you’ll regret five years later and boy am I regretful.
Going back to the meeting, I didn’t expect Teresa’s attendance although I’ve always known where she worked thanks to friends who always reminded me to feel humiliated and annoyed when I hear or read her name.
We were inside BENCH’s office in Global City and Helena and I were casually waiting for the marketing team. I had a simple violet, long-sleeved dress shirt on striped with white wearing the most generic black slacks you can find.
Helena, on the other hand, appeared as a formidable model, sporting an elegant pink halter dress which were trimmed to a few inches above the knees while casually walking on 4-inch heels adorned with all sorts of shiny rocks I don’t know how to describe. She still had blond hair then which she let loose to give her the full ‘L’Oreal’ look.
She also carried a small blue leather purse from Hermes (as a gift; she never buys anything anymore) on her left hand while clutching her iPhone 6s on her right. She was all dolled up, too, complete with smoky eyes that reveal her green eyes and red lips with a matte finish which she usually hated because it made her lips dry. She was definitely dressed to kill and she’s out to murder the marketing team.
The receptionist, as business casual as you can get with neutral tones of gray on slacks, shirts, and her tightly fitted jacket, saw us walk out of the elevator, eyed Helena for a while then me, and was really glad to show us inside the meeting room.
“They’re expecting you but they’re in another meeting. I’ll call them right away! And Ms. Helena, may I have a selfie with you? I’m a huge fan of your commercials!”
Helena loved dazzling fans so she gave a selfie and signed the receptionists’ bag with her favorite pink marker. It took her 5 good minutes to make the receptionist happy. They even had a video together.
“Do you always carry that marker around?” I asked.
“Duh! Of course I do. I can’t sign anything right if I use anything else,” she snapped at me.
The receptionist had us wait in one of their meeting rooms. It was a huge room, probably enough to house a family of four. It had a high ceiling and had this huge LED TV hanging from it. On the center was a long glass business table that had a pre-installed projector pointed towards the opposite direction of the TV, to the rolled-up projector screen.
Our chairs were pretty comfortable as far as seats are concerned. It was black and had a mesh backside for air circulation, neck support, and adjustable arms on both sides outfitted with rubber foam for the elbows.
We’re able to see the entirety of the city as the office was encased in really tall glass windows. It was basically a see-through room but sound proof due to the thickness of the glass. I think they were bulletproof. I forgot to mention we were on the 23rd floor and my fear of heights was kicking in. Helena was casually ‘asleep’ on her chair (she likes to wear huge shades and sometimes I’m not sure if she’s just relaxing or asleep) when she noticed me breathing heavily (so I guess she wasn’t asleep this time).
She leaned in, lightly scratched my right arm with her left hand and whispered “You don’t get nervous around people. It’s the acrophobia, isn’t it, love?”
I couldn’t say a word but I remember nodding lots of times. We were seated right next to the huge windows and all sorts of glass-breaking scenarios kept popping inside my head.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be fine,” she finished as she put both hands on my right cold palm and gently grasped them. Her hands were always smooth and warm and I needed them that day.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” a woman in a navy-blue sweater and black slacks apologetically announced. She introduced herself as Mildred and she was the marketing director for BENCH. She looked like a woman in her late 40’s but looked single as far as lack of rings and motherly love is concerned.
“No, we didn’t wait long. Helena and I just arrived 10 minutes ago and we were just resting a bit. Really nice office you have here,” I liked the office but not the glass windows. Screw those windows.
As I said earlier, Mildred introduced three other people and one of them was Teresa. It shocked me to see her again after so long and I’m sure her prolonged stare and slightly dropped jaw were a sign that it shocked her too. After recognizing me, she promptly shut her mouth, turned her eyes away from me, and wore her bitch face, the face she always showed me even then.
She looked pretty much the same way when I last saw her: brown skin, long eyelashes, almond eyes, small nose, 2 inches shorter than me, but definitely a bit “wider” than last time. I thought her job must’ve made her sit down a lot as opposed to back when we both only sat down after a hard day’s work which means lack of movement and slower metabolism.
The thing about her was she was smart and unbelievably simple when it comes to attires. She wore a plaid salmon-pink shirt with a belt tied around her waist. She wasn’t sexy, she was actually leaning on the chubby side, but she was confident about her figure. She wore khaki pants with plain black leather shoes. She had a neat ponytail on for her plain black hair which she often never grew longer than neck length.
She wasn’t the most beautiful woman in the world, not even half of Helena. I guess you could say I fell in love with how she projected herself; her confidence and intelligence, as well as her kindness won me over.
The meeting was pretty standard so I won’t bore you with it. We, I mean I had brought presentations, offers, and displayed what my company can do for BENCH. Every slide had Helena on them to remind the marketing group at the possibilities of having her model for them again, perhaps for a more affordable price since they’re now partnered with me, her “boyfriend.”
Helena kept silent all throughout, giving the occasional nod and smile when talked to. She knows the business but she was on vacation and didn’t want to intrude on how I handled my own company. I could be wrong too, as she could be asleep the whole time what with her big shades covering half of her face.
We ended the meeting on a high note. The marketing group seemed pleased at the possibilities and our potential as partners. I shook each of their hands saved for Teresa. She promptly tried to leave the room early, as if rushing an overdue report or some excuse, when Helena blocked her grand exit.
“Nice doing business with you, miss…?”
“Teresa. You may call me Tracey miss Helena,”
“Oh sorry about that. Short term memory and all. Us models don’t get enough nutrition up there,”
“Nah, it’s alright miss. It was nice meeting with you,” Teresa gave a really genuine smile, with teeth and all. She had a lovely smile.
“Same here Tracey, same here…” and Helena leaned over gave Teresa a bump on the cheek. It’s a normal thing to do here in the Philippines as a form of respect but Helena sure took a few seconds more than usual. I didn’t pay attention to that since Helena likes doing things differently as she was eccentric by all accounts.
I didn’t know it would be the cause of this mess.
“Remember before we left, I gave her a little bump on the cheek? I slipped my card into her palm and I whispered ‘Call me’ and guess what?”
“Nope. She didn’t. Are you crazy? Those things only happen in dumbed down plots in movies. Seriously, people nowadays…I had to come fetch her at work last night,”
“By fetch, you mean-”
“I waited for her in the lobby,”
“Wait? Really? I don’t think so. You don’t wait. You ambushed her and forced her to come with you. You basically kidnapped her!”
“With her consent!”
“Helena! How?! When?! What is wr-”
“So there we were, inside my cute pink Porsche,”
“First of all, I don’t c-”
“We were inside my pretty pink Porsche talking about things,”
“…What kind of things?”
“Your things, her things, you know,” she grinned at me ever so mockingly.
I didn’t know and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to find out but…
“Alright, out with it,” I said sternly.
“You’re gonna enjoy this, love,” she said after licking her lips.
To be continued.