"Tito! Did we get those copper pipes and gears for the espresso bar?" I shouted towards the back of the partially deconstructed coffee house.
"All of that steam punk stuff? Si chulo, it all came early this morning." He replied as he strode into the store front, snacking on a fresh kiwi. I'd been working with Tito on projects for the last four years or so. Meticulously groomed and always with a perfectly kept hair style in place.
I glanced at the fruit in his hand, dripping across his fingers as a smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Your friend Andre, you know that guy who bought this whole mess..." And here it was about to drop, he only called them "my friends" when they did something stupid. "He wants to pull all of the furniture out and sell some of it off."
The thin rimmed glasses on my nose felt very heavy all of a sudden. This meant we would be refitting this place for at least another three days while the boss found people to buy the old, miss matched pieces. "Well damn." I sighed heavily and tucked the pencil behind my ear. I took a seat on one of the new, plastic wrapped stools at the espresso bar. Orange rays of setting sunlight were prying at the darker corners in the store, showing the dust and frayed edges on some of the chairs, lounges and a couple vintage looking couches.
We had already been in California for a week trying to get this place up and running. Our soft opening was slated a week from now. There were long days and nights ahead of us for certain. Tito chuckled and finished off his kiwi.
"How do you stay so damn fit when you only eat fruits and vegetables man?" I rubbed my face and laughed at the ridiculous amount of work we had ahead of us. "Oh I GET my protein!" Tito quipped and stretched, tugging the edges of his V-neck shirt back into place. He had been my go-to guy for exotic foods and coffees, teas and gourmet presentations since the first place we set up under a contract.
"I swear Tito, if you get any gayer...you're gonna fart rainbows dude!"
His phone buzzed on a table top nearby, sending a hollow rattle through the vacant space. He scooped it up and flicked the screen.
"Well here's some good news. Some girl who used to come here a lot is interested in some of the things. She's going to be here in about fifteen minutes."
My tall cup of Earl Grey warmed my palm as I nodded and took a long drink. I brushed my jeans and tried to remove some of the dust and grit that had accumulated while clearing out the storage areas. I reached over and dipped my fingers in the sink, ran them through my hair and tried to at least look presentable. Five o clock shadow had set in at about three pm, showing flecks of silver hairs here and there in my goatee line.
Tito got another buzz on his phone and waltzed out the front door, waving to someone in the parking lot. "Hey you! Are you Jessie?" he ducked his head back inside and nodded towards whoever was in the parking lot. It was one of his wing-man maneuvers. It meant Get a load of this one!
I stood and rubbed my back, setting my cup down on the refinished counter. "Jessie huh? Another California girl in yoga pants and hemp sandals I bet..." I thought to myself as Tito held the door open for the woman.
What came through the door was a complete and pleasant surprise. I was expecting another waify Valley Girl, or a super health nut of a soccer mom...Jessie was none of the above. To say she was curvy, would do disservice to the word. Brilliant red hair, pulled into a wild pony tail style that looked feathered at the base of her skull. She was wearing a classic black summer dress that clung to her hips and breasts like the fine finish on a muscle car. I could make out the whipping lines of tattoos on her legs a she walked into the room.
Tito noticed my staring, and waved at me with a boyish grin behind her back in an attempt to snap me out of it.
She slid her sunglasses off and looked around the store, orange glow from the windows catching a glint of steel that hung just below her bottom lip. There was a sultry heat rolling off this woman that was hard to ignore. Feeling suddenly under dressed, I nervously straightened my Beastie Boys concert shirt and wiped my hand on my jeans once more.
"Brian?" She said with a smile and extended her hand to shake mine. She looked me over with a steady gaze. Steel blue eyes set off a stark contrast to the bright red lipstick and gloss.
I stammered, "Yes, you're here for some of this furniture right? Andre told us you would be coming by."
Tito chimed in just then from the doorway. "I have this thing I need to, uhm..I'll just be back at the hotel chulo!". He was grinning ear to ear as he knocked the door stop out of the way. I could hear him whistling the tune for "Jessie's girl" as he shut the door and hopped into his rental car.
"You'll have to forgive my friend Tito, he's a bit of a dork." We shared a laugh at his corny exit and I gestured to the chairs and tables set about in random fashion. "I loved this place when it was open before." She said as she looked over the furniture. "I must have spent a thousand hours here with my friends you know? Late nights and strong coffee." She was smiling as she looked over the familiar paintings from local artists that hung from the walls.
"They plan to keep all the artwork. I have a few recessed lighting fixtures to install tomorrow to actually show some of them off." I had turned around to find a list of the items in the storefront and their estimated value.
When I had turned around, she was trailing her fingers over the back of a set of maroon lounge chairs. "These are from the late fifties right? I love these chairs." Fondness and familiarity graced her words as she stroked the corded knots at the edges of the chairs.
My heart sunk a bit when I realized which items she was going to want. "Yeah..Jessie, about these pieces. There's something you should know before you make an offer."
I grabbed my cup of tea and headed over to the chairs, hauling one of the cushions out and showing her the label. "This brand stamp right here, stitched in gold thread...this is a total fake."
Her brow wrinkled and she opened her mouth to say something, but then thought better of it.
"This company never used gold thread to embroider their maker's marks." I unzipped the cushion cover and tugged at the inner lining, exposing the faded Chinese letters. "Total counterfeit, the Chinese are faking everything from Prada shoes to toothpaste. All of this aging on the outside? They spray these things down with diluted tea and water, let them sit in a warehouse for a couple months."
