From: cosulliv@fraser.sfu.ca (Christina Marie O'Sullivan)
Subject: Showdown at Joe's
Organization: Simon Fraser University, Burnaby, B.C., Canada
Date: Wed, 2 Sep 1992 19:20:44 GMT

HOWDOWN AT JOE'S CAFE
        A short story by Christina M. O'Sullivan
        Copyright 1992  C.M.O'Sullivan & Spirit of Eden Inc.
        All Rights Reserved


        Carlos sat by the wall, under a series of sepia-toned photographs,
 reading _Ulysses_.  Carlos was dressed in black jeans, a black 'Dying Echoes'
 T-Shirt, and a grey blazer.  His black pointy boots with big silver buckles
 kicked against the table.  Carlos sipped one of Joe's famous cappuccinos, and'
stroked his long black hair down to his shoulders.  He took a drag from his
 Dunhill cigarette, noted he had smoked it right down to the filter.  He tapped
the lingering ash into a tray and looked up.
        Anais clicked into Joe's Cafe, her black chained boots staccatoing
 across the floor.  She hadn't been to Joe's before, but had seen the Wyckham
 Porteous Play and wondered exactly what magical blend of life,love, sex and
 coffee Joe's had to offer her.  She surveyed the paintings of bullfighters on
 the walls, the posters, photographs, and the billiard tables at the back of
 Joe's.  She especially admired the bull head mounted above the counter.
        Anais, despite her petite frame, commanded attention from Joe's patrons:
 was it her oversized black motorcycle jacket, her long cinnamon hair spiralling
 down to her ribs, the ghostly luminescence of her elfin face? She decided she
 didn't care.  After she had ordered and paid for her cappuccino, she sized up
 the patrons.  There was a man n a knitted hat sitting near her, tapping his pen
 in thought.  Two middle-aged Latinos argued over the soccer match shown on the
Citizen television, and there, in the corner, was Carlos...
        Carlos?
        What the hell was Carlos doing at Joe's Cafe?
        "Anais!" cried Carlos.  His wrist twitched, spilling his cappuccino.
Of all the cappuccino joints in the towns in all the world she had to come into
this one.
        "Oh hello, Carlos," Anais' faerie voice seemed in keeping with her
 smallness.  She raised her eyebrows.  "Haven't seen you for a while! Doing some
 writing?"
        "Ah, well, um...no." Carlos struggled to find his voice. "Just reading."
  He held up his copy of _Ulysses_ for Anais to see.
        "Oooh, there's a challenging one!  Mind if I sit with you?"  Not waiting
 for an answer, she carried her cappuccino over to his table and helped herself
to a seat.
        "Funny," she continued, smiling wryly, "you and I meeting like this
 after so long!"  Her copper bangles clattered against her bony wrists.  "So,"
 her crystalline blue eyes targeted on Carlos' dark intense orbs, "What's new?
Still dabbling in the occult?"
        Carlos reached out and lightly touched her bangles.  Instantly the
 bangles shrank and tightened about her wrists, constricting her circulation.
  He watched with amusement as her white skin darkened and her blood vessels
 swelled. "Answer your question?" he sneered.  The bangles expanded, leaving
 purple rings on her pale wrists.  She scowled as she rubbed them.
        "A lot can happen in three years.  I would love to catch up on things.
You're right, it's been a long time."  Carlos raised his left hand, revealing
 his sterling silver ring.  Anais inspected it, seeing tiny cobras entwined to
 create the ring's design.
        "You've been practising," she exhaled.  Carlos' chair jerked out from
underneath him, spilling both him and his cappuccino.
        "How amateurish," Carlos picked himself up.  "Surely you can do better
 than that?  Aren't you supposed to be my nemesis?"  He indicated a man, woman
 and infant at the coffee counter.  The infant began to cry.  Carlos grinned.
        "Watch."
        "'I've got something to say/I raped your mother today!'" the baby
 belted. The baby's mother, bewildered, asked her husband if he had heard
 anything.  He shook his head.  They both looked at the child as it gurgled
innocently in its mother's arms.
        "Ah, it does my heart good to hear the rebellion of youth," smiled
 Carlos.
        Anais couldn't help but smile at Carlos' cleverness.  She had to give
 him points for creativity.
        "We last met at the Blue Parrot, do you remember, Carlos?  You wore
black. I wore black.  Everyone wore black."
        "Those were the days," Carlos smiled in fond remembrance.  When they had
 initially met, Anais had been a mere neophyte, green in the ways of conjuration
and illusion.  Carlos had been charmed by her innocence, her intelligence and
 desire to learn; Anais was smitten by the power and frank sensuality emanating
from Carlos.  He took her under his wing, and into his bed.  They had grown
 close, able to read each other's thoughts... it had been difficult, in those
 days, to know where Carlos began and Anais ended, their personalities meshed so
 well together.  Eventually, however, Anais had taken offense to, as Carlos put
it, the blackness of the magic he developed.  Anais, preferred the natural, the
good, magic close to miracles.  Soon they discovered that each other was counter
acting their cantrips.
        Trick for trick, tit for tat, every confrontation had a different
winner.  Both of them had fought for supremacy as magicians, both honing their
craft and divining their power from people, items, places.  Anais had ventured
 into Joe's hoping it would offer her more power.  Of course, she didn't care
 much for Carlos' strengthened prowess at sorcery, nor for his presence there.
Now, however, she realized he was a challenge posited for her.  It would make
 victory that much sweeter for her.
        A billiard game in progress caught Anais' attention.  A bearded man in
 an Argyle sweater was preparing his shot.
        "He's aiming to pocket #5 in the center right. The cueball will jump ove
r the #11 obstructing its path, knock #5 around the sides in a perfect triangle
and then slide into the center right."
        Carlos looked bored as the ball echoed Anais' instructions.
        "Weak, very very weak," Carlos tsked. "Eight ball ricochets off left end
 corner!"  The man's cue slipped, ripping the felt.  The eight-ball slammed into
 the end corner and sailed towards a bald man fifteen feet away, striking him in
 the forehead.
        "Christ!" shrieked the man, rubbing his head and glaring at the unlucky
pool player.
        "You lose, Anais!  It seems your man hit the cue-ball!" Carlos laughed.
        "Well, you're better at balls in pockets.  You must play with yours a
 lot," she retorted.  Anais searched about for ideas.  She saw the jukebox  and
blinked.  Talk Talk's "It's My Life" boomed across the cafe.
        "My favorite song," Anais sighed.  "You must remember this!"
        "How very lazy of you not to plug in the jukebox."  Carlos was unfazed.
 "It's My Life" exploded into "Staying Alive," the one song he knew Anais could
not abide.
        Suddenly Joe, the pudgy, middle-aged proprietor, leaped onto the counter
 and began to jive a la John Travolta, dressed in a sparkling white polyester
 leisure suit.  Thick gold chains reflecting light from the cheap fluorescent
 lighting swung over his exposed hairy chest.  Joe gyrated to the beat, rolling
his arms and pointing in every direction.
        The younger artistes in the cafe giggled and tittered; older ones turned
 away from the dancing fool.
        "Ugh, Carlos! That's cruel!" Anais covered her ears.  Joe couldn't have
this humiliation all to himself.  She willed Joe to leap off the counter, his
thrusting pelvic movements sashaying him over to the two young sorcerers. Joe
snatched Carlos' wrists and pulled him up.
        "Come, you dance disco, si? Let's boogie down!" Carlos was yanked to the
 pulsating beat, his feet resistantly shuffling in response to Joe's expertly
choreographed moves. "Ah ah ah ah Stayin' Alive! Stayin' Alive! Hey man, sing
with me! Ah Ah Ah Ah Stayin' Aliiiiiiive!  Dig those Bee Gees!"
        Anais clutched her sides in laughter.  Try as he might, Carlos could not
 escape Joe's strong grasp, and was spun around the cafe at a dizzying speed.  T
his had truly tried Carlos' patience.  He stopped the music.  Joe let go of
Carlos and returned to the counter as if nothing had taken place.  The patrons
stared.
        "Alright," Carlos conceded.  "This one is yours." He winced at Anais'
 tinkling laughter, a sound he found hard to believe he ever actually liked.
        A muffled roar from outside curtailed her giggling. Carlos' smug grin
alarmed her.  She turned to the window in time to see her Kawasaki Ninja crash
 through it.  Shards of glass sprayed about the room.  Patrons screamed as they
hid under their tables.  Others fled through the door.
        "Mama Mia!"  cried Joe, gripping his head as if it were a 25 lb. bowling
ball. Servers flocked behind the counter as the Ninja roared around the tables,
screeching as it performed tight corners.
        "ACK!!" Anais gasped.
        Joe belched.
        "STOP IT!" she screamed.  The Ninja slowed, and drove itself in circles
in the alcove by the pinball machines.
        With the possessed motorcycle out of the way, Joe, still clad in his
 dazzling disco suit, approached.  The patrons looked up from beneath their
 tables.
        "I want-a you," Joe crooned, kneeling in front of Anais. He looked much
like a lovesick cow. The patrons echoed softly, "I want you."
        "I need-a you,"
        The chorus chimed in: "I need you"
        "But there aint-a no waaaaaay I'm a ever gonna love you, but don't be
sad.....'cause two out of three ain't a bad."
        Carlos calmly addressed Anais.  "What's the magic word?" His ugly,
 condescending smile hinted at his triumph.  A true sroke of genius, he thought.
  Even more amusing than that episode as the frozen look of horror on Anais'
 sickeningly cute face.  Please, O Dark One, let me win with this, let me win.
        "PLEASE STOP IT!" Anais screamed, her voice at a frighteningly high
decibel level.  Carlos paled.
        As a bullfighter would the horns of a bull, Anais grabbed the handlebars
 of the Ninja and straddled the seat. Joe and the patrons intuitively sought
 refuge with the servers behind the counter.
        Anais' eyes raged, her scarlet cupid bow mouth twisted fiercely.  "Say
 your black prayers, Carlos..." her voice trembled.
        The Kawasaki snorted.  The handlebars pointed to a pointiness, the
 leather from the seat suddenly grew all over the mechanical beast.  Carlos
 watched with uncertainty as the headlight split into two daemonic bright eyes.
 In a blink Anais was atop a live, angry bull. The bull snorted viciously, steam
 escaped through its nostrils.  It stamped a foreleg and lowered its head.
        El Toro rampaged towards Carlos, its horns aimed like daggers at her
 quivering prey.  Carlos screamed, seconds before the horns rammed into the
 wall, pinning him.
        "Sonuvabeech!  What you crazy beech do to my cafe?  You owe me plenty,
 lady!" Joe hollered.  Anais silenced him with a look.
        Carlos felt the breath of the bull on his neck and torso and twitched.
 The bull's horns slowly pressed against Carlos' ribs.  More than anything
Carlos wanted to be in control, but he was caught between a bull and a hard
place.  One of the snakes on his ring uncoiled and slithered away meekly. The
 other serpents gradually followed.
        "What's the magic word, Carlos?" Anais asked.
        "BASTA! BASTA!" He wheezed, struggling against the horns.
        "Enough then," Anais gave the bull a kick and it yanked its horns from
the wall.
        "I'll fix the damages, Joe. No harm done," Anais called over to him. Car
los slid to the floor, his chest heaving for air.  Anais walked the bull outside
to the street, gave it a pat, and parked it.  She returned to Carlos, who had by
 then managed to seat himself.
        "You should have killed me when you had the chance," he wheezed,
 half-daring, half-warning. "You rank sentimentalist."
        "It's still the same old story/ A fight for love and glory/ A case of do
e or die," sang Anais.
        "Where's Dooley Wilson when you need him?" Carlos cracked.
        "Maybe I am a rank sentimentalist," she said gently. "Maybe I think the
world is big enough for all of us.  You taught me a lot, and you have also a lot
 to learn. So do I.  But, it seems, not as much as you do.
        "I think," she said softly, helping Carlos to his feet and brushing the
gyproc off his blazer, "we should restore Joe's cafe.  Where would you like to s
tart?"
        "The window, I guess," Carlos muttered. Anais walked him over to the fro
nt window, where a broom and dustpan sat.  Anais guided her hand over the open s
pace, renewing the large fenestration with a wave of her hand. Carlos swept.  Jo
e silently pointed to the wall that had been damaged by the bull.  Anais guided
her hand over the tears and holes. Joe pointed to his suit. Anais restored him t
o his bowling shirt and jeans.
        "I didn't intend for any of this to happen," she apologized to Joe, givi
ng him a $20 bill. "Things just got out of hand."  She turned to Carlos who was
still busily sweeping. "No doubt we'll see eachother again," she bit her lip
 nervously.
        "Yes, I think we will," he agreed, not looking at her as he swept.  "But
 not at Joe's Cafe."

                                F  I  N