Welcome to Starbeans

“Welcome to StarBean what can I get started for you?” MaryBeth asked this question 143 times during her shift. Not bad for a Tuesday - she almost had time to think between lattes and cold brews. The pandemic had shut down the sitting area; leaving it a jumbled mess of stacked chairs and random boxes of inventory, void of anything interesting. She missed cacophony of milk frothing, music and voices. She longed to walk around the café pretending to sweep and wipe down tables while eavesdropping on interviews, cram sessions and mommy escapes. “Oh well,” she sighed “at least the bathrooms stay clean.”

Speculation about the lives of “regulars” was practically a sport at the café. Carey, with a C + EY is a former debutante with chipped fingernail polish, married to an insolvent stock broker. Lawrence comes from the auto repair shop at the end of the strip mall. Always “Lawrence” never the “Larry” embroidered in the oval above his left shirt pocket. There’s something about six-dollar coffee that makes everyone feel better about their crappy existence.

MaryBeth’s fascination with William was on a whole different level. Venti half-caff soy latte with a dash of cinnamon - William would arrive just past three on Tuesdays and Thursdays and stayed until close at 10:30. Underweight with dark hair and a perpetual 5 o’clock scruff, it was obvious from the accentuated tendons in his hands that his only exercise was at a keyboard. She imagined his day job was a middle school math teacher who coached the drama club. Creative, but logical, that seemed to fit William. Once, when she had escaped the end of her shift before cleanup, MaryBeth had seen William get into his older model Honda and drive south. Not the best direction to be headed late at night - rough end of town.

William came equipped with a laptop, two phones, extra batteries and his own power blocks and cords. He cycled through all the instruments over and over for hours typing, clicking, rubbing his temples. Sometimes, when the golden flecks in his brown eyes lit up, he pulled a small black notebook out of his bag, ceremoniously clicked open a pen next to his ear and wrote furiously. MaryBeth wondered what was important enough that it had to go into the notebook? What tidbit of information was so inspiring that it escaped the digital realms to make it back onto paper? She would never be so bold as to ask him about his research or sneak a peek while he took a bio break; but still, she thought about William and his mysterious black notebook.

“I’ll take a venti half-caff soy latte with a dash of cinnamon” squawked into MaryBeth’s headset bringing her back to reality. “Right. I’ll have that ready for you when you get to the window. Anything else, William?”

“Heh. MaryBeth how’d you remember? No, just the usual-thanks.”

As William pulled around to the service window, MaryBeth could see something had changed. He was clean shaven, wearing a suit and tie and driving a silver BMW. “Okay, wow! All those hours working away in the café must have really paid off!” She said as she passed his coffee thru the window. “Yeah, it’s all in here” he said flashing the notebook. “And now, it’s yours.” He handed the warm journal across to her hands and said “There’s a check for $20,000 dollars in the front pocket. Cash it and follow the steps exactly as I have written them. You deserve a magical life, MaryBeth. Take it.”

Customers handed her things all day long. Gift cards, loyalty cards, cash, tips – it was her operand conditioning to take them with a smile. Before her heart could register William’s words the notebook was in her hand and the taillights of Williams car had turned the cover from black to red. “uh, WAIT!” she leaned out the window elevating her feet over the sticky floor inside. William was gone and, in that moment, MaryBeth knew it was forever.

The bank issued check was made out to MaryBeth -no surname. But William’s was – Goodman. Bill, Billy, Will, Willy Goodman – she had no idea what to call her benefactor. Other than the issuing bank, no other information was discoverable from the check itself. On the notebook’s title page was meticulously written in block letters “HOW TO DISSAPEAR”