Ten

“Madame! Wow!”

As I held open our shop’s front door, my mentor placed her gloved fingers in her chauffeur’s proffered hand and exited her sleek black limo with the poise of a duchess.

Swathed in a stunning gown of midnight violet and matching wrap (fittingly silk-screened with a print of Van Gogh’s Café, le soir), she practically floated over the threshold of our landmark coffeehouse. Her gently wrinkled face greeted me with a warm smile. Then she leaned close to peck my cheek, and I caught a whiff of a sophisticated scent, no doubt imported from Paris.

“You look like royalty,” I gushed as her limo drove away. She threw me an impish wink, and I marveled how the rich colors of her floor-length dress brought out the violet of her eyes.

As she moved farther into the shop, her silver pageboy seemed to shimmer in the soft firelight. And when she reached our marble-topped coffee bar, she slid into a seat and slipped off her stunning wrap with the smoothness of a Broadway star joining her party at Sardi’s.

Survive everything, Madame once told me, and do it with style.

If anyone was a living example of that, she was…

Even as a young woman in a more conservative time, Madame knew her own mind—and heart. Although she was raised with a strict upbringing, her love of a passionate, young Italian man gave her the strength to refuse her family’s stern directive to wed a wealthy, connected gentleman more than twice her age. Instead, she married Antonio Allegro and gave him a strong, handsome son (Matt, of course). That son and this century-old shop became her pride and joy, and she’d helped her husband run his coffee business until the day of his premature death.

After Antonio died, Madame soldiered on, refusing to sell the Village Blend, even when pressured by unscrupulous competitors. All by herself, she navigated a capricious stream of changing city regulations, shady vendors, and the occasional corrupt inspector. The woman not only survived but thrived, teaching all she’d learned to Matt—and eventually me.

Her air of sophistication was real, primarily due to her aristocratic Gallic roots. Her wealth, however, was mostly show. Her second husband, Pierre Dubois, had been a successful French importer based here in Manhattan. His children inherited most of his fortune, leaving Madame with a Fifth Avenue penthouse near Washington Square Park, as well as an annuity, which allowed her to maintain an upscale lifestyle, but just barely.

Most of her gowns and jewels were remnants of her high times with Pierre, and though she often refreshed her wardrobe and always traveled in style, she was far from wealthy enough to write a blank check where the Village Blend was concerned.

In other words, no bailout was coming. Not from Madame. This shop had to be profitable to survive. I knew it. Matt knew it. And so did his mother…

“You’re certainly dressed to kill,” I told her as I relocked the door and pulled down the shade.

“Well, my dear, given the dreadfully dead atmosphere of tonight’s ball, if I had killed someone, it might have livened things up!”

Even at her age, Matt’s mother was still a knockout (literally). Her sharp wit and those violet eyes disarmed more than a few of her inamoratos over the years.

As she continued with quips about the disappointing ball, I primed a French press with our freshly roasted Peruvian and set my phone beside it with the timer running.

“Didn’t your escort entertain you?” I asked. “Surely, you didn’t go without one?”

“I did, and I’m glad of that because I met the most interesting gentleman.”

“I knew it! Your night’s ‘intriguing turn’ turned out to be a man.”

“Yes, a captain, no less, retired from the United States Navy.”

“A sailor?” I raised an eyebrow. “How did you manage that? Fleet Week is months away.”

“Trolling for sailors at my age?” Madame arched an eyebrow. “The very idea…”

“So how did you meet?”

“The captain approached me and introduced himself, right after he bought the Village Blend’s Golden Ticket at the charity auction.”

“Golden Ticket?” I said. “Back up. What exactly is a Village Blend Golden Ticket?”

“Honestly, it was something I dreamed up at the very last minute. I had agreed to contribute an auction item, and what could be better than an open tab at the Village Blend?”

“Open tab!” I nearly gagged. With our finances so tight, this news wasn’t exactly thrilling.

Madame waved her hand. “Don’t look so worried. It’s nothing, really. For the next twelve months, anything Captain Siebold wants, he gets, gratis.”

“In other words, it’s a loyalty card on steroids?”

“If you like…”

I gritted my teeth. If Nancy heard this conversation, she’d never stop saying I told you so.

“Well,” I said. “Let’s hope he doesn’t invite his entire crew.”

“If he does, it wouldn’t be a large one.”

“What do you mean? Don’t Navy ships hold hundreds of sailors?”

“Yes, but when I asked Captain Siebold what ship he commanded, he told me he was never in command. He served as a meteorologist aboard the Enterprise.”

“Are you making a Star Trek joke?”

“I never joke about our men in uniform, especially the dashing ones.”

Madame winked again and my phone timer dinged. I pushed the coffee press plunger and served. In silence, my mentor sampled her cup. Then she took a second sip and shared an approving nod, a little gesture that still gave me a big rush of pride. That’s when it hit me—

“Hey, wasn’t Enterprise the name of a NASA space shuttle?”

“Now you’re catching on.”

“Wait. Do you mean to tell me the ‘intriguing’ man you met tonight is an astronaut?!”

“He was an astronaut. Past tense.”

“And a meteorologist? I never knew they needed a weather forecaster aboard a space shuttle.”

“I assume he was a mission specialist, dear, on board to study weather from space. Unless, of course, I misunderstood, and his job was to tell the crew whether or not to land.”

“Touché,” I said. “Now when do I meet your astronaut friend?”

“Soon. He says he very much looks forward to visiting the Village Blend—and he spent five thousand dollars for the privilege of doing it all year long.”

“He must really love coffee,” I said. “Or maybe his generous auction bid was simply a ploy to meet you.”

“Oh, bosh.”

“Hey, you’re the one who dropped in to tell me about your new friend and his Golden Ticket. Sounds like you’re interested, too.”

Madame silenced me with a raised hand.

“I’m also here to see how your staff meeting went.”

“Our staff meeting?”

I stared in surprise at Madame’s expectant expression. “How did you know we held a staff—” I caught myself. “You spoke with Matt, didn’t you?”

“Indeed, I did.”