Beneath the Surface(45)

“Because it excludes others.”

“So?” Sheryl had stroked her chin the way she did when she was about to go into professorial mode.

“How do you even know if someone is gay, anyway?”

“I knew when I saw you.” That had put an uncontrollable smile on Kristin’s face.

“Where is this shop?” Sheryl asked. “It looks like it doesn’t belong in this neighborhood anymore.”

“Let me check my phone.” Kristin looked on Google Maps. “It’s probably on the other side of that big intersection over there.”

“How about a hipster coffee first?” Sheryl said, looking very much like she needed a giant dose of caffeine.



“Crikey,” Sheryl said. “I always forget how much money there is to be made selling coffee.” They were sitting by the window, waiting for their drinks.

“It’s at least a dollar more per cup than anywhere near the uni. About the same price as in the CBD.” Kristin was not an accountant by education or trade, but she had always found a lot of joy in making the marketing budget, despite marketing dollars spent not always being quantifiable when it came to results. She always came up with a way, usually by means of a complicated calculation, to put a more precise price tag on the strategies she pitched.

“When you really think about it, it’s utterly ridiculous to pay four dollars for this.” Sheryl pointed at the steaming mug in front of her.

“But clearly not ridiculous enough to stop us, and many others, from doing so.”

“Remember when we first met and we went on our coffee date? How much did we pay for a cup then?” Sheryl shook her head. “I’m on the verge of feeling severely ripped off.”

“I don’t feel ripped off at all. You pay for more than the coffee. You pay for the experience and the service.”

Sheryl cocked her head. “Does your coffee have a substance in it that mine doesn’t?” She gave a small smile.

“No, but I guess my body is in a better state to receive it.” Kristin didn’t pay much attention to Sheryl’s reaction to her jibe. The germ of an idea had been planted somewhere deep in her mind.

“It is good coffee,” was all Sheryl said.

Kristin looked around. The coffee shop was small but cozy. She thought about a discussion she’d had years ago with someone working in the marketing department of Starbucks, who were trying to gain ground in Australia.

“Ozzies love their coffee,” he had said, “and they’re willing to pay for it, only not to us.” Since hearing that, she’d paid notice every time a new Starbucks branch popped up somewhere, and how it was almost always mainly visited by tourists. When it came to coffee shops, Australians really did have a fiercely independent streak. And they truly couldn’t get enough of it, what with the way coffeehouses had sprung up everywhere in the past decade.

Kristin had spent a large portion of her career making foreign markets fall in love with Australian wine. Could she possibly make Australians fall in love with American coffee? No, joining another marketing department didn’t make her heart beat faster, especially not one of a big international chain, no matter how challenging and possibly rewarding it might be. What really made her heart beat faster was a place like this.

“On the way over to the shop, I’d like to stop by that real estate agent again. Just to have another look.”

“Sure.” Sheryl knocked back the last of her coffee. “But first I’ll have one more overpriced cup of this.”



When Kristin was mulling something over, she turned inward. Sheryl could strip naked right there in the street and Kristin would hardly notice. Her brain was churning, Sheryl could tell. What she couldn’t tell, was the subject occupying Kristin’s mind so much she suddenly seemed to have lost interest in visiting the sex shop that had been the very reason for their trip to this neighborhood.

They were walking in the direction of the shop regardless. It made Sheryl think of the long and heated discussions she used to have with her fellow grad students and LAUS members on the importance versus the insignificance of sex toys. A bout of nostalgia rushed through her. Last she’d checked—and it had been a while—LAUS membership had gone down again. Did that mean that lesbians nowadays missed out on the conversations she used to have? Or was it all a matter of context and general inclusion, and they just talked about all of it openly with their straight friends, no distinctions made or necessary? How the world had changed.

When they finally found the shop, tucked away in a tiny alley, its facade so discreet you really had to know what you were looking for, Sheryl remembered the reason Kristin had insisted they’d come.