If you're as smart as I think you are, I don't have to tell you that the day was a complete disaster. A goddamn nightmare. First of all, his royal dick head was over an hour late. He came strolling in here at two-ten head high, chest out just reeking of self-indulgence. He took off the designer sunglasses he was wearing that probably cost more than my car, and with a quick look around said:

        "This is it? What a shit-hole. Remind me to fire someone." I wanted to kill him right there. First, I worked hard on this shit-hole Mister, respect my property. And second my place isn't a goddamn shit-hole, thank you very much.

        He looked just like he did on TV. Tall and lean with a strong jaw that commanded authority. His chestnut hair was peppered an attractive shade of grey.

        Earl Owens, had gotten here around eleven o clock to make sure everything was set for Bo. He was a scrawny scared little man who couldn't weigh more than ninety-five pounds. I don't know how he held his head up every day. Thing was enormous, must have been eighty pounds in forehead alone.

        He'd shaken my hand; his sweaty and frail, and looked up at me.

        "Nice to finally meet. Earl Owens, Bo's publicist. We spoke on the phone." He took a handkerchief from his suit pocket and wiped his billboard brow.

        "Evelyn Harper, it's a pleasure." I lied. "I didn't know someone like Bo Conway was interested in our humble establishment." He nodded.

        "We feel it's crucial for Bo to reach a wider audience. We wanted to get him out here to meet the people. Get a chance to influence a younger hipper crowd. Bo's all about reaching the community."

        Whatever, as long as we get paid.

        Bo was scheduled to come in at one, but like all self-satisfied attention whores he felt the need to be fashionably late. A crowd had formed inside where die hard fans and curious bystanders had come to see the face of Channel Five in person. One good thing that came from his tardiness was a jump in sales. People love to snack while they wait. It's like they need something to do with their hands.

        Lana Miller was busy waiting and busing tables. She was a teenager who'd walked into Taste Tea's last year looking for part time work after school. I'd flat out refused her. I wasn't a fan of teen-aged high school girls, and I really didn't want her or her cheerleader friends in my cafe. Cheerleaders harsh the vibe you know. I changed my mind after her parents started throwing around words like "age" and "discrimination" and "big ass lawsuit", so here she was.

        The place was even more packed than I had anticipated. Who knew local celebrities packed so much clout?

        "Miss, I ordered butter-rum coffee this is clearly almond nut. What does this look like to you?" He held the cup up to Lana's face. His kid was loose, running around people's legs and causing general pandemonium.

        "Looks good to me. Or am I supposed to just magically know what kind of coffee your drinking with my eyes?" Lana was bent over a table collecting discarded dishes with as much interest as she could manage.

        "I know the difference between butter-rum and almond. I have sensitive taste buds." He shoved the coffee in her face. "Take it back." His bratty son was crawling underneath the tables and scaring some of the women by erractically grabbing their legs.

        Lana blew an irritated breath causing the loose strands of her tied back blonde hair to sway. "Sir I suggest you remove your nasty drink from under my nose before I make you wear that coffee." Her voice was calm, but her manner was deadly. I stepped in to do damage control.

        "Sir, I'll take that." I breezed past Lana giving her the stink eye.

        Another man with a bushy mustache and a cowboy hat was sitting quietly in the corner. With a wave of his hand he got my attention.

        "Excuse me ma'am, when's Bo Conway gonna get here?"

        "He'll be here soon." I hardly answered him as I rushed to meet the demands of more voiceful customers.

        Behind the counter, Pasha was busy placing three orders at a time.

       "What comes in the green tea?" Asked a man.

        "Whatever you'd like, sir." Her hands were busy trying to replace the filters in the espresso machine. I heard a myriad of different voices shouting across the room, trying to hurry Pasha.

        "Hey! I've been in line for twenty minutes." Someone yelled.

        "Where's my tea!"

        "It's almost ready, sir." 

        "What is a frappachino, anyway?" I heard Pasha let out an exasperated breath.

        "It's okay, I got it." I put on an apron and began to work the register as Pasha worked exclusively with the drinks. "And give me another butter rum when you have the chance, no cream."

        In the corner behind the glass baker's counter I could see Jackson dealing with his own barrage of bullshit. He was in a heated argument with the ass clown from before who was now trying to get Jackson to list every little ingredient in his strawberry cream tart. His demon spawn was kicking over chairs and jumping around excitedly.

        I took a brief moment to walk him his coffee after Pasha finished making it.

        "Here you go sir." He took it from my hands, scrutinizing the color and smell before taking a tentative sip.

        "Still not right. I want butter rum."

        "It is butter rum, I made it myself." Well, Pasha made it but I trusted her.

        "I know my coffee. The customer is always right. Take it back. And make sure there's no cream this time." He held the cup out to me and I considered siccing Lana on him. If she made on her promise to make him wear that coffee it would be a thousand times better than if I handled it right now. She'd just give him a coffee shower, I was seriously considering giving him a coffee colonic.

        I thought better of this and was taking the coffee back yet again when his precious devil baby ran up and looked under my skirt.

                                        I swear to God, I'm gonna tape this kid's ass to a chair!

        And just as I was looking around for the scotch tape or maybe duct tape, Bo Conway decided to grace us with his presence. Walking next to him was a twenty something woman with brunette locks pulled into a tight pony tail. He whispered in her ear and she nodded and went to order something from Pasha. His assistant I assume.

        On his other side was a heavy woman wearing her Sunday best and carrying a fancy fan which she was using to cool the air around her. She wore one of those flamboyant first lady hats with short white gloves and I knew instantly that she was his wife. She was pushing at least 330lbs. I'd always imagined that a man like Bo Conway would be more suited to have your standard trophy wife hanging off his arm. I rushed up to greet him, eager to get this day over and done with.

        "Bo Conway." He said with his TV voice in full blast. "Where do you want me?"

        "Right over here." I lead him to the back of the room where we'd set up a podium for him to address his adoring public. But before we could get to the stage, the man with the bushy mustache stepped in our path.

        "What are you doing here?" Bo's face turned from warm and inviting to deadly in an instant.

        "You won't return my calls." The man was jittery and nervous. Sweat oozed down his temples and he kept opening and closing his fists.

        "I don't want to talk to you. Not here." Bo looked around at the anxious fans, putting on his best face. "Do you have somewhere we can talk in private?" He asked me.

        "Sure."

         "Bo, there's no time," Earl had walked up and was trying to usher his client to the podium. "People are waiting."

        "Sorry bout that folks, this'll only take one more minute. Then y'all can have as much Bo as you want." Bo had the audacity to wink at the crowd. Some of the crowd had the audacity to eat up his bullshit.

        I led Bo and the man to my office and watched as they walked in stoically closing the door only halfway. Now if you're thinking I stood there and eavesdropped, I'm insulted. If there's one thing I have going for me it's my integrity and respect for common decency.

        Oh, who am I fooling? I crept up to the door and had my ear to the base before they were even out of sight good.

         Bo was standing with his back to the door so I got a good look at Mr. Mustache. He wasn't too tall of a man, and when he removed his hat I could see that his hair had started thinning.

        "Let me guess," Bo's voice was laced with ice. "You want more money."

        "Just a little. M-My sure thing didn't work out like I thought it would but I've got a new plan-"

        "You've always got a new plan, Brock." He sighed deeply. "Listen, I'm sorry but you're a grown man now, I can't keep bailing you out of trouble."

        "You don't understand. It's Helen. She said she'd leave me if one more bad thing happened. I can't tell her I've lost all our savings at the racetrack! She'll never forgive me!" He'd sunk heavily to his knees. "Please Bo, we're family."

        Taking another look at the man I realized that there was an amazing resemblance between him and Bo.

        "Don't beg, it's weak. Maybe she should leave you, she'd be better off."

        "Don't say that!"

        "If she had any brains she wouldn't have married you at all. Now you're in trouble, serves her right for falling for a fool like you." He ran a hand through slicked back hair. "Better yet maybe I should tell her. You know about what happened." Brock's eyes grew as big as saucers.

       "You swore you'd never tell a soul about that night!" He flew to his feet in an instant, anger masking a thin sliver of fear. Whatever Bo had on him was juicy.

         "I'll do one better, if you ever try to mooch money off me again I'll not only make sure Helen knows about your racking debts, but I'll also clue her in to the man she really married."

        "How could you do this to family?" Brock cried.

         "As far as I'm concerned, from this moment on, we're done. Don't call me. Don't write. Don't even think about me. Your free ride's over." Bo turned to walk back out my door and I hurried, ducking out of the way to avoid discovery.

         Spotting the back door I stepped out pretending like I had some important cafe business with the dumpster in the alley outside. As I was closing the door on myself I heard Brock sadly exclaim:

        "But we're brothers."

       "Kid," Bo's voice was harsh and cold. "You don't have a brother anymore."

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