Julian Zervos's huge smile and incomparable repertoire of jokes usually made women laugh. Not Carlotta DeLeon. She ignored him.

But I'm getting ahead of myself and some backstory is needed.

Monday, Wednesday, and Friday mornings I buy a Trib at the Westdalia News Agency, then join my cronies at the Morning Wake-Up coffee house three doors down and across the street from the train station.

I hadn't seen Julian in years, but that Friday morning in May he stood at the counter of the News Agency paying for a paper and telling a joke. The pretty young cashier laughed so hard she spilled the change she was giving him. I picked it up.

When I held out my hand, he shouted, "Allen!" and threw his arms around my burly chest. He backed away a step, arms akimbo. "You put on a few, but what else is new?" He laughed as only Julian can, in a lilting manner that made you laugh with him.

And I did.

"You still commuting to Chicago?" I asked.

"No. I gave up my seats on the Burlington and the Stock Exchange. Big mistake." He paused, his comedic timing impeccable. "My stockbroker and I worked out a retirement plan. Unfortunately it's his."
.
A couple more "trading" jokes followed. When I stopped laughing, I asked him to join me for coffee.

The Morning Wake-Up was teeming with late commuters queued from the counter to the door.

"C'mon," I said. "Our table's the reserved one back yonder." I sluiced Julian through a gauntlet of splayed legs.

Once seated, Julian introduced himself to my friends with jokes about himself. Soon everyone, including those at tables around us, was laughing. Sometime later Carlotta appeared beside me with a bran muffin and a small Mocha Java.

"I not busy now, so here. Your usual, or you want something different?"


"Wow! Hadn't noticed the line's gone. Thanks, Carolotta. This is perfect."

One hand on my shoulder, she pointed the other at Julian and frowned. "You want something?"

He smiled. "I have not glanced at your menu, but any coffee will do. Medium."

I tapped his elbow. "You've gotta have one of her muffins. None better in all Chicagoland."

"Well . . ?" he shrugged.

"Carlotta, show him what you've got."

Because that came out wrong, everyone hooted, Julian the loudest. Carlotta, short but ample in all the right areas, scowled at all of us and returned to her counter.

Nudging Julian, I said, "Take a look at that shelf of goodies on the counter. Anything you choose will be tasty."

He nodded, rose, and walked to the counter. Moments after choosing a muffin and coffee, he was telling her a joke. We all hushed and listened.

"Why are Italians so good at making coffee? Because they know how to expresso."

We laughed, but she merely took his ten-dollar bill and gave him change. Her facial muscles never moved.

"Where's the sugar?" he asked. She pointed. ""You know, Carlotta, coffee and friends make the perfect blend. You are the sugar in my coffee."

With a blank expression, she looked on as he poured heaps of sugar into his cup.

"Spoons?" he asked. Again she pointed. "I have measured out my life with coffee spoons."

Before returning to our table, he gave Carlotta his biggest smile yet and said, "You can't spell cupid without cup, but can a cup of coffee brew romance?"

She merely shrugged and turned her back on him.

Julian smirked at me. "Tough audience, but I will return."

And he did, almost once a week through July. When my cronies began going on vacation, there were days when only Julian and I occupied the table. Actually, just me. He stayed at the counter, telling joke after joke. Carlotta served him, talked to him, but never laughed at his humor. Not a chortle or a giggle.

Was he dismayed? Hardly. He just tried harder and stayed longer.

A side effect of all his efforts, however, was that Julian and I began to take long walks together after coffee and rekindled our friendship.

Because Carlotta rarely closed for holidays, Julian met me for coffee on July Fourth. Afterwards we walked through town, avoiding the parade route.

"I think I came close to making Carlotta laugh today," he said.

"And if you succeed, what's next? You're a great George Burns, but
she'll never be a Gracie."

He stopped walking to grin at me. "I will ask her out."

I gawked. "At coffee if you're not telling jokes, you're telling us all about the women you're romancing. Those all lies?"

He shook his head.

"Why the interest in Carlotta?" I said, my tone sharper than I intended. Around customers, the woman refused to talk about herself, but I knew her better than most because my daughter Stephanie had worked for her much of the winter. I hadn't told Julian any of Carlotta's history, nor did I plan to.

When the answer came, there was something wistful in his expression.

"Something here tells me--" He tapped his heart with two fingers. "-- she's my 'soulmate'."

I scoffed and retold one of his own jokes. "Why shouldn't you fall in love with a pastry chef?" I paused. "She'll dessert you."

When he didn't laugh, I said. "You can't be serious, Julian. You're what, fifty-five and twice-divorced?"

He shook his head. "Sixty. and . . ." He waved three fingers.

"Jeez, Julian. Carlotta's maybe forty and . . . uh . . ." I was reluctant to say more.

"Never married."

"How do you know that?" I demanded.

The big smile returned. "She acts like an old maid. I know. My sister's one."

"And if she rejects you?"

He shrugged. "I won't know if Mr. Johnny Cash was right."

"Johnny Cash the singer?" I asked.

Julian nodded. "He said, 'Paradise is having coffee with her in the morning'."

He never missed another coffee klatch the rest of the month, and never worked harder to make Carlotta laugh. Some of the guys began
laughing at him, not with him. Then he had a stroke in early August, and no one laughed.
***

Julian had collapsed in the News Agency on a Sunday morning. Monday the proprietor told me the details. Not until late Thursday could I see him in his hospital room. He looked very pale and was hooked up to half a dozen machines, but he had a joke for me even before I found a chair.

"So my doctor asks, 'What brings you here' and I reply, 'What do you think? An ambulance!'"

I didn't laugh. "From what I learned from the News Agency, that's pretty much what happened, Julian."

He wasted few words describing the incident, skipping right to what mattered most.

"Carlotta know about me?" I nodded. "Show any . . . uh . . . feelings?"

"Yep. Never stopped jabbering about you all week long. Wanted to know everything I knew about your condition."

I've never seen a bigger grin.

Then I presented my surprise. I gave him a small white bag.

"Open it," he said. "My fingers don't work."

I did and placed one of the six blueberry muffins in his hand.

"Still warm and--"

"Right out of the oven. I called her before coming here. Carlotta baked these special. Had 'em ready when I came to the back door."

He took a bite and sighed.

"She . . . uh . . . hasn't said it, but I think she misses you. When I walk in, her eyes always glance behind me before I can say a word."

Julian studied my face. "What do . . . you say?"

"He'll be coming home--here--soon, Carlotta."

Feebly he wriggled a finger at his mouth. "She show any--?"

"Signs of life? Yep. A glimmer of a smile tonight when she gave me
those muffins."

I left him happily munching the rest of that muffin and would bet the others didn't last the night.
***

Three weeks later Julian was able to leave his condo and accompany me to the Morning Wake-Up. I paused at the door as he entered the short line. When Carlotta saw him, a hand flew to her hair and her cheeks turned pink.

Julian noticed and laughed. A moment later so did she!

He never joined us at our table, but climbed (somehow) onto a stool at the counter. When she wasn't serving customers, she was chatting with him . . . and more than occasionally laughing at his jokes.

Almost a year has passed and guess who's part owner of the Morning Wake-Up. Julian's learned to bake, and Carlotta now tells jokes at our table. Everyone laughs.