Patsy's Chocolate Incarnate Cake

There was magic afoot when Jessica entered the break room, her sensible heels striking their tattoo on the linoleum. There followed a pleasant smile and a nod to Tom, a sotto voce 'hi,' then a faint waft of jasmine -- or some kind of perfumy fragrance, anyway -- and there she was. She fixed herself a cup of coffee -- black! -- and sat down to browse through a notebook, or study her phone or tablet, depending on the day.

Tom's afternoon trips to the break room held a lot in common with death and taxes. Like them, they were inevitable. But since taxes enjoy an immutable timetable, Tom's break room trips might lean closer to the death end of the inevitably spectrum. It might be 1:33 or 2:17 or 3:44. Just spin the hands on the clock sometime after lunch, and there he was.

That's why it was so remarkable that Jessica would always arrive, too. No matter what time Tom felt his caffeine deficit kick in, Jessica's seemed to as well. It was like their bio-rhythms had synched up, and that could be a really significant omen. To check this hypothesis, Tom sometimes strolled by the break room when he didn't actually need -- or intend to get -- coffee, and looked in. He never sighted Jessica during these recon missions.

He didn't really know her. He was in Operations and she was in PR. "Operations and Optics" is how he sometimes framed it for himself. This wasn't a Sharks and Jets or Hatfields and McCoys situation. They were all part of one big, happy corporation.

So they sat in on some meetings together, and always smiled and nodded in the break room, like each of them would when encountering any of a thousand other employees at that sweet intersection of coffee and collaboration.

The thing was, he was crazy about her in a way that had nothing to do with work, but somehow an ad hoc committee had been called to keep them apart. Chaired by Tom's insecurity, the committee's members included the ghosts of half a dozen past relationships, his fear of rejection, his imposter syndrome, his overall life rating compared to a hundred other guys he knew, his sense of being -- maybe a little chunky -- and worst of all, this awe or whatever it was he had for her.

This particular committee seemed to work much more efficiently than any of the company's actual business meetings where he and Jessica seemed to cross paths, once or twice a week. In those meetings, he would lean forward and arch his eyebrows whenever she spoke. He'd nod to those on his left and right, drum his pen on the table in a fancy lick before easing back into an oblivion which could only be breached when someone addressed him directly by name.

She was slim, attractive, vivacious, but to Tom's way of thinking, she was also brilliant and on-point, sophisticated and engaging, a woman for the ages. Cupid let go his weapon and crossed Tom off his list.

One day, Tom wheeled back in his chair far enough that he could see Kolodsky in the next cubicle. The back of his head, anyway.

"You know Jessica in PR?"

Kolodsky thought a moment and barely turned his head from a screen crowded with spreadsheets. "Uh, yeah."

"I can't figure out why, but every afternoon when I get coffee, she's getting coffee."

"Okay."

"I think she's interesting. I'd like to talk with her, but I can't figure out how. Like I need an ice-breaker."

"Like that ice breaker you just used with me?"

Tom looked blank.

"Dude, you stalking her, or what?"

Tom rolled back to his computer. "Have you got those Murchison projections yet?" he called over the wall.

Oh great! Now a new member had been added to his ad hoc committee.

*

There wasn't much more to Patsy's Pastries on the mezzanine than the curved Plexiglas case displaying the day's specials. There were a handful of tall, round tables with a couple of stools each, but most customers took their selections back to work to enjoy later.

Tom thought if he found the perfect confection, he might share it with Jessica, just to get something rolling between them. But Patsy had so many things to choose from, in an ever-shifting menu, that it was hard to settle on the right thing.

The first day, he ordered a sliver of key lime pie. On Tuesday there was some kind of pineapple coconut tart. Wednesday offered up an amazing butterscotch brownie. Thursday featured peach cobbler that would knock your socks off. Friday rang in the pecan pies. It carried on to the next week with carrot cupcakes.

Three or four weeks in, the menu spinner landed on Patsy's signature Chocolate Incarnate Cake which Tom hailed as a life-changing experience.

"Cover my phone for a little bit," he said to Kolodsky, once he'd shambled back to his cubicle. And he laid his head down on the desk and fell into a magical, refreshing sleep.

The underlying mission of the Operations Department, where Tom spent his waking hours, is to align what you do to the goal you want. You want clean floors? You mobilize floor cleaners. You want kids to come? You mobilize moms. You want to engage with Jessica? You mobilize Patsy's Chocolate Incarnate Cake.

But by the end of nine working days, when Tom had mustered his resolve, there was no Chocolate Incarnate Cake in the display case.

The girl at the counter shuffled through some papers. "We'll have that again on Thursday," she said, smiling like she would to any customer.

So, on Monday through Wednesday, Tom took his usual random coffee breaks, and smiled at Jessica and offered pleasantries but nothing more happened.

Lunch time Thursday, Chocolate Incarnate Cake reappeared and he bought a slice and took it back to his cubicle. God, he knew it was good, but he held off, and waited. Several times, he bolted up, then thought, no, it's too soon, and sat down in front of his computer again.

At 2:27 -- he hadn't done any actual work in the meantime -- he took the plate to the break room and sat near the door.

Sure enough, Jessica came in like clockwork. She clicked her tattoo, smiled and wafted jasmine or something at him, got a cup of coffee and sat at another table, flipping through her notebook.

Tom tried to think of what he would say to introduce the cake into the situation, but he hadn't really planned this part out. In the end, he lifted the first forkful as a salutary greeting, which she failed to notice. So he proceeded to eat the cake. It was delicious.

And over the next days and weeks, Tom stopped at Patsy's on the way home, and picked up whatever item might be left in the glass case at the end of the day. Once home, he sat in front of the bathroom mirror and tried out routines, like a comic perfecting his act.

"Would you like to try the greatest chocolate cake in the world?"

"Could I interest you in some cake?"

"My cake needs to be shared!"

"Grab a fork and get you some!"

He got a postcard from Patsy, offering a ten-percent discount for Sweethearts Club members.

At last, he thought he was ready, but he had to wait until Patsy cycled the Chocolate Incarnate Cake back into her daily specials. In the meantime, he continued to polish his spiel with whatever confection was available.

At 3:13, he entered the break room, cake at the ready. A minute later, Jessica strode in. "Hi, Tom," she said in full voice, on her way to the coffee.

Now this was something, to be recognized. He swung into action.

"Hi, Jessica! I have a great piece of chocolate cake, would you like to try it?"

She blinked twice, a little startled. "Thanks, but I'm allergic to chocolate. I'd be on the floor with hives if I had any. I'm sorry. Thanks. It looks great."

"Oh, sure. I didn't mean anything."

Tom ate the cake. It was one of Patsy's finest. But he couldn't face going back to work, so he went home early and pondered the mysteries of life.

The next morning, he rolled out of his cubicle to talk with Kolodsky.

"Jessica's allergic to chocolate," he said.

"Jessica who?"

"From PR."

"Oh yeah," Kolodsky nodded. "You know she and my fiancé are good friends, and she said she thought you were kinda cute."

"Jessica did?"

"Yeah. Go figure."

Tom reeled.

"But she said you've really let yourself go. The weight thing, you know?"

"When did she say this?"

"Last night."

"Last night?"

"Last night."

At lunch time, Tom stopped at Patsy's and got a slice of pecan pie and a cup of coffee. He took them back to his desk, where he enjoyed them, without going to the break room that day.