He. You. She.
Three poems for free. I hope they're okay.
My Avocado
Sitting there in the fridge, smug
That would be fucking right
But I know he’s hiding the truth from me
The naughty shit
His skin — dark and rough and green
And yet he looks so perfect
Ready for a salad
Mine to take
Mine to eat
But my avocado
Hiding his foul brown-ness from me
Leading me on
Lying in my fridge
Lying to me
He’s nothing but a liar
Naughty little avocado
You’re naughty
You’re a naughty little shit
My Pen
Baby where did you go?
Three days
Three whole days since I lost you
My soul aches wondering where your plastic-self might be
Your spare ink cartridges lie still — no longer with purpose
Baby where did you go?
I still remember how you felt between my fingers and how you
Managed to speak for me
Even at the worst
Even at the best
Even in the middle
You were all of me when I was nothing
Ink running down to your tip
I could always coax out what you had
To spill
Baby where did you go?
It was easy
To work you, until you couldn’t help yourself
And then your hot, thick truth was all over my page
And you were mine
And I was yours
Baby, where did you go?
My Crazy
My crazy wakes up early and goes to bed late
My crazy knows that there isn’t enough time in the day
My crazy has a busy schedule and I am at the top of the list
My crazy has been watching me
My crazy has been paying attention
My crazy knows the drill, but
My crazy, she lacks imagination — for she looks just like me
My crazy talks like me
My crazy walks like me
My crazy smells like me
My crazy, well, she’s just like me
My crazy is me
My crazy is everything I want to be
My crazy is everything I’m not
My crazy is qualified
My crazy is tired, and
My crazy wants her life back
My crazy is going to win.
Showing posts with label secrets. Show all posts
Showing posts with label secrets. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 29, 2016
Tuesday, March 22, 2016
This Is Getting Old
“Jerry, take your meds.” Ellen was thin, quiet, but not to messed with.
He didn’t really care today.
“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.”
She was right — they had done this a thousand times, and it did always turn out the same way — but he was still going to put on the show.
Just to keep her distracted.
He opened his mouth to protest (or so Ellen would think) but then threw in the three little pills and took a gulp of tea from his cup. Then he made a big deal of swallowing and opening his mouth again to show that the pills were gone.
Ellen looked at him like she looked at everything else — with eyes that could see but would never really care — then she turned on her heels and walked the med cart over to Beverley Lewis who was drooling down the front of the bib that was tied haphazardly around her wrinkled neck.
Jerry drank the water from his plastic cup to wash away the heat from the tea. He watched as one of the pills bobbed up to the milky surface in his mug and wondered how he was going to fix that situation. Letting the capsules hit the roof of his mouth and then get sucked back with the rest of the tea was easy; getting rid of them was a whole different thing that he hadn’t really thought about until this point.
“Butter cake, Mr Downs?” It was one of the morning shift trainees. Luke or something. He was holding a flimsy plastic plate with a thin piece of dry butter cake on it.
Jerry looked up at the kid and had an idea. “My fly has a tea in it.”
“I’m sorry Mr Downs?” Luke-or-something was confused.
“I mean, apologies — my tea has a fly in it.”
“Oh. Oh... I see. Would you like me to make you a fresh cup?”
Jerry went to stand up. “No no. I can do it. You carry on kiddo. But be sure not to get your fingers too close to Bev’s chompers,” he winked.
The kid shrugged and continued on his butter-cake-mission around the ring of stained plastic chairs that were the main attraction in the common room of Pandonia Lodge.
With plenty of effort, Jerry hoisted himself out of his plastic chair and shuffled over to the tea cart that was parked near the nurse’s station.
As he dumped his tea (and secret stash of pills) into the waste bucked, a pair of dark eyes and a short, thin, electric-purple mohawk appeared from behind the cart.
“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.”
She was right — they had done this a thousand times, and it did always turn out the same way — but he was still going to put on the show.
Just to keep her distracted.
He opened his mouth to protest (or so Ellen would think) but then threw in the three little pills and took a gulp of tea from his cup. Then he made a big deal of swallowing and opening his mouth again to show that the pills were gone.
Ellen looked at him like she looked at everything else — with eyes that could see but would never really care — then she turned on her heels and walked the med cart over to Beverley Lewis who was drooling down the front of the bib that was tied haphazardly around her wrinkled neck.
Jerry drank the water from his plastic cup to wash away the heat from the tea. He watched as one of the pills bobbed up to the milky surface in his mug and wondered how he was going to fix that situation. Letting the capsules hit the roof of his mouth and then get sucked back with the rest of the tea was easy; getting rid of them was a whole different thing that he hadn’t really thought about until this point.
“Butter cake, Mr Downs?” It was one of the morning shift trainees. Luke or something. He was holding a flimsy plastic plate with a thin piece of dry butter cake on it.
Jerry looked up at the kid and had an idea. “My fly has a tea in it.”
“I’m sorry Mr Downs?” Luke-or-something was confused.
“I mean, apologies — my tea has a fly in it.”
“Oh. Oh... I see. Would you like me to make you a fresh cup?”
Jerry went to stand up. “No no. I can do it. You carry on kiddo. But be sure not to get your fingers too close to Bev’s chompers,” he winked.
The kid shrugged and continued on his butter-cake-mission around the ring of stained plastic chairs that were the main attraction in the common room of Pandonia Lodge.
With plenty of effort, Jerry hoisted himself out of his plastic chair and shuffled over to the tea cart that was parked near the nurse’s station.
As he dumped his tea (and secret stash of pills) into the waste bucked, a pair of dark eyes and a short, thin, electric-purple mohawk appeared from behind the cart.
“Dom!” Jerry hissed, and turned back quickly to see if anyone was looking.
They weren’t — Ellen was rigid as always, talking to a tired-looking resident; Beverly Lewis was stuffing
butter cake in between her dentures; and Luke-or-something was turned towards a window mucking with
his phone.
Jerry slowly turned back to the cart. The purple mohawk was gone and so he poured another cup of tea, but just as he was stirring in the half-spoon of sugar that he liked, he heard a whispering voice to his left.
“Jeeeeeeeeeee-rrreeeeeeeee...”
He turned his head to see Dom in a backwards hand-stand against the wall down the hall. A huge grin peeled itself right across the kid's face.
“Oh my God!” the Dom exclaimed, “I’ve been waiting, like, only forever for you."
All Jerry could think was that he was going to be in trouble. They were going to be in trouble. “Dominique, you can’t be here!”
“Jesus. You always say that.”
Jerry stepped further into the hall — away from the common room. “I say it because it’s true.”
“Oh, c’mon Grandpa. Live it up a little.”
Jerry didn’t like that. “Please don’t call me Grandpa.”
Dom pushed himself off the wall and stood up-right, his purple mohawk bobbing sideways and then back again. “Sorry J. I’ll call you Nancy if you prefer. Either way — I have a plan,” Dom said, winking one of his dark eyes.
Jerry was tired. “No, not tonight Dom. I have to get back to the common room and check in with Ellen.”
“Fuck that. I have a better idea.” Dom winked again and took Jerry’s hand in his own.
The skinny purple-haired teenager dragged the old man further down the hall, away from the common room of Pandonia Lodge and the tedious staff and residents who milled there, wasting away their lives.
“Where are we going Dom?”
“To complete the first stage of my plan, Nancy. You and I are getting out of this prison.” Dom dragged Jerry past the awful unisex bathrooms, the steaming hot kitchen, and the security desk — they headed right for the staff locker room and Dom produced a silver master key from him pocket.
“Where did you get that?!”
Jerry slowly turned back to the cart. The purple mohawk was gone and so he poured another cup of tea, but just as he was stirring in the half-spoon of sugar that he liked, he heard a whispering voice to his left.
“Jeeeeeeeeeee-rrreeeeeeeee...”
He turned his head to see Dom in a backwards hand-stand against the wall down the hall. A huge grin peeled itself right across the kid's face.
“Oh my God!” the Dom exclaimed, “I’ve been waiting, like, only forever for you."
All Jerry could think was that he was going to be in trouble. They were going to be in trouble. “Dominique, you can’t be here!”
“Jesus. You always say that.”
Jerry stepped further into the hall — away from the common room. “I say it because it’s true.”
“Oh, c’mon Grandpa. Live it up a little.”
Jerry didn’t like that. “Please don’t call me Grandpa.”
Dom pushed himself off the wall and stood up-right, his purple mohawk bobbing sideways and then back again. “Sorry J. I’ll call you Nancy if you prefer. Either way — I have a plan,” Dom said, winking one of his dark eyes.
Jerry was tired. “No, not tonight Dom. I have to get back to the common room and check in with Ellen.”
“Fuck that. I have a better idea.” Dom winked again and took Jerry’s hand in his own.
The skinny purple-haired teenager dragged the old man further down the hall, away from the common room of Pandonia Lodge and the tedious staff and residents who milled there, wasting away their lives.
“Where are we going Dom?”
“To complete the first stage of my plan, Nancy. You and I are getting out of this prison.” Dom dragged Jerry past the awful unisex bathrooms, the steaming hot kitchen, and the security desk — they headed right for the staff locker room and Dom produced a silver master key from him pocket.
“Where did you get that?!”
Dom shrugged. “Stole it from the nurse’s station, Nancy. Whatchya’ gonna do ‘bout it?”
Jerry felt a tumultuous mix of worry and excitement inside himself. “This is bad Dom. We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re going to get caught.”
Dom waved his hand in Jerry’s face as he opened the locker room door and pushed inside. “Oh don’t be such a scaredy-cat Nancy. All we need is one set of car keys and we are outta-here!”
With a glance behind him, Jerry had no choice but to follow the purple mohawk though the door and hope that no one saw them. Inside it smelled of sweat and socks and Indian food. Jerry felt the urge to hold his breath. “What do we even need a car for, Dom? We’re not going anywhere without the pass-code for the main door.”
Dom brushed a hand down the line of smooth skin next to his mohawk. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, old man. You just leave that to me.” Dom turned quickly and started rifling through the myriad bags that lined the benches. When he found a jingling key chain in what looked like a bowling ball bag he jumped up on the bench with a wild ‘ah-ha!’.
“Get down from there Dom,” Jerry protested, feeling all his seventy-three years coming down upon him at once. He wanted to have fun but now was not the time, and this was not the place. Pandonia Lodge was where he lived now and it commanded respect. He had already disobeyed the rules by not taking his pills — by lying — and now stealing was just another step out of line.
Dom jumped down from the bench and looked at Jerry with big, crazy eyes. “Remember when you used to knock off early on Friday afternoons and bust me out of school and we would go to the beach down past Golden Cove — where you knew that no one would recognise us, so we wouldn’t get in trouble? Remember?”
Jerry looked down. He remembered.
Dom jangled the keys in his hand and tousled Jerry’s wispy grey hair. “Golden Cove was always my favourite place. Always.”
The old man felt a big fat lump swell up in his throat.
~~~
“Jesus! Jerry! Where the fuck do you even think you’re going?” Ellen was not herself for a moment — she was huffing and puffing and there was bright pink colour in her usually pallid, unreadable face. She stopped in front of the Vespa 400 and Jerry could see her process as she put herself back together. She straightened up. The calm came over her and it was enviable. Jerry was used to the panic, even in his old age, even now that there was nothing to lose. He always got the guilts so easily and couldn’t help but feel every eye on him despite being the only one in the room.
If only he could find a calm like that.
Jerry gripped the steering wheel of the Vespa and looked across at Dom who had his feet up on the dash, and his chin down on his chest, and his arm crossed like a sullen child. Jerry remembered that Dominique had always been a sullen child. Naughty and then sullen. Naughty and then sullen. Sullen when caught.
Jerry felt a tumultuous mix of worry and excitement inside himself. “This is bad Dom. We shouldn’t be doing this. We’re going to get caught.”
Dom waved his hand in Jerry’s face as he opened the locker room door and pushed inside. “Oh don’t be such a scaredy-cat Nancy. All we need is one set of car keys and we are outta-here!”
With a glance behind him, Jerry had no choice but to follow the purple mohawk though the door and hope that no one saw them. Inside it smelled of sweat and socks and Indian food. Jerry felt the urge to hold his breath. “What do we even need a car for, Dom? We’re not going anywhere without the pass-code for the main door.”
Dom brushed a hand down the line of smooth skin next to his mohawk. “Ain’t no thing but a chicken wing, old man. You just leave that to me.” Dom turned quickly and started rifling through the myriad bags that lined the benches. When he found a jingling key chain in what looked like a bowling ball bag he jumped up on the bench with a wild ‘ah-ha!’.
“Get down from there Dom,” Jerry protested, feeling all his seventy-three years coming down upon him at once. He wanted to have fun but now was not the time, and this was not the place. Pandonia Lodge was where he lived now and it commanded respect. He had already disobeyed the rules by not taking his pills — by lying — and now stealing was just another step out of line.
Dom jumped down from the bench and looked at Jerry with big, crazy eyes. “Remember when you used to knock off early on Friday afternoons and bust me out of school and we would go to the beach down past Golden Cove — where you knew that no one would recognise us, so we wouldn’t get in trouble? Remember?”
Jerry looked down. He remembered.
Dom jangled the keys in his hand and tousled Jerry’s wispy grey hair. “Golden Cove was always my favourite place. Always.”
The old man felt a big fat lump swell up in his throat.
~~~
“Jesus! Jerry! Where the fuck do you even think you’re going?” Ellen was not herself for a moment — she was huffing and puffing and there was bright pink colour in her usually pallid, unreadable face. She stopped in front of the Vespa 400 and Jerry could see her process as she put herself back together. She straightened up. The calm came over her and it was enviable. Jerry was used to the panic, even in his old age, even now that there was nothing to lose. He always got the guilts so easily and couldn’t help but feel every eye on him despite being the only one in the room.
If only he could find a calm like that.
Jerry gripped the steering wheel of the Vespa and looked across at Dom who had his feet up on the dash, and his chin down on his chest, and his arm crossed like a sullen child. Jerry remembered that Dominique had always been a sullen child. Naughty and then sullen. Naughty and then sullen. Sullen when caught.
“Tell her, then. I know you’re going to.” Dom’s electric-purple mohawk brushed against the car’s roof as
he spoke.
Jerry looked back up at Ellen and the words came out far too softly. To the beach.
“I’m sorry Jerry,” she said coldly, “did you say something?”
“To the beach.”
“To the beach?”
He nodded, “Mmhmmmm.”
“To the beach,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing.
Jerry swallowed and tasted the freedom that was about to be taken from him.
Ellen took a few steps forward and placed her hands on the Vespa. “Turn the engine off please, Jerry. We’re going back inside.”
Jerry shook his head and gripped the steering wheel tighter — he didn’t want to go back inside.
“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.”
He looked up and saw her face was serious. His confusion must have been apparent. “I was going to the beach,” he protested.
“Who were you going to the beach with?” she asked, motioning for Luke-or-something to step and in get Jerry out of the car.
Jerry turned to Dom, who was still sulking, and then back to Ellen. Her face was unreadable and slightly distorted on the other side of the Vespa’s windshield.
“Jerry, who were you going to the beach with?”
Jerry, feeling all of his seventy-three years hanging over him, was finally ready to go back to Pandonia Lodge. “I was going to go with Dom. It was his plan, after all.”
Ellen’s face didn’t change. “Dominique has been dead for forty years Jerry. I’m sorry. And I need to ask another question.”
Jerry knew what the next question was — “No. I didn’t take my meds,” he said, feeling tired all of a sudden.
When Jerry looked back to the passenger seat, Dom was staring right at him and the electric-purple mohawk had drooped a little. “Dad, I’m sorry. I just wanted to go to the beach.”
Jerry looked back up at Ellen and the words came out far too softly. To the beach.
“I’m sorry Jerry,” she said coldly, “did you say something?”
“To the beach.”
“To the beach?”
He nodded, “Mmhmmmm.”
“To the beach,” she repeated, her eyes narrowing.
Jerry swallowed and tasted the freedom that was about to be taken from him.
Ellen took a few steps forward and placed her hands on the Vespa. “Turn the engine off please, Jerry. We’re going back inside.”
Jerry shook his head and gripped the steering wheel tighter — he didn’t want to go back inside.
“Jerry,” she repeated, “we’ve done this a thousand fold and it always turns out the same way. Please don’t waste my time.”
He looked up and saw her face was serious. His confusion must have been apparent. “I was going to the beach,” he protested.
“Who were you going to the beach with?” she asked, motioning for Luke-or-something to step and in get Jerry out of the car.
Jerry turned to Dom, who was still sulking, and then back to Ellen. Her face was unreadable and slightly distorted on the other side of the Vespa’s windshield.
“Jerry, who were you going to the beach with?”
Jerry, feeling all of his seventy-three years hanging over him, was finally ready to go back to Pandonia Lodge. “I was going to go with Dom. It was his plan, after all.”
Ellen’s face didn’t change. “Dominique has been dead for forty years Jerry. I’m sorry. And I need to ask another question.”
Jerry knew what the next question was — “No. I didn’t take my meds,” he said, feeling tired all of a sudden.
When Jerry looked back to the passenger seat, Dom was staring right at him and the electric-purple mohawk had drooped a little. “Dad, I’m sorry. I just wanted to go to the beach.”
Jerry smiled. “I know kiddo. So did I.”
Saturday, January 16, 2016
Christmas Eve
I died in the light of the morning.
You died the next day.
Maya had bought the sweater with money from the last truck driver. It wasn’t for the warmth, though essentially that was good for keeping up appearances, but for the dirty great reindeer stitched to the front with the googly eyes and glittering antlers and stitched sequin nose.
She had always loved Christmas and even though last year hadn’t been ideal, Maya was determined to resurrect her longstanding habit of festive happiness. Or whatever.
She supposed she looked ridiculous in the sweater, but still, she'd bought a small, unsweetened coffee and set up camp at a grimy table in the corner. The girl behind the counter had been giving her the eye ever since. Jesus, Maya thought to herself, what was she gonna buy, a cow burger? Even that probably wouldn’t have satisfied the stupid slut who was still glaring Maya down like she was about to steal the cash register or just plain solicit right there in the diner.
After a while the girl behind the counter was distracted with one thing or another and Maya found herself free to get back to the hunt. More than a dozen truck drivers were milling around in the warm interior of the diner but one in particular had caught her eye. He was tall, lean, barely older than her, she guessed, and though clearly minding his own business over a cup of steaming soup, Maya could feel him buzzing with human need — he had already noticed her — she could hear the blood pumping through his veins.
Dark curly hair, rough fingers...her mind ran over their course surface and there was an echoing sound that boomed around her...a scraping so loud...
An unbuttoned flannel over a dirty grey shirt, hat on, its brim straight as an arrow but just as dirty as the shirt. A beard that sprouted in a thick carpet on his face. Maybe four days worth.
Maya could smell him on the air between them. Her hands were starting to shake from hunger.
***
She was tiny. And pretty.
He had seen her across the diner as soon as he came through the doors into the warmth. Out of the cold.
He had seen her, looked away immediately, and then found that he had memorised her in less than that moment. Jayden sighed. He was getting tired of failing to surprise himself.
Don’t think with your little brain, brother. That’s what Jimmy had always told him. Troy burned for Helen. Jimmy was probably the only voice of reason he’d ever hear.
Jayden had told his Mama that he would be good out here — where it was cold and isolated and the women were ‘strange’ and always ‘wanting to tempt him' -- and he was going to hold himself to that promise. The women that he’d encountered hadn’t really been like that, so he could never understand what his Mama was so afraid of. They were just women. Some were truck drivers, some were prostitutes, some were housewives who served him hot soup in cups at diners along the interstate.
This women, well, she was more girl than woman... She was tiny. And pretty.
***
Time passed for this man. Tall Beard. More boy than man, Maya thought to herself.
She watched him lift the cup of soup to his lips and time passed for him and his beard grew and she swore she could hear it growing. Time passed for this boy but it didn’t really seem to pass for Maya anymore. Sure, it had been a year, but she only knew that because Christmas was here again. She wondered if that made her like everyone else, with her hair and fingernails that continued to grow and her lack of surprise when night turned into day, over and over again.
She felt like the same Maya. She felt unchanged, as if her self was persistent and the world moved and grew around her in its own way. Perhaps it would have been different if Baby was still alive.
The only thing that was different was the fact that she wasn’t a little girl anymore. It wasn’t a blatant change that the people in the diner wouldn notice — the girl behind the counter, the tall boy with the beard — but it was definitely a change.
The bruises on her elbows and knees, and the dark circles under her eyes, these were more visible when she was hungry, and tonight she counted four days since she had last eaten. She needed more money. And she needed to eat.
The sweater had been frivolous, Maya could admit that to herself, but the improvement it had made on her mood was more than worth it in her opinion. The coffee tonight had been a dollar which left an even eleven dollars tucked into the back of her winter leggings.
Maya sipped her coffee and tried not to be envious of his plump, pumping arteries. Tall Beard. She could feel the heat of his blood coming off him in waves. The heat seemed to mimic her own want; her terrible, unforgivable need.
No big deal — just two consenting adults who needed what the other had.
Sure, Maya wanted it to be true, but she knew there was no way Tall Beard would consent to what she needed tonight. She was going to have to take it from him.
***
Jayden was tired but his heart seemed to be working harder than his body could manage, and a lot of his blood was funneling straight down to his...
Well. If he was being honest, that had probably started happening as soon as he’d seen her, really. Big dark eyes, with bags above her cheeks that were screaming lack of sleep, dirty bangs across her face, swimming inside a too- big Christmas sweater. There was something about her — like a car crash that you just ached to look at — this girl, with her big eyes; she was a magnet.
The soup was definitely not enough. Jayden bought an egg salad sandwich from behind the spit-guard for $4.50 (it was probably old and dry, but whatever) and wished he was anywhere but this truck stop diner in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere. In less than a day he’d be gone from this place, just like he was gone from every other place, but still.
He was already rock hard in his pants underneath the table when he looked up to see her face, not a foot from his own, as he finished opening the sandwich packaging. How had she come over without him noticing?
“Hi.” She smiled at him, but God, she looked pale enough and weak enough that she might just pass out.
Jayden smiled in reply. "Hi yourself." He motioned for her to sit down opposite him in the booth, which she did. She did not, however, accept the half of his egg sandwich that he offered her.
***
When you have no heart, it’s as if that heart belongs to everyone. And so, Maya’s heart was every man’s heart. But that was really only because men were easier.
There were women out here, in the cold, but it was as if most of them had no intention of exploring their wants or giving in to their urges. Men on the other hand were dripping with need and all Maya had to do was be there.
Just like Carl’s friend had told her.
It had been a night after the boys were all too drunk to remember that she was, in fact, a girl. An average kid, average height, average face, but there had been a glint in his eyes that made her think he was smarter than he let on and perhaps the alcohol only really opened his mouth and let out the words that had already been inside his mind.
“I’ve tested it out,” he had said.
Maya hadn’t understood.
“I’ve tried it, and it worked,” he continued. “Not like, stalker style, but just...you know, texting her on a Friday afternoon, or mid-morning Monday. Times when you know she needs attention. Just be there. Be there.”
Maya had only been half-listening at the time, with her mind on other things (though, she didn’t know then that she was pregnant), but now, these days, she found that it worked. And it worked pretty fucking well.
Just be there.
***
Perhaps it was just because it had been so long since he had been close to someone; touched someone, or felt something other than his own isolation.
Jayden found himself picturing her naked, this girl across from him at the table, looking up at him with big, wet eyes. He wondered what her nipples looked like; if she was shaved; what her skin would feel like underneath his fingers.
He took a long, calm breath and sipped his soup. It must have been Christmas Eve messing with him — making him think of home; making him wish he had a home of his own — a wife, child, dog. A lawn that needed mowing, a garden full of bright colourful flowers, a home cooked meal on the table every night, bacon and eggs in the morning.
All the things that he would never have.
No, he thought. Stop it. All he had to do was rest up, make it through this night, fucking Christmas Eve, and get his load upstate, on time, without incident. Then he’d be done. Home free, as other people said. Ready to chug on to the next job.
***
Maya found it oddly comforting that his truck cab felt more like a home than any other she’d been in. Normally they were littered with greasy crisp packets, empty soda cans, sticky used condoms, crumbs, and shards of broken glass.
But this was different. There was a sturdy blind that pulled down and covered the inside of the windshield blocking out most of the sunlight that had already started to finger it’s way through onto their legs.
The way she was now, Maya could feel everything, but when she touched her fingers to Tall Beard's chin and the sides of his face she was taken aback to find that it was total overload.
His thoughts came flooding in and there was no gate. The kid was an open book of feelings.
Mostly there were images of a small family home. Blurry, angry memories of a father. Tall Beard himself, picking coloured flowers against a brightening morning. There was a girl as well. Soft and curved and smiling, as if she herself, was the actual sun inside his memory. Big, pearly-white teeth; cherry red lips; bright blue eyes that sparkled. A girl — slipping away, fading away; moving her lips, but Maya heard no words.
She knew Tall Beard had lost himself to this girl. Maya knew that Tall Beard's heart had been rendered as useless as her own. She felt sorry for him. She had seen heartbreak before, she had felt it, but this was different somehow.
This was closer and louder.
***
Carl had scrambled on top of her in the motel bed, and, thinking he was on a bender, Maya had given up fighting him. It hurt less if she relaxed.
And then, just as she did, she had felt his teeth. By that point they were sharp and elongated. They opened up her neck and in response, her chest rose in an unintended arc towards him, pulling her upper body away but simultaneously giving him more space to straddle her and get at the hot blood that was running down her neck and into her hair on the sheets underneath her.
Carl. She had pawed at him but he was different. He was strong. Too strong for an addict. Too strong for the pathetic excuse for a human that she knew him to be. His skin was cold against her own and it was as if he was fevered, or pumped full of adrenaline, or something else...
He hadn’t fully drained her that night and then, eventually, she had turned. In the midst of her mindless convulsions Carl had dragged himself out behind the motel and died.
And then it was just Maya and Baby then. Maya. And Baby.
***
Jayden was nervous. His little brain was telling him what he wanted, but at the same time it was hard to think that this tiny pretty girl was anything other than dangerous.
She straddled him with the ease and grace of the experienced, and licked from his collar bone to the edge of his jaw. He was hard — a coiled spring — and he had the strong urge to toss her into the back, get on top, and hold her down while he had his way.
That was wrong though. Merely an urge. Not the way you act around other people. Jayden knew how to act appropriately and that was exactly what he intended to do.
As he let her move on top he noticed that she was lighter than he had anticipated.
She kissed his neck. She kissed his beard. She kissed his lips and then the lids of his eyes. Her pants were off (he hadn’t noticed her taking them off) and she pulled her knickers aside. Jayden could feel with his fingers how wet she was and it only made him realise that he was much closer to an edge he hadn’t noticed before. He wanted to buck up into her. He wanted to push her down and use her. He stopped himself.
This tiny, pretty girl slid herself onto him just as her razor sharp teeth pierced the warm skin of his neck.
Jayden clawed at her shirt trying to detach her from his neck but her hands were suddenly so strong that she had him pinned and he could feel nothing but the warm red blood that slicked out from his carotid.
***
Penetration.
Maya knew it had never been her word, but it was hers in that moment. She had penetrated him.
Her fangs had punctured his soft skin and it was as satisfying as anything she had ever felt. Even more than the first time. She sucked hard, desperate to get her fill, desperate not to waste a single drop. Tall Beard's blood flooded her system; overwhelmed her; set her cool, pale body afire.
The morning Carl had turned her, Maya had been in pain. It was Christmas Eve. Carl died out behind the motel but she woke the next day to a fresh hell that she didn't want any part of. And then she had become hungry. So hungry. Too hungry.
She had grown weak.
She had failed.
Failed Baby.
Baby had been her first meal. Tall Beard wouldn’t be her last.
Thursday, June 11, 2015
I Don't Have Kids, I Have Livestock
~
Dinner service was absolutely hectic and Tina from the waitstaff was at the service window looking stressed and wild-eyed, “Two Cordon bleu, a medium rare eye, and five slow beef,” she said quickly.
An enthusiastic fuck yes from one of the sous chefs prompted the entire kitchen into a frenzy of hoots and opposing boos. Slow beef was on the up and up tonight and Josie wasn’t surprised — it was one of her best ideas. Onions, garlic, new potatoes, thyme, and tender, melting meat. Simple stuff, but after a whole day on low heat the dish was bringing them in a good forty-five dollars per plate, and the boys who prepped it were her shining stars — Christopher, Sean, and Bas. Josie couldn’t hide how chuffed she was with their efforts of late, and especially, tonight. “Punching above their weight tonight, we have Slow Beef! I hope everyone is paying attention.”
To her statement there came a resounding, Yes Chef Josie!
It was a lively Friday night but she was tired. Feeling it in her knees and at the back of her skull, the dull ache of being awake too long, too often. There was a strong want in her, to lie down and just close her eyes, but this was her kingdom and she would let it fall for nothing. She projected her voice over the din, “Service stops at eleven. On the dot. I want slow beef on clean up with me. They killed it tonight. They get the ‘wine and dine’. Please, everyone envy them.”
The kitchen erupted again into a mix of laughter and hisses. Josie saw Christopher and Sean high-five. Bas smiled quietly to himself next to them at the back countertop.
Forty-five minutes later the restaurant was empty and Josie was helping the slow beef trio hose down the benches and stock the fridges for the next day. Sean was the first to pause and look at her. She wasn’t surprised, the moment had seemed inevitable. The kid was sweating, flushed, and he looked disappointed, “Chef Josie. I’m sorry but…is this really what ‘wine and dine’ is?”
Josie smiled and turned to the other two boys, “Christopher, Bas, do you think this is wine and dine?”
“Uhhhh, I fucking hope it’s not.” It was Christopher, tucking his dishrag into his apron and raising an eyebrow to highlight his dissatisfaction.
She winked, “It’s not.”
The three slow beef boys seemed to breathe relief.
Sean was busting at the seams, “Tell us then, please Chef Josie.”
They eyeballed her with anticipation.
“Okay, well….it’s pizza and whiskey. And I’m paying,” she said, ignoring their boyish smiles and washing her hands, drying them on her apron. “Alright, I ordered them earlier so they should be ready for pick up. Kel’s Pizza House. Christopher take my car.” She tossed him the keys from her pocket, “They’re paid for.”
The kid caught them with his mouth open in excitement. “Oh. No. Holy shit, did you get the lamb with the…”
Sean cut him off, “…with the pesto and zucchini ribbons?”
Josie winked again. She noticed Bas hanging back - he was new to the restaurant and the area and clearly hadn’t yet been to Kel’s.
“Trust us Bas, this pizza will change your life.” She turned back to Sean, “There’s a bottle of Glenlivet back in the dry store behind the grains. And get some ice.”
Sean nodded, but then paused a moment, “Did you get the chicken as well Chef? The spicy….”
Josie rolled her eyes and spoke over him, “Yes, of course. The spicy chicken and avocado.”
The kid grinned and turned toward the storeroom. As they heard the doors close behind the other two, Bas and Josie made eye contact for an awkward moment. She started filling a couple of buckets and motioned for Bas to grab the mops from the store closet, “You’ve done really well this last month. I hope you know I’ve noticed that.”
He gave her a brief smile but avoided her eyes, “Thank you Chef Josie.”
Josie slapped her mop onto the tiles and started to wipe it in long arcs, back and forth, “No. Fuck that. Bas, you’re good. You’re better than anyone I’ve seen in a long time, and I don’t mean just on slow beef. I know those boys are pushy but I think you fit well with them. I saw you on prep work in the first week and I found myself surprised that you even took this job.”
The kid shrugged and kept on mopping next to her. Their synchronous movements were calming for both of them.
Josie continued, “Your knife skills are amazing. Enviable one might say. I mean….your julienne…..”
The storeroom door flung open to reveal Sean holding a dusty bottle of whiskey and a large stainless steel bowl of ice. There was a smirk on his face.
Josie pointed her mop at him, “Don’t you dare drag your filthy trotters all over our clean floor, heathen. To the bar the with you. We’ll be out soon.” She shooed Sean away with her hand and continued with the mopping.
Bas remained quiet and so did she for the next five minutes as they finished the floor and emptied their buckets. It was impossible not to hear Christopher burst through the front door of the restaurant with their bounty, even from the kitchen.
“I’m back, bitches.”
At the bar Josie and Bas took up stools on the customer side as Christopher set out plates and Sean poured drinks. They laughed and talked and gossiped, and after the first few rounds, everyone, including Bas, was relaxed and letting the stress of the night dissolve away to nothing. When the pizza was gone and the bottle was just about empty, Christopher put his hands up in forfeit, “Sorry Chef Josie, but Seany and I need to run for the last train home.”
She huffed, took something from her pocket and slid it across the bar toward Christopher, “No. Actually, you don’t.”
He picked up the sparkling bronze room card and held it to the light, “Royal on Pine? Are you fucking with me?”
Josie laughed — she saw the delight in Christopher’s eyes and the utter embarrassment in Sean’s, “You boys get one night on me. Don’t waste it.”
Christopher blurted his thanks and practically dragged Sean out into the cool night. They were headed for the loveliest bed they had shared in a long while.
Josie poured Bas another drink and packed up the empty pizza boxes. “Okay Ace. I have an idea that I’m toying with. A new dish. Something that I would like you to test; to taste; to perhaps take the lead on.”
He looked up mid-sip, “What is it?”
“Ahhh, not yet little one. The ingredients are at my place, as are the utensils. This is a one time opportunity.”
He almost blushed, “I’d…uh, come to your place?”
“Not like that,” Josie was fully aware how unseemly the whole thing sounded, “Just a plate test and you can crash in the spare room.”
Bas was flailing; completely unsure of how to respond and Josie could tell.
She attempted to calm the situation, “Look, if you want to say no that’s fine. Honestly. But like I said, it’s a one time chance. I could bump you up another ten thousand a year if you make this work.” She hoped the money would be shiny enough to persuade him.
“I….I just…my girl is waiting for me at home.” The kid looked guilty, as if he’d already done something wrong.
“So call her. Apologise. Ask her if it’s okay if you do this one thing.”
He hesitated, looked at the floor, and then slipped his phone out of his pocket. She was pleased with herself as she watched him dial the number, hold the phone to his ear, and bite his lip. Bas made eye contact with Josie as he spoke, “Hey. Baby. Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just finishing up. But um, Chef has asked if I can test a new plate with her. No. Tonight, like right now.” He frowned a little and turned away from Josie.
She saw this as her opportunity, dropped the garbage bags and swooped in to steal the phone from his hand, “Hi there, I’m Josie. Chef Josie.”
There was silence on the line.
Josie continued, “Hi, well it’s nice to meet you. Bas talks about you all the time, but he’s never mentioned your name. Care to share?”
Silence again, and then finally, “I’m Alice. Ha, it’s funny, actually. He talks about you all the time.”
“Well does he now?” Josie eyeballed Bas and watched him squirm, “Nothing but praise I hope. For his sake.”
There was a laugh down the line and then, “Sometimes work is all he can think about, to be fair.”
Josie had a sudden thought, “Alice, tell me — what did Bas cook you for dinner last night, if you don’t mind?”
The voice in the phone was silent in thought and then, “Mushrooms, avocado, and goats cheese on ciabatta with uhhhh…..some kind of translucent sauce stuff. It tasted of maybe…pepper and garlic. It was amazing.”
Josie smiled and Bas looked all the more embarrassed and inquisitive as he mouthed the word what?
“Okay Alice. How would you feel if I stole Bas for the night? It’s nothing creepy or inappropriate, I just need his opinion on a new dish at the restaurant and he’s worried it’s going to upset you if he doesn’t come home tonight.” There was a pause as Josie listened to Alice’s response. Her smile grew wide, “Ah. Fair enough. Understood. I’ll let him know.” She hung up and handed the phone back to Bas.
He took it but the colour had drained from his face, “What did she say?”
Josie poked her tongue at him and winked, “She said she’s going to have a quiet bath and watch Love Actually. I think she’s happy you’re not coming home.”
Bas huffed and rolled his eyes, “That would be fucking right.” He blushed when he realised what he had said, but Josie couldn’t care, she was already busy bundling up the pizza boxes and garbage bags.
“Alright Ace, ready to go?”
He nodded, promptly forgetting his faux pa, “I’ll get the lights.”
They stood for a moment outside the locked doors and quietly took in the dark, unassuming restaurant. It seemed so strange and unfamiliar stripped of it’s frantic staff and rowdy clientele. An hour earlier it had been a living breathing organism. Now it was silent and barren. Both Josie and Bas felt each other / themselves appreciating the transformation.
Bas didn’t turn but sighed and then laughed, “So, Chef Josie, are you going to tell me what’s on the menu tonight?”
She smiled and turned towards to the car, “C’mon Ace, I’ll tell you on the way.”
Josie’s place was a fair way out of town, up in the hills beyond the bustle of the city and that was the point — quiet, peaceful, sprawling — a perfect place for her to escape the insanity of the restaurant and conjure up new dishes. Twenty minutes after leaving downtown they were pulling into the tree lined driveway and Bas was failing to hide his surprise upon seeing the immense house and property.
“Please tell me this is not where you live Chef Josie?”
She chuckled and parked the car in front of the main door. “I inherited it from my Grandfather. He was a great man. Taught me everything I know about life. And food, of course.”
She couldn’t tell if the kid was listening; he was staring up at the house. It was flooded in moonlight and did look quite beautiful to be honest, “Ok Ace, enough of that. We have work to do.”
She jumped out of the car and headed for the door of the house. Bas scurried out behind her like an excited puppy, “What did you say it was again?” he asked her as she turned her key in the lock.
“Beef carpaccio.”
Bas nodded and scratched his scruffy beard. They entered into the open dining area at the front of the house which was filled with large potted plants; ferns and hanging creepers and smaller palms. Directly ahead of the them was the enormous polished wooden dining table long enough to fit at least thirty people for a sitting meal. There were two dressed seats at one end and a few subtle flickering tea lights. Bas was staring again, mouth open.
Josie pushed him to the left and through the large door that led to the even larger kitchen. It was stainless steel and dark emerald from ceiling to floor and she was trying to picture just how big it was blowing the kid’s mind.
He didn’t even pause, “Ho. Lee. Fuck.”
Josie laughed internally and dumped her keys on one of the benches. The deep stainless steel work areas lined all four walls and skirted the large bench space in the middle, underneath which was drawer upon drawer of perfectly kept utensils and appliances. From one of the double door fridges she pulled a bottle of champagne and the meat she had obtained earlier in the day. “Open that for me please, Ace,” she said, sliding the bottle over in his direction.
He smirked and scooted over to uncork the wine, “Are you gonna call me that forever, Chef Josie?”
“Hmmmm,” she pretended to think a moment, “probably.” She produced two glass flutes from one of the cabinets above the bench along with an impeccably sharp knife from one of the many drawers, “Now Ace, I need your input. Pour us some wine and unwrap the meat while I put the pan on. You want to get salt and olive oil from the racks over to your right, and a board from the drawer underneath that.”
The hob was on one side of the bench in the middle of the room and Josie turned it up high while Bas did what he was told. He set the items down next, unwrapped the meat from its paper and took the glasses over to her at the hob. “What are we celebrating?”
“A new dish. If we can tweak this, get it right, make it a star, it will be called ‘The Bas’.”
The kid paled. They clinked their glasses together and Josie got serious.
“Pay attention Ace. Carpaccio. It’s flank skirt steak. A long, fairly thin piece. We sear it first. Fast and dirty — no more than thirty seconds a side — and then we let it rest for five minutes. That’s when the fun stuff happens.”
Bas sipped his wine, “We serve it with something?”
“Kind of. We slice it very thinly after the fiver, but we put stuff on top. So far I think a herb, something soft and mellow, maybe taragon, but I’m still torn on that one. I want a cheese, perhaps cheddar. Olive oil, maybe a touch of soy.” She was turning the pan around carefully on the hob, getting it hot and trying to pique the kid’s interest.
Bas pulled his bottom lip between his fingers, he was hooked, “Okay. I see where you’re going. The beef is basically raw, just sealed.”
“Yes, rub the meat with salt and oil and bring it over. The pan is ready, you can throw it on.” Josie nursed her wine, sat up on one of the benches, and watched him work. Clearly his nerves had calmed; he was in the zone now — thinking; working. He counted, his eyes on the clock that hung on the opposite wall, but he was thinking at the same time, she could see it in his eyes. The meat sizzled loudly, echoing around the kitchen. The two of them were enveloped in a lovely warm smell. When the minute was up, Bas transferred the seared skirt to the board and turned off the hob.
“Chef Josie, not to step on your toes, but I think a herb is too much.” He hesitated a moment, “And…..soy is not what you want, in my opinion at least,” he seemed nervous and confident at the same time.
Josie knocked back her wine and motioned for him to refill their glasses, “Okay Ace. That’s why you’re here. Tell me what you think.”
He drummed his fingers on the bench and bit his lip. “It sounds strong, but what about a tiny bit of Dijon, with olive oil. Then instead of a herb…..maybe watercress?”
Josie considered proposal. He had a goddamn point with the Dijon. And the watercress? She was a fool for thinking a herb was the answer. She wanted to hit herself in the face. “Well, fuck me Ace. You’ve outdone yourself. I know you’ve got a substitute for the cheddar as well. Give it up.”
He had some more wine and remained sheepish, “Okay, well. I say Romano. Just a bare grating of it. At the very last moment. Not harsh shavings; gratings. I know it’s strong like the Dijon but I think the beef will benefit from just the hint of those intense flavours.”
Josie downed the last of her wine and undid her hair. She was impressed; she was happy; she knew she had seen something in this boy. So much promise, but not drowning in confidence “You know what, fucking do it. Hopefully there’s watercress in the crisper, but I know for sure I have a scruffy block of Romano in the second fridge and a jar of Dijon next to the eggs.”
Bas rustled around in the fridges while Josie poured some more wine. She resumed her position on the bench and watched him work. The kid mixed the mustard and olive oil in a small bowl with a fork and checked the Romano for mould. Once he was focused he became a machine — that’s what she admired about him and, giving in to the truth of it, that was a part of herself that she saw in him — a commitment to finding the best, prepping the best, producing the best. There wasn’t watercress in the crisper, but Josie remembered that she had planted a small tub out behind the herbs, just a pot left over from a restaurant order.
“So I slice it thinly and then…” Bas seemed uncertain all of a sudden.
“Yes. We want it to be thin and mottled with threads of empty space. Layer the pieces alternately with baking paper and use a mallet from the top drawer over there to get them nice and thin. I’m going out to the garden, hopefully I’ll find the watercress.”
Bas nodded but didn’t lift his eyes from the meat on the board.
The night had really cooled down and the moon was high above her as Josie waded through the bushes of seeding coriander and dewy flowers. Her torch light eventually landed on the scruffy little watercress plant. The thing was barely alive so she ripped it out of the ground, roots and all. Shaking off the dirt she pondered the night for a moment. Takings had been good. Patronage had been excellent. Josie was enjoying this particular Friday night. Bas had good taste, a good instinct, and even though that’s what she had expected it was still nice to be proven right.
She headed back inside to find him making quick but careful work of the flank. Josie brushed rounded the other side of the centre bench, snipped off the watercress roots into the sink and washed the leaves gently under cold water. She rested them on some paper towel next to Bas as he worked, and then hoisted herself up onto the bench opposite him again. He had poured more wine while she was away and Josie could tell he wanted to impress — this was his moment, and he was killing it.
Bas smoothed out his sandwich of layered flank strips and baking paper held the mallet with intent but clearly he was having second thoughts about something, “Chef Josie, I had my eye on some garlic hanging in your dry pantry, perhaps rubbing a fresh clove over the meat. Now I think that’s too much.” He didn’t wait for an answer and started to beat the layers of flank out nice and thin.
Josie figured the kid had a point. The mustard, the impending Romano — maybe garlic would be a step too far. Before she could say anything though, he was plating up the paper-thin strips of meat, drizzling them with the oil and mustard, and garnishing with watercress leaves. Bas cocked his head, regarded the dish a moment, and found the thought he was looking for, “Pepper. Fresh cracked pepper.”
Josie held up her glass and gestured to the the small cupboard behind him.
Out at the table he waited for her to taste the dish. The moment was tense, but she had imagined it would be perfect, and when it was, Josie met his eyes, “I think you’ve done it. The Bas.”
The kid was able to breathe again and took a gulp of his wine.
“You okay, Ace?”
“Yeah just, it’s been a long night Chef. Mind if I crash?”
She smiled warmly and breathed out, “Of course not. Head up the stairs over there and turn right. There’s a room at the end of the hall. The light should be on and I’m thinking there’ll be something in the closet that fits you. You’re basically my size and neither of us exactly wear feminine clothing,” she winked and eyed their matching checkered pants and dirty white, double-breasted jackets, “Don’t forget to plug your phone in. And there’s a bathroom through the door next to the bed-head.”
Josie watched him stumble up the stairs and saw nothing but his enviable sense of and potential.
At the top of the stairs Bas stopped and looked back down at her, “Chef Josie, can I ask a question?”
“Shoot, Ace.”
He hesitated a second but then the words fell out, “Everyone at the restaurant….I mean, Christopher and Sean and some of the waitstaff — they say you’re married. Or a lesbian. Or have like twelve kids. Or something,” he blushed, “but…..I haven’t heard anyone else here all night.”
Josie considered him a moment. She watched him sway on the step and try to keep his eyelids from falling shut. The kid was drunk and tired.
“No, Ace. Not married. And I don’t have kids, I have livestock. Other than that, it’s just me.”
“Oh,” Bas shrugged and seemed a little disappointed at her answer. He smiled then, “Ok. Sorry. That was kinda rude. Night, Chef Josie.”
“Night Ace.”
When she heard the door close upstairs she took the leftover carpaccio and divided it into seven portions and placed them on seven pieces of paper along with the leftover mustardy oil and watercress. She put them all on a long tray and, at the last minute decided the pepper was necessary. The kid had a damned point and she wasn’t going to just ignore that.
Tray in hand, Josie paused in the dining room and listened. There wasn’t any movement upstairs, Bas must have been asleep. She wasn’t surprised. He had worked a fourteen hour day and then spent another half hour trying to impress her. Poor kid was probably dead to the world.
Out the back door of the dining room she turned left, toward the kitchen-end of the house and made her way to the exterior basement door. On a chain around her neck, hidden under her chef’s coat, was the key to the door. She had to set the tray down and lean in close to unlock the large steel mechanism. The moon was her light.
Inside it was warm; perfectly temperate. Climate control had been worth the expense, it kept them comfortable and happy…mostly. The only problem was the smell — Josie hoped that one day she would be able to fix that problem. It was difficult to grant your livestock freedom when they had a penchant for breaking the fence.
She tiptoed down the stairs and across the open floor to the row of cages against the back wall, she didn’t want to wake them. Eight cages in total. Seven foot high, five foot wide, five foot deep. Cement floor, hence the heating, and seven foot between each cage, so they could talk but not touch. Small down lights were cemented into the floor in front of each of them.
Josie was quiet as she laid out each carpaccio serving in front of the cages, except for the fifth one. One of them, Number Three, a tall, dark haired kid she had picked up in a bar perhaps a week ago, stirred and sat up. The other five were still sleeping. He curled his fingers around the steel grid of his cage and watched her quietly while she kept her distance and used the hose from the far wall to fill up each of the rectangular troughs behind the bars. He was past the angry screaming stage. Onto the curious stage — most likely he wanted to try to confirm what the others had surely told him already.
“Hey,” he said quietly. He wasn’t afraid; he seemed almost resigned.
She smiled, “Hey yourself.”
“I remember buying you a drink.”
“You did,” Josie continued filling the troughs.
“You told me you were thirty-three. Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You told me your name was Josie. Is that the truth?”
She wound the hose back onto its wheel, “It is, yes.”
“Why am I here?” he asked. His voice broke a little on that question.
Josie almost felt a sorry for the kid, “Wrong night, wrong place, wrong time. Sorry cutie.”
Number Three scrubbed a hand across his face and sat up to look at his serving of dinner, “It looks raw.”
She laughed a little, “It is, mostly. But I guarantee you’ll like it. It’s called carpaccio.”
“Where’s Marcel?” he asked, still staring at the meat.
“Ah. Number Five. He’s gone I’m afraid. He made me almost ten grand tonight,” she said as she smiled and squatted down level with his face, “Perhaps you’ll make me more.”
He looked at her then, but there was nothing in his eyes — he just sat against the back of his cage, knees pulled up to his chest.
Josie stood up and walked over to turn the sound system on. She’d had it installed at the same time as the climate control, cemented into the wall with a small speaker in each corner and a whole catalogue of music for her livestock, “Hmm….I’m in a Miles Davis kind of mood, Number Three. What do you think?”
He said nothing and watched her press play on the track.
Josie pulled her hair out of the bun she twisted it into for kitchen work, and turned back to Number Three in his cage, “Well kiddo, tell the boys I’ll be down in the morning with breakfast. No doubt Marcel will make for an absolutely delicious sausage scramble.”
She didn’t turn back as she padded softly up the stairs and locked the door behind her.
Dinner service was absolutely hectic and Tina from the waitstaff was at the service window looking stressed and wild-eyed, “Two Cordon bleu, a medium rare eye, and five slow beef,” she said quickly.
An enthusiastic fuck yes from one of the sous chefs prompted the entire kitchen into a frenzy of hoots and opposing boos. Slow beef was on the up and up tonight and Josie wasn’t surprised — it was one of her best ideas. Onions, garlic, new potatoes, thyme, and tender, melting meat. Simple stuff, but after a whole day on low heat the dish was bringing them in a good forty-five dollars per plate, and the boys who prepped it were her shining stars — Christopher, Sean, and Bas. Josie couldn’t hide how chuffed she was with their efforts of late, and especially, tonight. “Punching above their weight tonight, we have Slow Beef! I hope everyone is paying attention.”
To her statement there came a resounding, Yes Chef Josie!
It was a lively Friday night but she was tired. Feeling it in her knees and at the back of her skull, the dull ache of being awake too long, too often. There was a strong want in her, to lie down and just close her eyes, but this was her kingdom and she would let it fall for nothing. She projected her voice over the din, “Service stops at eleven. On the dot. I want slow beef on clean up with me. They killed it tonight. They get the ‘wine and dine’. Please, everyone envy them.”
The kitchen erupted again into a mix of laughter and hisses. Josie saw Christopher and Sean high-five. Bas smiled quietly to himself next to them at the back countertop.
Forty-five minutes later the restaurant was empty and Josie was helping the slow beef trio hose down the benches and stock the fridges for the next day. Sean was the first to pause and look at her. She wasn’t surprised, the moment had seemed inevitable. The kid was sweating, flushed, and he looked disappointed, “Chef Josie. I’m sorry but…is this really what ‘wine and dine’ is?”
Josie smiled and turned to the other two boys, “Christopher, Bas, do you think this is wine and dine?”
“Uhhhh, I fucking hope it’s not.” It was Christopher, tucking his dishrag into his apron and raising an eyebrow to highlight his dissatisfaction.
She winked, “It’s not.”
The three slow beef boys seemed to breathe relief.
Sean was busting at the seams, “Tell us then, please Chef Josie.”
They eyeballed her with anticipation.
“Okay, well….it’s pizza and whiskey. And I’m paying,” she said, ignoring their boyish smiles and washing her hands, drying them on her apron. “Alright, I ordered them earlier so they should be ready for pick up. Kel’s Pizza House. Christopher take my car.” She tossed him the keys from her pocket, “They’re paid for.”
The kid caught them with his mouth open in excitement. “Oh. No. Holy shit, did you get the lamb with the…”
Sean cut him off, “…with the pesto and zucchini ribbons?”
Josie winked again. She noticed Bas hanging back - he was new to the restaurant and the area and clearly hadn’t yet been to Kel’s.
“Trust us Bas, this pizza will change your life.” She turned back to Sean, “There’s a bottle of Glenlivet back in the dry store behind the grains. And get some ice.”
Sean nodded, but then paused a moment, “Did you get the chicken as well Chef? The spicy….”
Josie rolled her eyes and spoke over him, “Yes, of course. The spicy chicken and avocado.”
The kid grinned and turned toward the storeroom. As they heard the doors close behind the other two, Bas and Josie made eye contact for an awkward moment. She started filling a couple of buckets and motioned for Bas to grab the mops from the store closet, “You’ve done really well this last month. I hope you know I’ve noticed that.”
He gave her a brief smile but avoided her eyes, “Thank you Chef Josie.”
Josie slapped her mop onto the tiles and started to wipe it in long arcs, back and forth, “No. Fuck that. Bas, you’re good. You’re better than anyone I’ve seen in a long time, and I don’t mean just on slow beef. I know those boys are pushy but I think you fit well with them. I saw you on prep work in the first week and I found myself surprised that you even took this job.”
The kid shrugged and kept on mopping next to her. Their synchronous movements were calming for both of them.
Josie continued, “Your knife skills are amazing. Enviable one might say. I mean….your julienne…..”
The storeroom door flung open to reveal Sean holding a dusty bottle of whiskey and a large stainless steel bowl of ice. There was a smirk on his face.
Josie pointed her mop at him, “Don’t you dare drag your filthy trotters all over our clean floor, heathen. To the bar the with you. We’ll be out soon.” She shooed Sean away with her hand and continued with the mopping.
Bas remained quiet and so did she for the next five minutes as they finished the floor and emptied their buckets. It was impossible not to hear Christopher burst through the front door of the restaurant with their bounty, even from the kitchen.
“I’m back, bitches.”
At the bar Josie and Bas took up stools on the customer side as Christopher set out plates and Sean poured drinks. They laughed and talked and gossiped, and after the first few rounds, everyone, including Bas, was relaxed and letting the stress of the night dissolve away to nothing. When the pizza was gone and the bottle was just about empty, Christopher put his hands up in forfeit, “Sorry Chef Josie, but Seany and I need to run for the last train home.”
She huffed, took something from her pocket and slid it across the bar toward Christopher, “No. Actually, you don’t.”
He picked up the sparkling bronze room card and held it to the light, “Royal on Pine? Are you fucking with me?”
Josie laughed — she saw the delight in Christopher’s eyes and the utter embarrassment in Sean’s, “You boys get one night on me. Don’t waste it.”
Christopher blurted his thanks and practically dragged Sean out into the cool night. They were headed for the loveliest bed they had shared in a long while.
Josie poured Bas another drink and packed up the empty pizza boxes. “Okay Ace. I have an idea that I’m toying with. A new dish. Something that I would like you to test; to taste; to perhaps take the lead on.”
He looked up mid-sip, “What is it?”
“Ahhh, not yet little one. The ingredients are at my place, as are the utensils. This is a one time opportunity.”
He almost blushed, “I’d…uh, come to your place?”
“Not like that,” Josie was fully aware how unseemly the whole thing sounded, “Just a plate test and you can crash in the spare room.”
Bas was flailing; completely unsure of how to respond and Josie could tell.
She attempted to calm the situation, “Look, if you want to say no that’s fine. Honestly. But like I said, it’s a one time chance. I could bump you up another ten thousand a year if you make this work.” She hoped the money would be shiny enough to persuade him.
“I….I just…my girl is waiting for me at home.” The kid looked guilty, as if he’d already done something wrong.
“So call her. Apologise. Ask her if it’s okay if you do this one thing.”
He hesitated, looked at the floor, and then slipped his phone out of his pocket. She was pleased with herself as she watched him dial the number, hold the phone to his ear, and bite his lip. Bas made eye contact with Josie as he spoke, “Hey. Baby. Yeah, no, I’m fine. Just finishing up. But um, Chef has asked if I can test a new plate with her. No. Tonight, like right now.” He frowned a little and turned away from Josie.
She saw this as her opportunity, dropped the garbage bags and swooped in to steal the phone from his hand, “Hi there, I’m Josie. Chef Josie.”
There was silence on the line.
Josie continued, “Hi, well it’s nice to meet you. Bas talks about you all the time, but he’s never mentioned your name. Care to share?”
Silence again, and then finally, “I’m Alice. Ha, it’s funny, actually. He talks about you all the time.”
“Well does he now?” Josie eyeballed Bas and watched him squirm, “Nothing but praise I hope. For his sake.”
There was a laugh down the line and then, “Sometimes work is all he can think about, to be fair.”
Josie had a sudden thought, “Alice, tell me — what did Bas cook you for dinner last night, if you don’t mind?”
The voice in the phone was silent in thought and then, “Mushrooms, avocado, and goats cheese on ciabatta with uhhhh…..some kind of translucent sauce stuff. It tasted of maybe…pepper and garlic. It was amazing.”
Josie smiled and Bas looked all the more embarrassed and inquisitive as he mouthed the word what?
“Okay Alice. How would you feel if I stole Bas for the night? It’s nothing creepy or inappropriate, I just need his opinion on a new dish at the restaurant and he’s worried it’s going to upset you if he doesn’t come home tonight.” There was a pause as Josie listened to Alice’s response. Her smile grew wide, “Ah. Fair enough. Understood. I’ll let him know.” She hung up and handed the phone back to Bas.
He took it but the colour had drained from his face, “What did she say?”
Josie poked her tongue at him and winked, “She said she’s going to have a quiet bath and watch Love Actually. I think she’s happy you’re not coming home.”
Bas huffed and rolled his eyes, “That would be fucking right.” He blushed when he realised what he had said, but Josie couldn’t care, she was already busy bundling up the pizza boxes and garbage bags.
“Alright Ace, ready to go?”
He nodded, promptly forgetting his faux pa, “I’ll get the lights.”
They stood for a moment outside the locked doors and quietly took in the dark, unassuming restaurant. It seemed so strange and unfamiliar stripped of it’s frantic staff and rowdy clientele. An hour earlier it had been a living breathing organism. Now it was silent and barren. Both Josie and Bas felt each other / themselves appreciating the transformation.
Bas didn’t turn but sighed and then laughed, “So, Chef Josie, are you going to tell me what’s on the menu tonight?”
She smiled and turned towards to the car, “C’mon Ace, I’ll tell you on the way.”
Josie’s place was a fair way out of town, up in the hills beyond the bustle of the city and that was the point — quiet, peaceful, sprawling — a perfect place for her to escape the insanity of the restaurant and conjure up new dishes. Twenty minutes after leaving downtown they were pulling into the tree lined driveway and Bas was failing to hide his surprise upon seeing the immense house and property.
“Please tell me this is not where you live Chef Josie?”
She chuckled and parked the car in front of the main door. “I inherited it from my Grandfather. He was a great man. Taught me everything I know about life. And food, of course.”
She couldn’t tell if the kid was listening; he was staring up at the house. It was flooded in moonlight and did look quite beautiful to be honest, “Ok Ace, enough of that. We have work to do.”
She jumped out of the car and headed for the door of the house. Bas scurried out behind her like an excited puppy, “What did you say it was again?” he asked her as she turned her key in the lock.
“Beef carpaccio.”
Bas nodded and scratched his scruffy beard. They entered into the open dining area at the front of the house which was filled with large potted plants; ferns and hanging creepers and smaller palms. Directly ahead of the them was the enormous polished wooden dining table long enough to fit at least thirty people for a sitting meal. There were two dressed seats at one end and a few subtle flickering tea lights. Bas was staring again, mouth open.
Josie pushed him to the left and through the large door that led to the even larger kitchen. It was stainless steel and dark emerald from ceiling to floor and she was trying to picture just how big it was blowing the kid’s mind.
He didn’t even pause, “Ho. Lee. Fuck.”
Josie laughed internally and dumped her keys on one of the benches. The deep stainless steel work areas lined all four walls and skirted the large bench space in the middle, underneath which was drawer upon drawer of perfectly kept utensils and appliances. From one of the double door fridges she pulled a bottle of champagne and the meat she had obtained earlier in the day. “Open that for me please, Ace,” she said, sliding the bottle over in his direction.
He smirked and scooted over to uncork the wine, “Are you gonna call me that forever, Chef Josie?”
“Hmmmm,” she pretended to think a moment, “probably.” She produced two glass flutes from one of the cabinets above the bench along with an impeccably sharp knife from one of the many drawers, “Now Ace, I need your input. Pour us some wine and unwrap the meat while I put the pan on. You want to get salt and olive oil from the racks over to your right, and a board from the drawer underneath that.”
The hob was on one side of the bench in the middle of the room and Josie turned it up high while Bas did what he was told. He set the items down next, unwrapped the meat from its paper and took the glasses over to her at the hob. “What are we celebrating?”
“A new dish. If we can tweak this, get it right, make it a star, it will be called ‘The Bas’.”
The kid paled. They clinked their glasses together and Josie got serious.
“Pay attention Ace. Carpaccio. It’s flank skirt steak. A long, fairly thin piece. We sear it first. Fast and dirty — no more than thirty seconds a side — and then we let it rest for five minutes. That’s when the fun stuff happens.”
Bas sipped his wine, “We serve it with something?”
“Kind of. We slice it very thinly after the fiver, but we put stuff on top. So far I think a herb, something soft and mellow, maybe taragon, but I’m still torn on that one. I want a cheese, perhaps cheddar. Olive oil, maybe a touch of soy.” She was turning the pan around carefully on the hob, getting it hot and trying to pique the kid’s interest.
Bas pulled his bottom lip between his fingers, he was hooked, “Okay. I see where you’re going. The beef is basically raw, just sealed.”
“Yes, rub the meat with salt and oil and bring it over. The pan is ready, you can throw it on.” Josie nursed her wine, sat up on one of the benches, and watched him work. Clearly his nerves had calmed; he was in the zone now — thinking; working. He counted, his eyes on the clock that hung on the opposite wall, but he was thinking at the same time, she could see it in his eyes. The meat sizzled loudly, echoing around the kitchen. The two of them were enveloped in a lovely warm smell. When the minute was up, Bas transferred the seared skirt to the board and turned off the hob.
“Chef Josie, not to step on your toes, but I think a herb is too much.” He hesitated a moment, “And…..soy is not what you want, in my opinion at least,” he seemed nervous and confident at the same time.
Josie knocked back her wine and motioned for him to refill their glasses, “Okay Ace. That’s why you’re here. Tell me what you think.”
He drummed his fingers on the bench and bit his lip. “It sounds strong, but what about a tiny bit of Dijon, with olive oil. Then instead of a herb…..maybe watercress?”
Josie considered proposal. He had a goddamn point with the Dijon. And the watercress? She was a fool for thinking a herb was the answer. She wanted to hit herself in the face. “Well, fuck me Ace. You’ve outdone yourself. I know you’ve got a substitute for the cheddar as well. Give it up.”
He had some more wine and remained sheepish, “Okay, well. I say Romano. Just a bare grating of it. At the very last moment. Not harsh shavings; gratings. I know it’s strong like the Dijon but I think the beef will benefit from just the hint of those intense flavours.”
Josie downed the last of her wine and undid her hair. She was impressed; she was happy; she knew she had seen something in this boy. So much promise, but not drowning in confidence “You know what, fucking do it. Hopefully there’s watercress in the crisper, but I know for sure I have a scruffy block of Romano in the second fridge and a jar of Dijon next to the eggs.”
Bas rustled around in the fridges while Josie poured some more wine. She resumed her position on the bench and watched him work. The kid mixed the mustard and olive oil in a small bowl with a fork and checked the Romano for mould. Once he was focused he became a machine — that’s what she admired about him and, giving in to the truth of it, that was a part of herself that she saw in him — a commitment to finding the best, prepping the best, producing the best. There wasn’t watercress in the crisper, but Josie remembered that she had planted a small tub out behind the herbs, just a pot left over from a restaurant order.
“So I slice it thinly and then…” Bas seemed uncertain all of a sudden.
“Yes. We want it to be thin and mottled with threads of empty space. Layer the pieces alternately with baking paper and use a mallet from the top drawer over there to get them nice and thin. I’m going out to the garden, hopefully I’ll find the watercress.”
Bas nodded but didn’t lift his eyes from the meat on the board.
The night had really cooled down and the moon was high above her as Josie waded through the bushes of seeding coriander and dewy flowers. Her torch light eventually landed on the scruffy little watercress plant. The thing was barely alive so she ripped it out of the ground, roots and all. Shaking off the dirt she pondered the night for a moment. Takings had been good. Patronage had been excellent. Josie was enjoying this particular Friday night. Bas had good taste, a good instinct, and even though that’s what she had expected it was still nice to be proven right.
She headed back inside to find him making quick but careful work of the flank. Josie brushed rounded the other side of the centre bench, snipped off the watercress roots into the sink and washed the leaves gently under cold water. She rested them on some paper towel next to Bas as he worked, and then hoisted herself up onto the bench opposite him again. He had poured more wine while she was away and Josie could tell he wanted to impress — this was his moment, and he was killing it.
Bas smoothed out his sandwich of layered flank strips and baking paper held the mallet with intent but clearly he was having second thoughts about something, “Chef Josie, I had my eye on some garlic hanging in your dry pantry, perhaps rubbing a fresh clove over the meat. Now I think that’s too much.” He didn’t wait for an answer and started to beat the layers of flank out nice and thin.
Josie figured the kid had a point. The mustard, the impending Romano — maybe garlic would be a step too far. Before she could say anything though, he was plating up the paper-thin strips of meat, drizzling them with the oil and mustard, and garnishing with watercress leaves. Bas cocked his head, regarded the dish a moment, and found the thought he was looking for, “Pepper. Fresh cracked pepper.”
Josie held up her glass and gestured to the the small cupboard behind him.
Out at the table he waited for her to taste the dish. The moment was tense, but she had imagined it would be perfect, and when it was, Josie met his eyes, “I think you’ve done it. The Bas.”
The kid was able to breathe again and took a gulp of his wine.
“You okay, Ace?”
“Yeah just, it’s been a long night Chef. Mind if I crash?”
She smiled warmly and breathed out, “Of course not. Head up the stairs over there and turn right. There’s a room at the end of the hall. The light should be on and I’m thinking there’ll be something in the closet that fits you. You’re basically my size and neither of us exactly wear feminine clothing,” she winked and eyed their matching checkered pants and dirty white, double-breasted jackets, “Don’t forget to plug your phone in. And there’s a bathroom through the door next to the bed-head.”
Josie watched him stumble up the stairs and saw nothing but his enviable sense of and potential.
At the top of the stairs Bas stopped and looked back down at her, “Chef Josie, can I ask a question?”
“Shoot, Ace.”
He hesitated a second but then the words fell out, “Everyone at the restaurant….I mean, Christopher and Sean and some of the waitstaff — they say you’re married. Or a lesbian. Or have like twelve kids. Or something,” he blushed, “but…..I haven’t heard anyone else here all night.”
Josie considered him a moment. She watched him sway on the step and try to keep his eyelids from falling shut. The kid was drunk and tired.
“No, Ace. Not married. And I don’t have kids, I have livestock. Other than that, it’s just me.”
“Oh,” Bas shrugged and seemed a little disappointed at her answer. He smiled then, “Ok. Sorry. That was kinda rude. Night, Chef Josie.”
“Night Ace.”
When she heard the door close upstairs she took the leftover carpaccio and divided it into seven portions and placed them on seven pieces of paper along with the leftover mustardy oil and watercress. She put them all on a long tray and, at the last minute decided the pepper was necessary. The kid had a damned point and she wasn’t going to just ignore that.
Tray in hand, Josie paused in the dining room and listened. There wasn’t any movement upstairs, Bas must have been asleep. She wasn’t surprised. He had worked a fourteen hour day and then spent another half hour trying to impress her. Poor kid was probably dead to the world.
Out the back door of the dining room she turned left, toward the kitchen-end of the house and made her way to the exterior basement door. On a chain around her neck, hidden under her chef’s coat, was the key to the door. She had to set the tray down and lean in close to unlock the large steel mechanism. The moon was her light.
Inside it was warm; perfectly temperate. Climate control had been worth the expense, it kept them comfortable and happy…mostly. The only problem was the smell — Josie hoped that one day she would be able to fix that problem. It was difficult to grant your livestock freedom when they had a penchant for breaking the fence.
She tiptoed down the stairs and across the open floor to the row of cages against the back wall, she didn’t want to wake them. Eight cages in total. Seven foot high, five foot wide, five foot deep. Cement floor, hence the heating, and seven foot between each cage, so they could talk but not touch. Small down lights were cemented into the floor in front of each of them.
Josie was quiet as she laid out each carpaccio serving in front of the cages, except for the fifth one. One of them, Number Three, a tall, dark haired kid she had picked up in a bar perhaps a week ago, stirred and sat up. The other five were still sleeping. He curled his fingers around the steel grid of his cage and watched her quietly while she kept her distance and used the hose from the far wall to fill up each of the rectangular troughs behind the bars. He was past the angry screaming stage. Onto the curious stage — most likely he wanted to try to confirm what the others had surely told him already.
“Hey,” he said quietly. He wasn’t afraid; he seemed almost resigned.
She smiled, “Hey yourself.”
“I remember buying you a drink.”
“You did,” Josie continued filling the troughs.
“You told me you were thirty-three. Is that the truth?”
“Yes.”
“You told me your name was Josie. Is that the truth?”
She wound the hose back onto its wheel, “It is, yes.”
“Why am I here?” he asked. His voice broke a little on that question.
Josie almost felt a sorry for the kid, “Wrong night, wrong place, wrong time. Sorry cutie.”
Number Three scrubbed a hand across his face and sat up to look at his serving of dinner, “It looks raw.”
She laughed a little, “It is, mostly. But I guarantee you’ll like it. It’s called carpaccio.”
“Where’s Marcel?” he asked, still staring at the meat.
“Ah. Number Five. He’s gone I’m afraid. He made me almost ten grand tonight,” she said as she smiled and squatted down level with his face, “Perhaps you’ll make me more.”
He looked at her then, but there was nothing in his eyes — he just sat against the back of his cage, knees pulled up to his chest.
Josie stood up and walked over to turn the sound system on. She’d had it installed at the same time as the climate control, cemented into the wall with a small speaker in each corner and a whole catalogue of music for her livestock, “Hmm….I’m in a Miles Davis kind of mood, Number Three. What do you think?”
He said nothing and watched her press play on the track.
Josie pulled her hair out of the bun she twisted it into for kitchen work, and turned back to Number Three in his cage, “Well kiddo, tell the boys I’ll be down in the morning with breakfast. No doubt Marcel will make for an absolutely delicious sausage scramble.”
She didn’t turn back as she padded softly up the stairs and locked the door behind her.
Sunday, May 24, 2015
Past Times
~
“Luke?” It was Samson from the end of the bed. “I think today is the day.”
Luke sat up, pushed back the covers and rubbed his eyes, “Really?”
Samson nodded, but only just. He was holding two cups of coffee and kneeling on the bed, as if he was about to pray. They were both quiet, taking in the moment, silently acknowledging it.
Luke broke the silence, “That’s good. I’m glad.”
Samson looked up and held out a cup. A small smile crept out from behind his nervousness.
For a while they sat in silence and drank their coffee as if the world didn’t exist.
“We’ll be late for work,” Luke said suddenly, as he abandoned the bed and went looking for his polo. “Wear that nice grey button-through with the spots. She likes that.”
They dressed without a word and left in their separate cars.
When they arrived, parking at different ends of the lot, Samson went in first. He always did.
Five minutes later, as always, Luke went in.
The locker room stunk to high heaven, but then, that was the norm. The overweight security guard was changing his socks in the corner. A few of the younger boys were huddled around a small blue phone screen over near the urinals. Luke and Samson changed and put away their bags — the morning was only just coming to life. Luke shut his locker and left Samson alone. They always took this moment — to steady themselves; to warm to the pan; to pull away from their secrets.
Out on the warehouse floor things were as they had always been: busy, noisy, filled with movement. Samson felt his personal phone buzz in his jacket pocket.
You’re sure about tonight?
He bit his lip. The anticipation grew inside of him as he punched a reply.
I’m excited.
Nothing for a moment, and then….
You made a good choice, she really is pretty. You get the first time baby. And then you get me.
Samson choked down a knot in his throat and tried to keep the blood from rushing to his cheeks. Luke was his one — had always been his one; would never stop being his one.
As if on cue, his work phone buzzed. It was a group email from Luke to everyone on Floor Management. There was going to be a meeting after lunch over in the boardroom on the other side of the complex. Samson could easily read the underlying tone and the unwritten instruction — they had to prep. A lot of shit had gone down in the past few weeks and the three of them — Luke, Marnie, and Samson himself — had to make sure they could prove that their department was under control. Samson straightened himself and took stock of the floor with a refreshed seriousness that he had self-taught.
The boys were doing okay considering the heat. Everyone seemed happy and busy.
Just as Samson was about to pull up one of the new kids for wearing non-regulation boots, his work phone buzzed again. Luke wanted an informal at the maintenance desk. The boots would have to wait.
Walking quickly across the floor, Samson spotted Marnie already perched on the desk, one leg crossed over the other, tapping on her phone. She’d probably been there for ten minutes already — the girl didn’t know what tardy meant.
When she looked up and saw him approaching, Samson noticed her giving him a once-over. And then a mischievous smile. Luke had been right about the button-through.
“Good morning, Samson.”
“Good morning, Marnie.”
They did this everyday. This ridiculous formal ritual that didn’t at all cool the spark between them. Samson knew it. Marnie knew it. Luke knew it, even when he wasn’t around.
But then there he was, Luke, coming up from the other end of the warehouse towards them. “Morning all,” he said with a curt smile and very serious eyes.
Samson and Marnie burst into laughter, but it was Luke who noticed the touch of her hand to Samson’s arm. Both men did a fairly good job of keeping the look they exchanged quiet and subtle. Now was not the time.
“If you children are done fucking around, I think we need to come to a decision about the two newbies. Fire, keep, turf to another department?” Luke leant against the desk and waited for their answer.
Marnie straightened up immediately and became all-business, “Keep Mason, but Chris is a write off. He’s been late three days in a row and he smells like….” She trailed off.
Samson let out a small laugh, “Old cheese. He smells like old cheese.”
The two of them erupted into laughter again and Luke couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “Fine. Cheese boy is gone. But I want Mason learning day shift, night shift, weekend shift, every fucking shift. I want him as an all-rounder. I don’t care if he has a social life, as long as he doesn’t have kids.”
“I checked already, he’s single. Available for all shifts.” Marnie was getting down off the table and straightening her skirt.
Luke was impressed — he shot her a wink and departed. Samson turned and followed, but not before he gently brushed an arm against Marnie’s.
Luke was walking quickly, intentionally. It was his serious walk. He didn’t turn as he talked, “Keep your mind in the game today Sammy,” the two of them stood close then, face to face, “I’ve got a plan for tonight, but it’s important that we maintain this.” He looked around as he said it, and then his eyes came back to Samson. This, was their daily life; their work; the heavy blanket that kept their secrets safe and warm and unseen.
Samson nodded and the hint of a blush rose up into his cheeks. He had allowed himself to indulge, even if it was only a tiny bit. The two of them hung in that moment, it wasn’t quiet or private, but it was secretly intimate. They both knew that the other felt an urge to embrace.
But not here. Later.
~
The meeting came. The meeting happened. The meeting was over. And the three of them felt worse for wear, secrets or not. As they sat without words on one of the benches in the tea room, a heavy disappointment hung above.
Luke broke the silence. “Well, that could have gone better.”
“Understatement of the year.” It was Marnie, and she looked on the verge of tears.
Luke caught Samson’s eye and urged him on.
Samson shifted on the bench, moved closer to Marnie. “Hey. Hey. Marn, we did our best. The results stand for themselves, on their own, and if the big men upstairs can’t be reasonable and see that, it’s not our fault. We’ve come a long way since November. We couldn’t have done it without you.”
She looked up at him. There were fat tears sitting under her eyes, but she smiled, and so did Samson.
Luke stood up and turned to face them as he dialled a number in his phone, “Fuck this place. We’re gonna go to Rico’s, get drunk, and eat some goddamn tapas.”
~
Not fifteen minutes later they were sharing a tiny table at Rico’s. It was a coveted place, hard to get seat, but Luke had managed to work his way with the hostess and secure them a shitty little circular stand out front. It might have been considered a table by some, but the three of them decided they didn’t mind either way as they sipped on their very strong margaritas and tried to ignore the afternoon heat.
Luke checked his phone and slipped it into his pocket, “I’m gonna hit the john and start a tab.” Underneath the table his fingers slipped free from Samson’s. The two men didn’t exchange the look that they wanted to — Luke departed to the bathroom and Samson held Marnie’s eyes as they went back to discussing the intricacies of different personalities and testosterone levels on the warehouse floor.
Baby, don’t think I haven’t noticed your patience. Not long now.
The text from Luke almost made Samson weak, but Marnie pressing against him in the heat was the headlight in his eyes.
Samson; the deer.
~
Marnie was sweating. The shirt between the skin of her back and the plastic seat was drenched in warm, sticky sweat. Marnie felt the headache that was pounding inside her skull, the plastic of the chair underneath her bare thighs, the scratchy texture of the rope around her wrists.
She was outside. Crickets filled the night that surrounded her, and her mind swam. She wanted to throw up but there was nothing inside her. Marnie was hungry. She felt it in the very bottom of her stomach — an ache as if she hadn’t eaten in a week — and maybe she hadn’t.
The heat of flood lights flanked her, and there were two more at her 10 and 2. Grass beneath her feet; hot salty air around her head. Marnie cleared her throat and tried to turn around in the seat. Every part of her was stiff and sore.
“Hello?” Her voice came out dry and quiet, almost choked.
“Hello?”
No response.
She coughed and tried again.
“Hello?”
Nothing.
And then he appeared — slowly, intentionally, out from the darkness. “You’re very pretty Marnie. We saw it as soon as we met you. Inside and out, you’re perfectly vulnerable.” It was Luke.
Marnie swallowed the fearful bile that was creeping up her throat, “Where’s Samson? What’s happening?”
“He’ll be here soon. Don’t worry.”
She wanted to cry. She pulled at her restraints, it was fruitless and only made her feel more the fool. “What is this Luke?”
He huffed out a small smile and looked past her. Whatever he saw softened his eyes. The crickets seemed closer than before; louder — like a cheese grater against her ears.
Suddenly Luke moved to stand right in front of her. He put his hands on her face, on her cheeks almost tenderly and looked into her eyes, “We always wanted you darling, we just didn’t know how to tell you.” Luke looked past her again, as if to a God, and then he smiled. He was happy and calm, and she felt nothing but confusion.
From behind her Marnie felt a small brush of air and then she saw Samson in her peripheral, circling her chair and watching Luke. He didn’t seem to notice that she existed. As he walked it was with a confidence she had never seen before, and there was a cigarette in his hand. Smoke curled up in front of him.
Marnie had never seen him smoke anything. She opened her mouth to ask a question, but in the end she had no idea what it was. She closed her mouth again.
Samson came close and pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, as Luke knelt down next to her and watched them both, “You can’t tell anyone about this Marn. It will be our little secret. Ours forever - and you’re not allowed to tell.”
Marnie felt her skin tighten in fear as she pulled back from Samson. This Samson that she didn’t know. This lie.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to run.
Samson bit his lip, “Hmmmmm, we’ve waited a long time for this baby,” he turned briefly, “are you sure she won’t betray us?”
“She won’t.” Luke lit another cigarette. “She never will.”
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