Imbrue
To whom do I belong?
I am marked, in this pit, and who is responsible
Who shall be held accountable
The pit, was I the one who dug it
Did I move the earth away and make a place
For myself to fall
Did you push me, or did I merely lean back
Into it
I am marked — with your bite; your stain; your ink; your honey.
In the darkness of the moon
I see nothing, all I feel
Is the mark
Though it be hidden in the shadow of
This pit
Where I find myself
I am marked and down here I will stay
Marked possession
Marked for the end
Marked for the pit
I dug it, empty until my fall and
Now, I am marked
I belong to you.
Thursday, September 3, 2015
Friday, August 7, 2015
Self Preservation
Self Preservation
You must think I'm crazy,
The way that I hold onto you,
....It's when you walk away, I go crazy
And now I'm wasting all my love on you...
- Art Of Sleeping, 'Crazy'
Charlotte sat in the living room, nervously tapping her feet on the floor. Dinner was on — the pork was roasting slowly in the oven, filling the house with warm delicious smells. She’d gone all out and done crispy potatoes, butter carrots, baked beets, and crackling. She knew he’d be impressed especially with the fern and gourde table setting, but would he really be happy with her? She tried so hard, still, sometimes all the things she did were not enough. Sometimes…
Charlotte crossed one leg over the other and checked herself. Hair neat and straight; dress pressed, and cardigan buttoned; heels shiny; neck watermarked with his favourite perfume. She glanced up at the clock on the living room wall — he’d be home in half an hour. Charlotte needed distraction. She needed to busy herself. After checking on the pork which was a pleasing golden brown, she made him a dry martini with two olives. She placed it in the freezer and continued to fret quietly in the kitchen until she heard the front door unlock and creak open. She hurried to meet him.
“Avery darling.” Charlotte took his bag and leant in to kiss his cheek.
Her husband hummed a happy Hello and pulled her body into his — he was in a good mood and she couldn’t help but smile secretly to herself.
“Smells good sweetheart,” he said as he let her go and went into the living room. She closed the front door and set his bag on the entry table.
“What is it?” he called.
“Roast pork hun. And vegetables.”
She came into the living room and he motioned her over, “Come here. Let me have my wife.”
Charlotte did as he asked and giggled when he pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her neck playfully.
“Mmm, you look nice tonight. Special occasion?”
“No,” she lied.
He held her close and she felt his fingers at the zip on the back of her dress.
Charlotte pulled away. “The table is made,” she protested, “and I need to get the pork out.”
Avery sighed, “Fine, but you’re all mine later.”
She scrambled off him and straightened herself while Avery rolled his eyes dramatically, “A guy tries to have a little fun,” he teased, crossing his arms, “and all he gets is rejection.”
A little fun. Charlotte felt a few small, bitter thoughts creating a bad taste at the back of her throat, but she smiled and bent down to peck him on the cheek before her face could betray her. She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Please let it be good enough. Please let her be good enough.
She turned off the oven and opened the door to let the pork rest as she reclaimed Avery’s martini from the freezer and gathered the pieces of herself together again.
“Oh, you read my mind,” he beamed as she handed him the frosty glass and sat down on the edge of the opposite couch.
“Tell me about your day?”
He shrugged off the question, “It would only bore you my love. Need a hand with dinner?”
“No, no, you just relax.”
Back in the kitchen Charlotte carved the meat and dished out the vegetables. Everything had turned out very well and she was pleased, relieved even. Everything was done. Everything was ready for him.
“Avery!” she called, “dinner is served.”
They ate quietly, as they always did. Avery said that, to enjoy a meal, was to focus entirely on the food without distraction or haste. Charlotte supposed he was right but she always felt nervous around dinner time, fearful that he…
No. She shook the thought from her mind — she was confident tonight. The meal was good, if she did say so herself, and everything else would be good as well.
When he was done, Avery finally looked up and almost laughed, “Jesus Char, those potatoes were amazing. Duck fat?”
“Mmmhmm,” she nodded.
He pressed his lips together with a smacking sound and finished his drink.
Charlotte cleared away the plates and had already poured him another when she felt Avery behind her, warm, hands slipping around her waist.
She giggled, “Stop! I’ll spill.”
He laughed in kind and as she turned to hand him the glass, their eyes met.
“I’ve got something for you,” she said, as he touched a hand gently to her face.
Avery sipped the martini, but kept her pinned against the sink with his body, “A gift?”
She smiled, “For you.”
There was a glint in his eyes then, but as she saw them settle on the yellowing bruise that was high on her cheek he pulled away a little, “Is this about…” he hesitated, “Lately? Because you know I’m sorry. I get…”
She looked down but didn’t shake her head, “No. It’s okay.”
“It’s not though. I get…carried away.”
Charlotte could see him trying to remember how she’d got the bruise, and failing. He often forgot.
She never did.
Avery was retreating — putting space between them. It was cold space that she never liked. He was trying to undo things in his head that couldn’t be undone. Charlotte was on the verge of tears.
“Come,” she took his hand in hers, “Don’t you want to see your gift?”
He looked sheepish and bit his lip. Avery was almost like a child at times.
They slipped out through the back kitchen door and Charlotte kept hold of his hand until they were right in middle of the long back porch, looking out into the cool night. They had nine, beautiful, sprawling acres of uncleared land, teeming with birds and old gnarled trees — a veritable sanctuary.
Charlotte turned Avery to stand so he was looking out at the huge oak that sat in darkness behind the house. It was a kind of gateway between the manicured lawn and the unruly acreage. “Ready?” she asked.
He nodded silently.
She flicked the switch on the wall and the lights came on. They ran in an amber half-moon from the ends of the porch up to the oak. They took a few moments to brighten enough, but when Avery saw his gift, the smile on his face was enough for Charlotte. She could finally breathe — it was enough.
“Oh. Char,” he breathed.
She returned to him and took his drink to put it on the porch table, “All yours, baby. I tried hard this time. Do you like?”
He took her face in his hands then and whispered I’m sorry, before he kissed her mouth. He was coming back to her. The bruise on her cheek ached, but it was nothing now. Nothing, compared to the relief she felt; nothing compared to the devotion she felt. Conflicting and harmonious. To have him back and to know, at the same time, that there would always be another bruise.
But not tonight.
“Would you?” Avery asked.
Charlotte smiled, “Of course.”
The kitchen scissors were already pushed down into the front of her dress but Charlotte had that awful moment, like she always did, when she swallowed hard, and spread a hand out to touch her guilt. She quietly brushed it aside.
Her heels sunk into the damp earth of the lawn as she made her way over to the oak. It was tall and noble. It served them — as the stake to which they could tether their lamb.
She felt her hands shaking as she cut through the rope that was taught against the tree. And then she knelt, not caring that the grass was staining her dress under knees or that the cold air was goose-pimpling her skin.
“Best run now,” she whispered to the dark haired girl who had fallen forward onto the grass. The girl who didn’t deserve any of what she was about to suffer.
The girl who would be Charlotte for a night.
You must think I'm crazy,
The way that I hold onto you,
....It's when you walk away, I go crazy
And now I'm wasting all my love on you...
- Art Of Sleeping, 'Crazy'
Charlotte sat in the living room, nervously tapping her feet on the floor. Dinner was on — the pork was roasting slowly in the oven, filling the house with warm delicious smells. She’d gone all out and done crispy potatoes, butter carrots, baked beets, and crackling. She knew he’d be impressed especially with the fern and gourde table setting, but would he really be happy with her? She tried so hard, still, sometimes all the things she did were not enough. Sometimes…
Charlotte crossed one leg over the other and checked herself. Hair neat and straight; dress pressed, and cardigan buttoned; heels shiny; neck watermarked with his favourite perfume. She glanced up at the clock on the living room wall — he’d be home in half an hour. Charlotte needed distraction. She needed to busy herself. After checking on the pork which was a pleasing golden brown, she made him a dry martini with two olives. She placed it in the freezer and continued to fret quietly in the kitchen until she heard the front door unlock and creak open. She hurried to meet him.
“Avery darling.” Charlotte took his bag and leant in to kiss his cheek.
Her husband hummed a happy Hello and pulled her body into his — he was in a good mood and she couldn’t help but smile secretly to herself.
“Smells good sweetheart,” he said as he let her go and went into the living room. She closed the front door and set his bag on the entry table.
“What is it?” he called.
“Roast pork hun. And vegetables.”
She came into the living room and he motioned her over, “Come here. Let me have my wife.”
Charlotte did as he asked and giggled when he pulled her down onto his lap and kissed her neck playfully.
“Mmm, you look nice tonight. Special occasion?”
“No,” she lied.
He held her close and she felt his fingers at the zip on the back of her dress.
Charlotte pulled away. “The table is made,” she protested, “and I need to get the pork out.”
Avery sighed, “Fine, but you’re all mine later.”
She scrambled off him and straightened herself while Avery rolled his eyes dramatically, “A guy tries to have a little fun,” he teased, crossing his arms, “and all he gets is rejection.”
A little fun. Charlotte felt a few small, bitter thoughts creating a bad taste at the back of her throat, but she smiled and bent down to peck him on the cheek before her face could betray her. She retreated to the kitchen, heart pounding. Please let it be good enough. Please let her be good enough.
She turned off the oven and opened the door to let the pork rest as she reclaimed Avery’s martini from the freezer and gathered the pieces of herself together again.
“Oh, you read my mind,” he beamed as she handed him the frosty glass and sat down on the edge of the opposite couch.
“Tell me about your day?”
He shrugged off the question, “It would only bore you my love. Need a hand with dinner?”
“No, no, you just relax.”
Back in the kitchen Charlotte carved the meat and dished out the vegetables. Everything had turned out very well and she was pleased, relieved even. Everything was done. Everything was ready for him.
“Avery!” she called, “dinner is served.”
They ate quietly, as they always did. Avery said that, to enjoy a meal, was to focus entirely on the food without distraction or haste. Charlotte supposed he was right but she always felt nervous around dinner time, fearful that he…
No. She shook the thought from her mind — she was confident tonight. The meal was good, if she did say so herself, and everything else would be good as well.
When he was done, Avery finally looked up and almost laughed, “Jesus Char, those potatoes were amazing. Duck fat?”
“Mmmhmm,” she nodded.
He pressed his lips together with a smacking sound and finished his drink.
Charlotte cleared away the plates and had already poured him another when she felt Avery behind her, warm, hands slipping around her waist.
She giggled, “Stop! I’ll spill.”
He laughed in kind and as she turned to hand him the glass, their eyes met.
“I’ve got something for you,” she said, as he touched a hand gently to her face.
Avery sipped the martini, but kept her pinned against the sink with his body, “A gift?”
She smiled, “For you.”
There was a glint in his eyes then, but as she saw them settle on the yellowing bruise that was high on her cheek he pulled away a little, “Is this about…” he hesitated, “Lately? Because you know I’m sorry. I get…”
She looked down but didn’t shake her head, “No. It’s okay.”
“It’s not though. I get…carried away.”
Charlotte could see him trying to remember how she’d got the bruise, and failing. He often forgot.
She never did.
Avery was retreating — putting space between them. It was cold space that she never liked. He was trying to undo things in his head that couldn’t be undone. Charlotte was on the verge of tears.
“Come,” she took his hand in hers, “Don’t you want to see your gift?”
He looked sheepish and bit his lip. Avery was almost like a child at times.
They slipped out through the back kitchen door and Charlotte kept hold of his hand until they were right in middle of the long back porch, looking out into the cool night. They had nine, beautiful, sprawling acres of uncleared land, teeming with birds and old gnarled trees — a veritable sanctuary.
Charlotte turned Avery to stand so he was looking out at the huge oak that sat in darkness behind the house. It was a kind of gateway between the manicured lawn and the unruly acreage. “Ready?” she asked.
He nodded silently.
She flicked the switch on the wall and the lights came on. They ran in an amber half-moon from the ends of the porch up to the oak. They took a few moments to brighten enough, but when Avery saw his gift, the smile on his face was enough for Charlotte. She could finally breathe — it was enough.
“Oh. Char,” he breathed.
She returned to him and took his drink to put it on the porch table, “All yours, baby. I tried hard this time. Do you like?”
He took her face in his hands then and whispered I’m sorry, before he kissed her mouth. He was coming back to her. The bruise on her cheek ached, but it was nothing now. Nothing, compared to the relief she felt; nothing compared to the devotion she felt. Conflicting and harmonious. To have him back and to know, at the same time, that there would always be another bruise.
But not tonight.
“Would you?” Avery asked.
Charlotte smiled, “Of course.”
The kitchen scissors were already pushed down into the front of her dress but Charlotte had that awful moment, like she always did, when she swallowed hard, and spread a hand out to touch her guilt. She quietly brushed it aside.
Her heels sunk into the damp earth of the lawn as she made her way over to the oak. It was tall and noble. It served them — as the stake to which they could tether their lamb.
She felt her hands shaking as she cut through the rope that was taught against the tree. And then she knelt, not caring that the grass was staining her dress under knees or that the cold air was goose-pimpling her skin.
“Best run now,” she whispered to the dark haired girl who had fallen forward onto the grass. The girl who didn’t deserve any of what she was about to suffer.
The girl who would be Charlotte for a night.
Friday, July 17, 2015
Lymantria dispar
Lymantria dispar
“My baby Benny!”
“Ma, please don’t call me that,” Benny said as he attempted to simultaneously hold the phone between his ear and shoulder and sweep the front porch.
“But you’re my baby,” his mother protested.
“I know that Ma, I just mean…I’m a grown man. Can I perhaps stop being your baby now?”
His mother laughed heartily and then broke into a fit of coughing. When she was done she managed to say, “Of course not. Never!”
Benny rolled his eyes to himself. The goddamn rain had created a paste of mud that was layered thickly on the wooden slats of the porch. He didn’t have time for his mother’s protestations right now.
“Have you heard from Mia?’
“Ma!”
“I”m just asking, sweetheart. Maybe if you let her come back she —”
“Jesus,” he said, cutting her off. “She’s not coming back here. I won’t let her back here.”
“My baby Benny, she was the best thing that ever happened to you. She just made a mistake. Forgiveness is God’s way.”
Benny stopped sweeping and rubbed his eyes, “Ma. That may be God’s way, but it’s not mine. What’s done is done and I won’t discuss it anymore.”
“But…”
“No. Ma. She broke our vows and it’s done.” She broke my heart, and it’s done.
“Hm.”
“Hm what?”
“I’m just wondering what you will do now, my baby Benny.”
Benny shook his head to himself, “Ma, I’ll be fine. Trust me. Hey, I have to go. I love you, okay?”
“Okay. I love you too, my baby Benny.”
Benny ended the call before he said something he would regret. He finished sweeping the porch and went inside to pretend like there was something in the fridge for dinner. There was nothing in the fridge, and the whiskey bottle was empty. He stared at it. Nights like this, they — he and Mia — would order pizza and then forget it to cool on the kitchen counter while they had sex on the edge of the bed or up against the bathroom wall. Nights like this had been perfect. Late, lazy Sundays,where they’d stumble around half dressed, toss the pizza in the fridge and then fall onto the sheets like they were still newlyweds.
Nights like that had been perfect. Until they weren’t anymore.
Benny hung in the hall a moment before he grabbed his keys and wallet and left his house to linger without him, cold. Their house. Without her.
“Missa Benny!” called the tiny bespectacled girl behind the cash register, “you want shor’ soup and black bean?”
“Yes ma’am, and pork dumplings tonight please Leena.” Benny felt embarrassment at the fact she knew exactly what he would order. He also felt a mild ache when he had noticed, a few weeks back, that Leena had stopped asking where ‘Miss Mia’ was. He admired that she continued to serve him with a smile devoid of pity — something most people around him failed to accomplish.
“Be five minna, Missa Benny. We slow tonight.” She did a thumbs-up and stuck out her tongue. The girl was adorable.
Benny felt better already and took a seat in the corner to wait. He liked to watch the neighbourhood drift by outside the dirty glass windows. When his hand had strayed to his pocket more than three times he stood up abruptly and called back to the kitchen, “Leena! I’m just going to Alberto’s across the street, be back in a jiffy!”
He got an Okay, Missa Benny! from somewhere behind the stove vents and pushed out of the swing door. It was cold, coming on dark. Alberto’s was deserted.
“Benny D. Long time since I’ve seen you here kiddo,” said Alberto from behind his long marble counter.
Benny smiled, “Al. Good to see you. Guess it’s been a long time since I needed to be here.”
“Fair ‘nuff,” Alberto looked back down at his book and left him to peruse in silence.
Benny trailed his eyes over the racks of imported cured meats and tins of spices and packets of dried chilli. When he came to the liquor, he gingerly fingered a dusty bottle of Pendleton. He didn’t hang around to change his mind.
“That’s twenty-five, kiddo.”
“Shelf said thirty-five, Al.”
“No doubt it did, but I know a woman-shaped hole when I see it. Know it now, when I say it boy…ain’t no cure for that.”
Benny felt himself close to tears and slapped a fifty on the counter before he left without his change. Alberto was trying to be nice but it was no use. The night closed in tight around him as he stalked back across the street, to the warmth of Leena’s domain. It was time to get the food and go home.
Just as he was about to call out to Leena, his phone binged in his pocket.
hey
It was Mia. Fuck. He didn’t respond. He put the phone on the seat next to him and clenched both hands into fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to set the ground at his feet on fire.
just thought you might feel like talking?
Benny felt his breath, unsteady and shaking in his chest. He didn’t feel like talking, not at all. He felt like yelling, cursing. He felt like hurting her. He stopped the spiral and brought calm to his heartbeat. He looked up to see Leena’s broad smile.
“Missa Benny, you all good to go.” She held the bag out to him and winked.
Benny gratefully took the bag and retreated to his car. Inside, his phone binged again. He turned it to vibrate and jammed it in his pocket. On the way home he could see nothing but the pale, naked hips of his wife on top of their neighbour, Marty Stills. Ex-wife.
The porch still looked pretty dirty but it was too dark by then to do anything about it. He dumped the Chinese takeout on the kitchen bench and poured a finger of the Pendleton. Benny looked around — everything was as it always had been. And everything was different. The kitchen was okay but the bedroom was an absolute no-fly zone. He could smell her in there. And in the upstairs shower, which sucked because the downstairs shower was cold as fuck and didn’t have heat lamps or a decent shower head. Not to mention, jerking off down there made him feel like a teenager. He’d been sleeping in the living room for two months. He couldn’t remember to eat breakfast. His back hurt. His beard was scrappy. And then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
baby, you know i still love you, right?
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Benny calmly turned the phone on do-not-disturb and placed it face down next to his dinner. He sipped the Pendleton. It had cooled considerably — time to put the heat on. Taking his pork dumplings to the couch and turning on the tv and the AC, Benny felt marginally better but still found himself going around in the same circles as always. He wanted to ask Mia everything, but he didn’t want to know. He wanted her to say sorry, but he didn’t want to hear it again. He ached to look at her and touch her, but he couldn’t stand the sight of her and actual contact might drive him to do something awful.
Everything was shit.
He glanced over at his phone resting on the kitchen bench and that was when he saw it — a soft, grey and beige winged moth — it fluttered across right in front of him before darting up toward the living room lightbulb. Benny watched it smack into the bulb a few times and then he lost interest, there was a new episode of Law & Order on one of the channels.
Ah hour later, he was a third of the way through the bottle and had his feet tucked up underneath an old blanket on the couch when he heard a knock at the door. Benny hauled himself up and wondered who could possibly need him right now. He opened the door.
“Benny,” Marty said, giving a half smile.
“Marty.”
“I uhhh, I never got the chance to say sorry. I…”
“Forget it Marty. I get it. But sorry won’t really fix anything.”
Marty was about the same height as Benny, but a lot wider; bulkier. He probably had a better cock. A nicer cock. He probably knew more tricks. He probably made her…
“Benny, I…we never meant to hurt you. We just, we got carried away.”
Benny moved to close the door, “Clearly.”
“No, really,” Marty pressed his hand against the wood.
“What do you want, Marty? You want to come over here and make yourself feel better? Fine. Feel great. Because you fucked my wife. And now she’s not my wife anymore. Good job Marty.” He said it all very calmly, but Benny could feel the anger brewing in him. He needed to close the door and get another drink.
Marty took his hand away from the wood and retreated. As he did, a soft, grey and beige winged moth looped out from behind Benny’s arm and slipped through the door before he closed it. Benny found himself pressed flush to the gate at that point. In the kitchen he fumbled with his phone and hurriedly replied to Mia.
i don’t love you an inch anymore. don’t come for your shit, i'll send it. don’t msg me anymore. i’m done.
So many don’ts. Benny felt like an asshole. The tears finally came then. They were silent, slightly drunk tears. Hot, fat drops of why and why and why. He wanted to throw his phone out the window. He wanted to pretend he couldn’t feel his wedding ring up in the bedroom, making a circular dent in the side table with all it’s awful weight.
As the tears fell, he thought about Mia’s soft lips, her thin fingers, the way she did her make up for work — thick black eyes and long black lashes. He thought about the way it was always slightly smudged when she got home. He thought about her breasts, the left one always brimming out of her bra, and he thought about the smooth, pale cheeks of her butt — they were so smooth, so soft and touchable. Touched by Marty.
Everything was shit. Everything was ruined. Whisky and Chinese takeout wasn’t even close to a bandaid.
He wanted to get his phone and message her again. He wanted to say sorry for being angry. He wanted to invite her over. He wanted to fuck her, one last time. A moth landed on his knee, left a powdery imprint on his work pants and then flitted off toward the kitchen.
Benny didn’t move, he only blinked. Once, twice — he was aware that this night had happened at least a dozen times since he’d kicked her out. It certainly wasn’t the first night and it wouldn’t be the last. Don’t get it wrong, he knew this was a downward-spiral-kind-of-night, he was just a little too far past tired to really give it his all. Seeing Marty had been the nail; hammered home.
Benny couldn’t place it; was he not there enough? Did he not love her enough? Was he just not enough? After another glass he came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter, not really. His downward-spiral-kind-of-night had lost most of its momentum and his phone battery was dead. Probably good luck at that point.
He made up his couch-bed and turned the heat down a bit.
Putting the leftovers away he realised that tomorrow was the weekend; he could sleep in.
He didn’t sleep in. Benny was up at five and dressed by five-ten. It had turned him around to wake up on a weekend without her again, without her mouth pressing kisses….No. Don’t.
He made coffee and ate a crumpet with honey. The day would distract him.
And it did. He went out to work in the garden, it was easier out there, away from the house and in amongst the greenery and vegetables. Benny found himself humming thoughtfully and completely lost in busy work. It wasn’t until he heard Marty’s front gate squeak open that he noticed anything other than the chatter of the birds. He looked up and the two of them made eye contact for only a moment before it broke. Benny bit the inside of his cheek and dug down into the cool earth with his spade. Marty’s truck started in the drive and peeled out into the street with a rumble. Benny didn’t look up. He had that image in his head again. He only barely noticed the soft, grey and beige winged moth that flitted across in front of him and back towards the house.
Two hours of work later he was worn out and ready for lunch. Benny put the kettle on and finally plugged in his phone to charge, he hoped there weren’t any messages, but when there actually weren’t, all he felt was disappointment. She had done what he had asked and not responded. A moth landed delicately on the handle of his coffee cup. He shooed it away and stirred in the sugar and milk. His phone ringing on the bench startled him.
“Ma?”
“Baby Benny! Where have you been? I tried you last night but you didn’t answer.”
“My phone died, Ma. Everything okay?”
“Yes..”
He could feel her holding something back, “What is it Ma? Tell me.”
“Mia called me last night.”
“And? What did she say?”
“That you were…done,” his Ma deflated on that last word. “She said she wanted to say goodbye. And that she was sorry.”
“It’s true Ma. I don’t have anything left for her.”
Ma sniffed, “Baby Benny, women aren’t bad creatures. Even though God says so, girls are not awful. We make mistakes but we are just as real as you are, and just the same amount of human as you are.”
“Ma! I know that. I’m not a sexist fool.” He said it angrily, but his Ma had a way of putting things more clearly than she was aware of. Benny was only upset because Mia had come to a point where she couldn’t tell him of her unhappiness, she could only show him.
“Benny?”
“I’ve got to go Ma. I’m sorry. Mia won’t call again.” He hung up and dialled Mia with the phone stilled plugged in to the wall.
She answered, “Benny?”
“Hi.”
“Everything okay?”
“Please don’t call my Ma. She gets upset about this stuff. I know you guys are close but you’re verging on meddling, okay?”
“Okay.”
“This is done. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
He was desperate to ask her to come over. It was almost on his lips, “Mia...”
“Yes?” she asked.
“Goodbye.” He said it and hung up quickly. He didn’t want to let himself say anything more.
Benny kicked off his boots and abandoned them before he climbed the stairs. At the top he unzipped his jacket and draped it on the bannister. The day was still quite cold. It was only eight o’clock. The clock in the bedroom told him so. He could see it from where he stood outside the door. A moth danced by in front of his face and into the bedroom. Benny gave in.
On the edge of the bed he felt absolute comfort. He lifted his legs and slipped them under the covers. Despite her absence, he realised he had missed this place. He had yearned for it. And now, in his bed for the first time in a long time, Benny rolled over and enjoyed the feel of actual sheets and a decent pillow. Sleep took him quickly.
His growling stomach woke him — it was craving the lunch that he’d never cooked. He sat up, eyes still trying to focus, and saw that the clock said six-fifteen. PM? Jesus, he’d slept for a good ten hours. He got up and opened the closet door for some fresh clothes, only to have a swarm of at least twenty moths bloom out from the coat hangers and tie-racks.
What the fuck?
“Where are these goddamn moths coming from?” Benny asked himself out loud. He turned to watch them flutter off soundlessly out the bedroom door and towards the stairs. He padded to the bathroom, relieved himself, and washed his hands in the basin. As he shut the water off, a dozen grey and beige winged moths emerged from the drain grate and brushed past him, out of the bathroom and into the hall. Benny stumbled back, shocked, but coming up to the edge of annoyance.
It must be some kind of infestation. That made no sense — he’d only had the house fumigated a couple of months back. As he stood swaying between the bathroom and the top of the stairs, a new bloom of moths emerged from one of the heating vents and swirled a little before taking off downstairs, towards the kitchen. In his haze, Benny hurried to follow them. Where were they going?
When he got down there they’d disappeared and he was starting to doubt his sanity just a little bit. His phone was lying on the kitchen bench and he couldn’t help but check it.
benny, i still love you. i always will. i’m sorry it ended like this xx
He dug his fingers into his palms and struggled to keep in the tears that were so close again. He thought about how smooth and cool Mia’s skin always seemed to be under the tips of his fingers when he got home from work. How her eyes closed, so slowly, when he…
No. Don’t.
He hadn’t asked her all the questions that he’d wanted to ask. All the awful things that he never wanted to know but would still haunt him as long as he continued to not know. Like how many times? Like what did he do to you? And what did you do to him? And did you kiss him? And was he better? Mia hadn’t offered it up. Benny hadn’t asked.
He put his phone gently back on the bench and blinked his eyes over the image of Mia and Marty, just as another bloom of moths spiraled their way up out of the drain in the sink. Benny threw open the doors under the sink and grabbed the bug spray, immediately letting loose on the small swarm above his head. He had to step away from the suffocating mist and as he did so he realised it hadn’t really affected them at all. He tried again as they spread out to a thin layer and started landing on the ceiling but it was no use. They all just sat there, inverted above him, flicking their wings now and then. What did he do to you?
Benny opened the kitchen window in the hopes that maybe some of them would fly out. The cool night spilled in and he retreated to the living room with the leftover Chinese food and a scowl — he’d have to call the pest control guy in the morning, no way were these moths a good sign if he wanted to sell the house. He needed to fix the problem, and quickly.
The leftovers were good, but halfway through the cold black bean he heard Marty’s truck pulling into the drive next door. How many times?
Benny suddenly lost his appetite and went to flick on the television. It wouldn’t work. He pressed the button a few times and then went around to the power point for an inspection. He jumped back from the wall. Did you kiss him?
The entire back of his flat screen was covered in a layer of undulating wings. Was he better?
Benny retreated for the bug spray only to find every wall of his kitchen lost to the moths. He couldn’t see his phone and the messages from his Ma, Mia, Marty — it was under the light brown, powdery blanket of insects. He got the broom from the pantry and started swinging, smashing into the walls, knocking tins off the benches, and sending glasses shattering to the floor.
* * *
“Son, is this your house?”
Benny blinked, “Yes. Yes, sir.”
The cop wrote something in his notepad, “Okay. And the paramedic is telling me you’re not hurt. Are you feeling alright?”
“No. I’m…the moths…” he trailed off.
The cop nodded, “Okay. He’s also saying you told him that you set fire to the house. Is that correct?”
Benny was staring into the flames. There was a blanket around his shoulders.
“Son, can you tell me what happened tonight?”
Benny shook his head and watched the fire eat his house.
“My baby Benny!”
“Ma, please don’t call me that,” Benny said as he attempted to simultaneously hold the phone between his ear and shoulder and sweep the front porch.
“But you’re my baby,” his mother protested.
“I know that Ma, I just mean…I’m a grown man. Can I perhaps stop being your baby now?”
His mother laughed heartily and then broke into a fit of coughing. When she was done she managed to say, “Of course not. Never!”
Benny rolled his eyes to himself. The goddamn rain had created a paste of mud that was layered thickly on the wooden slats of the porch. He didn’t have time for his mother’s protestations right now.
“Have you heard from Mia?’
“Ma!”
“I”m just asking, sweetheart. Maybe if you let her come back she —”
“Jesus,” he said, cutting her off. “She’s not coming back here. I won’t let her back here.”
“My baby Benny, she was the best thing that ever happened to you. She just made a mistake. Forgiveness is God’s way.”
Benny stopped sweeping and rubbed his eyes, “Ma. That may be God’s way, but it’s not mine. What’s done is done and I won’t discuss it anymore.”
“But…”
“No. Ma. She broke our vows and it’s done.” She broke my heart, and it’s done.
“Hm.”
“Hm what?”
“I’m just wondering what you will do now, my baby Benny.”
Benny shook his head to himself, “Ma, I’ll be fine. Trust me. Hey, I have to go. I love you, okay?”
“Okay. I love you too, my baby Benny.”
Benny ended the call before he said something he would regret. He finished sweeping the porch and went inside to pretend like there was something in the fridge for dinner. There was nothing in the fridge, and the whiskey bottle was empty. He stared at it. Nights like this, they — he and Mia — would order pizza and then forget it to cool on the kitchen counter while they had sex on the edge of the bed or up against the bathroom wall. Nights like this had been perfect. Late, lazy Sundays,where they’d stumble around half dressed, toss the pizza in the fridge and then fall onto the sheets like they were still newlyweds.
Nights like that had been perfect. Until they weren’t anymore.
Benny hung in the hall a moment before he grabbed his keys and wallet and left his house to linger without him, cold. Their house. Without her.
“Missa Benny!” called the tiny bespectacled girl behind the cash register, “you want shor’ soup and black bean?”
“Yes ma’am, and pork dumplings tonight please Leena.” Benny felt embarrassment at the fact she knew exactly what he would order. He also felt a mild ache when he had noticed, a few weeks back, that Leena had stopped asking where ‘Miss Mia’ was. He admired that she continued to serve him with a smile devoid of pity — something most people around him failed to accomplish.
“Be five minna, Missa Benny. We slow tonight.” She did a thumbs-up and stuck out her tongue. The girl was adorable.
Benny felt better already and took a seat in the corner to wait. He liked to watch the neighbourhood drift by outside the dirty glass windows. When his hand had strayed to his pocket more than three times he stood up abruptly and called back to the kitchen, “Leena! I’m just going to Alberto’s across the street, be back in a jiffy!”
He got an Okay, Missa Benny! from somewhere behind the stove vents and pushed out of the swing door. It was cold, coming on dark. Alberto’s was deserted.
“Benny D. Long time since I’ve seen you here kiddo,” said Alberto from behind his long marble counter.
Benny smiled, “Al. Good to see you. Guess it’s been a long time since I needed to be here.”
“Fair ‘nuff,” Alberto looked back down at his book and left him to peruse in silence.
Benny trailed his eyes over the racks of imported cured meats and tins of spices and packets of dried chilli. When he came to the liquor, he gingerly fingered a dusty bottle of Pendleton. He didn’t hang around to change his mind.
“That’s twenty-five, kiddo.”
“Shelf said thirty-five, Al.”
“No doubt it did, but I know a woman-shaped hole when I see it. Know it now, when I say it boy…ain’t no cure for that.”
Benny felt himself close to tears and slapped a fifty on the counter before he left without his change. Alberto was trying to be nice but it was no use. The night closed in tight around him as he stalked back across the street, to the warmth of Leena’s domain. It was time to get the food and go home.
Just as he was about to call out to Leena, his phone binged in his pocket.
hey
It was Mia. Fuck. He didn’t respond. He put the phone on the seat next to him and clenched both hands into fists. He wanted to scream. He wanted to set the ground at his feet on fire.
just thought you might feel like talking?
Benny felt his breath, unsteady and shaking in his chest. He didn’t feel like talking, not at all. He felt like yelling, cursing. He felt like hurting her. He stopped the spiral and brought calm to his heartbeat. He looked up to see Leena’s broad smile.
“Missa Benny, you all good to go.” She held the bag out to him and winked.
Benny gratefully took the bag and retreated to his car. Inside, his phone binged again. He turned it to vibrate and jammed it in his pocket. On the way home he could see nothing but the pale, naked hips of his wife on top of their neighbour, Marty Stills. Ex-wife.
The porch still looked pretty dirty but it was too dark by then to do anything about it. He dumped the Chinese takeout on the kitchen bench and poured a finger of the Pendleton. Benny looked around — everything was as it always had been. And everything was different. The kitchen was okay but the bedroom was an absolute no-fly zone. He could smell her in there. And in the upstairs shower, which sucked because the downstairs shower was cold as fuck and didn’t have heat lamps or a decent shower head. Not to mention, jerking off down there made him feel like a teenager. He’d been sleeping in the living room for two months. He couldn’t remember to eat breakfast. His back hurt. His beard was scrappy. And then his phone buzzed in his pocket.
baby, you know i still love you, right?
Fuck. Fuck. FUCK. Benny calmly turned the phone on do-not-disturb and placed it face down next to his dinner. He sipped the Pendleton. It had cooled considerably — time to put the heat on. Taking his pork dumplings to the couch and turning on the tv and the AC, Benny felt marginally better but still found himself going around in the same circles as always. He wanted to ask Mia everything, but he didn’t want to know. He wanted her to say sorry, but he didn’t want to hear it again. He ached to look at her and touch her, but he couldn’t stand the sight of her and actual contact might drive him to do something awful.
Everything was shit.
He glanced over at his phone resting on the kitchen bench and that was when he saw it — a soft, grey and beige winged moth — it fluttered across right in front of him before darting up toward the living room lightbulb. Benny watched it smack into the bulb a few times and then he lost interest, there was a new episode of Law & Order on one of the channels.
Ah hour later, he was a third of the way through the bottle and had his feet tucked up underneath an old blanket on the couch when he heard a knock at the door. Benny hauled himself up and wondered who could possibly need him right now. He opened the door.
“Benny,” Marty said, giving a half smile.
“Marty.”
“I uhhh, I never got the chance to say sorry. I…”
“Forget it Marty. I get it. But sorry won’t really fix anything.”
Marty was about the same height as Benny, but a lot wider; bulkier. He probably had a better cock. A nicer cock. He probably knew more tricks. He probably made her…
“Benny, I…we never meant to hurt you. We just, we got carried away.”
Benny moved to close the door, “Clearly.”
“No, really,” Marty pressed his hand against the wood.
“What do you want, Marty? You want to come over here and make yourself feel better? Fine. Feel great. Because you fucked my wife. And now she’s not my wife anymore. Good job Marty.” He said it all very calmly, but Benny could feel the anger brewing in him. He needed to close the door and get another drink.
Marty took his hand away from the wood and retreated. As he did, a soft, grey and beige winged moth looped out from behind Benny’s arm and slipped through the door before he closed it. Benny found himself pressed flush to the gate at that point. In the kitchen he fumbled with his phone and hurriedly replied to Mia.
i don’t love you an inch anymore. don’t come for your shit, i'll send it. don’t msg me anymore. i’m done.
So many don’ts. Benny felt like an asshole. The tears finally came then. They were silent, slightly drunk tears. Hot, fat drops of why and why and why. He wanted to throw his phone out the window. He wanted to pretend he couldn’t feel his wedding ring up in the bedroom, making a circular dent in the side table with all it’s awful weight.
As the tears fell, he thought about Mia’s soft lips, her thin fingers, the way she did her make up for work — thick black eyes and long black lashes. He thought about the way it was always slightly smudged when she got home. He thought about her breasts, the left one always brimming out of her bra, and he thought about the smooth, pale cheeks of her butt — they were so smooth, so soft and touchable. Touched by Marty.
Everything was shit. Everything was ruined. Whisky and Chinese takeout wasn’t even close to a bandaid.
He wanted to get his phone and message her again. He wanted to say sorry for being angry. He wanted to invite her over. He wanted to fuck her, one last time. A moth landed on his knee, left a powdery imprint on his work pants and then flitted off toward the kitchen.
Benny didn’t move, he only blinked. Once, twice — he was aware that this night had happened at least a dozen times since he’d kicked her out. It certainly wasn’t the first night and it wouldn’t be the last. Don’t get it wrong, he knew this was a downward-spiral-kind-of-night, he was just a little too far past tired to really give it his all. Seeing Marty had been the nail; hammered home.
Benny couldn’t place it; was he not there enough? Did he not love her enough? Was he just not enough? After another glass he came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter, not really. His downward-spiral-kind-of-night had lost most of its momentum and his phone battery was dead. Probably good luck at that point.
He made up his couch-bed and turned the heat down a bit.
Putting the leftovers away he realised that tomorrow was the weekend; he could sleep in.
He didn’t sleep in. Benny was up at five and dressed by five-ten. It had turned him around to wake up on a weekend without her again, without her mouth pressing kisses….No. Don’t.
He made coffee and ate a crumpet with honey. The day would distract him.
And it did. He went out to work in the garden, it was easier out there, away from the house and in amongst the greenery and vegetables. Benny found himself humming thoughtfully and completely lost in busy work. It wasn’t until he heard Marty’s front gate squeak open that he noticed anything other than the chatter of the birds. He looked up and the two of them made eye contact for only a moment before it broke. Benny bit the inside of his cheek and dug down into the cool earth with his spade. Marty’s truck started in the drive and peeled out into the street with a rumble. Benny didn’t look up. He had that image in his head again. He only barely noticed the soft, grey and beige winged moth that flitted across in front of him and back towards the house.
Two hours of work later he was worn out and ready for lunch. Benny put the kettle on and finally plugged in his phone to charge, he hoped there weren’t any messages, but when there actually weren’t, all he felt was disappointment. She had done what he had asked and not responded. A moth landed delicately on the handle of his coffee cup. He shooed it away and stirred in the sugar and milk. His phone ringing on the bench startled him.
“Ma?”
“Baby Benny! Where have you been? I tried you last night but you didn’t answer.”
“My phone died, Ma. Everything okay?”
“Yes..”
He could feel her holding something back, “What is it Ma? Tell me.”
“Mia called me last night.”
“And? What did she say?”
“That you were…done,” his Ma deflated on that last word. “She said she wanted to say goodbye. And that she was sorry.”
“It’s true Ma. I don’t have anything left for her.”
Ma sniffed, “Baby Benny, women aren’t bad creatures. Even though God says so, girls are not awful. We make mistakes but we are just as real as you are, and just the same amount of human as you are.”
“Ma! I know that. I’m not a sexist fool.” He said it angrily, but his Ma had a way of putting things more clearly than she was aware of. Benny was only upset because Mia had come to a point where she couldn’t tell him of her unhappiness, she could only show him.
“Benny?”
“I’ve got to go Ma. I’m sorry. Mia won’t call again.” He hung up and dialled Mia with the phone stilled plugged in to the wall.
She answered, “Benny?”
“Hi.”
“Everything okay?”
“Please don’t call my Ma. She gets upset about this stuff. I know you guys are close but you’re verging on meddling, okay?”
“Okay.”
“This is done. Do you understand?”
“I do.”
He was desperate to ask her to come over. It was almost on his lips, “Mia...”
“Yes?” she asked.
“Goodbye.” He said it and hung up quickly. He didn’t want to let himself say anything more.
Benny kicked off his boots and abandoned them before he climbed the stairs. At the top he unzipped his jacket and draped it on the bannister. The day was still quite cold. It was only eight o’clock. The clock in the bedroom told him so. He could see it from where he stood outside the door. A moth danced by in front of his face and into the bedroom. Benny gave in.
On the edge of the bed he felt absolute comfort. He lifted his legs and slipped them under the covers. Despite her absence, he realised he had missed this place. He had yearned for it. And now, in his bed for the first time in a long time, Benny rolled over and enjoyed the feel of actual sheets and a decent pillow. Sleep took him quickly.
His growling stomach woke him — it was craving the lunch that he’d never cooked. He sat up, eyes still trying to focus, and saw that the clock said six-fifteen. PM? Jesus, he’d slept for a good ten hours. He got up and opened the closet door for some fresh clothes, only to have a swarm of at least twenty moths bloom out from the coat hangers and tie-racks.
What the fuck?
“Where are these goddamn moths coming from?” Benny asked himself out loud. He turned to watch them flutter off soundlessly out the bedroom door and towards the stairs. He padded to the bathroom, relieved himself, and washed his hands in the basin. As he shut the water off, a dozen grey and beige winged moths emerged from the drain grate and brushed past him, out of the bathroom and into the hall. Benny stumbled back, shocked, but coming up to the edge of annoyance.
It must be some kind of infestation. That made no sense — he’d only had the house fumigated a couple of months back. As he stood swaying between the bathroom and the top of the stairs, a new bloom of moths emerged from one of the heating vents and swirled a little before taking off downstairs, towards the kitchen. In his haze, Benny hurried to follow them. Where were they going?
When he got down there they’d disappeared and he was starting to doubt his sanity just a little bit. His phone was lying on the kitchen bench and he couldn’t help but check it.
benny, i still love you. i always will. i’m sorry it ended like this xx
He dug his fingers into his palms and struggled to keep in the tears that were so close again. He thought about how smooth and cool Mia’s skin always seemed to be under the tips of his fingers when he got home from work. How her eyes closed, so slowly, when he…
No. Don’t.
He hadn’t asked her all the questions that he’d wanted to ask. All the awful things that he never wanted to know but would still haunt him as long as he continued to not know. Like how many times? Like what did he do to you? And what did you do to him? And did you kiss him? And was he better? Mia hadn’t offered it up. Benny hadn’t asked.
He put his phone gently back on the bench and blinked his eyes over the image of Mia and Marty, just as another bloom of moths spiraled their way up out of the drain in the sink. Benny threw open the doors under the sink and grabbed the bug spray, immediately letting loose on the small swarm above his head. He had to step away from the suffocating mist and as he did so he realised it hadn’t really affected them at all. He tried again as they spread out to a thin layer and started landing on the ceiling but it was no use. They all just sat there, inverted above him, flicking their wings now and then. What did he do to you?
Benny opened the kitchen window in the hopes that maybe some of them would fly out. The cool night spilled in and he retreated to the living room with the leftover Chinese food and a scowl — he’d have to call the pest control guy in the morning, no way were these moths a good sign if he wanted to sell the house. He needed to fix the problem, and quickly.
The leftovers were good, but halfway through the cold black bean he heard Marty’s truck pulling into the drive next door. How many times?
Benny suddenly lost his appetite and went to flick on the television. It wouldn’t work. He pressed the button a few times and then went around to the power point for an inspection. He jumped back from the wall. Did you kiss him?
The entire back of his flat screen was covered in a layer of undulating wings. Was he better?
Benny retreated for the bug spray only to find every wall of his kitchen lost to the moths. He couldn’t see his phone and the messages from his Ma, Mia, Marty — it was under the light brown, powdery blanket of insects. He got the broom from the pantry and started swinging, smashing into the walls, knocking tins off the benches, and sending glasses shattering to the floor.
* * *
“Son, is this your house?”
Benny blinked, “Yes. Yes, sir.”
The cop wrote something in his notepad, “Okay. And the paramedic is telling me you’re not hurt. Are you feeling alright?”
“No. I’m…the moths…” he trailed off.
The cop nodded, “Okay. He’s also saying you told him that you set fire to the house. Is that correct?”
Benny was staring into the flames. There was a blanket around his shoulders.
“Son, can you tell me what happened tonight?”
Benny shook his head and watched the fire eat his house.
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.
Monday, June 8, 2015
Two Weeks
Two Weeks
I cannot wait for the taste
Of salt water in my mouth
For the massive nothing
That I will fall into when I finally
Let go
I’ll slip away
You’ll lose me
For damage done
For the whip
For every word ignored
I will dissolve in a smile
Into the black
Into the thick reeds
Into a place beyond you
And every bullet that I bit, and that
Fell down into my belly, will
Fill me up
Fill my heart
Fill my swollen veins
Heavy with lead
There will be nothing to stop the sinking.
I cannot wait for the taste
Of salt water in my mouth
For the massive nothing
That I will fall into when I finally
Let go
I’ll slip away
You’ll lose me
For damage done
For the whip
For every word ignored
I will dissolve in a smile
Into the black
Into the thick reeds
Into a place beyond you
And every bullet that I bit, and that
Fell down into my belly, will
Fill me up
Fill my heart
Fill my swollen veins
Heavy with lead
There will be nothing to stop the sinking.
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.”
Saturday, May 9, 2015
Behave
So I say
I hate when you're away
I killed you so you'd stay
'Cause you would not behave.
- Sticky Fingers, 'Caress Your Soul'
Cut-
throat
Brick
wall
Thick
coat
of
scrawl
Full
gut
Wet
skin
Ink
heart
All
in.
I hate when you're away
I killed you so you'd stay
'Cause you would not behave.
- Sticky Fingers, 'Caress Your Soul'
Cut-
throat
Brick
wall
Thick
coat
of
scrawl
Full
gut
Wet
skin
Ink
heart
All
in.
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