Entree

(photo courtesy of Reid Hawkins)

(start at the beginning)

Part Three



Sylvia could feel the damp residue clinging around her eyes from where she splashed her face and she imagined that her husband wasn't going to be happy about her appearance. He was probably already fuming over her abrupt departure earlier, though the thought of his concerns never entered her head as she fled from the roll in her belly and the ominous pressure of the shadows over their table. None of it mattered now because this night was over. The man that she married could wallow in his own slop for all she cared. She was leaving as fast as humanly possible.

She wiped at the wetness as if pushing away tears and once her vision came back to her, she was suddenly aware of the quiet in the room. Although the room had been far from full, she couldn't imagine that everyone had decided to leave at the same time. Besides, wouldn't other customers have arrived, seeing the notoriety of the place. Perhaps her husband's source wasn't as reliable as he imagined, at least when it came to suggesting restaurants.

The darkness of the room brought back the reason that she fled and she suddenly felt goosebumps rise up on her arms, though the room was far from cold. Something wasn't right and an uneasiness washed over her as she traversed the floor to her table. The broad light, that made the setting seem like a stage revealed only empty space and silence, so quiet that Sylvia heard the short gasp that burst from her lips. She was getting scared and there was no mistaking it, the restaurant was now vacant. For a moment she imagined that her husband was behind it all, that he'd set up some surprise party and all of her friends would jump out of the shadows to request the smile that came from the humor of a good joke. But there was no reason for such an occasion; no birthday or anniversary, no childhood acquaintances that she'd care to meet, and on top of it all, her husband didn't have the imagination to pull off such a blunder. No, this wasn't planned and she definitely wasn't in on the joke.

Sweat began to pour from the moist area beneath her arms as she wandered over to the front door. For the second time that evening, she had a frantic urge to escape into the night, push out into the cool night air and breath again. She realized that this muted pounding of fear, or panic, that was thrumming inside her right then was so heart-achingly familiar she thought that tears really would spring from her eyes. This need for flight had become second nature for her, a synthetic sheathing that encompassed her entire life, so natural that she forgot to name it. She'd grown a new skin the moment that she married that man and it buffered against all the sane feelings of walking right out the door. She swallowed a bitter lying pill that caused her to accept the curse of insanity, to live in a world that refused to give perspective to her heart, to make her believe all the terrible atrocities accepted and done to her name, to stiffen herrself in a thoughtless way against the leaden weight of a vicious and oppressing hand. The life that she knew, the society that held her sway, all of it but most distressingly, her unholy union, was horrendous!

Yeah, she should escape. She should walk right out that door. So that's what she did.

But the door was locked.

Her entire soul groaned. This was a test, that's the only way that she could deal with it. She'd always passed all of her exams and in order for her soul to come out sane was to harden herself to this task. Which wasn't so easy by the way, the locked door pushing her weakening mind toward some shadowy wormhole.

A sound came from a the kitchen making her turn abruptly, the tension in her shoulders flaring hot white. It sounded like someone may have dropped a metal spatula, a mundane occurrence in any normal culinary establishment but not here. It was more like the lightning slash of a knife that horror movies always tried to simulate. She suddenly felt like a young Jamie Lee Curtis, praying that she would make it through the night without some b-actor lopping her head off.

What could she do? Even though the audience screamed from their seats in rejected agony, there was really only one course of action left to her. She slowly walked over to the double-hinged swinging plastic door that led to the kitchen, each step raising her heart rate. She tried to peer through the circular plexi-glass window just above her eyesight, creeping up onto her tiptoes, but all she could see was fuzzy light, no movement. She pushed the door open so slowly that it seemed to take an eternity, every second lasting longer than the one before. It was no cliché, fear made every moment last forever. Yet, she didn't make a sound and once the door was open she could hear voices. She was sure that one of them was the waiter and her heart surge, though she didn't understand why? Because her sleuthing skills were second to none?

Then she could make out some of what they were saying.

“...got him...should go back.”

“She must be out of the bath...can't afford mistakes.”

“...well done yeah.”

Laughter, lots of people were laughing.

“...go get her then.”

Sylvia's mind was racing. What the hell was going on? Where was her godforsaken husband? She was going to kill the sonofabitch but then it all began to dawn on her. She shouldn't be there. She just had to get out no matter what, her stupid husband be damned.

She heard footsteps coming toward her from the direction of the voices. She slid back out of the brightly lit room, still trying not to make a sound and turned quickly to go. Maybe there was a window in the bathroom that would let her out of this nightmare but she never made it back to that dank place. Instead, she walked straight into a fat man and for a brief instance relief flooded through her, although the feel of her husband had never given her such relief before. It was strange all right but the sense of joy that surged like electric current with the familiarity of her arms wrapped around him soon began to wane. Something wasn't quite right and a nagging truth seemed to hover in the back of her mind.

Then she looked up into the horrible face of the man who'd stared luridly at her when they entered the restaurant. He was definitely smiling at her with an evil smile now, so her initial instincts regarding his nature were absolutely true...and in his hand was a glistening butcher knife.

Sylvia was shoved gruffly by her nemesis into the kitchen. The man insisted on holding the knife to her throat the entire time like he was some natural villain. It actually felt hopelessly surreal to her and the jostling that caused the edge of the blade to push at her larynx was like a jagged little prank. Her senses became heightened and her body hummed. She felt weirdly serene like the knife had already released her, her second skin writhing on the floor behind, trailing from an opened vein. When they finally reached the others, she'd completely shed the burden of her existence and was lighter than ever.

Everyone was there, which was hardly surprising but the scene was almost a mockery to her eyes, though in the end it was exactly what she expected. The familiar aroma when they first arrived that evening, the sickness that overcame her, the well-known looks on the faces of the other patrons; it all told the same story. Here was the man she married, til death do they part, laid out like full course meal. He wasn't quite dead yet but they'd pinned down his limbs so that he couldn't move and stuffed his mouth with...what is that...oh my god!

Sylvia almost laughed out loud and some of the wicked faces hovering over her husband faltered. But Sylvia wasn't looking at them. She had noticed that her husband's eyes, such a soft steel blue, still had life in them. They were desperately pleading for her to do something and Sylvia began to search her inner strength for some means of escape, if that was humanly possible.

“I found her trying to escape.”

The dumbass holding the knife to her throat had such a flare for the absurd, didn't he?

The waiter stood forth.

“Well, now that everyone is accounted for, I think that we can finally get under way with th evening's festivities.”

One of the thin older women actually nodded her head and licked her lips for chrissakes! This was getting way out of hand. Sylvia tried to pull out of her captor's grasp but he held her tight.

“Whoa, Nelly.”

These guys were a riot. Sylvia was bubbling inside and she could feel an enormous strength building deep within her. She sensed it surging forth, like an alternate identity, super-hero style.

The woman who licked her lips leaned forward and ripped open her husband's shirt to reveal his patchy chest.

“Let her watch.”

His eyes widened dramatically and Sylvia yelped...well, it was actually a burst of laughter that she could finally no longer keep within her. She was losing it all right and they all leaned from her, except for the idiot who held her. She was a loose wheel, wobbling with crazy symmetry that was making everything that they planned fall out of sync. But the strength...the strength was coming forth also and for a brief instance, her husband saw it too and hope glimmered in his eyes.

The final straw, the one that was her ultimate saving grace was the thought of her husband lying on some cheap and tawdry bed with a lithe woman, thinking that he was the king of the world just because he had spooped. Sylvia could clearly see the woman's hand rubbing that same chest hair that stood nakedly forth in the kitchen of a restaurant down an alley that no one could really find, sizing him up for this very moment. She used him for his body in the same way that he had used her's...consumption.

Yep, that's the way that it must've occurred and Sylvia was convinced of it. It was that very vision that brought out the strength within her, a strength that she'd always felt but never had to use. One day, it would always come one day when absolutely necessary. Now, when the chef stepped forward sharpening a long carving knife, Sylvia finally released it.

“STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOP!”

Her voice was absolute power and everyone shuddered backwards from the force of it, even the beef that clutched her from behind stumbled. Her husband felt it too and it widened his eyes more than ever. She shocked him. She shocked the lot of them and then she was free, yanking herself from the bear paws that grabbed at her. They all stopped as she stepped forward and leaned toward her husband. The light in his eyes flashed hope once again. Was it possible that she could save him? Then he looked into her eyes, really looked and saw deep into her heart. Fear sprang forth abruptly once again in the soft sky beneath his puffy eyelids but it was even bigger than fear, it was panic...such an intimate panic that it caused a smile to creep over Sylvia's lips. It was he who was trapped after all.

She turned and looked at all of them, their ashen faces that didn't know what to make of her. Finally she stopped on the one who looked just like her husband, ultimately it was he who would understand. It was wicked, what had painted her face.

“I got dibs.”



The End

Entree

Part Two


Smothered again, in his choices, in his demands, in his fleshy stench, in his horrible opera, in his privilege. The smooth beast of a machine that exemplified their wealthy aspirations delivered them to an aphotic asphalt parking lot that requires you to slip a folded five dollar bill through a slivered hole in a wood box, not the valeted reception they were used to. Sylvia almost felt sorry for the car as she perceived its futile attempt to blend in with the unexceptional variety of vehicle that shaped the spaces in the lot. For a moment, she almost demanded that he take her home, unsure of whether she could stand the adventure that they'd likely discover once they returned to find the mammoth automobile stolen but the pure joy of witnessing his savage anger was enough to clamp her mouth shut. She rarely had such happy moments nowadays.

They walked down a busy thoroughfare for two blocks but couldn't find the place. The street was lined with derelict bars, liquor stores, independent boutiques, dentistry with a foreign scrawl, shackled storefronts with padlocks firmly clamped shut and rundown apartment buildings. So it seemed unlikely that an elaborate restaurant would be hidden amongst these sad displays. All that Sylvia could see was a dirty tacoshop and a Vietnamese place with a picture of a cow next to the elaborate script. When she tried to point out that maybe that was the steakhouse, the damn fool turned on her with lances in his eyes, the sweat quickly beginning to flow from his bald pate into them, a futile attempt to extinguish his rising anger. She diffused his flare quickly with an enormous bout of disdain.

He faltered.

“It's supposed to be right here.”

He was motioning at a dark storefront that offered cheap tuxedos and when she turned to follow where he was pointing she saw something in the shadows. It couldn't be? But her idiot husband was slowly moving forward to look down the pathway that squeezed between the two buildings. Hardly two feet wide, it ran cryptically into the darkness, a black well that swallowed her husband as he stepped into it.

Christ, he wasn't going down there, was he? Sylvia waited for a brief instance, then looked over her shoulder at the world, trying to see which way was the more enlightening path. A young man with overstuffed tennis shoes paused in his step and watched her intently from across the street. From her perspective it seemed as if he was leering at her then her husband's raspy voice rose from the depths curtly.

“Sylvia!”

She lurched forward into the dark passageway but for a second a voice came to her, a desperate plea of warning and when she glanced back at the young man across the street, he was slowly shaking his head. Sylvia stopped and watched him as he began to walk again, moving with a soundless rhythm and she had such a strong urge to curse her life, to bolt from the shadows and accompany that youthful spirit who was chasing the night that she actually turned to go back out into the light of the boulevard. That's when she felt her husband's clammy hand grip her wrist and pull her back.

“I've found it, right down here. What a strange place. You have to see it!”

There was excitement in his cadence and Sylvia found that she did want to see it, like the urge to see the grisly details of the accident on the side of the road or the pleasure of pressing deep on the ache of a bruise. She wanted to know what had stirred a fire in him and what was skipping her own heart with fear.

They emerged into a dimly lit courtyard with a couple of sputtering heat lamps covering the small area with their warm rusty film. Sylvia's husband was sweating courageously now and dampening his handkerchief with a continuous wipe but when she looked at him she wasn't sure that it was from the heat. It was like a fire from within that burned with excitement off of his shiny forehead. He was a constant embarrassment in her life and it appeared that tonight would not provide her with a change of pace.

There was no sign above the nondescript door that he pulled open for her, at least he retained some of his manners, but you couldn't mistake the aroma that flowed out from the labyrinth. This was the place all right, the sickly sweet smell of meat filled her nostrils and though Sylvia's stomach turned at the familiar scent, saliva also cascaded into her mouth. Instantly she craved what lay in the darkness behind that door, like a mad starving fool who pressed with greed to the front of the buffet line. She wanted to taste the meat, to feel it in the grind of her teeth, awash with the promise of a delicate and nuanced flavor found nowhere but down this tiny alley. Yet, when she stepped inside, the growl in her abdomen quite audible, the tender room reminded her of every modest place she'd visited over her life, nothing special, no drama to call her mother about, just an ordinary steakhouse...except for that aroma wafting from the kitchen.

A young gentlemen who was calmly chatting with a couple in the corner booth spotted them right away. He waved, made an amusing comment to the couple, which caused them all to chuckle and finally approached Sylvia and the puffing man beside her.

“Good evening, do you have a reservation?”

Their host pulled a small notebook from his back pocket and regarded the tiny script inside. Sylvia was flummoxed. Besides the couple that he was speaking with a moment before, there were only two other tables occupied. One with a group of hearty American men types, probably in town for a convention of some kind, here to spend their money on good food, good drink and good women who most definitely would not be their wives. Sylvia pictured her husband fitting perfectly among them and this was most likely the very image of him and his cronies whenever he went out of town on a business trip. The other table had two elderly women, skinny as sin, seated properly as if they were in a class run by Miss Manners. Both of the women were staring at the new guests and Sylvia instinctively smiled in their direction but the edges of her mouth soon creased back toward confusion. The looks that they gave her and her husband were far from inviting and there was also something else beneath the naked sheen in their eyes, something cold and eager.

She turned to look at the boisterous men who occupied the other table as her husband floundered before the maitre d.

“Reservation?”

He too, was confused but then he remembered his whore.

“Oh, yes, I almost forgot. I was supposed to mention that Nora referred us.”

He glanced at his wife with unease guilt in his eye but Sylvia wasn't even listening to him, which was strange because she lived for moments like these, when she could make her husband look like a total ass in front of others. The reason for her dismissal was that even though the four men across the room were having a perfectly fun experience, one that normally wouldn't arouse suspicion, one of the guys was staring right at her as he laughed along with his friends. But his eyes weren't laughing, they were devouring her and for the first time in years she felt desire stroke beneath her heart. This man was looking at her like he wanted to take her in the back room and bend her over the sink with raw animalistic rage, the kind that was stored for blind fucking. Sylvia was terrified and curious and stunned and pissed off all at once. Anger was the emotion that finally took over her catatonic brain and she sent a ruthless, fiery look right back at him. He was a pig! God, he was hardly worth looking at, he was so unattractive. The disdain she'd so immaculately perfected flooded out of her pores and washed over his hateful stare but all it made him do was smile even more, an absolute piggish grin crossing his face.

She turned back to her husband prepared to demand once again that they leave this place but apparently his codeword had allowed them a spot in this prestigious establishment, as their host was leading her husband to a quiet table near the center of the room. Directly within sight of all the other tables, of course, but Sylvia knew when the moment for escape had passed. She was a master at keeping her dignity and no one would ever take that from her, not her husband and certainly not that swine of a man.

The maitre d addressed them as he pushed Sylvia's chair beneath her rear.

“How about a nice bottle of Chianti to get you started.”

Sylvia frowned. She hated Chianti but it was like he could read her thoughts.

“A delicate grape to be sure but we have the finest blend in the city and since it's your first time here with us, the first bottle is on the house.”

“How can we say no.”

Her husband was the least charming person she'd ever met, even when he was trying so hard.

“I can assure you that you will not be disappointed.”

The man left and went into the kitchen. Sylvia felt eyes on her but when she tried to look through the room it was apparent that they had somehow managed to set up the lighting so that you couldn't see the other tables clearly. The people were shadowy puppets playing in the dark and though she could hear their minced conversations and continued laughter, they were suddenly discorporate sounds that gave her the creeps. But, if the lighting was designed in such an obscure fashion, why then did it feel like all the others were watching them?

“Don't you find this place strange?”

She asked her husband but the look she got in returned was disapproving.

“Don't start with your issues. I won't allow you to ruin this experience for me. Of course it's strange but that's what makes it so interesting. Besides, do you smell that steak?”

A dreamy blanket floated over his face and Sylvia knew that she'd lost him. So she tried to put the other patrons out of her mind, especially that fat bastard with evil in his grin, and focus on the reason they came to this place. The food!

Yes, she sensed the aroma again and found it enticing, but there was something about it that she couldn't quite place. It seemed obvious, as her mouth began to water once again, that they knew what they were doing here but what was it about that scent? It was steak of course, a thick cut cooked in it's own juices, sizzling under intense heat but there was something...her memory was full of fog but if she swiped at the smoke, she thought that the wanted vision would be revealed. It was there, at the edge of her mind...

“Ah, here we are.”

Their waiter was back, apparently he was the only attendee in the dining room, a jack of all trades. He was holding out a beautiful bottle filled with red wine. Sylvia's husband was nodding smugly, as if he knew what he was looking at, which made her scoff. The glare that came from across the table was disheartening but before she could sneer back, their host passed the bottle across her vision. The liquid danced delicately and the shimmer that swam in the reflection pulled all the hate from her bones. If there was anything that she was meant to do that night, she had to taste that wine. She looked up into the maitre d's eyes and found comfort there. He nodded at her as he pulled the cork from the bottle.

“Madam.”

Then he filled her glass one-quarter full. Sylvia scooped the wine glass professionally and held it before her nose. All of the disgust in her life vanished, especially that which was embodied by those in that very room, then she breathed red. It was funny because it hardly smelled of wine, no berry, no sweet caramel, not even the bitter hint of moss, but it was rich with delight and her body hungered for it. She gulped it down, the residue catching the back of her tongue. It tasted alive, as if the grape were still plump with moisture, swallowing the days of rain. It was full and wealthy and eager to ensconce her in its cocoon. She grew dizzy suddenly and the smoke in the room became too thick for her to breathe...but the flavor was remarkable. She could barely turn to smile up at the young man who was filling her glass again, she felt so drunk. She reached thirstily for the glass to quickly consume what she could before the world collapsed around her, then her stomach flopped. It was like the drop-off, her innards shrank to the floor in one vicious lump and it was all that she could do to keep the contents of it behind her teeth.

She lurched up out of her chair and scrambled for the bathroom. There are some people who simply have an innate awareness of where to find the bathroom in restaurants. Sylvia was one of those people and by the time that she pushed through the double-hinged door, the nausea was beginning to pass. She went to the mirror instead of one of the stalls because she hoped that the vomit would stay down, if not then a sink would be suitable, it was only wine after all. She quickly splashed water on her face and let the drops cascade down her skin, coursing through her base. For the first time in some while, she didn't care about her appearance. It was such a relief and joy to feel this cool presence on her skin. She held the moment of it and a brief vision entered her mind.

She was on her honeymoon, her body years young. She was swimming in the clear blue of the Hawaiian shore. It was absolute bliss to swim in that water, to feel it on her skin. The two weeks that they stayed in Hawaii, all that she did was spend time in the ocean. It was the only thing that she wanted to do. Her husband tried to get her to follow him out on his touristy adventures but she wasn't going anywhere, sending him out alone while she pushed her body through the blessed liquid.

It made her shiver now, to think of it. That was where she belonged. She knew it in that instant and that was where she would go, leave tomorrow, leave this life behind. It was all so suddenly clear.

She opened her revelatory eyes and looked at her ghastly face in the mirror. Oh God, how had she ever gotten to be so ugly, so miserable? She had to escape. She had to get beyond this life and discover the beauty in the world again. It was out there somewhere, waiting for her. She needed to feel it in her grasp, cling to it with a full heart. She wanted it so bad.

But first, she had to get through this wicked, wicked night.


(go to part three)

Entree

Part One


“Soup or Salad?”
--Anonymous


“I'm famished. When are we going to eat?”

Sylvia looked up from her book at her husband standing in the doorway. Why does he always have to be like this? One of the reasons they were still together was due to his persistent need to always get what he wants.

Her eyelids fell heavy as the acid dripped from her lips.

“What shall we eat, dear?”

Sylvia hated him. His presence was a knife that shivered through her skull every time he entered the room. His sweaty glistening forehead was growing larger each day and the brain beneath that shine grew more useless. He padded his belly with an insider trading appetite for filet mignon and mutton stew and online escort services, his ever shrinking hooded scepter disappearing from her life. No complaints there, it had never been of much use anyway. Couldn't provide a child or an orgasm if his life depended on it. She should count her blessings, especially now that he began to carry a strange unrecognizable odor.

At first she thought, or hoped at least, that it was the smell of the unwell, maybe a sickness that would take him from this world, but once the odor grew and began to permeate every eave of their home, Sylvia understood that her thoughts of chivalry, of her knight of the diseased order, were not to be fulfilled. The stench that her husband of ten years began to acquire was simply the sweet scent of success, the smell of those who feel that they deserve everything that the universe has given them. It was the perfume of privilege and the more that Sylvia sensed it in her nostrils the more it smelled of coiled and burning fat, hearty and rich, lathered with the proper dose of oily perspiration. It quite often made her gag.

She recalled his aroma from their years at Cornell. It was more the sour and acrid taste of desperation, or perhaps it was determination, the two weren't so far from each other on the periodic scale after all. Although, now that she thought about it, it seemed like this new scent had always been inside his skin waiting for the opportune moment to come out. Even when her desire for him cloaked all of his disturbing predilections, in the back of her mind there was a warning flash that echoed like the dull ache of a migraine that hasn't quite caught hold. She was young and foolish, like everyone else who grew up with the promise that this godforsaken place will take care of you, that your dreams are bound to come true so long as you watch enough television and discovered what it is you were supposed to be dreaming of in the first place. He bought her beautiful things and took her to swanky places and introduced her to the wealthy, and all of her princess visions swarmed through her mind with the misguided touch of enticement and the poisonous taste of decay. She fell under the spell of what he had to offer until it was too late to see that all he was offering was misery and the slow death of being compartmentalized. She was simply another item in his collection of privileged pieces, priceless until the cost of the divorce would tally her true worth.

Uuuuuughhh, how much longer would she have to wait?

Sylvia shuddered at the thought of the years that still lay before her. He wasn't large enough for a separation, wasn't at that obscene section of the privileged trough, wasn't gorging himself on the innards of those less fortunate than him. Not yet. He was still learning how to truly devour, to emaciate the landscape around him and eventually discover the ultimate gift of all great economic predators. How to cover his tracks? Because he didn't want to end up like Ken Lay, dead in disgrace, face down in a jail cell while the press pissed all over his carcass. No, it didn't have to be that way, people got away with it everyday and the keys to the kingdom were only available to those who were very committed. Sylvia knew that her husband was one of those people, learned it long ago when their marriage was more about her guests than the two of them and in order for him to reach the peak, he needed a devoted spouse to help him smile before the onslaught of vultures who would do anything to take him down. She was the ultimate shine of jewelry that he'd purchased to fit on his left arm. It didn't take much effort on her part to become accustomed to that role.

But she hated it and she hated him with every ounce of her soul. Every day she contemplated the choice between taking him down and destroying all that he worked for or suffering through the muck of their marriage until her big payday. Both visions offered treasure, one material and the other complete psychic bliss. Either way she would have to wait, it just depended on how long that wait was going to be? He was too small after all, puny on the hook and would be thrown back if she took the bait too soon. He couldn't continue to breathe, to go on living while she threw herself upon the blade. No, if she was going to bring him down, she wouldn't go to her demise alone.

She kept her eyes on the page of her book, though she didn't see a word, as the lasers from his eyes tried to burn through her defenses. She softly practiced her mediative breathing and composed her heart into blankness. Having too much time on her hands was bound to be good for something.

His voice was shaking with control when he finally spoke to her.

“I hear there's a great new restaurant down in the Valley.”

Her eyes were dead when she looked up at him.

“And who did you hear this from?”

“The new receptionist.”

But his eyes flickered down for a brief instant and she knew right away that the receptionist was actually one of his whores. There was always a new receptionist wasn't there? No need to address that issue.

“Hmmm, what kind of food did she say?”

Oh, but why bother asking, it was bound to be another steakhouse.

“It's a steakhouse, but apparently this one's supposed to be special.”

She could feel her stomach clenching up at the thought of endlessly chewing on red meat. For chrissakes, there better be a decent salad at this place! Placing her book on the side table, she stood up and turned to him.

“Sounds very nice dear.”

“Uh, you're not going dressed like that. Are you?”


(go to part two)