by Mia Soto
***
Mary Ellen and Joe have a nice home, and she helps me unload my car. I don’t know if she’s lonely or angry or both, but I’m getting more details of her life than I really want.
“I guess Joe will be home around seven,” she says as she packs away things that I actually need right now.
“What does he do?”
“Other than watch sports?”
I bury my head in my burlap grocery bag trying to ignore her vitriol. “Hmm,” I say. Maybe if I don’t encourage her she’ll leave me alone to cook.
“He’s a third rate lawyer. I mean it’s the law right. All you do is get the degree and the money rolls in. Not Joe, he decides to go into non-profit law.”
Sounds pretty honorable to me so I say, “well at least he can be proud of his day when he’s finished.”
She snorts. “And our kids are in public school and this house is falling down around us.”
I don’t know what Joneses she’s keeping up with but from the looks of it her life could be much worse. The kids are a little boisterous, but they seem good. The house is cluttered, but it’s cluttered with things not people. So I say, “The schools are good in this area.”
“All of their friends are at Berkley Prep.”
I just sigh. I don’t think much would make Mary Ellen happy. “So I’m going to get moving here. Don’t feel like you need to keep me company. I’m here so you can go do the things you don’t usually get to do.”
“Oh, I don’t have anything to do,” she assures me happily.
So I cook, and she complains. Joe is overweight. Joe is loosing his hair. Her best friend’s husband is a partner at a law firm downtown, and they just moved a block off Bayshore. She can’t afford to hire a personal trainer. The only place Joe takes her is Disney World. I feel for her on that one. When Joe finally appears I expect a one eyed Cyclops in a Yugo. Joe’s just a pudgy, middle aged lawyer who drives a Toyota and is a good dad and husband most days, a bad one every now and then and a great one upon occasion. When Joe hears I’m here to cook surf and turf and that for dessert they are having caramel pecan molten pie with homemade butter pecan ice cream, he almost kisses me.
He doesn’t kiss me, but he does hold Mary Ellen’s chair for her and kiss her shoulder as they all sit to the table. He whispers something in her ear, and she giggles. The kids and I exchange unsure looks. I serve the first course of a spinach salad with a warm orange glaze, candied walnuts, mandarin slices, red onion and gorgonzola cheese. Joe reaches over and pops a walnut into Mary Ellen’s mouth. She smiles broadly as she leans over to tousle what’s left of his hair. The kids look at each other like they have seen an image of the Virgin Mary. I always do a palate cleanser before the main course and tonight I have made them a ginger ice. The kids lick their cups and ask for more.
To serve the thermidore, I make a mini Ritz shell which I bake to set and then fill with the cream and lobster filling and then bake again. It’s not the easiest thing to pop out of its casing, but when it works, it’s beautiful. The prime rib I sear and serve sliced thin in au jus. I have some steamed parmesan asparagus as a garnish. The kids are having my version of macaroni and cheese with steamed broccoli in a light lemon butter sauce. Mary Ellen marvels at how they eat their vegetables. I just smile. The kids I cook for love my food because I don’t make it a painful experience. Even kids like good tasting food. They are a lot smarter than given credit most of the time.
As the family eats, the kids start talking and laughing instead of hitting and shouting. Mary Ellen feeds Joe a heaping spoon of lobster before planting her lips to his in some kind of ‘9½ Weeks’ reenactment. I shuffle the kids out to the den for their brownies and vanilla ice cream before I serve the adults dessert. Mary Ellen is in Joe’s lap, and I’m thinking the kids will be better off watching Hanna Montana or whatever they watch at that age. I clear the table with my head down trying not to look over at Mary Ellen who is now straddling Joe and licking her dessert off of his chest from where she just spread it. I don’t know what’s going on but so far there have been no fatalities, only some rediscovered passion. The kitchen is clean, my car is packed and my bill is on the counter because Mary Ellen and Joe have disappeared, and I am not going in search of them.
The SUV is humming as I sit in their driveway wondering about my life right now. It’s possible I’m waiting for a blood curdling scream to come from the house, but it doesn’t come. So I pull out, and on my way home, my racing mind takes me to Blockbuster. I don’t even have a rental card. Apparently, you don’t need one anymore.
“Do ya’ll have ‘Like Water for Chocolate’ and ‘Woman on Top?’?” The kid behind the counter looks at me funny and does a search.
“Yeah, foreign and romantic comedy.” He points at two opposite walls and then goes back to his hand game.
It doesn’t take me long to find them, and I’m on my way to get Sam shortly after. I’m not sure, don’t think I’m crazy, but I don’t know how else to explain what’s been going on in my life. These movies are like research into the mystic and bizarre. Sam’s asleep when I get to Mom’s. This always happens when I have dinners. It’s only nine, but that’s his bedtime.
“How did it go?” Mom has a worried look on her face.
“Ok,” I’m smiling a genuine smile, and she relaxes.
“It did?”
“Yeah, Mom, I didn’t kill anyone tonight.” I haven’t yet told her I burned down the rectory today. We’ll save that for tomorrow. “I’m gonna get Sam and go. I’m tired.”
“You don’t want to eat?” She always has food waiting for me. Lately I rarely eat it. Tonight I’m hungry, but Mark is coming over, and I want to wait on him, even if we’re just ordering out.
“That’s ok. Mark’s coming over. And I went to the store.”
She looks surprised, “you did?”
“Yeah, Mom, it happens you know.”
“Not lately,” she’s standing up to go into the kitchen. “Leave Sam. Come get him in de mornin’.” Every now and then we have to do this. Usually, I just spend the night there too. I’ll just get up at the crack of dawn to get him tomorrow.
Chapter 8
Rendezvous Salad
1 Chicken Breast
2c of lettuce chopped
Handful of dried berries of choice
½ a handful of pine nuts toasted
1/8c feta cheese
Cucumbers and tomatoes
Croutons
1 green onion chopped
2-3 radishes chopped
Dressing
Juice and zest of one lemon
1 small garlic clove minced
2T honey
3T extra virgin olive oil
Salt and pepper
Whisk the ingredients together until they blend into a thick liquid.
Heat a grill pan or frying pan on medium high heat. Lay the breast flat on a cutting board. Place your hand on top of it and slice along the middle being very careful not to cut yourself. Salt and pepper the meat on both sides. When the grill is hot toss the halves onto the heat for 3-4 minutes per side. Toast the nuts in your toaster oven on the ‘light’ option. Pull together all of the ingredients onto your plate or bowl. When the meat is finished and ‘rested” for a few minutes, slice in strips. You can also boil an egg for your protein. Dress with the dressing. Enjoy!
Mark is pulling up on his bike as I arrive. He leans against it waiting for me as I park and get out. I have my movies in hand.
“Where’s Sam?” He almost looks disappointed that I’m alone.
“I missed you too! I couldn’t wait to see you either,” I say laughing as he plants an outstanding kiss on my lips.
“You know what I mean,” he whispers against my mouth.
“He fell asleep at Moms. I’ll get him tomorrow morning.” He pulls me in for another kiss. When he lets me go, his hand raises mine up, and he smiles as he reads the titles of the movies.
“Are you trying to tell me something?” We�
��re walking toward the stairs.
“Do you even know what these are about?” I mean I am talking to a gringo here and not one of those artsy fartsy ones either. He gives me a sarcastic look as I fumble for my keys in the black hole that is my purse. He brushes me aside and uses his.
“This one,” He holds up ‘Woman on Top,’ “Came out after my second tour while I was stationed in Spain. I think I saw it a hundred times. Looks like it will be a hundred and one now. This one,” He holds up ‘Like Water for Chocolate’, “Came out the first year I was in the service, and I was in training in San Diego. A Mexican buddy of mine, who was dating a Mexican girl, dragged me across the border regularly to visit her. He thought I needed a nice Spanish girl.” He’s smiling at me, and I can’t help but smile back at that. “She loved this movie. I could probably recite it from memory.”
I stand corrected. “You’re full of surprises.”
“For someone who never bothers to ask me anything, yes, I guess I am.” He pulls me into him.
“That’s not fair.” I’d like to remain aloof after that comment, but his mouth is wet and hot and following a path down my body. “I’m just trying to keep the sex hot and bothered. If all of our dirty little secrets are out there things will get boring really fast.”
He’s got a wicked smile as he says, “I doubt that.” Then his mouth consumes mine and movie watching is pushed to the backburner of my priorities.
***
He sleeps through the movies again. It almost makes me wonder if he can recite ‘Like Water for Chocolate’. I should test him. It’s two o’clock before I finish watching the movies. I really shouldn’t be up this late, but I’m obviously not cooking at the rectory tomorrow, and I don’t have any other clients scheduled. So really, I have the day off. I don’t know what I’m going to do if the rectory job comes to an end. They are my biggest client and without them I’m kind of out of business. I won’t think about it right now. Right now, Mark has me wrapped in his arms, and it feels really good. I straddle him and sit up. He wakes and looks up at me half asleep.
“What is the last line of ‘Like Water for Chocolate’?”
He smiles as he rubs his eyes. “What time is it?”
“Two.”
“Two? You stayed up until two watching movies?” His sleepy laugh is almost musical.
“What is the last line of ‘Like Water for Chocolate?” I’m serious. Proof is needed that he’s seen a romantic comedy in a conscious state. What a great smile he has, I can’t help but lean over and kiss him. One of his hand clasps me in place while the other valiantly tries to distract me from my question by wandering into my sweats. I manage to tear away long enough to insist, “What is it?”
As he stands with me, he surprises me by not only saying it, but saying it in Spanish. Then he proceeds to do things to me that make me wonder again if he doesn’t have some Latino in him after all.
***
The phone rings at five the next morning. Reflex makes me answer it without knowing who it is. I spent too many months with a sleepless infant to let noise drag him out of REM before any of us are ready for it. I’ve forgotten completely that Sam is at Mom’s place. My voice is hoarse and sleepy. Mark has turned into me to wrap his arms around me. The last person I’m expecting is Sam, my ex. Although, it isn’t the first time I’ve had one of these middle of the night calls.
“Are you seeing someone?”
I’m totally unprepared for this line of questioning at this time of day so I say, “uhhh.”
“How could you?” His voice is plaintive and angry. I’m finally starting to rouse out of my sleep stupor.
“Sam, what do you want?” Mark is awake now. I can tell.
“I just don’t know how you can do this.”
Now I’m awake and angry. I didn’t do the cheating that sealed this deal. He did. Don’t get me wrong, I was nothing nice to live with, but I wasn’t cheating at least. “You have no right.”
“But Margo I love you…”
“Stop it,” I roll onto my back, and Mark leans up on his elbow. He can tell tears are coming, and I can tell he’s hovering between taking the phone away and fighting this battle for me and knowing this is not his battle to fight. I sit up, cover the mouthpiece and hold the phone away. “I’ll be right back.”
He tries to keep me there but lets me go in the end. He’s in an unfair position right now, and I know it. I’m sitting on my toilet in the darkness with my head on my knees. I don’t know why, but the bathroom has always been the room I use to get away.
“Sam you can’t keep doing this.”
“Don’t you miss us,” he asks. My tears are immediate. Of course I do. I spent eight years with this guy. We swore before God and everyone we knew we’d see it through. “Every night I think of you before I go to sleep. I can’t see a movie anymore because I can’t have cherry coke and popcorn with anyone else. When I wake up in the morning, I wish it was you next…”
“Stop it,” My voice cracks, and I know that only fuels his confidence.
“Just one more chance…”
“No, Sam. This is over. I don’t love you anymore.”
“But you love him?”
I’m silent for too long before I answer. “I don’t know. But if no one else, he’d be the one.” I know that hurts, but it’s time for these midnight calls to end. They have been his weapon of choice for too long now, and for whatever reason, I’m ready to move on from them. “Goodnight Sam.”
I hang up not giving him the chance to argue. Then I cry because if things had gone differently he and I and Sam would be together. Mark would be, well, he’d be nothing to me. After awhile, I hear a light knock and the door opens. Mark pulls me up and engulfs me in his arms. Thankfully he doesn’t tell me he understands, or that it will get easier, or that he’ll be there. He just holds me. My head rests on his chest and maybe in the beating of his heart I hear the erratic thump of fear, fear that he could be the midnight guy calling, consumed by love and alone now for whatever reason.
***
“I want to hire you. Come cook for me. I’m hungry.”
“That’s not how it works Camilo,” I laugh.
“Then how does it work?”
“Not like that,” I say.
“Where are you?”
“I’m going to get myself something to eat. I’m hungry too.”
He sighs dramatically, “ok, you win, come over and I’ll cook for both of us.”
“You can cook?”
“I can do a lot of things, gorgeous. You have five minutes to get here or I’m coming looking for you.”
He hangs up before I can argue. I’m smiling as I turn onto Bayshore and head toward his place. Mom took Sam down to Sarasota to visit with one of my many great aunts who is visiting from Ecuador. I begged off on the grounds that I’m cooking tonight for a new client. It’s been three days and I haven’t heard a peep out of the church. I’m afraid to call them. So really I have nothing to do this afternoon, and I’m knocking on his door before I let the betraying thought of Mark cross my mind. Camilo’s little maid opens it with a big smile and points me in the direction of the kitchen where Camilo is actually cooking.
I quietly take a seat on his tall, sleek barstool and watch Camilo deep in concentration over the soccer match and chopping vegetables for what looks like a salad. He’s frozen as his blond locks tumble into his eyes unnoticed, and he wills the players on the screen to score. The Euro cup is going and Portugal is playing Turkey. Portugal almost scores, and he jumps up enthusiastically swinging the huge knife that he’s holding with a violent force in my general direction. I duck down under the counter, and he finally notices me as I do.
“Gorgeous,” he looks surprised. “When did you get here?”
I’m laughing as I stand up from under the bar ledge, “just now.”
His eyes are roaming my body appreciatively as I wander over to look at the counter in front of him. “What are you making?” I ask before he pulls me
in to kiss me fully.
“It’s a surprise.” He lets me go and turns to continue his chopping. He changes his mind before I can take one step away and grabs me by my hips, “no wait come back here. I need another one of those.” This time his lips are a little more demanding, lingering and he uses a whole lot more of his toned body to throw me off balance. “Perfecto,” he says as he turns back to his game and vegetables. “now you can go.”
“Can I help?” My knees are a little weak after that kiss.
“Yes,” he says. “peel the skin off those,” he points at some roasted red peppers that are still warm. I pick up the plate before he can say over his shoulder, “the plate is hot. Be careful.”
“Ouch.” It clatters out of my hand, and he looks over worried.
“Gorgeous, I told you be careful,” he says pulling some ice out of the freezer.
“I’m ok,” I say but he’s taking my hand and pressing some of the ice onto it. “That’s cold,” I complain trying hopelessly to wiggle my hand free of his.
“Leave it,” he says not letting me go nor shifting his eyes from the TV that they are glued on.
When they cut to commercial and my hand is almost numb I say, “Can I go back to peeling now?”
He finally drags his attention away from the TV and positions it fully on me. There is humor in his hazel eyes as he turns my red palm – which is red more from the ice than anything - up to him and kisses it sweetly. Then he kisses it again and again and then he makes his way up my arm to my neck before stepping back and saying, “Yes, peel away.”
“Good,” I say picking up a knife with shaking hands. I don’t know what I’m doing here, but it’s nothing good.
“Why are you pink?” He asks as he pulls what looks like marinated chicken out of the fridge.
I laugh. I’m in dark blue jean capris with a white V-neck t-shirt. Half of my t-shirt is covered in bright pink paint and I say “because I took Sam to art class this morning.”
Camilo looks at me funny, “they gave him pink paint?”
I shrug, “he’s a year and a half. He doesn’t know the difference.”