Add Spice to Taste

by R. G. Emanuelle

  I was about to turn back to my own workstation when I caught Michael looking at me, an evil grin splashed across his face.

  “What?” I mouthed silently. To my horror, he came back over.

  “Have you seen Brit’s bedroom?” At my puzzled silence, he continued. “She has a huge bed.” He glided his eyes over to Julianna, innocently chopping mushrooms, then back at me. His teeth gleamed white. The oven beeped.

  Oh, so now I was supposed to think that Brit was going to get me and Julianna in bed? He was going way off and he was working my last nerve.

  I untied a bag of walnut halves and threw the twist-tie across the counter. I dumped the walnuts onto a baking sheet, pushed it into the oven, and set the timer for ten minutes.

  As I pulled a bottle of Champagne from the boxes, Michael moved closer. “Look,” he said, his face less smug, “I can see that you’re here for one purpose only. So let me give you some advice. Brit can be very persuasive. If you don’t want to fuck things up with cutie over there . . . ” He jutted his chin out in Julianna’s direction. “You have to be strong.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  As if on cue, Brit breezed in from the elevator, toting several shopping bags that looked like they came from very exclusive boutiques, the kind I could never even dream about shopping in.

  “Hey, Michael!” She put her bags down on a chaise near the entrance. Michael went to greet her and she threw her arms around him.

  “Hey, babycakes. How went the shopping?”

  “Awesome! I got the hottest dress and shoes that are on fire.”

  “Oh, yeah? Planning on doing some burning?”

  With a devilish expression, she said, “Maybe.” Just then, she noticed me. “Chef! It’s so nice to see you.” She entered the kitchen and surveyed all the supplies. “I see you’ve got everything under control.”

  “Hi, Brit. Yeah, everything’s taken care of. I think you’ll be pleased.”

  “Oh, I know I will be.” She scrutinized the boxes of Veuve Clicquot. “Is that enough Champagne?”

  “Oh, yeah—”

  “Cuz if it isn’t, I’ll call for more.”

  “No, it’s enough.”

  “Okay.”

  Julianna waited politely.

  Realizing my rudeness, and feeling awkward, I quickly tried to correct myself. “Brit, you remember Julianna. From class.”

  Brit looked at her. “Oh, yeah. Sure. Hi.”

  “Julianna’s my assistant for tonight.”

  “Well, you must have taught her well. That’s great.” She glided over to the boxes of Champagne and placed a hand on the top box. “I can’t wait to try what you have for me.”

  The glint in her eyes made me nervous. Everything that Michael had said, as preposterous as it was, seemed very possible now. I hoped I was just being paranoid.

  I started backing away from her to continue my work. As I turned, I said, “I promise, you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I hope not,” she murmured as she walked back to her bags. She picked them up and disappeared down the hall toward the far end of the apartment, where I assumed the bedrooms were.

  Julianna and I prepped in silence for a while. When she’d cut up all the mushrooms, she turned to me, wiping her hands on her towel. “Okay, the mushrooms are done,” she said. She seemed aloof as she gathered the boxes and wrappers for the trash.

  “Hey,” I said, pulling her back by the arm. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She looked everywhere but at me.

  Okay, I was done playing games. I didn’t want to mess up what I had going with her. Time to stop being coy or dense or whatever it was I was being.

  “Julianna, I don’t know what you think is going on between me and Brit, but I promise you, there’s nothing.” I pulled her closer. “I’m crazy about you, and you’re the only one I’m interested in. Okay?”

  She searched my eyes and after a moment, smiled cautiously. “Okay.”

  I kissed her and promptly forgot where we were. I pressed her up against the stove and she whimpered, so I jumped back. “I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. Just a little hot.” She winked and we both got back to work.

  SIX HOURS LATER, the apartment swam with dozens of people. It seemed a lot more than forty people and I began to worry that there wouldn’t be enough food. The students who had volunteered to assist me had arrived two hours earlier and I instructed them to keep an eye on the food consumption.

  The DJ, set up in the corner of the massive living room, spun a constant stream of dance music that had Brit’s guests wild with energy. The mellower people sat around, chatting and drinking. Outside on the terrace, daring guests skinny-dipped in the lighted pool. Brit had actually placed a bartender at the poolside wet bar, in addition to the indoor bar. The lights that Michael had strung outside made it look like a tropical tiki hut.

  Inside, the multitudinous white lights illuminated the room enough so that no other lighting was necessary. The soft glow was enough to let some people move around, and simultaneously gave others the darkened privacy to whisper, touch, and flirt.

  Most of the food had been cooked. Now, it was a matter of keeping hot things hot and cold things cold until needed. Michael had set the buffet table with a gold silk tablecloth, a nod to the Champagne theme, and the coolest-looking chafing dishes. No sternos for this shindig.

  Julianna was keeping an eye on the table for me and ran refills as necessary. The buffet seemed to be crowded all the time. Some people, fascinated with what chefs do, gathered around the island in the kitchen, cocktails in hand, and watched as I prepped the remaining food. It was probably the first time many of them had actually seen someone cook in real life and not just on TV. The ones who appeared to be ten to fifteen years younger than me had to be Brit’s sister’s friends while the ones who seemed older and slightly less wild—but still younger than me—were probably Brit’s. I hadn’t spotted anyone who might have been their parents or relatives, and I didn’t ask.

  I briefly got to meet her sister during a drive-by introduction in the dining room. “Lana, come meet the chef,” Brit said. She pulled her sister over as she was being ushered past us by a group of giggling, laughing friends. “This is Chef Jo. Chef, this is my sister, Lana.” I held out my hand and she threw her arms around me. “Oh, my god. This is, like, so amazing. The food was sick! Thank you so much. I’m sure Brit is taking care of you.”

  I didn’t get a word in before she was whisked off. And that was the last I saw of Lana. Sick. There’s another word I preferred didn’t get used in reference to my food, but I accepted it for what it was.

  Brit turned to me and got close enough to brush her breast against my arm. She had on a black dress that suggested that she’d prefer to be wearing nothing at all, seeing as how minimal the amount of fabric was. The little black dress was little indeed. It swooped down low between her breasts and was just long enough to cover her ass, and it hung on her with two strings that went around her neck. The strings were probably longer than the dress.

  “Thanks so much. Everything is great,” she said in a low, purring voice. “When you’re done, come join the party,” she added before she moved away.

  I went back to the kitchen, my neck itchy with sweat.

  When the main dinner period ended, I asked the assistants to remove the food from the table. Julianna and I packed and refrigerated the leftovers and began sending out the desserts. Platters of chocolate truffles, which I’d made the day before, glittered with gold leaf and gold glitter, evoking Champagne. Mini cupcakes filled with Champagne ganache and topped with Champagne-strawberry cream were stacked on a tiered serving piece, while raspberry tartlets with Champagne-poached figs adorned a long gold platter like jewels. It was a veritable dessert wonderland, the kind that only rich people indulge in without hesitation. Once all the desserts were on the table, I did some clean-up. Brit had told me that the housekeepers would take care of it the next
day, but I didn’t want to leave a huge mess for them. That wouldn’t have been fair. As for the students, I gave them twenty bucks each. I wasn’t supposed to because they were earning credits for school, but they had busted their asses all night. I dismissed all but one.

  Julianna and I changed our clothes and joined the party—I into a black button-down shirt and Julianna into a gorgeous midnight blue cocktail dress that looked amazing on her.

  By this time, it was 10 p.m. and I needed a good strong drink. I had just gotten Julianna a martini and myself a screwdriver from the indoor bar when the music stopped and the first rumblings of “Happy Birthday” began, picking up steam until the entire room was belting it out. People who were outside on the terrace wandered in to join the singing.

  On my advice, Brit had hired a professional baker to make a special cake, not something I was particularly good at. Give me a flame and I’ll whip you up a five-star meal; give me an icing kit and you’ll get something that looks like it came out of a do-it-yourself cake kit. A big box had been delivered earlier from The Cakery, one of the biggest names in the cake business, and I was dying to see what they’d created.

  The one assistant who was still there rolled a cart out with the masterpiece. On the bottom was a huge sheet cake covered in gold fondant brushed with glitter. On the center of the cake was another cake in the shape of a gigantic, but stylish, stiletto shoe. Around the shoe, on the sheet cake, were lit candles. Lana blew them out and everyone oohed and aahed and applauded appreciatively. Some jostled for a position to take photos before the student rolled the cart back into the kitchen to cut it up. That would be my assistant’s last job of the night.

  While we waited for the cake to be served, the DJ played some ambient music and I took the opportunity to spend some personal time with Julianna. I took her by the hand and led her down the corridor. I didn’t know what was back there and I wasn’t in the habit of wandering through people’s homes uninvited, but I just needed to spend a few minutes alone with her.

  A short way up the hallway, past a horde of people, we found what I took to be a library. It had floor-to-ceiling bookcases filled with actual books. I wondered if any of them had been read in the past twenty years.

  We sat down on a long leather sectional sofa and lingered quietly, holding hands. The break from the crowd was a relief.

  “What do you suppose she paid for that cake?” Julianna asked.

  I snorted. “A lot.”

  “Did you meet their parents?”

  “No.”

  “Neither did I. I don’t think they’re here. I think I heard someone say that they’re away somewhere. Vietnam or something.”

  I pondered that and wondered if that was why the entire burden of the party plans had fallen on Brit.

  “We’re probably missing the cake,” Julianna said.

  “Do you care?”

  “Not really.”

  “Me either.” I found Julianna’s neck to be much more appealing, and I paid attention to it with my lips. I pulled away long enough to admire the low cut of the dress and the way the spaghetti straps rested on her smooth, toned shoulders. “You’re really beautiful in this dress.”

  “Thanks.” She pecked me on the lower lip in appreciation.

  “What made you bring it?”

  She giggled. “I was hoping we’d get invited to the party. I’ve never been to an Upper West Side soiree before.”

  “Me either,” I replied. But we were too busy enjoying each other’s kisses at the moment.

  After a while, the music changed over to techno and I figured people were done with the cake and were now dancing.

  “Come on,” she said, pulling me up by the hand. “Let’s go dance.”

  It seemed that as the night wore on, the crowd got denser and denser. Where had all these people come from? The party of forty had turned into a party of one hundred, easy.

  The screwdriver was hitting me hard, even though I’d only had one. The bartender had made strong drinks. My head began to swim a little, as the music and lights swirled around me.

  The apartment began to take on the air of a club. People were spread out everywhere, including the hallway leading to the back rooms, where many pressed themselves up against the walls. Outside the bathrooms, guests were lined up. I had a sudden flashback to Saturday nights at the Palladium in my clubbing days.

  “Listen, go back in. I need to pee,” I said, gently pushing Julianna ahead.

  “Okay.” She happily continued down the hall until I lost her in the throng.

  The déjà vu continued when I got on at the end of the shortest line. Although I was no longer wearing my chef jacket, some of the guests recognized me and chatted.

  “Hey, you’re the chef,” one woman said.

  “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “That salmon was unfuckingbelievable.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I mean, that shit’s the best.”

  Having someone refer to my food as “shit” didn’t sound quite right but I appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.” She was one of Lana’s friends, anyway. Had to be.

  A pressure on my arm made me turn around, and then I was being pulled off the line. Brit was leading me away. “Um, Brit,” I said, shouting over the strains of techno music. “I have to use the bathroom.”

  She turned her head partway, just so I could hear her. “I know.” She ushered me past all the people patiently waiting in line, farther back into the maze of rooms. Down the impossibly long hallway, there were a number of doors open to various rooms: a lounge, the library, and an entertainment room. A young couple came out of a closed door, hair disheveled and cheeks flushed, which led me to believe that the closed doors were bedrooms. Finally, we arrived at another closed door. She pulled me in and from the chic, yet playful décor of red and black geometric patterns, it was clear that this was her bedroom.

  Brit pulled me through the room until we were on the far side. “Here,” she said as she opened a door. “Use my bathroom. You shouldn’t have to wait in line with everyone else. You worked really hard and you deserve a break.” Her eyes sparkled. “Besides, you’re my special guest.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  Her bathroom was so swanky that I had a hard time believing it was actually a bathroom. Again, it was done in red and black and textured wallpaper. A clear glass enclosure showed a shower with such a complicated-looking fixture that I wondered if it was a shower or a medieval torture device. The whole thing could have served as a cryogenic chamber. The edge of the red bathtub held three glass candle cups, half burned down. Yes, Brit was definitely a bubble bath with scented candles kind of gal.

  It was like being in a hotel. If I had a hard time cooking in that kitchen, how was I going to pee here? But as soon as I took one look at the toilet, hidden in its own private alcove, the urge to pee surpassed my reservations. I trotted in clumsily, shut the door, and did what I had to do. The ultra-powered, almost silent flush distracted me from my hand-washing only briefly, and then I walked out, stumbling a bit.

  Brit was waiting for me right outside the door so that as soon as I put my foot over the threshold, she pulled me aside, pushed me up against the wall, and kissed me.

  After a frustratingly long dry spell, the sudden abundance of sexual attention was intoxicating. I hadn’t realized how starved for attention I’d been. Julianna was feeding me but I was being offered dessert, like those people out in the living room enjoying beautiful cake after a meal. Michael’s warning rang in my head, and I didn’t want to be this woman’s conquest, another notch on her bedpost. For a second, while my brain was pickled in vodka, I thought, why the hell not? I’d spent eight years being a dutiful, faithful girlfriend—why shouldn’t I play a little?

  Julianna, that’s why.

  I wasn’t in the relationship for very long—and even this early on, it felt like a relationship—but I wanted to be in it for a long time. Gently, I pushed Brit away. “I can’t. Sorry.�
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  Brit was not having that. “Why not? Miss Perky Yoga Girl out there?” She moved close again. “Listen, I’m not looking to take you away from her. I just want a little fun. I promise, it’ll be fun for you, too.” She brought her hands around my neck and glued her lips to mine. I reached up and removed her hands.

  “I’m sure it would be. I have no doubt, in fact.” I was sure that the sweat on my forehead and the quivering of my hands would betray my weakness. “As much as I’d like to, I can’t. So please stop.”

  Brit took three steps back and focused on me for a moment. She didn’t seem angry, but I’d learned a long time ago that how a woman looks and what she’s really feeling could be a universe apart. I thought that maybe I should run because I was about to get something thrown at me.

  Instead of pitching something at my head or cursing me out, she reached up behind her neck with both hands and untied the strings of her dress. She brought her hands down slowly, bringing the strings with them, until the entire front of her dress was hanging down. In the smoothest move I’d ever seen, she stuck her thumbs into the elastic waistband and pushed down. I don’t know why I was surprised that she had no underwear on.

  Just as I knew they would be, her breasts were perfectly shaped and sitting where they should, unlike mine, which needed the kind of help that’s required with age, and her red hair hung beguilingly down over them. Her body was trim and fit and glowing with the color, health, and softness that she no doubt had paid a shitload for. Definitely a healthy young woman.

  Stunned, I stood dumb, but definitely not blind.

  Then, she was close to me again, pressing herself against me, and lifted a leg so that her crotch pressed into my thigh. “She never has to know,” she murmured into my ear as she began unbuttoning my shirt. Her breath carried notes of Champagne.

  Words were lodged in the back of my vodka-soaked throat and I had to swallow really hard before I was finally able to croak out what I had to say.

  “Brit, you are a very attractive woman. But I really have to stop you.” The skin on her waist felt so warm and soft under my hands as I pushed her away yet again that my resolve began to waver. “Please.”