The Sweet Edge

by Risa Peris

  "Ah, yes. He has arrived. I will escort you."

  Stella followed the Maître D through a maze of stylishly dressed patrons. Campbell was standing. He was wearing a gray suit and a Klimt inspired tie. He looked clean shaven, very serious and attractive. Campbell looked at Stella openly and carefully. He was not even sure the woman in front of him was the same woman he met on that horrible night. The woman in front of him was gorgeous. Her figure, though full, seemed lush and her face was soft. Her eyes also looked like cat's eyes – the marble kind. Campbell remembered playing marbles as a child and his most prized marble was a large black one with a silvery center.

  Stella looked hesitant. "Hello."

  Campbell did not say anything. He was still gazing at her. He shook his head. "I'm sorry. Please have a seat. Please. Thank you. You look lovely."

  Stella sat down and accepted the menu from the Maître D. "Thank you."

  "You are very welcome," he said. "Your server will be with you shortly."

  Stella stared at the menu. She was afraid to look at Campbell. He seemed intimidating. Distant. Completely unattainable. Stella thought of Ben. Sweet, wonderful Ben.

  "Thank you for meeting me. I…I wanted to apologize. I acted horribly."

  "Apology accepted. You had a bad night. Your girlfriend broke up with you."

  "That was no excuse."

  "You should really apologize to Carlos. The bartender. You shorted him on the tip."

  "You're right. I will have to rectify that."

  Campbell looked away and sighed. He felt nervous, but did not understand why. "Do you like French food?"

  Stella set the menu down. "Honestly, I don't think I have ever had it. I grew up in a small Massachusetts town and, well, French food seems so expensive that I didn't have it when I moved to Boston or here."

  "You're in for a treat. Do you mind if I order for us?"

  "No. Please do." Stella was relieved. The menu had no prices on it and she was worried she would order food that was too expensive. Stella considered that bad taste. When someone bought you a meal you didn’t order the most expensive thing on the menu.

  Campbell signaled for the waiter. A stout man in a crisp shirt approached. "How may I help you?" The waiter had a thick French accent.

  "We will start with the Betteraves au Chévre rôti et Pistaches, Salade d’Auvergne and the Tartare de Thon au Gingembre et Avocat. Then we will have the Filet de Boeuf, Béarnaise and Noix de St. Jacques Poêlées au Champagne. Also, add a side of warm asparagus with a poached egg and wild mushrooms."

  "Very good, Sir. Will you be having wine?"

  "Two Greyhounds, Belvedere vodka. And a Bourdeux, I think. Château Lécuyer, Pomerol, 2007."

  "Excellent choice." The waiter took the menus and walked away.

  "What did you just order?"

  "French food. An assortment."

  "Your French is quite good."

  "You studied French?"

  "No. German and Russian."

  "Fluent?"

  "I can read both. Not good with speaking either."

  "Well, that's impressive. Where did you learn?"

  "Wellesley."

  Campbell was intrigued. "Why is a Wellesley girl a restaurant hostess?"

  "Oh, there aren’t many jobs in this economy for literature majors. I've applied to every publishing house in town as well as newspapers and magazines. No bites. I'm still trying. Fingers crossed."

  "So what's your dream job?"

  "Writer of literary fiction. But the market is bigger for romance so I am currently writing a romance novel. I'm about at the halfway mark." Stella lied. Earlier in the morning she scrapped much of the book and was down to ten pages.

  Campbell was impressed. In his mind, Stella was a nice woman of limited means and talents. He wasn't sure why he thought that, but he was happy to be very wrong about her.

  "What do you do?" Stella asked.

  "I'm in finance. Trader. Economics at MIT and then MBA at Harvard. Boston boy. What town are you from?"

  "Chelmsford."

  "Ah, I know it well."

  "We were poor." Stella had no idea why she said that.

  "So was I."

  "Given your home address on Park Avenue, I would say you did well."

  "I did well. It took time, but I did well."

  "Your parents must be proud."

  "Yes. No. They don't really understand what I do. They think I am doing something illegal. Gambling or something."

  "Being a trader is gambling. Legalized gambling that the economy relies on, but gambling all the same."

  Campbell laughed. "An accurate assessment."

  Stella smiled. "So what happened with your girlfriend?" Stella was curious.

  Campbell's face looked momentarily darker. "She was my girlfriend for the money. She traded up. She dumped me for the CEO of the company I work for. Devin Roberts. You might have read about him in the Wall Street Journal."

  "I don't read the Wall Street Journal."

  Campbell smiled. “Right. There’s no use talking about it. I got over it the night I got drunk, met you and made an ass out of myself. She was obviously a gold digger. Remarkably beautiful, but shallow.”

  Stella looked away. Campbell sounded bitter. She suspected that he had deeper feelings for his girlfriend than even he suspected.

  The waiter came with a large tray. He poured wine, presented the drinks and arranged the cluster of plates artfully. He left only when Campbell waved him away. Campbell named every dish and encouraged Stella to eat.

  “Eat as much as you want. This is your French experience.”

  Stella ate happily. She was in love with the golden beet salad with goat cheese and pistachios. The tuna tartare was delectable. It was complemented by a spicy avocado mixture that Stella was mad about. Stella said little to Campbell as she munched. The food was too good to ruin with talk. Campbell said nothing either and eagerly shared the plates with Stella.

  When the appetizers were done, Campbell leaned back and drank wine. “What do you think?”

  “About the food? Marvelous. Simple ingredients, but expertly prepared."

  "That's French cooking. It's all about technique."

  Stella sipped the grapefruit and vodka. "So is the famous Belvedere vodka in this drink?"

  "Yes." Campbell looked proud.

  "Do you own stock in the company or something? You keep pushing the vodka on people."

  "I like fine things." Campbell's voice was sharp.

  "Obviously, but not everyone can afford fine things. Sometimes cheap is just as good or better because it's affordable."

  "I don't agree." Campbell straightened the butter knife on the table.

  "I don't believe in expensive, name brand things simply because they are expensive, name brand things."

  "I don't agree. Luxury is a gift you give to yourself and others in your life. Luxury is a reward."

  "What about those trust fund brats that are born into luxury? Did they deserve the reward?"

  "Look. I’ve worked hard. Earned money. I can afford luxury items. I'm rewarding myself. My work allows me to reward you with a first class dinner. What's wrong with that?"

  "Nothing. But don't mock people for being frugal. Don't mock me for drinking cheap vodka."

  "I'm sorry." Campbell looked sincere.

  Stella smoothed the napkin on her lap. "I haven't done as well as you. I need to save money any way I can."

  "I understand. Really. I do. I'm sorry I insulted you."

  "In the book I am writing, the heroine is wealthy. Penny pinching isn't romantic, fun or escapist."

  "That's true. There is nothing rewarding about poverty. Nothing. It's dehumanizing."

  "Can we change the subject?" Stella looked around for the waiter.

  The waiter approached with a large tray and stand. He served the steaks with Béarnaise sauce, the scallops and poured more wine. Stella and Campbell ate in silence. It was not an uncomfortable silence. Stella thought it curiou
s that she could simply eat without feeling the need to talk and share. This must be what it feels like to have someone in your life you are completely comfortable with. Stella thought about Ben. It would be like that with Ben, thought Stella. Pure comfort.

  Campbell soaked up some of the Béarnaise with his last piece of steak. He smiled. "Dessert?"

  Stella groaned. "I couldn't. I'm so full."

  "You really shouldn't say no to Crème Brule or chocolate mousse."

  "But I'm so full."

  "A little chocolate mousse?" Campbell's voice was playful.

  "Oh, all right."

  "Wonderful." Campbell waved down the waiter. "Chocolate mousse for two."

  "Of course," said the waiter.

  Campbell leaned back and twirled his wine glass. "So what else do you do? For fun."

  "I don't have much fun. I work a lot. Write. I do go to museums. I love the Guggenheim and the Met."

  "I collect art. I have a Rauschenberg. A little Dali sketch. A Lichtenstein."

  Stella was finally impressed. "That's wonderful. I love all three of them. But I do have an affinity for found art, so Rauschenberg would be my favorite of the three."

  "You should come see them. Tonight. I'll have the car pick you up from my place."

  "Well, I…" Stella wasn't sure she wanted to go with Campbell to his home. She was feeling tired and wanted to have time to fantasize about Ben before having to wake up Sunday and deal with all the things she ignored today like laundry, exercising, grocery shopping and cleaning.

  "Please. I'm proud of my collection. You will love them." Campbell wasn't sure what prompted him to invite Stella. Before she arrived he was thinking of ways to make the dinner quick and painless. But then he found himself finding ways to extend the meal like ordering several appetizers and dessert, and inviting her to see his art. Campbell wasn't eager to be alone and think of Kristin. He didn't want to admit it, but he was lonely and having dinner with Stella was ameliorating that loneliness. She was smart, a good conversationalist and she argued. She didn't automatically agree with Campbell the way Kristin had. Kristin had adopted every like and dislike that Campbell had. Kristin didn't want to challenge Campbell. He was money to her and you never argued with money.

  "I'll go." Stella hooked her hair behind her ear and smiled weakly. She was genuinely curious to see the art, but Campbell’s pleading was considerably more interesting. He was so eager and sad at the same time. He seemed so lonely. Stella was intrigued by that. How could a wealthy, good looking man be so lonely?

  Campbell and Stella ate the chocolate mousse in the same silence that overtook them during the entrée portion of the meal. Stella was once again shocked by how comfortable the silence was. Their spoons occasionally clinked against each other’s and they smiled and continued happily eating. The waiter came just as Stella finished the last bit of the mousse. The waiter presented the bill to Campbell and he handed over a credit card without looking at the amount. A minute later the waiter was back with the printed receipt and Campbell signed the bill quickly.

  “Let’s go.” He held his hand out for Stella. She stood but did not grab his hand.

  Stella retrieved her coat from the clerk. She glanced outside and saw pieces of paper twirling in the street. It was windy. Stella buttoned her lilac wool coat. She felt Campbell’s hand on her back. His hand felt firm and she thought she could feel his warmth through her coat. That’s impossible, thought Stella. She wondered if perhaps her body was merely reacting to his touch. She did not dwell on this thought.

  “Ready?” Campbell smiled.

  “Ready,” said Stella.

  Chapter 6

  The art was hanging on the south wall. Each piece was illuminated by museum lighting. Stella stared at the paintings and stifled a yawn. Campbell was standing next to her. His hands were in his pockets and he looked proud – proud that he had acquired something so valuable. Stella looked around the condo. It was spacious by New York standards and adorned with modern features, furniture and art. There were large windows overlooking Central Park. The color scheme was black and red with splashes of white. The condo was stylish, plush and beautiful. Stella noted that her entire apartment would only take up half of the living room.

  "What do you think?"

  "Wonderful." Stella was entranced by the Dali, but was also fairly enamored with the condo. She knew places like this existed all over the city, although she had never been invited into them before. She didn't want to admit it, but she was more impressed by the condo than the art.

  Campbell eyed Stella. He noticed that she was surveying his home with curiosity. In the mellow light, she looked very young and sweet. Cherub like. An angel gracing his presence. He extended his arm and touched her shoulder. Her skin was soft and warm. Stella looked at him openly. Campbell moved his arm upward until his fingers were tangled in her hair. He firmly pushed her head forward. She moved in hesitantly, placing her hands on Campbell's chest and breathing deeply. She could smell his musky scent. Campbell pulled Stella into his embrace and placed his lips on hers. They hovered with their lips touching and their bodies pressed into each other. Stella looked frightened, but Campbell could also see desire bubbling on her reddening cheeks and glistening eyes. Campbell licked her lips. He could taste wine and chocolate. He pulled back slightly, gazed at Stella and then tightened his grip on the back of her head. Campbell leaned in again and began kissing her. He dotted her face and mouth with the heat of his kisses. Stella stood very still and then suddenly pulled back, away from Campbell.

  "No," said Stella.

  Campbell was gripping her arms. He bent his head and kissed her hand. "Why?" he asked. His voice was thick with desire.

  "Because…" Stella's voice trailed off. She gave in to Campbell's strength and felt her body merge into his. She opened her mouth and kissed Campbell delicately. Almost primly. But he didn't want to be gentle. He let his hands grip her hair and he pulled her forward roughly into his chest and mouth. Stella and Campbell kissed passionately, hungrily. She encircled her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. Her breasts were crushed against his chest. Stella moaned aloud, swooned and then, as if shocked by her own hunger, she pulled away and untangled herself from Campbell's grasp. She was thinking of Ben. Stella was thinking she was being disloyal to Ben, which she knew was crazy because she wasn't even in a relationship with him. She was just obsessed and infatuated.

  "I need to go." Stella walked to the door. Her coat was hanging on a hook.

  "Stella." Campbell's voice sounded hoarse and insistent. A tangle of yearning and confusion. Stella felt darts of arousal across her body.

  "Thank you for the dinner. Thank you. I really should go."

  Campbell came up behind her and pressed her against the door as Stella was putting her left arm into her coat.

  "Stella." Campbell brushed his cheek against her shoulder and Stella swayed slightly. This feels too good, why does this feel so good? Stella wondered.

  "I have to go."

  Campbell stood up straighter. His desired ebbed. "Let me call the car service."

  "No. I need to leave now."

  "I'm sorry if I offended you." Campbell looked hurt.

  "You didn't offend me. I just need to go."

  Stella opened the door and rushed down the hall to the elevator. She didn't look back. The elevator dinged and she got on quickly and pressed the L button. Stella stood on Park Avenue dazed. She was a mess. She felt like her makeup was melting, her hair felt limp, the wind had raised goosebumps on her arms and her feet hurt. Stella decided she would take the subway back. She groaned. She wanted to be in bed, warm and bundled rather than outside dodging characters and strangers on a long trip home.