by Kira Saito
“I’m going to kill you for this,” I said sincerely. “I’m going to feed you to the alligators along with all of your fancy clothes and shoes.”
“No, you're not. You're going to march into that hotel with your head held up high and order the most expensive thing on the menu. Eat the food slowly so Tony will have to apologize for longer. Then, order dessert and lick the spoon innocently. It'll get him all hot and bothered. If you don't like what he has to say, then leave and let him pick up the tab. Who said there isn't such a thing as a free lunch?"
Despite myself, I smiled. I would have been a liar if I said I wasn’t obsessed with Tony and the way our relationship ended. Even though his cruelty had stripped me of so much of my self-worth, I still held a soft spot for him. After all, he had been my first love. If I saw him now, I might do something I would eventually end up regretting. “I can’t,” I said. “Just take me to Darkwood.”
Sabrina got out of the car and opened my door. She grabbed me by the arm and despite my protests dragged me into the hotel. My heart nearly stopped as I returned to familiar territory which consisted of shiny marble floors and a grand chandelier accented lobby complete with dazzling fountains and fresh white rose bouquets. I clawed my nails into Sabrina’s fragile skin as hard as I could in hopes to draw blood. The girl had a steel grip and unshakable nerves as she pulled me towards the elevator and to the 10th floor where Antonio’s dimly lit restaurant was located.
She pushed me into the luxurious restaurant with its velvet carpets, gilded walls covered in Renaissance-era paintings and fifteen different dining rooms which varied in size and glamor depending on how much you were willing to dish out for a meal. The comforting scent of melted butter, stewed Creole tomatoes, charbroiled oysters, and Burgundy sauce welcomed us.
“Please escort her to the Egyptian Room,” Sabrina ordered the elegantly dressed host whose kind old eyes examined us intently.
“Hello, Arelia,” he said in his soft as butter Creole accent. He obviously recognized me from the time I had spent working in the kitchen.
“Hey, Marcus! Nice to see you again.” I gave him a sickly sweet smile. I was determined not to make a scene like I had when I told Mrs. Dreaux off. I looked down at my feet and was suddenly super conscious of the fact that I was wearing a pair of cheap flip flops that put my slightly overgrown toenails on display. “Sabrina, I can’t. Look you forgot to shove my feet into designer heels.” I desperately searched for any excuse that would stop me stepping into that room.
Sabrina rolled her eyes. “Oh please, the last things that boy is going to be looking at are your feet and $5.00 flip-flops. No more excuses, Arelia, you have a date with destiny. I’ll be waiting at the Velvet Bar,” she said, as she gave me a wicked smile. “I am just dying to try one of their low-fat summer Hurricanes. They supposedly have all the buzz without the nasty calories. This body doesn’t look this good without a bit of effort you know.”
Plans of how I would drag her body to the swamp and feed it to the alligators swirled through my head. Plots of how I would lie to the police formulated as did the mountain of half-truths I would tell her parents, but I continued to smile sweetly at Marcus, who had no idea at the amount of sheer rage that was bubbling underneath my Dior dress.
His brown eyes crinkled as he gave me a smile and extended his arm for me to take. “How have you been, Arelia? We’ve missed you around here. It hasn’t been the same. The buttermilk drops and the deep fried Oreos that you made for the help haven’t been coming out of that kitchen.”
I shrugged. “Maybe it’s better that way.” Mrs. Dreaux had despised it when I made an end of the night snack for the staff especially if it was something greasy and deep fried. She had claimed that the smell was too low rent for the hotel, and if the guests caught a whiff of the grease, they wouldn't dare to come back to the place. It was only one of the many issues that created such a great divide between us and was what eventually led me to tell Tony off at the end of our relationship.
“I don’t see it that way,” he said.
“You don’t?” I asked conscious of each step I took towards one of the most lavish dining rooms in the restaurant.
“Not at all, this old place has lost half of its charm since you’ve been gone. Those tasty treats were what I looked forward to the most after a hard day of work.”
Despite myself, I laughed. "Thank you for flattering me, but it looks like business is booming as usual with or without me," I said as we passed busy waiters dressed in white and black starched uniforms carrying trays of mouthwatering stuffed crab, duck spring rolls, flank steaks topped with crispy fried green tomatoes and flutes of Champagne Royale. I resisted the urge to help myself to a spring roll.
“You know New Orleans, the spirits never sleep, do they?”
I rolled my eyes. Those damn spirits were on the lips of everyone. “I guess not.”
He gave me a small wink as we approached the Egyptian Dining Room. "Go on in; the young Mr. Dreaux has been impatiently waiting for you for weeks now.”
“Weeks?” I asked cynically.
“Oh yes, he’s determined. He’s been calling your friend for months insisting that you agree to have lunch with him. I suppose he wants a chance to apologize.”
I let out a low sigh and gave Marcus another bright smile. "Do you think he's sincere?" I whispered searching the old man's eyes for wisdom. I needed a sign any sign that would help me decide my fate. The truth was I acted all tough on the outside, but I knew that my heart would eventually be the downfall of me. It was the only supernatural truth that had been revealed to me.
He shrugged and gave me a warm grin. “You’ll never know unless you take a leap of faith, isn’t that right?”
“I suppose. Thank you, Marcus.”
He gave me another reassuring wink as he left me. There was a multitude of things that I wanted to do. A part of me wanted to run, to scream, to holler and cause chaos. I wanted to march into that room and slap Tony while spilling vast amounts of whiskey on his perfectly ironed shirt. Another part of me was curious as to what he had to say. “This is no time to act like a heathen, Arelia,” I muttered. Recently, I had been secretly reading Tony Robbins type self-help books in an attempt to master my somewhat bi-polar emotions. Admittedly, the fight was an uphill battle. I gathered my courage and casually strolled into the room.
A warm breeze wafted through the open French windows prompting the thousand thread count Egyptian cotton curtains to dance in the afternoon sunlight. Sweet jasmine and honeysuckle seeped its way into my nostrils and calmed my nerves. I had no idea if the spirits were real, or if there was a Dieu above and a nasty devil below, but at that exact moment, the whole world felt supernatural. The dining room with its lavish golden walls, high ceiling that boasted diamond chandeliers was filled with heavy mahogany tables, blue velvet covered chairs and statues of various gods and goddesses from ancient Egypt. Tony had once told me that his parents had their honeymoon in Cairo, and this room was dedicated to that memory.
There he sat, casually sipping on a Sazerac. Despite the heat, he was cool as a Sno-Cone. His sandy blond hair was lighter and thanks to the unforgiving summer sun, his skin was perfectly tanned contrasting sharply against his white shirt and icy blue eyes. A large smile played on his full lips, and my heart skipped several beats as I strolled towards him. I wanted to desperately find him repulsive and cursed myself for not being able to find a single flaw in his appearance.
He rose from his seat and walked towards me. Admiration filled his eyes as he took in the sight of me all dressed up. A surge of pride rushed through me, and I held up my head high hoping that he wouldn't catch a glimpse of my gnarly toes. He gave me a soft kiss on the cheek, and a waft of Chanel and Sazerac engulfed me. Familiar shivers crawled up my back, but I reluctantly pulled away from him. He was an addictive drug of the worst kind. Just when I thought I had cured my addiction, he would lure me back with such force I had to binge until I was a sick mess.
“Hell
o, Tony,” I said without a hint of bitterness in my voice. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I was still angry.
"Thank you for coming," he said shyly and unlike the confident Tony, who had everyone wrapped around his rich little pinky. "You look beautiful."
I brushed aside his compliment. I had never been very good at accepting flattery. "I don't have much time, so whatever you want to say, say it, and we can both get on with our lives." I glanced at the clock on the wall and realized that if I didn't leave now, I wouldn't make it to Darkwood on time. I couldn’t afford losing out on that opportunity.
"I made buttermilk drops for you," he said quickly. He pointed to the table where a fresh batch of the sinfully delicious fritters rested. My stomach grumbled, and I swore an ethereal halo surrounded the porcelain platter.
“You mean you had the help fry up a batch.” I crossed my arms defensively unwilling to take the bait.
He raised his eyebrows and gave me a shy grin. I uncrossed my arms. Tony Robbins advised that we had to put our weapons down. "No, I made them myself, so I can't promise that they're any good, but I was hoping that you could critique them for me, you know to give me pointers on how I can make my next batch better. I'm thinking of putting them on the menu here."
My walls crashed, and defenses came crumbling down. I would have made a crappy watchman. This wasn't what I had been expecting. I had been expecting a fancy lunch whipped up by the staff and a lame apology or two. A smile spread across my face. "You've never lifted a finger in your entire life aside from when you point at your minions to do your bidding."
He laughed deeply, and his blue eyes shone.
"There is a first time for everything. Since you're here, I see no reason why you shouldn't try a drop. No strings attached. No commitment. You don't have to talk to me while you eat. We can even sit at separate tables if you like."
I had never seen him so sincere, so eager, and so honest. “Just one,” I said grudgingly.
He laughed and pulled me towards the table. One buttermilk drop turned into two and then five and then seven. The clock kept ticking, but I had lost all sense of time. Tony filled me in on his life and what had changed over the past year, and I listened eagerly. I told him about the summer job I had lined up and how grand-mere was recovering from her latest surgery. For the first time in a long time, I laughed. I wasn't quite sure if it was genuine or forced. I didn't care. The point was that I was lighter, happier and carefree. The blacks and blues of life had suddenly turned pink.
“I’ve missed you,” he said suddenly as if he had been waiting a million years to tell me.
“These buttermilk drops are damn delicious. You should be proud because this is one hell of a first attempt,” I said ignoring his confession altogether. My eyes concentrated on my glass of champagne. It was an interesting combination champagne and buttermilk drops, kind of like Tony and I. I counted the bubbles as they rose to the surface. I wasn’t ready for this. I knew what was coming next.
“Arelia, I love you," he said ignoring my attempt at avoidance. "I messed up, and I'm sorry. I'm willing to do anything to make it up to you. I'm not afraid of what my parents, society or anyone else says. I know it sounds crazy and out of character, but I've been thinking about the deeper things in life. We're only on this earth for a short period, and Lord knows that I want to make something of the time I have. The time we have. The only thing I am afraid of never has you in my life again. I need you in my life. This all sounds crazy given our age, but my parents met one another when they were five. From day one they knew they were meant to be together."
I kept my focus on the bubbles. They were such heavy words. I swore I had heard them before, but I couldn’t remember where or who had spoken them to me. They were sincere, raw and full of fire. I couldn’t face him. If I did that would mean I would eventually forgive him and make myself vulnerable again.
“Arelia, please say something,” he pleaded. “Anything,” he whispered. I felt his fingers stroke my cheek, and all of a sudden I forgot why I had been so angry with him in the first place.
"Tony," I whispered. "I have to go. I'm already late and…" My words were interrupted by a kiss full of passion, promise mixed with a hint of Sazerac. My eyes closed, and time stopped. My worries flew out of the window, and I knew that this is where I belonged. I kissed him back with force hoping to convey in actions what I could not say in words. I was certain that I wouldn't feel a love like this ever again in my life.
"Stay," he whispered. "Forget about that job you have lined up and come work here again. It hasn't been the same without you. We can get to know one another again, and I don't mean in the broom closet or the back seat of my car. I want to know you, all of you."
“I can’t,” I said pulling away even though I didn’t want to. His words were soothing to my soul and offered me the closure I so desperately craved. “I already committed to this summer job. I can’t back out now.”
"Yes, you can." He silenced my protests and myriad of excuses with fervent kisses. "I won't protect you because I know that you can protect yourself. What I will do is take your side. I know my mother hasn't been kind to you, but that's not the point. The point is that I never took your side. I didn’t let you speak your mind. I've been a fool, nothing but a big fool surrounded by luxuries that one day will disappear in a big old flame of fire."
If it were possible to have multiple heart attacks while still being fully lucid, that would have been the exact way to describe what I felt. I gave into his promises and kisses. I suppose the rest is history. Sometimes fairytales can come true, and one kiss can reset the universe.
Chapter Seven
Somewhere on the other side
These are the Days of Rage…
“More Creole tomatoes and cayenne!” I ordered. “And where is the paprika? I don’t taste any paprika in this. This is Arelia’s; we're known for extreme flavor. This isn't some bland restaurant found up North. Give them spice, grease and a whole lot of goodness that will nourish their souls. And this roux simply isn’t dark enough. Throw in some more butter and flour and mix until your hands are numb.”
I scolded the chef who looked at me as if I was some demon-possessed monster from the pits of the bayou. I didn't care. It was my restaurant, and I only adhered to the finest quality. I grabbed some spices off a rack and threw them into the pot. "And that is how it's done." The disgruntled chef muttered something offensive under his breath. I gave him a small smile but didn't scold him anymore, who knew what he would do to the pot once my back was turned. "You're doing an amazing job, Roy," I said realizing that I was a bitch.
“Finally a compliment!” He flashed me a set of blindingly white teeth. He wasn’t fooling me. The drops of sweat that dripped off his dark forehead were a sign of how much he wanted to make it in the culinary world.
“Hey, I mean it. Without your help, this place wouldn’t be what it is.”
“With all due respect, Ms. LaRue I've only been working here for a few months. I hope that one day that I am as accomplished as you and get to open up my restaurant in the Quarter."
“I have no doubt that you’ll do just as well or even better than me,” I said encouragingly.
Roy shook his head, and his honey-colored eyes filled with doubt. “No, I don't think so. My momma told me that chefs as good as you have got the spirits on their side. There is no other way you can blend the flavors you do."
I let out a small sigh. “I hate to disappoint you, but my grand-mere goes on and on about the spirits too. I’ll tell you a little secret; the spirits didn’t get me here because they don’t exist. It was only through hard work, determination and I suppose a bit of luck that helped me open up this restaurant. Don’t go making any blood sacrifices hoping that it’ll improve your cooking skills. The last thing we need is for the FDA to shut down this place.”
Roy shrugged clearly not buying my explanation. “If you say so.”
I glanced at the large buzzing kitch
en, and a sense of pride overtook me. The boiling pots full of red beans and rice sizzled and boiled, the Creole jambalaya was fiery and jam-packed with flavor, the intoxicating scent of fried oysters, oven-roasted pork, vegetable gumbo and chocolate molten cupcakes danced around us. It never ceased to amaze me that this gorgeous restored building with its wood-paneled walls, hardwood floors, antique chandeliers and high ceilings was all mine. Both tourists and locals alike flocked here to get their sinfully delicious fix of good old-fashioned Creole food.
I smoothed out my apron and caught a glimpse of myself in the window. My hair was straight and tamed thanks to my latest Brazilian blowout. My apron was wrinkle free, white uniform shirt was perfectly starched, and my nails artfully manicured without a hint of chip or crack. I had finally managed to master the art of covering up my raccoon eyes and had even learned how to apply eyeliner without appearing to be an angst-filled emo. My hands were well moisturized and boasted a Victorian era engagement ring complete with a scalloped halo of old European cut diamonds and a precious sapphire in the center.
Ten years ago if someone had told me that this would have been my future, I would have laughed in their face. That fateful day when I decided to forgive Tony took my life in a whole new direction. Over the years, Tony and I had our ups and downs, but we always managed to overcome them. I went on to study at Le Cordon Bleu while he completed an MBA program and was prepping to take over his parent’s hotel empire.
Last summer, he proposed and I accepted. It felt like the next logical step in our relationship. The future was mostly bright and happy. My teenage rage and angst were a distant memory, as were my never-ending struggles with poverty and self-esteem issues. Although I still couldn’t stand Mrs. Dreaux, we had made peace with one another as it was clear that I wasn’t going anywhere. When I had opened Arelia’s, she had taken the initiative to provide cases of champagne for all the guests. The ice queen was melting.