A Guest for Dinner

Food seems to bring people together.  Most people can think of at least one moment in their lives where they have felt a connection with friends, family or colleagues due to a meal.  That’s why I love to cook.  Not only do I get to bond over mutual enjoyment of a dish, I also get the pride of creating it for my guests.  I love putting in the effort to make something delectable, but that feeling pales in comparison to seeing that look on their face. That look that conveys one simple expression.

Damn, that’s good.

It was always a victory that was always welcome, and that only happened with either loved ones, people I want to impress, work associates or people who I have lost touch with.  The guest tonight fell in the last category.

“Hey Tommy!  How'sh it coming in there?  Need a hand?”

I hear the voice of Geoffrey Boucher coming from the other room.  I can hear the slight slur in his speech, which means he is really enjoying the drink I made for him.  Maybe he would like another?

“It's almost done my friend.  Do you need a refill?”

“You read my mind man!”

This was not a tough feat.  I am pretty confident in my cocktail making skills.  I grab the shaker from the rinsing basin and give it a quick rinse.  I add the ice and various liquids and alcohols and give them a vigorous shake in the sealed container, exiting the fragrant kitchen to refill my guest's drink.  As I turn the corner, I see him in his seat, head lolling lazily from side to side.

“One Abernathy Special!”

I smile at my seated guest as I pour the concoction into his nearly empty glass, the dark amber liquid slowly filtering through the ice and swelling into the glass.

“You're the besht, always have been, alwaysh will be!”

He beams up at me as his hand finds his drink, eyes crinkling through the lenses of his glasses as he does so.

“You are way too kind.  I just want to make sure my guests and friends have the best experience possible when they come over.”

I start towards the kitchen once again, tossing the shaker into the sink as I enter.  I am greeted by the aromas of meats roasting in butter and rosemary, wine reducing into a cherry glaze, along with the garlic mixing into the potatoes.  I take a deep inhale, savouring every scent.

“I have to admit, I was surprised to get your call last week.”

I yell this in the direction of the dining room as I open the oven, bathing myself in the pungent steam fermenting inside.  I look at the meats cooking, turning them over once more before they are done.

“Well when I shaw your name in the paper I had to get in touch.  It'sh been too long shince we've sheen each other.”

“Yeah, it has been too long. College, right?"

I close the oven and seal in the fragrance once again.

“College?  Man, have you been enjoying these drinksh more than I have?  High shchool!  I never went to college!”

I can hear his laughter coming from the other room.  Loud, boisterous, and annoyingly squeaky.  I turn towards the prep table and grab my masher, turning my attention to the potatoes and garlic.

“My mistake, I was focusing in on the final touches on the food.  That's right, high school.  Feels like ages ago.”

“It totally wash!  Right after the new millennia!”

I start mashing the tender chunks of potato in with the garlic, adding in copious amounts of butter and milk as I do so.

“Nineteen years eh?  Wow... That's why your call was so surprising then.”

“Well like I shaid, I shaw your name in the paper!  I knew you left, but I had no idea what you ended up doing.  Other than some shtuff to do with 'putersh.  But the paper shaid you were coming back here to 'shtart where you shtarted' and make your own company.  Kudosh to you!”

I continue to mash the creamy concoction in front of me, checking for the perfect consistency.  The spice of the garlic reaches my nostrils and the excitement builds for when I can consume this delicious meal.

“Thank you.  It was a slow climb after I finished university, but i guess some people liked the hardware I was tinkering with and decided to move my life onto easy street.”

Perfect, the potatoes are done.  I put the lid on them and move the pot onto the warming section.

“You were alwaysh tinkering with shomething!  I'm glad you ended up going to univershity though.  Not a place for moi though.  I had shome big plansh, had to get shtarted on those right away!”

“From what I remember, you always had plans, Geoff.”

I check on the cherry wine reduction.  The sweet perfume of it greets me as soon as I take the lid off.  As soon as I smell it, I can feel my mouth salivate slightly.  I give it a few slow stirs as I hear the glass in the other room firmly hit the table.

“Damn shtraight!!  Alwaysh wanting to make my mark.  Good memory, Tommy Boy!”

I cringe when he says that.  I knew this was going to be cringey, but this was a little too much for me.

“Well what plans did you have after high school?  Was it anything to do with the t-shirt making business?  Or maybe the music production you did?”

“Nah, thoshe all shmoked out.  Can't count on anyone back then, or these daysh either.  Way to only mention my endeavoursh that you helped me out with, you know I alwaysh had shomething going on.  Actually, after high shchool, I tried shelling carsh.

I can't help but smile at this.  Totally fitting that Greasy Geoff was a car salesman, he always thought he could sell ketchup to a woman in white.  I tap the spoon on the edge of the pot as I put the lid back on and take it off of the burner.

“So I'm guessing that turned out okay?  You said on the phone that you were selling cars currently.”

I hear a sigh from the other room, faint enough to be a whisper into my ear.  The sigh was a preview into the solemn tone that was to follow.

“Yea... I'm shelling cars.  I tried getting out of the bizz a few times.  More than a few timesh actually.  I can't seem to fully pull myshelf out of it.  It's okay, but I know that I'm deshtined for bigger things.”

“Yea, you always used to say that.”

I can't help the semi-sarcastic tone that comes out of my mouth as I say that.  As I grab the plates and set them on the counter, preparing for the plating, I can't help but think how much of a failure this guy is.  He thinks he is destined for greatness, yet he is only trying for short-term, get rich quick schemes.  How could anyone be friends with this loser?

“Damn right!  I say it because it'sh true!  I wasn't made for this small-assh life.  I was meant to make it to the big top!  To the big city in a penthouse!  But people keep letting me down.  Even you Tommy.”

I almost fumble a plate at this, which would be a real shame.  I set the offset glass circle down gingerly on the table.

“How did I let you down Geoff?"

I hear something hit the table, possibly his fists.  Not too hard, but hard enough to make a noise.  That struck a nerve.  I was prepared for some yelling from the other room.  I really couldn't care less, but I didn't want to deal with it, not during the artistic plating I was about to do.

“You let me down by not shticking with me.  We were supposed to be partners with making those shirtsh, and you bailed on me when things were getting tough.  Everyone did.  No one could stick around and continue onto greatness."

I really have to hold my tongue here.  So many things I could say, but now is not the time.  It will come soon, but not yet.

I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down, and I open up the oven to take out the meats.  The smell is nearly overwhelming, and it takes some mental fortitude to keep myself from tasting it right then and there.  I start carving the meat, watching as the juices seep out as I slice it into medallions.  I separate the meats, putting the white meat on one plate, and the red on another.

“You ignoring me in there, man?  Ignoring your dear guest?”

My brow becomes furrowed at the annoyance in his voice.  My grip tightens around the carving knife and carving fork, whitening my knuckles.  I take a breath so my voice doesn't sound angered.

“Not at all, sorry!  I was just taking the food out and plating it.  I'll be in there in a moment or two.”

“Ah, my bad.  It really does smell good!”

I know this.  It has to be some of my best work.  I put the mashed potatoes on the plate, a neat scoop and a half on each.  I finish the plates off with drizzling on the reduction.  Technically, this wouldn't go with the white meat, but this is a favourite sauce of mine and I know it would be delicious.  I take a look at the plates and smile to myself at my latest culinary accomplishment.

I take my phone out and take two pictures.  The first is of the white meat plate, and I save that to my 'Meal' folder.  The second is of the red meat plate.  That one I send in a text message with the caption, “Bon Appetit”.

I pick up the plates and bring them to the dining room.  The melancholy expression on Geoff Boucher's face drops immediately when he sees the dinner come in.  I put the red meat plate in front of him and I sit across from him with my plate.

“Dinner is served.”

I say as I grab my fork and sample the mashed potatoes.  They are everything I thought they would be.  Geoff just stares slack-jawed at the meal in front of him.  It dawns on me in that moment that he might not have ever had a meal like this before.

“Holy shit Tom, this looks amazing.”

He greedily grabs his fork and knife, and slices off a chuck of the meat, stuffing it in his mouth.  I can see the look of savoury satisfaction spread on his face and a smirk appears on mine.

“Well it looks like you are enjoying this.  Hopefully this makes up for me letting you down in the past.”

He forks a large dollop of mashed potatoes in his mouth as I carve a slice of my meat and smear the sauce on it.  It tastes absolutely heavenly.  He begins to open his mouth to speak and I just wish he would have swallowed first.

“Mmmmmm.  This really is next level.  This definitely helps, but I did have something else in mind though, to make up for the past.  Where did you learn to cook like this?”

Of course this wannabe con-artist has something else in mind.  He finally swallows his mouthful before shoving another large hunk of meat into his mouth.  Perhaps he will choke on the large pieces and I will be saved this conversation?  I on the other hand, actually swallow my food before I reply.

“I had no choice but to cook for myself in college.  After a couple years I started throwing little dinner parties for my friends and teachers.  But what was this something else you had in mind?”

He pauses for a brief moment, and actually swallows his mouthful before speaking, thank God.

“I thought you said you went to university?”

“Oh, that's what I meant.  I actually got in the habit of just saying post-secondary education because I do that often.”

The bastard is actually sharp.  Unexpectedly so.  I look at his drink and notice that it's only half empty.  I also notice that I forgot to get myself a drink.

“It seems that I forgot to get myself a drink.  Do you want a top up at all?”

I rise from my seat and walk towards the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of chilled white wine from the fridge.  A delicious Chardonnay.

“No, I'm okay.  I rarely drink when I eat, gives me heartburn.”

I shrug at this.  I would rather him intoxicated, but it really doesn't matter, especially at this point.  I pour myself a glass before putting the wine back into the fridge and walking back to my seat.

“I'm serious though, this might be one of the best things I have ever eaten?  What is it?  And why is yours different than mine?"

“Yes it is.  Red meat doesn't really agree with me too much, so I tend to make myself chicken or pheasant.  But yours is a special type of pork.”

I retake my seat, and take a sip of the wine before I put the glass down.

“So please, what is this idea you had?”

Geoff puts his cutlery down excitedly.

“Ah yes.  I had an idea recently and I think it would be a great business venture.  People love vintage cars right?  Its the classic look, the American Dream.  What if there was a service to rent them for a nice night out?  I know there are rental services for luxury cars like Lamborghini's and Ferrari's, but there isn't anything if you wanted to take out a '67 Impala or a '40 Mustang.”

Half of me wants to roll my eyes and the other half wants to burst out laughing.  Fortunately I can keep those impulses at bay.  I take another sip of wine, washing down my mouthful.  I take a moment to appreciate the mixture before I reply.

“Seems like not a bad idea.  Sounds like you would be great at that, with all your experience selling cars.”

He looks at me with an expression of victory on his face as he throws his arms up in the air.

“Exactly!!  I would be great at it.”

I glance at both our plates, which are almost finished.  I cut my last piece of meat into thirds as I respond to him.

“So,  what is my part to play in all of this?  I'm guessing you want some financial backing?”

His expression of victory turns to one of hurt, as if I just slapped him.  I take a piece of meat, savouring it before I continue.

“Don't look so shocked.  We haven't spoken in over a decade, and you see me in the paper in an article saying I was wealthy and coming back to my hometown.  As soon as I got your call I figured you wanted money.”

He just stares at me for a couple moments.  I take this time to finish my plate, thoroughly enjoying every last bite.  He looks down at his plate and finishes his meat, leaving only the bone left.

“I mean, that wasn't the only reason I called, but it was part of it.  I have the skills, and even a lead on a place, but I don't have the cars.  I was hoping you could get me started, and you would get a huge return.”

I stand up as he finishes.  I grab my plate, and walk towards him to grab his plate.  He looks at me with pleading eyes behind his stylish frames.  I stare back at him, unblinking and focused.

“Huge return, eh?  Just like all those times before?”

As I walk away I can see that same slapped expression again.

“What do you mean by that?  We were partners before, you know that.  We worked together.”

I just walk to the kitchen and put the plates in the sink, rinsing any big particle off before leaving them to soak.

“By the way, what happened to your face, Tom?  You have a pretty long scar there.”

I run my fingertips over the scar on my face.  I goes from my brow to my lip on the right side.

“I got into a fight a while back.  It was just a graze but it left a mark I guess.”

I shut the water off before I walk back into the room.  Geoff stares at me with a slightly puzzled look on his face as I walk towards my glass of wine and pick it up.

“But, you and I never worked together.  You begged and swindled me out of my money, saying you would pay me back and we would be partners.  But you never had any skill with anything you did.  Sure, you had the silk screening machine and the mixing boards, but you never knew what to do with them, and you were always to lazy to learn how to.”

His mouth falls open as he stares at me.  I stare back, intensely and unflinching.

“You conned so many people out of money in high school, and it sounds like you are still up to to your old tricks now.  You aren't getting a cent of my money.”

I finish the last little bit of my wine, and head back to the kitchen to wash it.  Geoff's eyes follow me as I walk by him.  Unfortunately though, I don't see his arm reach up and grab my collar, pulling me towards him, jerking me down.

“I need to get this thing up and running, you hear me?  You're going to fund me, just like you did back then.  Don't embarrass yourself like before, I will kick your ass if you make me."

The smirk on his face is sickening to me.  He thinks he has so much power, he is used to being able to intimidate people.

Not me.

I grab his wrist, as twist it off of my collar, twisting it and his elbow to an obtuse angle, eliciting a cry of pain as I release.  He stares at me, bewildered.

“Don't you fucking touch me, you little piece of shit.”

I walk to the kitchen, rinse out the glass and put it in the dish washer.

“Looks like you finally grew a pair, Tommy Boy.  If only you got them sooner, maybe you wouldn't have gotten your face slashed and had to get it put back together.  Maybe, if you got them in high school, Lindsay would have fucked you, instead of me.”

There it was.  The first hat dropped.  Honestly, it took a while for that to come out, but none the less, it did.  I walk out of the kitchen and sit back down at the table, but this time, beside him.  The cocky expression on his face changes to one of fear as soon as I sit there.

“Right, I was too much of a pussy, so my girlfriend fucked you on prom.  That's what happened, right?”

He sees the rage in my eyes, as his shift from side to side, sweat starting to form on his forehead.

“Well, I never said you were a pussy, but yea, that's how I remember it.  You took too long and she wanted something real.”

I can't hold back anymore.  I slap him across the face, swiftly.  He looks at me, more shocked than before.  His cheek starts turning a shade of pink as his eyes start looking glossy.  I start to wonder if anyone had ever hit him before now.

“See, it went a bit differently.  She was in love, but you had a crush on her.  You tried making a pass at her in her hotel room, and she turned you down.  You didn't like rejection, never handled it well, so you forced her to do what you wanted.  Maybe in your state, it was consensual, but it wasn't.”

“What the hell are you saying?  I never ra-”

I smack him again, same hand, same side.  His cheek is now closer to red, and I see a tear escape his eye.

“She left shortly after that, went home and didn't say anything to anyone, not even her boyfriend.  She broke things off and ran away from home.  None of her family or friends saw her again.”

“I... I had no idea.  I thought you and her went off to university togeth.... Wait a second.”

I cant help but to smile now.  I see the cogs turning in his head as the pieces fall together, painting a picture.

“You never went to college or university. In that article, it said that you created some big time tech and took it to several companies, and they were fighting over you.  In that article, you didn't have that scar on your face either.”

He frantically pulls up both of his sleeves.

“The scar on my left arm is from beginning of high school, wiped up on my skate board.  The one on my right is from a few years ago, cut myself repairing my car.”

The scar on his left arm is small and white, barely noticeable unless you were looking for it.  The one on his right was still pink.  He looks at me, eyes big and full of fear.  The sweat on his forehead was starting to drip down his brow and into his eyes, stinging them I would imagine.  Still, his eyes are locked on me.

“No way in hell is that scar new.”

Any self imposed toughness in Geoffrey Boucher is now gone.  I stand up from my seat and he shrinks in fear.

“Who are you?  What have you done to Tommy?”

His voice is dripping in fear.  The second hat has dropped.  I start circling around the table.  Its a bit of a power move, but I love seeing it in his eyes.  He is not in control, and he is starting to see that he never was.

“You know Lindsay breaking up and running away broke him.  He thought about killing himself after she ran away, but an idea sprouted, one that drove him.  He thought that if he got rich enough, famous enough, that she would come back to him.  He really loved her, with all of his heart.  There never was any closure, not until a few months ago.”

I'm halfway around the table.  Geoff's eyes are still locked on me.  I don't think he could tear his eyes away if there was an explosion beside him.  This is exactly where I want him.

“Mr. Abernathy hires private detectives to look for her.  They never did though, only where she was buried.  She lived for a little longer after that night, but she never lived to see her 20th birthday.  A big piece of her died that night, and you caused it.  He never forgave you, and after he found out, he found me.”

“WHO THE FUCK ARE TYOU?!”

This isn't yelling out of anger, he wants to know because he thinks it will make him feel better.  It wont.  I straighten up and crack my neck and knuckles.

“You can call me Mick.  Mr. Abernathy hired me to... take care of you.”

By this time I'm fairly close to him which makes him extremely uneasy, I can see it in his eyes.  Before he can get up, I dash to him and force him to remain seated, pushing his shoulders down into the chair.

“Now now Geoff, you don't want to get up and spoil all the fun, now do you?”

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME!!”

I release my hands from his shoulders and swiftly clap both of his ears.  He lets out a scream of pain and terror as his hands go to his ears, almost by instinct.  I force his hands away and pin them to his side.  He needs to hear all of this.

“No Geoff, you really need to know this.  Maybe you can understand, and if you can understand, maybe you can repent.  You see, you have stolen a lot from people through the years, and you have hurt people.  I know what you did to Lindsay, and I hope she is the only one.  But regardless, you still did that to some one.”

I tip him back in his seat, so he is looking up at my face. He just wants it to be over, and he is scared of what might come next.  My eyes can't help but be drawn to the dark spot in his lap too. 

This is true terror, which is good.

“I have been hired to make you feel scared and helpless.  To take away all of your power.  It inflict as much pain and terror on you as I wish, to make you feel as small and fragile as you made her feel.”

I throw him to the ground.  He hits it hard and roughly. Groaning as he does.  After a couple moments, he tries to stand up, but he stumbles down.

The third and final hat drops.

“What the hell?”

He looks at his legs, and now he finally sees what I did.  His right leg has been amputated from the knee down.  The stump is sewn and bandaged to prevent infection and bleeding.  He might have noticed it if I cut off the thigh, or if I didn't pump him up with pain killers.

“Where is my leg?  WHERE IS MY FUCKING LEG?!”

Tears are streaming down his face as he yells.  I jump on top of him, sitting on his chest, keeping him down, with my knees on his arms.  Another groan escapes his mouth before I cover it with my hand.

“You know, you might have discovered this sooner, if I didn't drug your drink.  It makes you highly suggestible, which made it easy for me.  Don't worry though, I have total faith that you would have figured it out fairly quickly.  But be honest, did you really think that was special pork you were eating?”

His eyebrows and eyes convey a confused look to me as his body eases up for a moment.

“Technically I didn't lie to you.  It was a type of pig.  Long pig, to be exact.”

The confused look becomes more prominent now, he really doesn't get it.

“You might not know what that is, which is fine.  I just need to know, how did you taste?  Did I flavour you right?”

His eyes instantly widen.  His body tenses as he starts to try and flail me off of him.  That's not going to work.  A for effort though.  I grab a handful of his hair, tightening his scalp, and thrust his head into the floor.

SMASH

I do it once more, just to make sure.

CRACK

With that, the movement stops.  I get off of him and look down.  What a piece of scum.  I take out my phone and take a picture of him, which I send as a text, with the caption, “What's next?”

I immediately get a reply from Thomas Abernathy, two words.

“Phase 2”

I smile as I put my phone back into my pocket.

“Phase 2 it is.”

- Cody S