by T M Caruana
“That’s my girl,” the photographer shouted as the rapid flashes lit up her body. “Lean back, face right, with your right shoulder pushing left. That’s right baby!”
If the photographer was satisfied Jennifer felt empowered. It meant she would get her money and be on the ‘Women Working It’ magazine cover. She was particularly happy when her work wouldn’t be displayed in erotic adult magazines. Sure she had done some photos for covers, but she would never lower herself to anything nude. Her parents were old and didn’t accept her work was actually classified as a job. They would be distraught if she crossed the line and displayed her body to perverted men.
“Done,” the photographer bellowed and gave Jennifer a wink. “Great stuff Jennie.”
The assistant came running with a robe and Jennifer had to slap her hands, as she wanted to tie it around her own waist herself. She then gracefully walked over to the photographer.
“Let me see some samples,” She requested and nodded at the camera.
As the photographer flicked through them Jennifer wasn’t paying a great deal of attention. She had only asked to see them to be able to rest after having made way for the next model. After this point no one would pay any attention to her and she could wander back to her dressing table at her own speed, mingling along the way.
Suddenly, two fingers tapping her shoulder startled her. At first she thought it might have been a spider, but as she turned around she saw a familiar face.
She hesitated, searching through her register of names to remember the female in front of her.
“Elizabeth,” she said as she finally remembered but saying the name with a hint of doubt at the end.
“Liz, yes, long time no see Jennie. Gosh, it must be about fifteen years?”
Liz had to stop her reflexes of wanting to cover her nose from smelling the strong scent of the dingo. She hoped she had been subtle enough since Jennie would probably already think she was a stuck up full blood grey wolf.
“Yes, not too long ago. Time is kind to some,” she smirked and flicked her thick long black hair. “And what has become of you? What are you doing now?”
“The leopard doesn’t change its spots,” Liz murmured.
“I know right. I’m not losing my looks; as gorgeous as ever.”
That’s not what that phrase means, Liz thought, but let it slide. The last thing she wanted to do was to upset her.
“I’m the CEO of Animal Rights Agency.”
“So, soon the animals will be able to vote,” Jennifer mocked and glanced over at the other models, inviting them to join in the laugher.
“Maybe they will vote to use models as toothpicks.”
“That’s so crude Liz, honestly, we were just joking.”
“Me too,” Liz defended. “You’re not that skinny.”
All the girls were looking at the intruder with unfathomable gazes.
“I’m not here with regards to my work, Jennifer.”
“I’ll say. I was wondering why you were still here.”
“I had come to offer you a proposition. Is there somewhere we could talk privately?”
Jennifer knew her fictitiously friendly model colleagues always tried to find every reason and any reason to obtain gossip to sell to the press, yet she hesitated to have to move more than was necessary.
“I’m not sure I want to hear what you have to say,” she challenged and turned towards the mirror in a strop.
“I have five hundred thousand good reasons for you to hear me out,” Liz said raising the stake.
“As in pounds?”
“Yes, pounds.”
The girls froze. Even the one chewing frenetically on her gum left her jaw open and still.
“Ladies,” Jennifer addressed and stood up. “See you at the Frieman’s party on Friday. Don’t start the party without me.”
“It’s not a party until you’ve arrived,” the girls chanted and Liz could hear their voices starting to chatter as they trailed off.
“So, what’s this about Liz?”
“I want you to win a competition for me.”
“And goody-two-shoes Elizabeth von Wisehouse can’t win by herself?”
Liz smiled maliciously. She could go into it herself, but she didn’t want to die.
“I’m hosting it and need competitors. If you don’t want to do it I can ask someone else.”
“But, you think that I would win? I never knew you thought so highly of me,” Jennifer babbled and looked at me as if I would have adored her.
If she only knew.
“Why should I do this for you?”
“I know a lot of people who would want to do it for themselves for five hundred thousand pounds.”
“Perhaps, but you want me. Because you think I will win,” she stated like a true diva wanting something out of a charitable event.
Liz exhaled. She didn’t feel like grovelling to Jennifer. Although, if this was who she had become, Liz wanted her to enter the competition even more. She wouldn’t feel too bad seeing her fall. Liz could never feel impressed by the scent of a dingo, especially not bullies who didn’t care for the world, but also not for divas. Her eyes wandered up and down Jennifer’s body. She was so frail in her human form. She came across so confident, but wouldn’t rank highly in a wolf pack with her inner hare heart.
“In my year book you stated ‘You’ll be somebody’. You have the chance now to make that happen. You would prove everyone right. Besides, how long until your disease gets the better of you. If you win, you could use the money to enjoy your last days living comfortably as you deteriorate.”
Liz had put it so bluntly, she was worried she might have upset her. As the silence lingered Liz could almost see Jennifer literally swallow her pride. The sound of the hard swallow of defeat was almost pleasurable.
“Well,” she said and pouted her lips. “When you put it like that. If I can help support you becoming somebody…I’ll give you my help.”
Now that wasn’t so hard, was it? Liz thought, although she found incredulity as to how one person could think so highly of herself. Believing she was a good person for offering her help, when the truth of it was she could herself earn five hundred thousand pounds.
8
ALEXANDRE BUITONI
Hungry after the exhausting conversation with Jennifer, Liz frenetically searched for a decent restaurant that wasn’t fully reserved. Rain was starting to fall, illuminated by the gleam of the streetlights. The white long sleeved shirt she was wearing wasn’t protecting her enough from the cold and she found herself drawn to an open back door that oozed out warmth from a busy restaurant’s kitchen. Liz inhaled the divine smell of garlic, soya and fresh thyme as she leaned in through the door.
“Incredibile!” shouted a feminine voice coming from a lanky man, as he held his hands up in an evident strop. “You English I do not understand. You don’t want a job? You are late. Change and get-a to work!”
The head chef was obviously fuming and he grabbed hold of Liz’s arm and almost threw her into a changing room at the side of the kitchen. She was about to storm back out onto the street when more delicious scents hit her nose. She was hungry, famished even. If she could only attract the chef’s attention perhaps she could buy something and be on her way. She observed the human, waiting for him to come closer. He stirred and tasted the content of every pot and every casserole. Sometimes he moved on to the next one and sometimes he frowned from disgust and waved for his assistants to improve the taste, but he never gave them an iota of praise.
“Start-a this one from scratch! This-a one tastes awful, you are-a fired. Can’t-a you bloody do anything-e right-a!” he carried on shouting in constant discontent.
A perfectionist, Liz thought, as she witnessed the other chef’s backstabbing comments and imitations of the absurd mannerisms of the man they seemingly didn’t respect. Would he be a good candidate for the competition? He would certainly annoy people and risk being killed out of hatred rather than necessity. He o
rdered his colleagues around as he saw fit without any diplomatic leadership skills. The question was, would he kill for perfection? If he fed the other contestants meals of this high standard, and was killed, Liz could clearly see war being declared amongst any formed alliances. It would be just what she needed to give that extra touch, pushing the individuals over the edge of humanity. The human side in Liz also thought that he could be the right person to be able to use the products in such a way that they would last longer. It would keep the contestants healthier for longer. Less suffering.
“Excuse me,” Liz called lightly above the noise in the kitchen of slamming metal lids, chatter and timers beeping. “Excuse me,” she called again a little louder, as she hadn’t turned even one head, and tried to walk closer to him.
“Madre mia, You are-a not ready.”
She looked into his intense blue eyes, noted his dark brown spiky hair and his body language that stated he wouldn’t have time to stand still for long. He sounded Italian, but didn’t look the part.
“Do you have a minute to speak?”
“Does it look-a like I have-a time to speak. Your-a fired!” he shouted and pointed his straight arm and finger at the back door.
“I don’t work here. I…”
“What are-a you doing in my-a kitchen then? Out!”
“Do you own this restaurant?” Liz blurted out as two other chefs had started to push her out the door.
“No, not owner. I’m-a Alexandre Buitoni,” he stated with self-confidence and a hint of being insulted that Liz wasn’t aware of who he was.
“I have a proposal that might earn you enough money to open your own restaurant,” Liz rapidly suggested before she was pushed down the two steps leading from the back door.
She staggered a bit to regain her balance and straightened her shirt into her black work trousers.
Not long after, Alexandre’s face appeared in the doorway.
“You can-a make me an-a owner? I will-a listen for-a five minuti.”
“I’m hosting a competition with five hundred thousand pounds in prize money.”
“Five hundred thousand? I can open my own-a restaurant. Three star.”
“If you win.”
“I’m-a Alexandre Buitoni, the best chef in Inghilterra and I will-a win!”
“It’s not a cooking competition per se. Can I arrange an appointment to speak with you tomorrow, as I need to eat? I’m starving.”
“No, will-a talk now, will-a eat now.”
Alexandre rushed out to grab Liz by her wrist and dragged her inside. He cleared the newspapers and dirty dishes off the staff room dinner table and clapped with his hands to get attention from a short and chubby man standing stirring a large casserole.
“Lobster ravioli starter, Lamb chop-a sizzled with garlic and-a rosemary and-a the finest strawberries with chocolate-e mousse for Miss…”
“Call me Liz.”
“For-a Miss-a Liz.”
“Thank you Alex, but I’m a vegan.”
“I’m-a not Alex,” he said, as if Liz had insulted him. “I’m-a Alexandre Buitoni. You can-a call me Alexandre. Oh dear, are-a you sure you are-a a vegan?”
“Ah, oh, okay, your name…that is easy. Sorry. Yes, quite sure,” Liz answered politely.
“Change the menu. She shall have-a for starter asparagus, herbs, ruby grapefruit and black olives. For main our three-a bean chilli pot-e with corn pastry and-a for pudding the finest strawberries with vegan chocolate-e mousse,” Liz smiled, amused and tried to ignore his larger-than-life character to focus on her big pitch for him to join her. “You aren’t originally from England, are you?”
“My blue eyes I-a got-a from my mother. She was-a Swedish. My dark stallion hair and sensual lips are-a from my Italian father,” he explained and pouted with his lips.
Liz didn’t think the lips looked any different from English men, however she was sure they would make another man happy.
“And do you have a family?”
“Si, certo che si, I’m-a engaged,” he proudly declared and waved a diamond clad ring closely in front of Liz’s face.
Liz had to hold his hand and move it further away from her eyes to be able to view it properly. She complemented him on it. She had been wrong. The lips apparently made another woman happy.
“His name is Karl Lenardsson. He is-a Swedish.
Ah, Liz thought. I wasn’t wrong after all.
“Congratulations.”
“Thank-e you. He’s-a the best lover I ever had-a. And biggest,” he stated in triumph and raised a suggestive eyebrow.
Liz shrugged. She had no presumptions about homosexuals, however she could have done without that information.
“I’m glad,” she responded, lost for other words.
He smiled and waved in the first course.
The platter was a disappointment to her hungry stomach. Although she had to admit it looked incredibly posh. There were three pieces of asparagus, whilst two black olives cut in a flower featured in the centre of the round plate. It was surrounded by pink sauce from the ruby grapefruit and topped by some multi-coloured leaves. However her stomach had wished for a robust meal no matter what it contained.
“Lovely,” Liz murmured in recognition of his efforts, and lifted her fork, not knowing where to start in demolishing the artwork.
Already in her first bite she could feel an explosion in her mouth of rich flavours. It was really divine. Her hunger probably enhanced half its impression, yet she had never tasted anything so delicious. The flavour of the fresh asparagus was clearly distinct and the leaves gave it a hint of sweetness. Her wolf instinct obviously wanted meat to accompany the meal, it always did, but she had learnt to stay focused as the years passed. But controlling it didn’t mean she didn’t miss it.
Alexandre just sat and watched Liz as she enjoyed her starter. Every one of her satisfied emotions seemed to give him pleasure. As she took in the fifth and last bite her next course was presented to her. There was a small pot of beans sat in the middle of triangular corn bread, shaped like a sun with perfect black stripes from the grill decorating them. To add colour the dish had been sprinkled with oregano. In the centre of the bean pot there were three cubes of potato what she discovered was a light BBQ sauce. Liz moaned as she dug into it, feeling orgasmic. As she was almost finished with her plate Alexandre interrupted her concentration on the food.
“You had-a a proposal?”
“Mm, yes,” Liz acknowledged and finished clearing her mouth from her last bite.
Liz started to explain the outline of the competition and the rules on how they would declare the winner. Alexandre sat silently and listened without interrupting. His eagerness to hear about the competition made Liz more confident that she had him on her hook. It was only the absence from work and his fiancé that would stand in her way. How badly did he want his own restaurant?
“Interested?” she asked when she had finished explaining.
He hesitated and rubbed his hand over his nose. As he did, she smelt a whiff of human odour. Liz thought his chances of surviving were slim – he would be a lamb steak cooking in a kitchen surrounded by hungry wolves. If he accepted her offer he was as good as dead.
“Is it your job?” she asked.
“Tsk, tsk, no. When I have-a five hundred thousand pounds I will-a not be working-e here. I will-a open the Alexandre Buitoni Restaurant.”
“Your boyfriend?”
“Fiancé,” he corrected. “I will-a be with him-a for the rest of my life. We will-a have time to have lots of sex later.”
Liz bit her tongue to prevent herself from uttering disapproving sounds at his crudeness.
“What are your concerns then?”
“I know I will-a impress with-a my great-a cooking e-skills, yet sometimes a great-a chef does use recipes…for-a inspiration. I go nowhere-a without my cooking-e bible. I need-a to bring.”
“You can’t bring anything inside as it would be unfair to the other contestants, however th
ere should be some cookbooks inside the supermarket that you can use. If you get to them first.”
He sat quietly again, as he watched Liz devour the sweetness of the large strawberries drizzled with chocolate sauce. There were also three round cylinders of firm chocolate mousse topped with a tiny wild strawberry and a mint leaf as decoration. After she had finished, and Alexandre hadn’t said a word, she pushed the chair out and stood up stretching out her hand.
“Do you need to ask permission from your fiancé or do we have a deal?”
“I’m-a Alexandre Buitoni. I don’t need-a permission. I accept.”
“Do you have pen and paper and I will give you the details.”
Alexandre ripped out a page, clear from adverts, from a newspaper and grabbed a pen that had seen better days and handed them to her.
After Liz had scribbled down the time and address she didn’t know why, but she gave Alexandre a wink before she left the restaurant. She hadn’t paid for the food or even said thank you. She wasn’t going to waste any money or gratitude on the arrogant human.
Now she had all three of her contestants and needed to get home to design her game plan.
9
JOANNE GOODWIN
Anne had never had to deal with such nonsense in her entire life as she had experienced in today’s meeting and only felt tired of Sir John’s games. Today she shouldn’t have dragged her elderly body out of bed. To issue the Green Skyway clause was absolutely ludicrous in the recent troubled financial economy, but to have to waste her time with two bulls pitching their pride against each other was even more reckless. She wasn’t the one who was going to put in the work, that was for certain. Therefore she had chosen the first three people within the company who had come to mind; the always-late mailman, the girl who was always useless at fetching coffee and their secretary Joanne who would soon retire anyway.
