by Lori Selke
Lucy tried not to resent him for it—selling used cars was a hard business, and she knew he was working such long hours for the two of them and the children he’d promised they would have when they had a little more money saved. Still, she wished they could go out to eat sometimes—not all the time, maybe once every couple of weeks. Even once a month would be nice. A movie, a lunch date, at least for her birthday.
This was the alternative. She supposed it shouldn’t be all up to him anyway. The meat-lovers’ pizza from the pizzeria down the road was Kathe’s favorite. They usually ordered two—Kathe would eat a whole one on his own and Lucy would eat a few slices of the other so he could have the rest for breakfast the next day. However, the pizzas were so greasy, and to Lucy the meat seemed to be mostly gristle and fat. She knew Kathe would adore this—a homemade pizza with fresh ingredients. And he wouldn’t even have to leave the couch.
The toppings were on and she was just sliding the pizza into the oven when she heard the front door. She felt a wave of relief that he had come home tonight—if he’d stayed late she would have kneaded and rested the dough for hours for nothing.
“Kathe?” She washed her hands in the sink, then padded out to find him. He’d left his briefcase on the floor beside the table and was already flopped in his place on the couch.
When she’d married him, he’d been a cross country runner, and he was always bemoaning the fact he found no time to exercise anymore. He was a lot softer in the middle, but he still had all his hair—thick and black. It wasn’t a big deal; everyone let themselves go when they got married. If he hadn’t been working long hours to care for her, he’d have more time for himself.
“Kathe?” she asked again. He grunted, pulling off his shoes and socks with his feet.
“I have a surprise for you,” she said.
He glanced at her. “Can it wait until after Sports Center?”
She faltered a little. “Yes, it will. I made pizza.”
“You got a pizza?”
“No,I made it. From scratch.”
He was still staring at her and she smiled, waiting for it to sink in.
“You made pizza dough?”
“It’s in the oven cooking,” she beamed.
His eyes flickered back to the TV. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sweetheart.”
“What?” she was confused.
“I didn’t marry you for your cooking skills, did I? I’m sure you worked real hard, but I think we should just order from down the street.”
“But, there’s a pizza in the oven, right now…” Her heart was slowly sinking.
He didn’t seem to hear her. “Be a doll and call for me, will you? The usual.”
Lucy went quietly into the kitchen. She didn’t need to look at the menu on the fridge to dial the number; she knew it off the top of her head.
“Two meat-lovers, a garlic bread and lemonade for 42 Westminster,” she said softly. The serving girl rattled off the price and delivery time; Lucy murmured something agreeable and hung up numbly.
In the oven, the pizza was bubbling, the cheese turning a crispy brown. The scent of baking bread and herbs was warming the room. Lucy put on her oven mitts and carefully slid the tray out—the pizza sizzled, crisp and cheesy. Just like her mother would have made. Flipping open the trash can, she slid the whole lot in.
“Hey, honey?” Kathe called from the other room. “Don’t forget, if we’re having pizza tonight, you need to hit the gym tomorrow. I won’t have my woman getting fat.”
* * *
Lucy set the treadmill to a fast jog and turned up the incline, until she felt like she was fighting up a steep hill. She made time for the gym at least three times a week. Even though he didn’t have time for it anymore, keeping in shape was important to Kathe. If she stopped going, he would notice and she was loath to have him poking her belly and asking: ‘What’s this?’ Besides, Lucy took some pride in her endurance, and all her friends commented how jealous they were of her figure. As Jodie liked to say: ‘If that ass were any tighter, it would snap’.
Lucy didn’t like the gym itself, though. It was Kathe’s old gym, and there was no ‘women only’ area. The constant traffic of men—many of them Kathe’s old running buddies—leered at her as they passed. It was rare for her to be here a whole afternoon without some buff, hairy ape trying to get her number.
There was no one leering today—the gym was unusually empty—and Lucy couldn’t focus. While taking the trash out to the curb she had seen the pizza, sad and melted, in the bottom of the trash can. She’d worked so many hours, making it perfect, shopping for all the ingredients. Kathe hadn’t even tried it. He hadn’t even looked at it.
The sob built and she couldn’t choke it back. She kept running—legs pumping in a steady, graceful rhythm—with the tears dripping down her cheeks. She’d just wanted Kathe to look at her, to smile, to smother her in kisses like he used to.
“That’s just about the sorriest sight I ever saw,” a husky, but cultured, voice said.
Long, delicate fingers snaked around Lucy from behind and she saw a flashing cascade of jingling, golden bangles inlaid with horn and turquoise and bone. The woman turned the treadmill off and Lucy slowed to a stop, breathing heavily and turning to face her. Her skin was dusky brown, her hair in thick, jet ringlets and her eyes a deep, dark chocolate brown. She smelled like honey and milk and she had the most luscious, luxuriant figure Lucy had ever seen, with hips and breasts enough for three women.
“What?” Lucy mumbled, confused.
“What are you crying for, beautiful?” That accent again—Lucy was almost sure she was English. “And running on a treadmill at the same time? I bet it’s about a man.”
“I’m not…” Lucy wiped the tears off her face. “I’m not crying.”
“You’re surrounded by mirrors, honey. Everyone can see you crying.”
Lucy looked around and saw dozens of reflections of herself, all tear-streaked and red-eyed. She bit her lip, humiliated and miserable.
“Pardon me,” she murmured, stepping off the treadmill and grabbing her bag. “I’m late.”
“No you’re not.” The dark woman stepped up to block Lucy’s exit and offered her her hand. “I’m Sassy.”
Lucy hesitated, then shook. “Lucy,” she said, but as their fingers met there was a charge of static electricity that made Lucy yelp.
“Sorry about that,” Sassy frowned. “Now, a girl who’s crying on a treadmill shouldn’t be in a gym. There’s a great French patisserie right around the corner. What you need is coffee and refined sugar.”
Lucy looked at the carpet. It was stained and faded with years of foot traffic. “I don’t think I should…”
“You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you,” Sassy assured her. “But I just can’t leave you here like this. It isn’t sisterly.”
Lucy didn’t have a sister—these days she didn’t even have a mother. The mention of family gave her a sad tug of longing.
“Okay,” she said quietly. Then a little clearer: “Okay, that sounds nice.”
Sassy waited while Lucy changed and together they ambled down the street, the woman’s bangles jingling in the morning air.
“I love it when it’s sunny like this, but the air is still so cold,” Sassy said.
“Does it remind you of England?” Lucy asked tentatively.
“Certainly does. But nothing here smells like England. The earth, the rain, the old secrets…” she smiled.
“Were you born there?”
She smiled a little wider. “Not quite.”
Lucy smiled back, but she wasn’t sure why.
The patisserie was a small, neat store with four tables out front and yellow flowers in planters by the door. Inside it was clean and airy, with the sweet scents of baking and a long glass counter displaying hundreds of cakes and sweets. There was also an old-fashioned row of wooden shelving on the wall, housing homemade jams and preserves and a complicated looking barista’s statio
n with a big, shiny coffee machine.
“I never even knew this place was here,” Lucy said.
“A best-kept secret,” Sassy promised. “But it can get busy—you have to pick the right time of day.”
They waited their turn at the counter, and when Lucy couldn’t make up her mind, Sassy ordered them a tasting tray with a dozen different little cakes and sweets in pairs. They ordered their coffees too and took the only remaining empty table outside.
It was so peaceful and warm inside and Lucy could hear the strains of her favorite song on the radio, coming from the kitchen out back.
“I’d love a little café like this,” Lucy mused. “Baking, talking to customers.”
“What do you do instead?” Sassy asked.
“Oh, I’m married.”
“And?”
The question surprised Lucy. “And…That’s all. My husband owns a used car dealership.”
“But where does your money come from?”
“Kathe.”
Sassy frowned, sipping her drink. “So why don’t you open your own business on the side?”
“I can’t. There’s no money. Or time. I’m always so busy cleaning the house. And I wouldn’t know where to start. I don’t know anything about business. Or cooking, really. I used to cook with my mother, but I’m bad at it.”
The words fell out of Lucy in an embarrassed jumble and she flushed, feeling foolish again.
“Who told you that?”
She glanced at Sassy’s big chocolate eyes and her lip started to tremble. Her voice came out nearly a whisper: “My husband doesn’t like my cooking.”
Sassy leaned back, contemplating Lucy. Her bangles clinked.
“What if I could help you get your own café?”
“I wouldn’t know how. I’d fail. I’d just be wasting my money.”
“Kathe’s money.”
Lucy blushed again. “Yes. He wouldn’t like it, anyway. I’m really not good at things.”
Sassy smiled wickedly. “What if we start small? Cooking lessons, perhaps. It’s the in thing you know, ladies, cooking classes, sexy, young male chefs.”
“I don’t think my husband…” She trailed off, feeling ashamed of herself.
Sassy waved a dismissive hand. “Tell him you’re going to the gym. Sweetheart, you don’t need to work out. You’re just some bones with skin on them. What you need is a little decadence. My treat.”
Lucy chewed her lip. “This is too kind of you. You don’t even know me.”
Sassy leaned forward, her gaze suddenly becoming intense. “This isn’t a kindness. It’s a trade.”
“A…a trade?” Lucy stammered, startled. “What do you want?”
Sassy sat back again, smiling. The intensity gone. “We’ll talk about that later. Consider the cooking classes a free sample. Tomorrow, at one o’clock. East Maple Street, the blue building. I’ll meet you out front?”
Lucy hesitated, feeling uncertain. For a moment, Sassy’s intensity had scared her, but this dark, jingling, sweet-smelling woman was offering something that she found she desperately wanted. She nodded. “It’s a date.”
* * *
The two women stumbled out of the cooking class onto the street. Lucy was exhilarated and flushed. Going in, she had been afraid she would make a fool of herself, but the roguish Irish chef with his green eyes and unruly blond hair had put her right at ease.
Even better, the class was easy! Everything Lucy cooked had come out of the oven perfectly, and all her classmates had cooed over her skills. She couldn’t believe how much everyone else struggled, even with the easy things like puddings and crème brulée.
“You didn’t need that class at all,” Sassy said with a laugh, taking Lucy’s hand as they sauntered up the street together.
“I can’t believe I…thank you, Sassy,” Lucy said, almost bubbling over. “If you hadn’t taken me to that class…I always thought I was so bad at cooking.”
“We can check that off the list,” Sassy said.
Lucy glanced at her curiously. “What list?”
“The list of things for you to be happy.”
Lucy stopped, letting go of Sassy’s hand. “Happy? Why do you think I’m not happy?”
“When I met you, you were running on a treadmill, crying. That’s not happy. That’s so far from happy you don’t even know what happy is anymore. Honey, you’re all turned around. You thought you were a bad cook, too, remember?” She stroked Lucy’s cheek with her fingers. “All I want is to turn you back around and give you a push in the right direction.”
Lucy chewed her nail. “This is the trade you were talking about. Are you some kind of life coach? You want money?”
Sassy gave her a dry look. “Have I ever said the word ‘money’ to you? Why would you think that?”
“So what do you want?”
“My trades are all Blood for Bone.”
Lucy frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”
Sassy sighed. “No, I suppose you don’t. They don’t teach that in your schools, but they really should.”
“American schools?” Lucy asked confused, wondering what exactly they were teaching kids in England. Sassy waved a dismissive hand, but Lucy pressed. “Is it a Celtic turn of phrase?”
“It’s from an older people,” Sassy said. “Blood is the soul, the signature. Bone is a tangible reward.”
“You want me to sign a contract? Is that what you mean?”
Sassy waved a dismissive hand. “A verbal contract. Don’t worry, I’m not going to make you prick your finger and sign away your soul.”
“So what are we trading for?”
Sassy flashed a dangerous smile. “What I want is a single night of passion.”
“Sex?” Lucy stuttered, feeling her cheeks go red. “I don’t…I’m married. And straight.”
“One night and I can get you all the things you want,” Sassy coaxed. “Money, a business license, training…that little café you dream about.”
Lucy’s first reaction was repulsion. She didn’t want to be manipulated for sex. That was sick. And wrong.
But then she forced herself to swallow her anger. Not everyone could be happily married. Single people always looked so lonely to Lucy. Pathetic, almost; it must be hard not to have a man like Kathe around to protect them. To make love to them.
And Sassy…Sassy was the most beautiful woman Lucy had ever seen: those full, fleshy hips and ripe, heavy breasts. Her dusky skin. Even the way her bracelets jingled. Sassy even smelled good—tonight it was roses and cinnamon.
It wasn’t really an affair if it was with another woman, was it?
“I…”
“You can think about it.”
“No,” Lucy offered Sassy her hand to shake. “Blood for…bone?”
“Blood for Bone.”
* * *
After two weeks of progressively harder cooking classes and lunch time dates with Sassy, Lucy was starting to feel like a proper cook. She’d even gone to the library on her own and borrowed whole shelves of cook books. Right now there were twenty of them on the kitchen table that had only been used to stack Kathe’s work papers for the last five years. For the most part, she pushed the deal she had made with Sassy to the back of her mind, but it came back to her at odd times.
As Kathe made love to her in the early morning, before work, Lucy imagined it was Sassy above her—full bosom heaving, bracelets jingling. Her orgasm took her by surprise.
She waited until Kathe was finished in the bathroom and getting dressed before she slipped out of bed. He pulled a face when he saw her.
“You’re getting fat. What have you been eating? Lard?”
Lucy glanced at her naked body in the mirror. All the cooking classes and rich food was starting to show. Her hips were fuller and her breasts had filled out a little—not much, but she was going to have to buy some new bras soon. She liked it.
She glanced at Kathe and the thick, hairy paunch that had been crushed between them as th
ey made love.
“Maybe on the weekend you could take some time off work and we could go to the gym together,” she suggested mildly.
“What?” he demanded, eyes flashing angrily. “Why would I go to the gym? You’re the fat one. I have to work, Lucy. To buy you cupcakes, by the look of you.”
Lucy got into the shower and turned the water on high.
* * *
Sassy’s next big surprise wasn’t another cooking class.
“What are we doing here?” Lucy asked as they pulled up at the university.
“Night classes,” Sassy said with a sly smile.
“Cooking classes?”
Sassy laughed. “Business classes, honey! How else did you think you were going to learn about taxation and bulk-ordering flour?”
Lucy balked, feeling a thrill of nerves deep in her gut. “I don’t know, Sassy. I’m going to look stupid. Everyone else is going to know more than me. I’ll get everything wrong.”
Sassy laughed. “Don’t be silly. Do you really think business moguls take night classes?”
“They’re all going to be young and I’ll stand out,” Lucy insisted.
Sassy put one warm, spice-scented arm around Lucy’s shoulder. “I’ll be there with you. If we stand out, we’ll do it together. Have I been wrong before?”
“…No,” Lucy said hesitantly.
Sassy didn’t say anymore, simply guiding Lucy up the steps.
When they arrived at the classroom, Lucy was surprised. The other students weren’t all young—and those that were were pimply and gawky, not intimidating at all. A good handful of the other students looked like housewives just like Lucy, and nearly a third were twice, even three times her age.
