by Ryli Jordan
“Sorry Knox. I don’t mean to be rude. But I can’t talk much today. Here are the files. We can postpone the summation until next week? Or Saturday if you need to.” I handed him a black flash drive.
He looked at me with puppy dog eyes, as if I had just run over his dog. Handing the drive back to me,
“What now?” I said. I put my hands on my hips and dueled his eyes, reminding him in posturing that this was business—not another date for him.
“Just drop off the files with Francine…how long will you be?”
“I don’t know, an hour? Then I got to speed through a lunch so my stomach won’t be growling through the big consultation.”
“All right. When you’re finished come and see me. I want to convey a few things before next week. Saturday you can do as you please.”
“Well can’t you tell me now?” I said, with a head bob that put him back on the defensive.
“No, I can’t,” he snarked back. “So give it to Francine, then come back to see me. Or else I will tell all my friends that your little financial firm is rude.”
I sighed in discomfort. “I’m not going to dinner with you know,” I said in spite.
“Staci. Shit, I know. This is strictly business. Don’t you dare leave me hanging dry.”
“Huhhh…” I roared back in sarcasm, but I doubt he heard me. I did go up to his assistant’s office, wondering how long she’s working for him. Thank God, Knox wasn’t a bigger ass about this. He could have demanded I cancel all my other clients’ meetings and I probably would have had to do it, since he was the instant number one guy at the firm. But he let me go…
With one little hair-tug of a power play, insisting that I come “see him”. What kind of possessive bullshit was that, anyway?
After the meeting at my office which was surprisingly short, I drove back to his private office and leisure room, ready to kick his ass if he tried anything funny. I was in no mood for games today.
He did give me a little froggy face with a boyish smile, as if provoking me to speak out of line. I almost let him have it right there, and was just seconds away from giving him a tongue lashing…
When I noticed he was carrying a box. A white box which he opened for me, as elegantly as he would open a gift of jewelry.
“Guarache,” he said, showcasing the meal of masa, with toppings of red salsa, onions, potato, cilantro, beef and queso fresco. “For your lunch, Staci.”
“What? What, what, what the hell?”
“You’re supposed to eat it and be thankful,” he said in sarcasm. “Now go. Get out of here.”
“You can’t do this!” I said, almost on instinct.
“What?”
“I said no dinner.”
“This is lunch, Staci. I’d say something like ‘relax, woman!’ but you’d probably take offense to that too. So I’ll clarify, ‘Relax, female body of moderate size and a lovely disposition, but with a ferocious talent and overqualified for any job she chooses.”
I looked at the food in longing, craving it in the same way I wanted Knox. “Why? What’s your angle?”
“Jesus Christ, Staci. You work for me. So you’re not obligated to consider it an act of kindness from a stranger. It’s business. Now go and eat. Enjoy your life.”
“Thank you…” I said blankly, unsure of how to handle this scenario. I guess in hindsight I should have smiled and flirted…or just smiled and bowed, or just said thank you and went on my way.
Instead, I just stared at him in confusion, almost reaching the consensus that he simply did an act of kindness with no ulterior motive.
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
“You…you just made this right now?”
“Of course. What do you think I have in my private office? Just a studio apartment with recliner and man cave? I don’t watch news, sports and porn all day. Sometimes I cook during intermission.”
I peered around his office as he opened another side door, letting me see his personal office kitchen, complete with refrigerator and mini-stove.
“Wow. I can’t believe it.”
“Good day, Staci. Knock ‘em dead.”
“Thanks for lunch,” I managed to say one more time before heading out with my last minute lunch, though I was far from over this. This was an act of war! Or…something. Something sneaky that Knox had to be planning.
Was it laced with something? Was it cannabis Guarache or did it have laxatives? Was it poisoned with arsenic?
All right, I freaked out for about five minutes but by the time I was down in my car I devoured my lunch and welcomed the consequences. I was starved.
Much to my relief, and I have to admit, my shame, I realized Knox really did just do an act of kindness for me as a business client and as a friend. I was red-faced at the thought of him cooking for me, for once not out of spite, but out of sincerity.
Sure, he liked me and I was resisting him. But yes, sometimes it really helps to know the guy chasing you isn’t a 24-7 asshole and is capable of doing a good deed.
***
Our next encounter ended a little less than friendly, though I have to admit it started out perfectly fine. We had been flirting off and on—mind you, no real interest coming from me, as I made it clear to him that I wasn’t interested.
But yeah, it made him happy to think he still had a chance with me. Whatever, Vegas money, dude, it’s yours to lose.
Anyway, we were arguing about the Cubs versus the Indians for the World Series. I was betting on the Cubs and naturally he was against the popular team. My firm partner Mark and I were hazing Knox, claiming that we were willing to bet money on the Cubs this year. Knox remained skeptical and took particular interest in the next line of questioning.
“All right you arrogant prick,” I said with evil eyes. “What are you willing to bet?”
“Get out of here,” he said with a laugh.
“No, we’re totally serious,” Mark said. “We have faith in our team. So let’s make it interesting.”
“You should cook for me if you lose!” I said, not really joking and enjoying the friendly competition.
“Yes and she gets to bring a guest!” laughed Mark. “Staci plus one.”
Strangely enough, though I was giving him what he wanted—dinner with me—he actually seemed offended at the idea. Maybe he took offense to the idea of dragging chaperone Mark with me. But I had to make it clear it wasn’t a date. Just a friendly bet.
“Fine,” he said, a little embittered.
“Fine, we’re on! If the Cubs win you owe us a big fancy dinner.”
“Let’s do it,” he said, minus a smile but with haughty eyes.
“Now that’s some faith in Cleveland,” joked Mark.
We made a bit of that for the next week, harassing Knox with our sure-thing bet. Every time we mentioned the deal, he got uppity and sometimes even moody. But I was loving it! What can I say, there is a competitive side to me. And if Knox was mature enough to try and bribe a woman into sex, then he was a big boy capable of being razzed for it.
As Mark and I predicted, the Cubs won. History was made and Knox lost big time. He was forced to pay up and Mark and I joked about it mercilessly. To his credit, Knox paid up on the bet. He invited me over for dinner, which he cooked himself.
Maybe he was a little surprised that I actually did bring Mark along with me. Was he expecting a romantic dinner alone for losing a bet? No way! We won the bet fair and square. This was not about him winning a damned thing. I won.
Or at least that’s how I saw it. He did seem a little miffed when Mark showed up with me as my “date”. But true to his word he continued cooking the consolatory dinner.
Mark and I were definitely impressed at his house—or shall I say one of his many houses, condos and mansions. This one was a bit quaint and rustic—with only one story to speak of. Shocking, right?
His interiors were covered with 1950s art as well as family portraits of his mother and father. Even a picture of his housekeeper hon
ored in the hallway. The wooden floors were elegant and perfectly stained. The dining room had a wonderfully bright chandelier. It was a pleasant scene, and as Mark and I joked, even for a smaller house outside the city, it still felt like a place to host a murder mystery.
“So,” Mark said, “I can’t wait to see what he cooked up. A meal fit for Cubs!”
“Indeed!” I said, raising my red wine in happy sarcasm.
Up until this point, Knox was a good sport. He admitted his defeat and followed through on his promise to cook for us. He even let us inside his house. He had spoken to Mark several times, and so felt a natural kinship with him, although obviously his primary contact with the firm was me. Still, he was surprisingly cordial to Mark, even if he knew Mark was spoiling his much wanted romantic date.
“Bon appétit,” he said with the first real smile I had seen him give me all week.
“Great!”
He brought out our main course and delighted us with the colors, textures, and fine dining ware.
Until he finally explained the main course…
“In honor of your victory, I have something truly unique and exotic just for you, Staci and Mark. Behold, Thai Zebra Tarantula.”
The dish was exactly as described, a deep fried tarantula, with a recipe straight from Cambodia. The cooked spider was about the size of my fist and smelt of garlic and salt. I just about gagged. Mark was staring in speechless awe.
“Next, I have another Asian specialty just for you, the victorious. These wasp crackers are made with real wasps mixed into a batter dough.”
The wasp crackers were orange in appearance like any oven-baked cookie except that instead of chocolate chips were wasp bodies. Just as I was fixing to storm out in absolute horror, he unveiled the masterpiece.
“And especially for Staci and Mark, my best friends forever, I present to you Casu Marzu. I knew you might be sick of Asian delicacies so for dessert I opted for Italian. Specifically, cheese. Sheep milk cheese with a very specific fermentation process. Actually, rather than explaining the process let me just clue you in on how the cheese gets that fine soft and gooey texture.”
He directed my eyes to the center of the dish where I saw firsthand the ripe vulgarity of Knox, when he felt slighted. I knew this wasn’t my imagination. He really was a dark as night SOB when he was provoked.
I groaned in disgust. “You sick bastard!”
Mark was scandalized watching the Casu Marzu and its special insect ingredient, which is far too gross to recall again at the moment.
I, on the other hand exploded.
“How dare you!”
“What?”
“What the fuck? We’re not going to eat this shit!”
“Why? It’s just a friendly wager.” He smiled, a bit of a jocular smile as if he just won an argument in front of the teacher. “Come on, expand your taste buds.”
“You are cruel!” I yelled, still freaking out at the tarantula main course. “I wanted a real dinner.”
“Hey, this is a real dinner. You said a good dinner, people in Cambodia love this shit. The Casu Marzu is an Italian specialty. Perhaps deep Italy but you know…”
I was shaking my head and ready to storm out. “This is why I never went out with you.”
“No,” he corrected, oddly passionate for the moment instead of his usual snark. “This is what happens when you insult my intelligence. I liked you, Staci. I was very honest about how I felt. I wanted to ask you out to a nice dinner. A real dinner. You said no. So now you throw this ‘bet dinner’ in my face and expect me to eat shit and take my humiliation? No, on the contrary, we’ll both be eating shit. So have a seat, Mark and Staci. Let’s dine.”
“You are absolutely evil!” I screamed. “This is like some Hannibal Lector revenge plot right here! I can’t believe you spent hours cooking a terrible meal out of spite! What the hell kind of maniac does that?”
He shrugged proudly. “I’m a sore loser. But a man of my word!”
He smiled, knowing what an ass he was being and reveling in it. “But still…a sore loser. Go Cleveland Indians!”
Just as I had my hand on the doorknob ready to storm out and try—try very hard—to get that awful image of traumatic Asian delicacies out of my head…
I turned and shrugged, meeting Mark’s eyes with exasperation. “Mark?!”
Mark was still at the table, crunching on a wasp cracker.
He looked embarrassed. Knox was laughing his ass off.
“Sorry…I didn’t eat anything on the way over.”
Chapter 6
Knox
Well, I never claimed to be a good sport, that’s for sure. I have to admit, two hours of spite cooking felt pretty good when I saw Staci storm out of my house, grossed out at my losing bet meal. Mark though, bless his sycophantic heart, took the wasp crackers in good faith.
It was damn good food. I tried it myself when I went on an Asian dining tour. Of course, I knew Staci wouldn’t have the stomach for it. But I meant what I said. If she really didn’t want to go out with me then don’t. But there was no need to mock me with a fake dinner invite.
It was a small time investment to pay for an awesome practical joke. And hey, I actually believe in not being wasteful. In the spirit of charity and being a better humanitarian, I gave the meal to a homeless person downtown after Staci and Mark left. The homeless fellow looked the strange food over, shrugged, and stuffed his face. One woman’s spite dinner is another man’s comfort on a hungry night.
I was halfway expecting Staci to maul me the next time our eyes met at work. She wasn’t vengeful enough to sever our business relationship but I could definitely see her slapping me, or pulling another monumental prank in revenge.
But to my relief, she was back to smiling when I saw her on Wednesday.
“Well well, if it’s Hannibal.” Staci narrowed her almond shaped, hazel eyes.
“Come on. It was kind of funny.”
“It was…funny like three days later. Not funny the first night I saw it.”
“It was kind of funny…” I nodded merrily, getting her to nod in agreement.
“You’re a funny guy, Knox.”
“So bygones be bygones? I promise I won’t ever make anything freaky ever again. Now how about I cook a real dinner for you?”
“Ehhh, I don’t think so.”
“You’re so determined not to like me, aren’t you?”
For a moment—yes a moment—she finally smiled back with dare I say a face of sincerity.
“I haven’t liked anybody in a long time. Don’t take it personally.”
I shrugged off another rejection. “So am I at least forgiven for the prank dinner?”
“I hope you didn’t waste it.”
“Of course not. Gave it to a homeless person. He loved it.”
“I’m glad.”
“And for your information, I would have totally done that for Henry in the old days. So don’t feel sexually harassed. I’m an equal opportunity asshole.”
“Really?” she said tiredly, although she was all smiles again.
“Of course. The only difference is…Henry would have eaten it. And he would have won our game.”
She laughed again and smiled. “Yes he would have. Have a good week, Chef Knox.”
Her laugh…her beaming face…, her fragrance, why are they so intoxicating? I haven’t felt inspired to cook for someone I really like in so many years. And yet she taunts me, each time I see her, looking more beautiful than the last. She fulfills a deep inner peace in my heart, even while toying with my healthy libido, which is now spiraling out of control. I could grab her arms around, push her against the wall and fuck her into next week.
And yet she sees through me. She denies me what I want the most, and she doesn’t even do it out of spite. She just can…she just resists because I’m not enough. She evaluates me and sees nothing worth money, nothing billion dollar quality about me.
Maybe I need to just let her go. Maybe this truly is
a relationship tug of war that I can’t win. I must be humble. I must accept. I must be content to be friends, associates, forever.
***
“You’ve got to help me!” I pleaded with Cassie, my housekeeper.
“Me? What am I supposed to do?”
“I don’t know, you always have such a dynamic way with words. You get me out of trouble with people ninety-nine percent of the time. You’ll know what to say.”
Cassie laughed. I made her brunch to butter her up, in hopes she could scheme with me. She always did know how to get me out of trouble.
“The problem here, Kenneth, is that she doesn’t want to see you or anybody right now. That’s not really something I can fix. It’s not like you said a bad word or hurt her feelings. It’s just bad timing is all.”
“Right, but I did do the thing with the tarantula and the bugs.”
“Well, that didn’t help.”
“But it was funny,” I said with a laugh.
She shook her head and sighed. “The best thing to do is to be respectful of the distance she requests. Maybe what happened was that her last boyfriend did a number on her and now she’s having problems trusting anyone.”
How diabolical! Of course, the evil ex. I’ve heard of such a man. Maybe he hit her, maybe he cheated on her. Or maybe he was emotionally abusive and emotionally vindictive.
Well, not evil like me. I may be a little vindictive, but I’ve never sought out to seriously hurt anybody. Even the women that I see, I don’t make any promises that I can’t keep. And hell yeah they get free food out of the deal, so I can’t imagine that as a flaw.
And yet Staci makes me feel like a real cad. I lace my shoes for a run. I have to release all this pinned-up sexual tension and release the energy into work or perhaps Staci if she’ll come around. For now, some extra workouts and cardio will do.
I resisted the notion to throw my money around and hire a detective to get dirt on Staci’s past. I’m not a stalker, just a fan. After my 5 mile run, I did Google Staci’s name in my MacBook and came across a post she wrote on Facebook about one year ago. I knew it was really her because she posted her photo in the profile. She gave an official “statement” to her friends and family…and well, a billion other people since the post was public. When I read it over, I was left stunned.
