Roller Coaster

by Karin Kallmaker

  There was the party to get through. There was too much work to be fantasizing about what she thought she had seen in Helen's eyes. She was so besotted and lustful that there was no way she could judge any look that Helen gave her. For all she was capable of gauging, Helen might have wanted another bite of tart. Helen was not interested in wild acts of abandon on the kitchen counter.

  Bracing, cold tap water splashed on her face helped her to focus. There was no time for this today. She had to get all of the food over from the commercial setup and the final prep going for all the hot hors d'oeuvres. She had wassail to taste and spike. There were a half-dozen Wagyu steaks to sear and slice down to top an amuse-bouche. There was yellowfin to prep for ceviche in lime and garam masala. Dozens of tart shells yet to pipe with one of three different cheese blends, and the last big task: breaking down and cleaning pineapples, plums, oranges and grapes, and whatever else she had acquired for a sumptuous fruit cornucopia display around the ice sculpture that was being delivered late in the afternoon.

  She decided it was wise to save her shower until as late as possible. She was going to be a mess in short order. A plain T-shirt and jeans would suffice as the kitchen was going to get very, very hot. From the cooking, she scolded herself. Hot from the cooking, not the smoldering glances and the smoky need that was churning inside of her.

  Helen's voice floated to her from the living room as she left her room. "Help me move this table over there, then we can cluster these rentals on this end. We want people to have places to put down their plates and drinks while they talk, but not sit. Once people sit, they won't budge. We need mingling!"

  Julie was leaning over the large teardrop-shaped coffee table that anchored the center of the room. "Oh good, more hands," she said as Laura came in. "This thing weighs a ton."

  Between the three of them they got it shifted. Laura said, focusing just left of Helen's ear, "Looks like you've got this under control. I'll get started in the kitchen."

  The doorbell rang and she escaped.

  A half hour later a cheerful Justin joined her. He quickly understood the finesse of piping filling into tarts. He didn't have the precision she would need later for the meringues and toppings, but he was gangbusters with basic filling and completed the task as quickly as she would have. Next she set him up to slice artisanal cheeses for two platters. Flatbread crackers were already baked and ready for rustic presentation with the fruit display. After that she'd have him season and roast the mix of cashews, pecans, almonds and chestnuts.

  The hours flew by at an alarming pace. The doorbell rang constantly with deliveries. Helen's stylist would be one of them, and the florist and the liquor delivery. Helen finally did come into the kitchen, but she spoke to Justin and left again. At two, Laura reluctantly put down her knife and asked the doorman to get her a cab. Time to start moving the food. Fortunately, by the time she arrived at the rental kitchen her helper for the afternoon and evening was already there. Rex took the assignment seriously, and proved both strong and thorough. The van service arrived promptly as well-another miracle. They loaded the rolling trays and boxes and turned back to the condo to be met by the doorman and Justin who helped transfer everything safely into the lobby.

  At five the ice sculpture was delivered. At five thirty Laura managed a belated shower and dressed carefully in her chef's whites. At six the server helper arrived, decked out in traditional black, and quickly memorized the flow of beverages and descriptions of the food. At six thirty the string quartet members and the bartender arrived. Everything was nearly ready, except for the million last-minute things.

  She was arranging the fruit and ice sculpture table when Julie began hovering.

  "I feel useless," she said. "Isn't there anything I can do?"

  "In a bit I could use help attaching the greenery to the tables. Right now I really need markers written. You have lovely handwriting-could you do it?"

  "Sure!" She brightened considerably. "You mean like what kind of cheese is what?"

  "Yes, and the names of the dishes. Let me show you."

  In the kitchen, she handed all the small ceramic tiles and their little stands to Julie, along with the dry erase markers. "Justin knows what everything is, so ask him if I'm busy, okay?"

  "You bet. Is there anything I can't eat?"

  "Everything is safe for you-down to the last bite and drop. Stay away from the wassail." She raised her voice. "That goes for you, too, Justin."

  "Aw man, I was looking forward to getting holiday hammered."

  "Don't even," Helen said from the doorway.

  Laura salivated when she looked at her, and couldn't make herself stop. Her hair was swept into an elegant, formal updo with tiny white snowflakes. Her ears and throat glittered with diamonds. She was wearing a holiday hostess gown of red velvet, trimmed with white, like something out of White Christmas.

  "Is everything going okay?" Helen asked. "I'm so nervous. The bartender is here-Mario. All bartenders are named Mario. Cass is running late-she's the one who loves this kind of thing."

  "I'm here," Cass called from the living room. "It's going to be fine. Have a drink!"

  "Double standard," Justin and Julie chorused.

  "Don't start with me," Helen said. She disappeared from the doorway.

  The doorbell began ringing steadily at seven thirty, thirty minutes after the official start. At nine the great room was crowded with at least sixty-five people, and they spilled into the hallway and dining room as planned. Laura kept the kitchen door closed, but some people still wandered in looking for even more food or simply to escape the noise. The server was good at her work, circulating in a business-like manner to collect abandoned plates and glasses, then more engaging with the guests when taking out something hot. The display around the ice sculpture was replenished by the helpful Rex while Laura kept an eye on the formal dessert table. The bartender seemed to have his station all under control. The string quartet sounded lovely, she thought, though she had never been much of a Mozart fan.

  Cass was busy charming a number of people. Laura recognized a few for herself-big promoters who were the type of people who got awards for their good work from charities throughout the theater world. There were a few actors she recognized, but most of the faces were a blur. At one point she heard Helen singing "Let It Snow," but she had no time to stop and listen.

  Justin hadn't retired to his room as planned. Instead he'd showered and reappeared dressed all in black, like the server, and took over all the heating duties for the hors d'oeuvres, leaving Laura free to focus on presentation. Julie was chatting with people about the food and helping herself liberally. There was plenty and it was good to see her eating without hesitation.

  It was just after eleven when Helen joined her in the kitchen. "What do you say if we push back coffee for an hour? Is there enough food?" Helen gestured at the counters still laden with trays of hors d'oeuvres ready to be circulated.

  The great room was still packed-no one would guess it was a Sunday night. Theater people, Laura thought, ran on a different clock. "There's enough. If you delay much later, though, people will start to hunker down into an after-hours party mode instead of going elsewhere to find amusements for the remainder of the night."

  Rex returned for another platter of sliced fruit. "The display under the ice sculpture needs to be replenished."

  "Go for it. Let me know when there's one left."

  He had no sooner cleared the door when the server came in, left an empty tray and picked up another. She gave a twirl on her way back to circulate.

  "It's great to have the help. They've been super," Laura told Helen.

  Since they were alone again, she risked looking at her. The red velvet, the white fake fur against her throat, her hair sparkling with those darling little snowflakes-she still looked fresh as a daisy. Laura was fairly certain she herself was looking just a bit wilted.

  "I think you're right," Helen said. "I want to be a good hostess, so let's hold coffee until jus
t after midnight. Then we'll stop the music, sober them up and move them out."

  Laura nodded and would have walked away, but Helen put her hand lightly on Laura's forearm. "Thank you. I couldn't have done this without you. We make a good team."

  She finally met Helen's gaze for the first time that day. There was a deep, steady glow that made her feel just a bit faint.

  She would have said "You're welcome" but Helen abruptly pulled her close and kissed her, hard.

  She was so surprised she let out a muffled gasp.

  Helen let her go just as suddenly. "I'm sorry. I don't know what-"

  "It's okay-"

  "I just-I mean, it's not-"

  Laura kissed Helen back, just as hard.

  Helen stumbled back and put a hand to her throat. "Are we-was that-"

  "Now we're even," was all Laura could think to say.

  Rex came in, followed by Justin. Helen ran for the door.

  She tasted like red lipstick and mint, Laura thought, and her hair smelled of rose and apricot. She hadn't a clue why Helen had kissed her, but she wasn't the least bit sorry for kissing her back. In fact, a little imp of delight was doing a jig.

  At five after twelve the server began circulating with coffee, sugar and cream as the string quartet finished a medley of holiday tunes and packed up their instruments. It was the universal signal to all well-bred people that the party was winding down. Time to sober up and think about leaving.

  Spending a great deal of time reliving the scant second of Helen's lips pressed to hers, Laura removed all the remaining hot food, replated the cheese and crackers to a smaller display, then did the same to the desserts. She also added small gold boxes that would hold two or three of the little bites if a guest wanted to take a treat home with them. Once she offered the tiny tongs and a box to one guest, others quickly followed suit. Julie was happy to tie them shut with a ribbon, from which hung a gift tag in Helen's handwriting that read, "Thank you for sharing a holiday evening with me-Helen." Cass was a genius.

  By twelve thirty the crowd had thinned to a quarter of its full size, and more were headed out the door. She estimated that in perhaps five minutes everyone would be gone. She sent the server, bartender and Rex home with thanks and large tips. From Cass's effervescent smile, she gathered the evening was a success.

  Still reliving the taste of Helen's lips and wondering exactly what the kiss meant, Laura went back to the kitchen to organize rinsing the rented china and barware so it could be restacked in their containers for pickup. She had thought she was alone but a long sniff drew her attention to someone seated on the far side of the small kitchen island.

  She didn't recognize the man-trim, white, ponytail, pushing fifty but trying hard in faux beatnik black to look thirty-five. His cool factor was diminished by the remnants of white powder around his nostrils. On the beautiful black marble of her favorite pastry board there was the trace of a line of cocaine and a line yet untouched.

  Deep down, part of her wanted to ask if she could have some. It was small, like a needle, deep like a needle, sharp like a needle. She had to deafen the monster, get away from it. Her mind screamed run but her feet wouldn't move.

  He looked at her, eyes bleary from the momentary glaze. Her stomach twisted with another sharp yearning. That euphoria had no equal, though she could imagine melting into afterglow in Helen's arms might feel that good. It wasn't nearly so unhealthy a thing to crave. But that was probably never going to happen, the monster whispered. Cocaine was a gift, a guarantee of fantastic highs that never had to end.

  She made her choice, not for Helen, but for what she had to do or she would never be with Helen. Never make it to the rest of the life she wanted.

  She picked up her eight-inch utility knife and turned on him.

  His eyes were steadying. The euphoria was already fading. But after the euphoria was a flash of vulnerability followed by a long surge of confidence and energy. She had to get rid of him while he was still woozy. He sniffed and gave a small cough, spurring her to action.

  She stabbed the knife into the small round of cheese in his line of sight, making sure she had his attention. He watched her sort through the large ruby seedless grapes, then gently pinch one free from its stem.

  "That fine marble surface you're using is my pastry board." She plucked her knife out of the cheese and put the grape in the middle of his second, untouched, line.

  He was still too out to protest and she rolled it along the white powder until it was dusted with the stuff. It was on her fingers. She could taste it if she wanted, so easy, the monster hissed.

  "A knife is a very subtle tool. You can hack up a cow with one. Sharper the knife, the easier it is. Or you can slice a grape to serve twenty."

  The first slice was slow, then she increased her speed until the tat-tat of steel on marble pinged against her ears. "It can be done in seconds."

  She tipped her knife against the grape and it relaxed into the slices she'd made. Deftly, she swept the flat of the blade over them, fanning them out the long way so that they stretched out on top of his entire line of coke, purple blood rinsing into the poisonous white.

  "Hey-there was no call for that!"

  She leaned over him, in his face, her head perilously close to the little bag still intact on the counter. She could smell it now, though the grape was mercifully more powerful. "Listen to me."

  "What's your problem?"

  "If you ever defile my kitchen again with your shit I will slice you into so many pieces they'll never be able to prove that it's even you. Do you understand me?"

  "I understand you're a crazy bitch!" He pushed back, looking at the ruined line in dismay.

  She snatched up a plum. "I'll start with your testicles."

  The plum slices oozed juice onto the board. She quickly restacked them on top of the baggie with the rest of his stash. At least an ounce, maybe more. With little effort her knife went through the plum and the baggie, making complete contact with the board. Up, down, up, down until her knife had cut the baggie and coke thoroughly into the plum.

  "When I'm done, they're going to look like this."

  "Fuck you! That was my last bit."

  "Guess you're going to have to leave, then."

  She was so angry and frightened of what she had all over her hands that Justin's voice made her jump.

  "What the hell is that crap?"

  "Cocaine," she said numbly. She couldn't look at him. She was sure that her craving showed. "I'm getting rid of it."

  Justin moved between the man and the kitchen island. "Get the hell out of our house."

  He stepped forward almost chest-to-chest with Justin. "Who the fuck are you to tell me what to do, boy?"

  "He is my son." Helen's voice rang from the kitchen doorway. "Leave or I will call the police."

  "Over a little bit of blow?"

  "Be glad," Cass said, slipping into the room by ducking under Helen's arm, "that your producer has already left."

  "You're kidding, right?" Laura could tell he was getting the full surge of confidence that came with the rest of the hit. "He'd join me."

  "Not in Helen Baynor's kitchen, he wouldn't. Not around her children."

  With a little push Laura lifted the heavy cutting board from the counter and took it to the sink.

  Hot water. Bleach. Bleach for her hands, and the blast of the acrid chlorine drove the memory of other smells out of her nose. She deliberately inhaled enough to make her nostrils sting.

  "What about my three hundred in coke that just went down the drain? That bitch ruined my whole supply."

  "Call her a bitch one more time and-"

  "Justin," Laura said sharply. "He's a user. You can't argue with him. You can't win. He's gone. The drug owns him."

  "Hey mate." Another man Laura didn't know pushed into the room. He took his apparent friend by the shoulders. "It's time to go. Let's head for SoHo. That little club with the great drinks. Let's go."

  "She ruined my stash."


  Had she whined like that when she was high? Had she looked so pathetic? Laura scrubbed at her hands with the bleach. She hoped the tingle on her fingertips and palms was the chlorine, not the drug.

  The newcomer gave Helen an apologetic look as he pulled at his friend. "Let's go. It's time to go."

  None of it had gone up her nose. She'd stared down the monster, but she was going to go to pieces if she couldn't get it off her hands. She doused them with bleach again and scrubbed with the scouring pad.

  Someone said her name, close to her ear. It was Helen.

  Helen put her hands on Laura's under the running hot water, stilling them. "Laura, stop it."

  "Don't touch my hands-it's on my hands," she said. "I didn't use any, I swear."

  "No one thinks you did. Laura, honey, stop."

  "I can't. I have to get it off."

  "You're bleeding. Stop." Helen didn't let go though Laura tried to jerk her hands away.

  "I can't stop." Her throat was tight with fear. Her vision was down to pinpoints. From far away she knew she was having a panic attack. "I can still hear it."

  Cass was the one who shook her, just once. She said, fiercely, "We love you. You're not alone."

  Helen shut off the water and Cass wrapped her hands in a clean towel. She gulped for air, felt arms around her and heard Helen, finally, murmuring, "Hush, hush."

  Long ago words circled in her head and she gave into angry, frightened sobs. Sobriety is something you do for yourself. Sobriety is no one else's job. Sobriety is a choice.

  When she finally lifted her head from Helen's shoulder the party was very over. Only Justin and Julie remained with Cass and Helen. They looked scared.

  Her attempt at a smile must have failed because no one smiled back.

  Helen gave her a compassionate look. "What was that about?"

  "No," Cass said. "She needs to sleep. We are all exhausted. Time for talking tomorrow."