Smaragdus

“This is a very interesting drink,” Carol said although the last sip had made her eyes water. “A stiff one…” she acknowledged, returning her glass back on the table. The mood around the table was conspicuously uncomfortable, everyone battling the unease with a cocktail. Well, nearly everyone -  Abby was hardly paying attention to her Bloody Mary. She was busy helping Harge suck a Shirley Templar through a straw.

“Which one did you have?” Therese asked, making idle conversation. She was already on her second Spanish Inquisition, a treacherous absinthe and cava concoction.

“Panic Attack… although I can’t decide whether this is supposed to induce one or keep it at bay.” Carol smiled at Therese, once more feeling the kick of the alcohol.  She wished the others away, framing Therese at the center of her preferred image of a perfect evening.   

Carol’s attention had the desired effect on Therese who swiped a random hair off her jawline thus drawing attention to her swan-like neck. Noticing the gesture, Dannie kicked her foot under the table.

“Ouch…” Therese hissed at him as quietly as she could. “What the fuck’s wrong with you?” she muttered under her breath.

“With me?” Dannie shot back, turning his head away from Carol, Abby and Harge. “You’re the one who’s drooling and we haven’t even been served our food yet!” The situation bore all the signs of deep trouble to him. “Maybe you should go easy on the booze, T, or do you plan to pass out this time?”

Therese didn’t appreciate being scolded, and the drink and a half she'd already consumed only exacerbated her reaction. “Mind your own business and stay out of my way.” Therese was being needlessly vicious, and had she been sober, she would’ve realized it too. The alcohol in her blood brought out the mounted impatience she had been harboring for much too long. It only served to strengthen the tunnel vision she was eager to embrace.

“How’s everything here?” Their young waiter sported a perky smile that didn’t quite suit the ‘blood-spattered’ burlap sack she was wearing.

“Oh, everything’s splendid,” Carol hastened to reply. “And I think we’re ready to order…” A quick glance around encouraged her to continue. “I will have the Flayed Monkfish with a side of Lashed Squash…  by the way, what is lashed squash?” A part of Carol was reluctant to know more, but curiosity got the best of her.

“It’s butternut squash prepared in the similar fashion as the Hasselback potatoes - sliced straight down just short of cutting all the way through with rich red ragu between the thin wedges. It’s to die for, even if I say so myself.” The waiter swallowed as if it was her mouth that was watering.

“How about the No Resistance Vegetable Mousseline with Sauce Nantua for Harge, your husband?” Abby suggested to Carol, carefully punctuating her last two words. “Just run it through a sieve a couple of times more so he won’t choke on it”, she told the waiter. “I’ll have the Joan of Arc Special… yes, the flame-grilled piece of meat.” Abby shut the hefty menu with an unnecessarily loud bang.

“Carol’s succulent filet sounds tempting,” Therese said, enjoying the deepening color on her boss’ cheeks. “If this dish is really to die for, then I guess I’d kill for it.” Hearing Therese’s wicked follow-up, Abby shot a frenzied look at Dannie who suddenly appeared paler than the ale in his beer glass.       

“You won’t be disappointed,” ensured the waiter. “I promise you have never tasted anything like it… “ She cast a curious look around. “Has anyone else had the privilege of sampling this delicacy before?” Therese was shooting daggers at Abby who lost the grip of the menu she had still been holding in her hands. She was only too happy to dive under the table to get it back. “No..?” Oblivious to any display of animosity, the waiter turned to Dannie. “How about you, sir?”

“I’ve never touched it!” Dannie exclaimed, terrified by his trigger-happy compatriots.

“I mean what would you like to order, sir?” The waiter explained, confused by her patron's disproportionate outburst.

“Oh… oh...” Dannie stammered. “I’ll have the Steak Tartare with carrots and fries.” His copy of the menu appeared slightly smudged but he was certain he’d gotten it right.

“It’s actually Steak Torture, sir,” the waiter corrected. “A bit of a wordplay spiced with delicious French pronunciation to underline our signature flair.”

For once Therese turned her attention to their waiter. “You’ve tortured the poor cow? Is that it?” She had never heard anything so ludicrous.

“OH NO!” The waiter hurried to explain. “ABSOLUTELY NOT!” The expression on the woman’s face was shocked. “It refers to the presentation, not to Buttercup’s rich and rewarding life.” She had to stop to catch her distraught breath.

“BUTTERCUP?” All five seated at the table looked equally stunned.

“During the meal you will be provided with a complimentary photo album of our prize heifer, Buttercup,” the waiter declared proudly. “We hope that seeing what a happy and fulfilling life she led, grazing organic grass and bonding with other farm animals, will enhance your dining experience.”

Dannie couldn’t get a word out of his mouth nor could anyone else. Even after the waiter had left the table they sat in silence for a considerable amount of time.

The anxious look on Harge’s face alerted Abby to action.”Oh-oh, I’m afraid the medieval Shirley is pushing through already. I need to get him to the toilet. Carol - will you give me a hand?”

Before Carol could get on her feet, Therese patted Dannie on the shoulder. “Be a dear and help Miss Gerhard. I don’t think it’s proper for two women to escort a man to the men’s room.“ Dannie sure as hell didn’t like the idea any more than Abby did, but when the both of them noticed Carol’s eagerness to remain seated, they knew they’d lost the battle even before it had begun.

“Now be a good boy, Harge, and let Mr. McElroy help you. There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, darling, we’re all friends here.” Carol couldn’t wait to get rid of them.

When they were finally alone, Therese cleared her throat. “Tonight didn’t quite turn out the way I hoped it would,” she said after a short silence.

Pensive, Carol smoothened the collar of her dress between her fingers. “It’s early,” she replied. “What have you ruined that can’t still be fixed?” Carol’s question wafted flirtatiously in the air between them, reluctant to attach any distinct meaning to its curiosity.    

If you only knew, Therese thought. “What happens after the exhibition is over and done with?” she asked instead, ignoring the open question.

“What do you mean ‘what happens’?” Carol demanded to know.

What happens tous was what Therese had really wanted to ask. She was on the verge of telling Carol everything and risking not only her own but also Dannie’s future in the process. “I mean what do you plan to do afterwards?” she acquiesced to say.

Carol was disappointed but this time she hid it well. “I suppose something else will come along,” she said without really thinking. “Life goes on and we adapt to it.” Her voice was quiet and resigned.

“Don’t you think we should seize a real opportunity if we are being presented with it, no matter what the consequences are?” The challenge that formed out of Therese’s words awakened Carol once more.

“You think so?” Carol’s eyes sought the truth behind Therese’s boldness. “At any cost?” She wasn’t sure what Therese was saying, or if any of it could be applied to her personal situation, but the abrupt fierceness in her assistant’s attitude electrified and aroused her all the same. Her heart racing, Carol knew that everything she had accepted as normal and unchanging was suddenly shifting inside her, turning her humdrum life into something risky and new.      

“People complicate their wants and needs, yet wanting itself is not complex at all. It is very straightforward.” The two Spanish Inquisitions egged Therese on. “You recognize what you want and you go after it. You beg, borrow and - steal.”

Carol’s heart jumped up to her throat chased by a swarm of butterflies from the pit of her stomach. “So if we’re all thieves, what is it that you would like to steal?”

Therese held her breath while the obvious answer whirled around in her bewildered brain. You. You. You.

The moment of revelation was ruined by the arrival of Abby, Dannie and Harge - and their overeager waiter who wanted to delight the diners with the kitchen’s culinary greeting. While she was busy setting it up, Abby decided to have some fun of her own at the expense of the establishment’s grim style.

“So what is this called? Hopefully not an ‘abuse bouche’?” she chuckled.

The waiter didn’t find her joke funny at all. “This is a Thoma S’More, and we invite each guest to take part in its preparation.” She handed everyone a metal skewer that held a plump marshmallow. “On your appetizer plates you have a layer of very bitter dark chocolate on top of a millet cracker made according to a revised 16th century recipe.” The sad, square cookie had a year ‘1516’ pressed on it. “While you are roasting the marshmallow on this miniature fire, you will be treated to a reading of Utopia in Latin via bluetooth speakers embedded on the sides of your tabletop. Please enjoy!”

The dreary, monotonous recital that soon followed freaked Dannie out. “How do you turn this damn chanting off?” he agonized, searching frantically for some hidden switch underneath the table.

“I don’t think we can,” Carol said. “Let's just make the best of it.” She sighed, unhappy to have missed Therese’s reply to her important question.

Therese, too, was venting her frustration. “I don’t know what these people are hoping to achieve but so far they’ve done pretty much the opposite. Besides, Thomas More was not burned at the stake, he was beheaded.”

Spoon-feeding Harge his share of white gooeyness, Abby shrugged her shoulders. “More, s’more - burned, schmurned - who cares? I’d keep that not-so-juicy juicy tidbit to myself and not antagonize the chef here just for the sake of being historically accurate.” Others, Therese included, seemed to agree. In any case, private roasting felt much better than having a hooded member of the staff mince their hors d’oeuvres with an axe.         

“What the fuck is this?” Dannie whispered to Therese after the waiter had placed his meal in front of him. The plate, or rather a small coffin resembling an iron maiden, had a huge chunk of raw meat in it. A raw egg yolk was balanced on top of it with sprinkled cayenne pepper pricking the yellow membrane.

“Steak Tartare,” Therese said, finding Dannie’s question funny. “Sorry, I meant Torture.” For Dannie, the hefty portion was already delivering what its name promised.

“Where’s that lovely thick tarragon sauce? And you know how I like my steaks...” Understanding Dannie’s helplessness, Therese took pity on him. She waved at the waiter.

“Would you take this back and bring the gentleman The Joan of Arc Special instead.” She pushed Dannie’s untouched plate toward the waiter. “And make sure his Joan is well-done.”

“Pretty decent grub,” Abby mumbled, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a rough-hewn hemp napkin. Even Harge looked relatively pleased although his meal had left much to be desired.  

“It was wonderful,” Carol chimed in. “Sheer deliciousness.” She looked at Therese and smiled. “Thank you for arranging this.” Her candid moment was short-lived, thanks to Dannie.

“I do feel bad about Buttercup though…” he said, browsing the complimentary mini album. “Or maybe I have an aversion to knowing the name of the animal I’ve just eaten.”

Therese stood up, not wanting to think about the finished meal. Time was running out, and she had still not made her move. “I’m going to step into the powder room for a sec… Carol, care to join me?”  She could feel Abby glaring at her but it simply didn’t matter to her, not now.

Carol excused herself and followed Therese to the toilet. “What is it?” Carol asked as soon as the heavy door of the ladies’ room had closed behind them. “Is everything alright?”

Therese’s eyes darted around, and only when she was quite certain they were alone in the spacious lounge did she feel comfortable enough to look straight into Carol’s eyes. “What if things don’t work out the way we’ve planned so far?” she started out. “What if… something goes terribly wrong with the exhibition and you… you…” Therese couldn’t help it, the words got stuck in her throat. “Would you… would you…” Would you feel so severely betrayed that you wouldn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore? How hard is it to get this out of my system? The train of her thought rushed forward like the crazy locomotive it had always been, and it prevented her from grasping the true implication of Carol’s simple answer.

“Yes, yes I would.”