HAPPY ENDINGS
"It happens."
"Not to me."
The young woman moved off and lay next to him in the dimly lighted loft. There was a small silence.
"You already paid for the night. There's another hour left. I could... give you a happy ending."
Neal laughed coldly as he sat up on his side of the bed and stared out at the balcony, moonlight streaming in through his french doors.
"I say something funny?"
"No. It's just a friend told me once...happy endings aren't for guys like me. You should get dressed. I'll call a cab."
He stood, slipped on his pants and followed the moonlight's trail out onto the balcony. The young woman gathered up her clothes. Seduction was as much a part of him as the skin on his body. Tonight he didn't want to work. He never had to go looking for female companionship, women came to him. Sex was easy and uncomplicated, but nothing seemed easy and uncomplicated now, even the world's oldest transaction.
"Hey, you OK?" she asked the man standing in the shadows.
"Fine. I'm fine," he forced a smile.
"I could stay. I mean if you ...just if you wanted company? No charge."
For the first time that night he really looked at the woman he picked up four blocks from the Bureau's offices. The red shirt that was slightly frayed at the hem, the jeans that seemed at least one size too large. Her dark blond hair fell in loose curls around her face, which had little makeup and looked remarkably young and pale in the moonlight.
"How old are you?"
"Old enough," she says in a rush. Her hair falls across her face, she tucks it behind her ear and seems even younger. "You can call that cab anytime."
"Listen, if you want to clean up first, there's a shower down the hall."
"I guess I should take off my shoes then."
Before he could say it didn't matter she pulled them off and set them down in the hallway.
It was only a few days ago he stood in this same spot looking out at the night sky, while Ellen busied herself in his kitchen, making his favorite foods, fussing over him, catering to him like she did when he was a little boy. A huge choking pain filled him, and snaked around his heart. She loved him and she deserved so much better. Time was moving, the world was moving on. He couldn't make it stop. There was nothing he could do.
He finds himself at the kitchen sink, rubbing his fingers over the blue enameled cast iron pot Ellen gave him. "Promise me you'll cook more, put some meat on those bones," she smiled. "I hunted all over the city today to find this. Nearly drove the Marshal's crazy. Reminds me of a pot I had when you were just a tiny thing. I lost it last time we moved, we had to leave so fast." He remembers her slipping an arm around his waist and pulling him in close.
"Hey, I'm done," the woman emerged from the bathroom. "Thanks."
"It's the least I could do."
He moved toward her and placed an envelope into her hand. "I'll get that cab now."
"Whoa... this is much more than we agreed."
"Take it."
"No. I'm not some charity case," her face already pinked from the heat of the shower, flushed even deeper.
"I didn't mean to offend you, I simply..."
She begins to sway, and he reached out to steady her.
"You're going to be OK?"
"Yeah, it's a blood sugar thing."
"Sit down, Neal says. "When did you last eat"?
"I don't know. I had some coffee and a doughnut this morning."
"It's eight," Neal shook his head.
He moved to the cupboard and withdrew a silver and red colored tin and several dishes. Then to the refrigerator and retrieved two types of cheese. She watched him closely as he gathered a few more items.
"When I was a kid, we didn't have a lot of food. Supper was whatever you could scrounge up. Now I got to watch my weight, you know. Gain a couple of pounds, it's not good for business. I eat to survive."
"How's that working for you?"he smiled.
She doesn't tell him that she's always hungry, ravenously hungry...transcendentally hungry.
"I can't remember the last time I had a real meal, if you don't include the combo meal at McDonald's."
"Well, we should change that."
He opened the small tin and broke off a golden fragment of it's contents.
"Try this."
"What is it?
"Close your eyes. I promise I won't bite."
The simple action made all her other senses that more acute.
"Open up," he placed the small fragment in her mouth. Her senses reeled as the tiny structure shattered on her tongue, as if she'd bitten into bliss itself.
"Good?"
"Wow! What was that? She sat back savoring the flavor.
"Honeycomb. Not only will it slowly raise your blood sugar, it's just about the perfect food."
Rayon de miel, ray of sunshine Ellen called it, the first time she gave him a bite. It was such a thing of beauty he thought, sturdy but fragile. "Aunt Ellen, how do the bees get the honey inside?' he asked between sticky gloppy bites of goodness.
"Are you some kind of chef?"
"No. I just had someone to teach me about food. I was a picky eater when I was a kid. Naturally skinny, it was a struggle for my mom to get me to eat and keep my weight up. A friend of the family took an interest."
The childhood memories flooded him. His appetite was small and he would become full easily, hunger was sporadic and not much of a motivator. If Ellen found something he really liked she would cook if for him every day, sometimes two to three times a day. Secretly she would change it up, add an additional spice another ingredient until his food interests blossomed and suddenly he was hungry.
He took a slice of bread and popped it into the toaster, sliced a bit of Havarti and a wedge of Maytag. The toast done, he broke another fragment of honeycomb. The golden liquid leaked out and ran down his hands. He ladled more onto the toast alongside the cheeses.
"Here, this should have your blood sugar back to normal in no time, he placed the dish in front of her. Don't rush it. I'm going to take a shower. Then we are going to have a proper meal."
She continued to sit at the kitchen table after he left and almost cried. Her relationship with men was all about pleasing them. Her pleasure never entered the equation. She couldn't remember the last time anyone tried to please her and to feel it now with the simple yet shattering taste of one morsel at the hand of a stranger...was overwhelming. She realized she didn't even know his name.
Ten minutes later he emerged from his bath. It seemed to have washed away the pain from those dazzling blue eyes she glimpsed when she first met him. He looked younger to her now, thick dark hair slightly tousled, a slight darkening of beard stubble setting off the angular planes of that face. Not quite boyish, but not quite grown up either.
"Rule number one, everyone in the kitchen works," he tied an apron around her waist.
He moved with a calm and grace that was hypnotic. He set out jars of olives and boxes of almonds. His fingers swept over the pear he cupped in his hand. Not one unnecessary move as he deftly sliced into the ripe flesh and handed to her to try. Food was coming so fast and freely it was dizzying.
"OK, reach me that blue cast iron pot."
"Sure, what are you going to make?
"What are we going to make," he smiles over at her. "I need you to get some brown sugar, some vanilla extract and cinnamon sticks from the cupboard, and those peaches on the counter."
He pulled down a bottle of White Turkey Spirit bourbon and grabbed unsalted butter from the fridge. He turned the oven up to 425 degrees.
"Now, place your peaches stem down into the pot. That's right, but don't let them touch. Then go ahead and poke each one with a fork. It keeps them from bursting on you."
Meanwhile he brings a mixture of water, brown sugar and cinnamon to a boil. Then gradually stirs in the bourbon, vanilla and butter.
"How you coming with the peaches?
"I'm done, that smells awesome."
His butter melted into swirls of nutty foam, he comes to her and spoons the mixture over the peaches.
"I've never cooked anything in my life, she said her breathing slightly up. Now what?"
"Into the oven for ten minutes. You did good."
He pulled two wine glasses from the rack and picked a 2008 Cabernet Sauvignon. She can still taste the spicy sweet caramel bits that clung to her fingers. He poured the wine. A smile of anticipation spread through her body.
"Let it breathe first," he swirled the deeply red liquid against the glass.
"24."
"Hmm?"
"You asked how old I am. I'm 24."
"I shared a bottle like this with someone who was 24...a long time ago. Toast," he raised his glass to hers. "To taking the time to feed our bodies with good food and our souls with good company."
She took her first sip, the aroma was strong and the taste smooth against her throat. In that moment she felt she could let go of everything.
"Now for the main course," his eyes light up with memories he'd stored away within himself. It was Ellen's birthday. He was eight and decided breakfast in bed would be his gift. Breakfast was her favorite meal and eggs her favorite food. What could go wrong? A spectacularly failed egg became a lesson in life , love and food. She hugged him like he was moving to another city and she wouldn't see him for months. Then she instructed him on the perfect way to poach an egg. "Neal, there are two rules I want you to remember. You should always be kind and eggs should always quiver."
He gathered the asparagus, 4 slices of Prosciutto, two eggs, and olive oil. Bringing a shallow pot of water to a simmer, he turned to his transfixed assistant. "OK, pointing to the eggs, crack those into that bowl there." He began to stir the water with a large wooden spoon until a whirlpool formed in the center. "This is the trick to a perfectly poached egg," he smiled. He took the bowl from her hands and dropped one egg in the center of the swirling water. Now cook 2-3 minutes until the whites are fully cooked and the yolks are quivering. Perfect." Ellen would be proud, he thought.
They ate in virtual silence. It was so simple yet so completely satisfying and nourishing. The food had long stopped serving an excuse for the two lonely people being together. It spoke to communion, community, home... a refuge from collective frailties. Eating would forever be associated with this night. Whatever memories she would create from here on would be of home, not the home of the past but the home she would create. She was grateful.
"You up for dessert?"
"Are you kidding, me?
The smell alone was threatening her with an out of body experience. He lovingly spooned the caramelized perfection from the bottom of the blue cast iron pot onto the gorgeously roasted peaches, topped them with a dollop of Greek yogurt and a pinch of salt. If she was standing she'd have to sit. She blurted out
"I have a kid, his name is Jack."
"How old is Jack?"
"He's four going on forty, they grow up so fast you know. He lives upstate with his grandma. When I get things straight, I'm gonna get him back. Do you want to see a picture?"
"Sure. Jack's smiling face beamed at him from his mother's phone. "He's beautiful, has your eyes."
They sat in silence for a while, full.
"Well, I guess I better get going. Can I help you with all of this?"
"Thanks, but I think I'd just like to sit for awhile. I'll get you that cab. Oh, just one thing."
He walked to the kitchen and retrieved the silver and red tin.
"Give this to Jack. Tell him to resist the urge to spit out the wax. Once the honey is gone, let the comb sit on his tongue. It will soften into a sweet gum he can chew for hours."
From his balcony he watched the young woman get into the cab below. The moon was high in the night sky. If we aren't hungry for anything really, we aren't living Ellen told him long ago. She gave him the gift of hunger, hunger for food, for experiences, for life. Her words came back to him again like a whisper on the warm night air "Neal, promise me you'll cook more. " He felt satisfied as he stood making promises on the moon.
The end.
Author's note: The only thing I love as much as words is food. I've been on this dreadful diet lately of chicken breasts and bags of lettuce. Consequently, I've been positively hallucinating every great food experience I've ever had. I try to maintain sanity and keep body and soul together by re watching episodes of White Collar. I don't know why I keep hoping Eastin and company will give a satisfying emotional resolution to all these losses poor Neal has had to endure, but until then... fan fiction. I think he deserves a good meal. Hope you enjoyed, if you have any good recipes send them along.
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