They sat together. She eating bread, he watching as she placed the piece of thickly buttered sourdough between her lips, her teeth cutting through the slice, her jaw moving as she chewed, her hand holding the small end piece out to him as she smiled.
‘No Sweetie, thanks but you look like you’re enjoying it so much.’ He said as he placed his hand atop hers on the table.
She nodded languidly as she popped the offering into her mouth, her fingers touching her lips, her eyes closed as she teased the remaining crumbs from her fingers.
He continued to watch her, he loved it when she came home from assignment. The first thing she did was visit him for a full meal. Starter, main and dessert, and the creamier the better. She had often said that food to her was something only to be engaged in at home. Watching her he could see why.
When she was away she ate only green salad with no dressing, if her manager had seen her eat like she was now, he would go mental, call her names. After ten years she had grown used to it, but she still kept her eating habit her dirty secret. She had an image to maintain. She exuded the heroine chic image. Of course it was all so silly really, she was six foot two in her stockinged feet, blonde with a size eight hourglass figure. She was Martine. But at twenty six all she really wanted to do was retire then eat.
***
Jacob had met her when she had been prowling the aisles of an epicure store. In her basket she had had and iceberg lettuce, a capsicum and a Lebanese cucumber. In hi basket he had green fetta stuffed olives, tapenade, freshly sliced leg ham, triple cream brie and fig jam. He noticed he because she seemed to following he around the store. She had tried to hide her interest in his purchases but had failed. Her furtive glances had made him smile, until he finally spoke to her.
‘You know, at the deli counter all of these things could be yours.’ He said with the widest friendliest grin he could muster. If only he had known then that what he thought was an inviting smile, looked like a Christopher Lee movie to her.
Martine was unaccustomed to people speaking to her. Staring and pointing yes, but talking, no. She had jumped and started apologising as she was used to doing when she got it wrong on set or someone was having a go for seemingly no good reason. She hadn’t even realized she been following this poor man around the store like a love sick puppy. She was there to smell the cheese, watch the salami be cut into slices and breathe in the aroma in the air. She was there to feel the olives in oil in their vacuum packed bags, to imagine them on her tongue, the roundness coated in smooth flavoured oil. She was there for sensation.
She didn’t come to these places to buy food, she had a chef, paid for by her manager, taken out of her salary, to cook all her meals. It was rare that she even got away from her keepers, her mother, her manager, her chef for such a sensory treat. She donned her sunnies, her headscarf and a baggy kaftan and slipped out of the door. Now here she was, standing in heaven apologising to a stranger for something she didn’t know she had done. Recognized.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realize I was following you. Sorry to offend.’ She said.
He placed his hand on her arm, ‘don’t worry ‘bout it love, no harm done. You just had the look of an animal that hadn’t eaten in weeks.’
His warm amber eyes behind the thick rimmed glasses shone out at her. At a guess she would put him in his late forties, but she was usually wrong about people ages once they got into their thirties. He was about foot shorter than her, but then most men she met were. He looked kind, like Santa looks like everybody’s friend.
‘Try years.’ She said before she could stop herself.
Her hand flew to her mouth as if to stop herself speaking more.
‘Do I know you?’ he asked, his eyes squinting as if taking a better look.
The question jolted her and she regained her composure, ‘I don’t think so.’
She turned away and walked from the shop putting her basket of green and purple leaves by the front door.
***
It was three months before they saw each other again. He had spent the time thinking on occasion about the strange girl he’d seen, trying to place where he knew her from. She’d been to the catwalks of London, Paris, Milan and New York. She was wearing the same headscarf and sunglasses but the slight tan was new.
Upon seeing her again, ‘I see you are still surviving on rabbit food,’ he had decided he would start with a little comedy after their last encounter. He needed to know which side of the family she came from. She was standing in front of the deli counter watching the cheese wire come down on a wheel of brie. Her tongue running along her top lip, sharp, just like the wire slicing an almost invisible line through the soft cheese, but her basket held only salad. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him approach the counter and turned to look at him.
‘Ohh, Hi. Long time no see.’ She still felt guilty about her rudeness the first time they met and the contents of his basket had featured in a dream or several over the last few months. She’d been in twelve times since then, hoping to see him and apologise. ‘Your basket is empty.’
He looked down, then back up at her, smiling.
She realized as soon as she’d said it, it was dumb so she quickly added, ‘What you here for today?
‘Bit’a cheese, cold meats, some veggies and steak. Why are you so interested in my shopping?’
‘Just trying to make conversation, sorry.’
‘Stop apologising, you’ve done nothing wrong. By the way, I’ve been trying to figure out how I know you, and I can’t. You not related to Auntie Muriel at all are you?’
‘Nope, I don’t think so. I’m sure it will come to you at some point.’ She smiled as she turned back to watch the cheese being picked up by the server, placed on a paper sheet, wrapped, labeled and passed to the purchaser.
While she stood there, he ordered his goodies. She watched as the server sliced meats, spooned olives and salads into small plastic tubs. Then she watched as he picked the tubs and packets from the top of the counter and transferred them into his basket.
‘Would you like scotch fillet or sirloin?’
‘Hah, pardon?’ His voice brought her back from the small white paper wrapped packets.
‘Would you like scotch fillet or sirloin steak?’ he asked again.
‘I’m sorry I don’t understand.’
‘Well, seeing as you have drooled over the entire contents of this deli counter and we seem to family, the least you can do is help me eat my purchases.’ She was looking at him with a look of confusion.
He turned back to the server, ‘two thick cut Scotch fillets thanks.’
‘I don’t think we are related, you know.’ She said as she followed him from the shop, carrying most of the shopping. He was carrying the veggies to go with the steak.
‘No, but you seem to really need some good food. I eat alone most days, but love to cook, so why not eat together?’
She followed him without argument. She knew it was crazy thing to do and she was somewhat confused by her wilful action. Her mother was going to kill her when she got home, but she needed to get away from her life for just the afternoon and this wacky rotund guy seemed like he wanted to help, but didn’t know why.
They walked for about ten minutes in silence, she lagging behind and taking in her surrounds. She noticed when the people walking towards them recognized her, her companion didn’t and for that she was glad. He was happy leading the way, a slight distance between them and to most it would be hard to tell they were travelling together. Suddenly he turned into the lobby of a tall white building, he placed his bags at his feet, swiped his entry keys and held the door open for her to enter.
‘Welcome to my home.’
‘Thanks. I take it you don’t live in the lobby?’ She said with the first smile she revealed to him. It was wide and filled with beautiful straight white teeth.
‘I’ve got it!’ Her shoulders hunched trying to make herself smaller in the hope of disappearing at the thought he recognized her.
‘You must be from Humbert side of the family, no one in the Barry family would have such nice teeth without having spent an absolute bloody fortune at the dentist.’
They stepped into the mirror lined lift and start travelling up. The little light tracked its way up from G past 5 and onto 9. It continued up but stops at 11. Martine took a step forward. He doesn’t.
‘Someone’s getting in.’
A woman in her fifties got in, swipes her key and pressed 14.
They all stood in silence but Martine could feel the woman’s eyes on her, reflected out from the mirrors on the walls. The lift stopped and as the woman left she turned and through the closing doors Martine and Jacob hear, ‘I love your work.’
Jacob turned to look at Martine and said, ‘I had no idea that woman knew I’m an antique restorer.’
Martine laughed. Jacob just looked at her confused before leading her from the lift to the door to the right of the big 18 in front of the lift. He opened the door and walked through, he held the door open so she could step back in time to the mid nineteenth century. On shots she’d been to some amazing places, but they had always been stately homes with the original furniture. Jacob seemed to have relocated an English Country manor home across the seas to a penthouse in Surry Hills.
‘Have you restored all this?’ she asked.
‘Some of it.’
She followed him slowly, taking in her surrounds until he reached the kitchen and put the bags on the counter. Then he came back to her and took the bags from her, ‘Make yourself at home, have a look around.’
She walked around and as she did she removed her sunglasses and headscarf. She took in the wing chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet and ran her hand along the back. Her soft hands were rivalled by the texture of the nap bending beneath them, then springing back up as they past. The rosewood coffee table drew her eye and not because it had exquisite mahogany inlay, but because of the copy of Marie Claire with her in a white cotton t-shirt and black leather skirt splashed on the front cover roughly placed near the far corner. She walked over, picked it up and started flicking through the pages. She’s known he knew really. No ones that nice.
As she held the magazine, he called to her and she turned to face him, confront him.
‘Ohh my daughter does that all the time, sorry, she stays here when I’m away but she always leaves her girlie magazines here.’ I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you have it. There’s probably one in the bathroom too.’
‘Not yours then?’ She had to ask.
‘Arr, No! that stuff is so silly, and those poor girls. They all need feeding up,’ he paused for dramatic effect, ‘just like you.’ He smiled at her and held up a big wooden chopping board covered in cheese, dried figs, apricots and olives.
She couldn’t help laughing again.
‘Why do you keep laughing at me? He asked. ‘Not that I mind of course, a beautiful girl like you should be laughing with her hair flowing behind her like you are now. You shouldn’t be skulking about in deli’s wearing grannies headscarf and sunglasses as big as your face.’
As she walked away from the coffee table and crossed the several metres to the dining area were he had placed the platter on the dining table, she still carried the magazine.
‘You really don’t know how we know each other do you?’
‘It’ll come to me, I know it will.’
‘It won’t you know.’ She looked at him and smiled again, ‘because we don’t know each other, but you do recogise me, but don’t why. Would you like to know why you know me?’
‘Oh for Christ’s sake girl, just tell me.’ He had his hands on his hips and a wide smile on his face.
She looked down at the magazine and turned it around so the cover was facing him, ‘because you’ve seen me peering from the pages of your daughter’s magazines and wanted to fatten me up.’
She looked at him as he stared at the magazine she was holding, she smiled when he looked up at her and then back at the image on the cover.
‘Well in that case, my dear, there is no time to waste. Tuck in.’ he picked up the cheese knife, cut a wedge of brie, he cut a dried fig in half and put the two together on top of a waver thin cracker and presented it to her, with a flourish of a butler announcing a visitor.
‘In this house we only eat the best and richest of food. When I want to eat healthy, which is rare, I put fresh apple on my cheese. Don’t worry about crumbs, I have a Dyson and those things will suck a bowling ball I hear.’ He was smiling again.
She was standing there with tears of laughter running down her face. It had been a very long time, she reached forward and took the cracker from his outstretched fingers. She held it, looking at it with consideration until she had calmed down. Then she brought it up to her face, past her lips to her nose where she inhaled deeply. She took in the smoky aroma of the fig, sliced to reveal the tiny yellowed seeds before taking in the creamy mouldy smell of the cheese. The cracker had a dusty aroma of its own, but nothing compared to the fig and cheese. She opened her mouth wide and placed the combination on her tongue then slowly closed her lips around it. She held it there before moving her jaw to crush the flavours together, releasing them onto her taste buds. She closed her eyes and hugged herself as saliva flowed, washing the tastes around her mouth then ultimately down her throat. After she’d swallowed she continued to stand there with her eyes closed. Breathing deeply, reliving the sensations all over again before she realised there was a pile of cheese and figs in front of her and disapproving eyes where nowhere near. She took a lump of brie and put a fig on it, she didn’t bother with the cracker, it was a filler; no purpose but to stop you from consuming too much of the expensive King Island Double Brie.
Jacob stood in the kitchen looking at the scene before him. He really had had no idea she was THE Martine, come to think of it, he didn’t even know who Martine was. She was simply the girl standing in his dining area savouring cheese and biscuits like a cigar connoisseur would savour a fine hand rolled Cuban or a wine expect would taste, swill, a finally swallow (despite training that says spit) a 1987 Grange Hermitage. He felt a stirring in his boxers.
He raised the wooden mallet above his head and brought it down with force onto the steak before him. The bang calmed him down and snapped her out of her cheesy feeding frenzy.
‘I’d better stop eating this, I managed nearly a whole wheel.’
He lifted the hammer and brought it down again.
‘How long has it been since you ate cheese?’
‘About nine years.’ She walked over the kitchen counter and pulled out a stool to sit. He watched her move and realised he should have noticed that she wasn’t just a skinny girl who couldn’t afford the food in the deli. Over the years as an antique dealer in London he’d seen her type many times. Girls masquerading as women with money to spend and people who controlled the purse strings. They’d come in and see a whimsical Spode plate that they liked for its beauty or simplicity, but the purse strings would convince them it was a waste, but the chest of drawers or bureau was a much better investment. He’d moved to Sydney upon retiring at 55, with his only daughter following a few years later. He liked the sun, sand and beaches and the bevy of beautiful young ladies who needed a good feed to go with their tan.
Martine moved like a cat, sleek and without any sudden movements. Except when eating. She ate like a tiger after a fortnight without a kill. She tore at her food with fervour, devouring the scents and tastes like it was her first. But then he supposed when a carnivore ate leaves they where bound to descend into madness upon the sight of meat. She’d asked for a medium rare steak. He’d questioned that choice seeing as this a very fine cut.
She’d changed her order to blue, the reason; she didn’t want to offend because most people found it offensive that someone would have blood on their plate.
‘Personally, I think if the cow was herded through the kitchen and a slice take on it’s way through then the slice waved over the heat on its way to the plate, it still wouldn’t be rare enough.’
This girl a rare gem, he thought.
After she had left he looked at the plates she had left behind. She’d eaten far more than he believed she could have. After the cheese she’d eaten a steak with cauliflower, carrots, broccoli and mashed potatoes made with cream. She’d also polished off the sticky date pudding with ice cream he’d placed before her.
Jacob leant forward and picked up the plate she had used for the steak, it was smeared with gravy and a small smudge of English mustard. He placed the knife and folk on the cheese board and brought the plate to his nose. He inhaled before carefully putting it down again.
He walked into the kitchen and reached into the cupboard above the work bench. From it he pulled a silver disc before walking over to the DVD player and switching on the telly. He placed the disc in the waiting player, pressed a few buttons and pressed ‘play’.
The picture sprung to life.
There she was. Eating.
He could hear her, see her all over again.
He walked back to the table and picked up the plate again with both hands. He raised it to his face before sniffing once again. Then he licked it from side to side, in one long sweeping gesture. He moved it down to look at the television. He inhaled deeply. His chesting rising, his eyes fluttering.
She was placing the fig on the brie.
He lifted the plate and licked it again, cleaning the surface in a series of rapid movements.
When he was done he stood and studied the surface of the plate. It was white, with a small blue rim and gold leave. He turned it over. Royal Dolton. He had picked perfectly this time. Regal china for a goddess.
He put the plate down on the table again and returned to the kitchen. He open the crockery cupboard and pulled out a stack of plates. He opened the cupboard under the sink with his toe and dropped the plates into the bin with a crash. A few broke, but mostly they remained whole.
He walked over the sofa in front of the telly via the table were he picked up her plate again. He sat down.
He loosened his belt and undid his fly, pushed down his pants to reveal his hard cock.
The images played out in front of him. She was drinking from a glass of red wine. He had just placed the steak and veggie in front of her. She was pouring the gravy and laughing.
He couldn’t remember what he’d said. He didn’t care now.
He looked at the plate in his hand then carefully touched the surface to the tip of his cock. He took a deep breath then circled it around, pushing his cock hard onto the surface with a slight rise of his hips.
His breath came shorter as he masturbated with the plate, running the rim through the slit at the end. Rubbing the greasy surface the length of him. The whole time he watched the screen, watched her lifting the fork to her mouth and chewing. The muscles in her neck boobing as she swallowed.
After just a few minutes he came. He shot his come onto the plate then swilled it around, watching it move slowly. It’s thick creamy white coating the plate just as his saliva had before it and the gravy had before that.
He placed the plate on the coffee table next the magazine with her face on the cover.
He watched the rest of her film. A film she didn’t know she was the star of.
When the film finished, he pushed his cock into his pants, closed his trousers and stood up. The player opened on his command and the shiny disc was revealed. He picked it up between his fingers and placed it in the centre of the plate, the sticky semen sucking it down.
After clearing up the dining table and washing up he returned to the plate on the coffee table. Picking it up, he held it on its side. When the disc did not move he smiled and slowly walked to the Eighteenth century dresser on the other side of the dining room.
In front of him was a row of sixteen plates, all different and all on their sides with a shiny disc in the centre, slotted neatly into the plate rack.
He placed Martine’s Blue and Gold Royal Dolton in the next slot of the twenty four.
