You’ve missed them, we know you have–missed ’em so so bad. So! Fret no more. They are back. Marta, the mother of Bad, Bad Love itself, and Aunt Pearl. Maybe not everybody needs a Marta in their lives, but we all need an Aunt Pearl, and if you didn’t have one (poor, poor you), well, this is your chance to live vicariously, as we offer up, for your reading delectation, Installment XVIII of our serialized novella, entitled The Will of Venus (Otherwise Known As A Fairy-Tale for Superwomen).
Wherein Livia, with senses already dulled (or heightened, depending on what you want to use your senses for) by two Valium, declines lunch on her flight and opts instead for a bourbon.
Wherein Livia and the Valium and the bourbon begin to meditate on the morrow’s dinner menu, for Danae’s 40th birthday celebration.
Wherein the mind wanders, as Valium and bourbon are wont to make it do, especially when combined. And the most logical place for the mind to wander, when journeying to meet a sister, is to the past…
If you’d like a refresher before proceeding to the new course, this here link will take you right back to the hors d’oeuvre phase, from whence you can nibble your way forward at your own damn pace.
~
Peach Chiffon
Chicken or lasagna? Neither. But she would have a glass of white wine. Dry, please.
“We have a Chablis,” responded the steward. There was the slightest hint of an apology in his voice; Livia took the hint.
“Bourbon on the rocks.”
The steward nodded approval.
Livia was fond of flying. She was fond of airplanes, of any form of long-distance transportation that required no effort from her. Time stopped; it was suspended, arrested, motionless. Livia could think with astonishing clarity when she was in an airplane. Well, maybe not today. She had taken two Valium and she was sipping bourbon. She wondered if Danae, on the day before her fortieth birthday, had looked at the tiny, labelless bottle yet. She probably had. Several times.
Her seat was beside the window, and there was no one else on her row. No seatmate, good–she was not eager to engage in any form of conversation. The idea of an airplane conversation was particularly distasteful. The Valium and the bourbon took her mind a-wandering, and it was soon rehearsing the menu for the following evening–lobster and leek in dill cream (very light on the dill, she reminded herself), en brioche.
The herb packet for the first course would go into the filling, hopefully not darkening its creamy color, although Livia was willing to sacrifice aesthetic appeal if it would prevent Danae from taking the tiny bottle from her dressing table, removing its stopper, and swallowing the contents, irrevocably.
The second course, Livia had decided, after much deliberation, would be baked catfish stuffed with crab and crayfish, heavily spiced with filet and cayenne, like in a gumbo. One had to take advantage of local specialties whenever possible. Wanda’s herbs would go into the filling. They would be completely invisible, Livia congratulated herself, because of the dark earthy tints of filet and cayenne.
She would have enjoyed placing before Bretton something he absolutely detested. But the herbs were for Bretton as well as for Danae. With heavy regrets, Livia had abandoned the idea of partridge in raspberry marinade for her main course. She had chosen, instead, rack of lamb, roasted with baby potatoes, tiny carrots, shallots, and crimini mushrooms. The herbs could be mixed unobtrusively into the garlic and rosemary marinade; the meat would have all day to soak up their benefits.
Livia smiled, imagining Bretton’s enormous nose (which did not, she reluctantly admitted, detract from his sexual appeal), the meaty lips, the pointed white teeth. Bretton was enamored of red meat. He would undoubtedly ask for seconds.
Dessert. The only unresolved problem.
Chocolate. Something chocolate…Tarts? No. Wanda had said absolutely no tarts. Livia assumed that this restriction also applied to tarts made with sugar instead of with Wanda’s liquid. She felt a hopeful throb in the hollow at the base of her throat at the mere thought of the tarts. No, definitely no tarts.
Chocolate mousse? Chocolate mousse in paper-thin pastry cups, swimming in creme anglaise? Livia’s mouth watered, and then there was a faint taste of something sweet. Drowsily, she allowed herself to savor it. Rosewater…her stomach tightened. And the faintest hint of chocolate. She should probably stay away from chocolate altogether. Livia signaled to the steward.
“Could you add a bit of water to this bourbon, please?”
Perhaps it would be better to stick to local fruits, something light after the meat. What was in season? Strawberries. But strawberry shortcake was so down-home, not really an appropriate forum for her talents. Peach cobbler? It was a little early for peaches, but if you cooked them… they’d likely already be showing up in the market. Peach cobbler was Danae’s favorite dessert; she always said it made her think of Pearl. And Livia’s cobbler was every bit as good as Pearl’s. Which stood to reason–Pearl had taught Livia to make it.
But cobbler was hot, and you just about had to serve ice cream with it. Too much, after three courses and salad, and it had a crust. There was already enough starch in the menu. But she liked the idea of peach.
Peach chiffon. Perfect. No crust, just light and sweet, peach-sweet. Sprinkled with Grand Marnier.
Peach chiffon. Like the last significant dress Marta had possessed.
~
Marta had fretted for days – for the better part of a week, actually – over what she would wear to the cotillion. She didn’t have any money, she never had any money, and the dresses so proudly displayed in the windows of the downtown boutiques were, in her words, so damn tacky. Pearl sensibly suggested that she have one of the beautiful gowns hanging beneath layers of plastic in her closet dry-cleaned, those dresses are gorgeous, Marta, you’d be the most stylish one there. But Marta sighed and reminded Pearl that those dresses were years old, years out of fashion (even if they had been brought in from New York and Paris by the handsome man before he’d wound up face-down in the swamp).
She was about to start a new life, and she needed a new dress. On the drawing room couch, Livia and Danae were determined not to miss a minute of the conversation, or of the glamorous preparations for the evening on which, as Marta had told them over dinner the night before, their mother would receive a marriage proposal right there at the Country Club, in front of all those people she had served for three years at the diner. Although they privately agreed with their mother–such a portentous occasion deserved a new everything, even panties–they waited breathlessly for their aunt’s pronouncement.
Pearl thought for a moment, and then stood and said she would be right back. Her bare feet pounded up the stairs. Livia could hear her hurrying across the landing of the second floor, and then the third. Maybe she was going all the way up to the attic.
When Pearl returned, both Marta and her daughters gasped in delighted surprise. Pearl’s tanned face was hidden by billows of peach-colored netting and tulle that threatened to spill from her arms to the floor and fill the entire sitting room.
“Something I had stuck away in a box.” Pearl held the fabric up to Marta’s face, just beneath her chin.
Marta’s dark beauty came alive instantly, like a wilting bloom stuck into a glass of water, and her possibilities glowed. Pearl took the pair of scissors she always carried from her apron pocket and told Marta to climb up on the footstool. She began to wrap the waves of peach chiffon around her niece’s body, this way and that, snipping here and pinning there, looking for the most stunning effect possible.
The dress would be absolutely original, unlike any dress ever seen at a Country Club cotillion in Baton Rouge, Louisiana. It would be peach chiffon, and it would be perfect.
~
More to come, Bad, Bad Lovers, more to come.
Right here, IN TWO WEEKS’ TIME, same bad channel, same bad, bad place…
Till then, y’all be good. Or if you can’t be good, then please, please, please be very, very bad.
~
Connect with Cynthia on Twitter, Facebook, Goodreads, and Instagram, find her book Birds Of Wonder here and learn more about Cynthia here.
