What does a lie matter, in the great scheme of things? Especially if that scheme includes a higher purpose (say, stopping one’s sister from downing a lethal dose of laudanum on the night of her fortieth birthday…)? Badass Chef Livia, in this Installment XVII of our serialized novella, The Will of Venus (Otherwise Known As A Fairy-Tale for Superwomen), is about to tell a whopper. We shall find out later, Bad, Bad Lovers, just what the consequences are. In Livia’s defense, it *is* just one. One lie. But she tells that lie to Wanda…
If you’ve just discovered Livia and Wanda and all the rest of the drama, clicking here will take you back to Venus’s earliest days, and you can start from the very beginning.
~
Breakfast (cont., now with saints)
“Livia!”
Livia turned. Wanda’s petite form, wrapped in a gauzy black dress and a fringed shawl, was approaching. A thin arm raised, a hand (the one that had held the scissors, to cut Rubén’s hair) waving frantically.
“¿Adónde vas? You’re early.”
They met exactly in front of the door to Wanda’s building. Wanda was wrestling with difficult keys. Over her shoulder was a large black leather bag, too large for Wanda’s small body. Livia smelled coffee. She realized that she was ravenously hungry.
“I thought you were coming at ten. I got some buñuelos. And some coffee. I thought we could have breakfast…Oye, you dress up for flights, huh? Where’s your suitcase?”
Wanda let the keys hang in the lock for a few seconds and turned again to face Livia. There were dark circles beneath her dark eyes, shadows of a sleepless night; there were lines beside the Madonna mouth. The violet-shadowed eyes took in every sordid detail of Livia’s appearance–the unaccustomed formality of the suit, the stiletto-heeled sandals, no stockings. It was too cool for no stockings. Waves of guilt returned to torment Livia’s unsettled stomach.
“Ay, diós…lo jodiste pero bien, bien, didn’t you? You really fucked up.”
Livia opened her mouth to say something, anything, to deny the accusations of Wanda’s violet-shadowed eyes. She shut it. The hollow at the base of her throat was throbbing painfully. Perhaps (Livia winced) visibly.
“You obviously stayed the night with one of them. Don’t deny it. Ni te molestes. I know…”
Wanda and Livia entered the building and began to climb the four flights of stairs to Wanda’s studio. Livia was glad that the semi-darkness of the stairwell hid her face; she didn’t even bother to counter Wanda’s statements. She had no energy and, besides, Wanda knew. Maybe–the morbid thought entered Livia’s head–she knew everything. If she did, there was no way Livia was getting the filter or anything else. Danae would drink the laudanum.
“Oye, Livia. I don’t want the details of what you did. All I want to know is if he liked the tarta and if you let him kiss you where you shouldn’t…donde no debes, ¿sabes?”
Livia was silent for a few seconds while she considered her response. As she followed Wanda into the studio, the sad faces of the icons, the somber ghosts of Wanda’s paintings, stared accusingly at her, eyes boring into the hidden cavities of her soul. They were aware of her deception, even if Wanda wasn’t.
“He certainly liked the tart.” He had liked the tart incommensurately, immoderately, unusually. But Livia kept those qualifiers to herself. “And no, I didn’t let him kiss me there.”
It was true. Livia hadn’t let Rick kiss her in the shadowy, throbbing cavity at the base of her throat. She hadn’t let him reach her soul, the twin of his, through that most potent of places. He had done it without her permission, while she slept–which she had never intended to do–while she was vulnerable. Leaving herself vulnerable had, in fact, been Livia’s only crime. Livia straightened her spine; she felt worthy again of her friend’s help.
“The only thing I did was sleep there, but I was drunk, Wanda, totalmente borracha. I’m not even sure whether we had sex or not.” Livia tensed; Wanda, if she looked at her face, would see the lie.
But Wanda was occupied in making coffee, turning on the gas-plate, plugging in the toaster to heat the buns. Livia checked her watch; only five minutes to nine. She relaxed.
“Bueno, Livia, but don’t ever do that again. You shouldn’t get drunk with them–it makes you vulnerable. Y justo antes de lo de tu hermana…You should think about your sister. This is very, very delicate. I absolutely forbid you to make any tartas while you’re in New Orleans. Ni una. And when you get home, throw those clothes in the trash. Hasta la lencería…panties, too…” Livia blushed. “Everything. A la basura, no sirve. You can’t use them again, they have his energy. And take the time to take a shower.”
They sat down at Wanda’s small, rickety table. Wanda had to push aside paint tins, brushes, a bottle of paint thinner so that there would be space for their plates and coffee cups. Wanda drank her scalding coffee in a single gulp. She didn’t touch her bun.
“Ay, qué cansada estoy, Livia. I’m exhausted. I wasn’t even here last night. I was at the santero‘s, waiting for him to finish the spells…”
Wanda extracted a bulky package wrapped in brown paper from her bag. She placed it on the table before Livia.
“Escúchame, Livia…this is muy, muy potente. Do exactly, exactly what I tell you. Everything, to the letter. But before I tell you, I want you to swear to me, por tu santa madre, on your mother’s holy grave, that you didn’t let him kiss you there.”
Wanda’s tiny hand reached out toward the hollow at the base of Livia’s throat. The touch burned, as though a lit match were held between Wanda’s thin fingers. The hollow began to throb. Wanda took her hand away and Livia was relieved.
She hadn’t let him.
“I swear…te lo juro.”
“Por tu santa madre.”
Livia swallowed. She wouldn’t exactly have described Marta as a saint, but it was a formula. She shouldn’t think too much about it. Her theorizing had already gotten her into plenty of trouble. She took a breath. “Te lo juro…por mi santa madre.”
“Bueno.” Wanda didn’t sound entirely convinced, but she sat down again, lit a cigarette, and offered one to Livia, which she lit.
Pointing to the package, Wanda said, “Ésto representa la vida de tu hermana. Livia, your sister’s life is in there. Her very life.”
There was a short silence while Wanda drew a drag off of her cigarette. The import of her last words sank into Livia’s chest like a lead weight.
“So. Listen very carefully. The first night…tonight, no?”
Livia nodded.
“The first night, there are two things. First, there are three packets of herbs. They should be at the top of the package. One is wrapped in pink cloth, one in green, and one in black. The pink one, you hang in your sister’s dressing room, as close to the laudanum as you can get it. The green one or, depending, the black one, are for the underwear drawer, you know, de calzoncillos, of her husband.
Use the green one if you think that things between them stand any chance of being repaired whatsoever. What-so-ever, Livia, como sea…I know you hate him, but you have to be objective–otherwise, no me hago la responsable. Who knows what might happen…the black is if you are absolutely certain that there is no love left in him for your sister. None. And…”
Wanda got up to pour more coffee.
“The second thing for tonight is this. Just below the herb packets are a bunch of fresh herbs, different kinds, tied with a green ribbon. Those you boil in six cups of water, no more, no less. You make, like, a tea, sabes, una infusión. Then, with the white cloth–they’re wrapped, in the package, in a white cloth–you scrub every inch of the kitchen with the tea, every inch. ¿Me oyes?”
Livia nodded her comprehension. She was feeling better–the coffee and the bun had helped. With the large package of antidotes in front of her, she felt invincible again. The hollow at the base of her throat only throbbed occasionally. And very faintly.
“Y Livia. Para mañana. For tomorrow. Very simple. Four white candles, one for each course of your dinner. Four bags of herbs, in white cheesecloth, tied with white ribbon. You burn the white candles, a different one for each, while you are preparing each course. If you are working on food for two different courses at the same time, don’t forget that both, or three, or all four candles should be lit. The bags of herbs, one for each course. And don’t worry, they have no taste, no tienen sabor.
And that’s all. Muy simple. But. Danae needs your all of energy right now, so no chocolate tarts. No men…nada de hombres. Ni uno. Don’t even think about sex, and especially the sex of last night. I mean it. I don’t know what happened, but I see in your face that it was fuerte…I hope you’re telling me the truth…”
Wanda’s Murillo Madonna face was sombre.
Livia nodded. She hadn’t let him.
“You could really hurt your sister if you mix these two spells more than you already have.”
“I’ll be fine.” Livia stood. Nine thirty; she needed to get going. She would be fine. She embraced Wanda, surprised by the fragility of the tiny body she enfolded in her arms.
“Gracias, Wanda, gracias de verdad. I can pay you when I get back…”
Wanda pulled away. Her face was horrified.
“No, Livia, no…ésto no se paga. You can’t pay for this. I do it for love. The santero also has to do it for love. You have to do it for love. If you pay me, it doesn’t work Cook me dinner.”
~
More to come, Bad, Bad Lovers, more to come.
Right here, next week, 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.
