Chef Margo Page 2

  “Do you trust me, Margo?” Anise sipped at her seltzer water and looked at me over the rim of the glass.

  “Um.”

  “I mean, I know you like me. And I like you. Like a lot.”

  Oh my God. Yes. She likes me…a lot.

  “It’s just that well…” She took another sip of seltzer before leaning in to finish her thought by whispering in my ear. “I have some interesting views on intimacy these days, and I don’t want to scare you.”

  I drained about a quarter of the Merlot I had clutched in my hand. “Um. Define interesting?”

  Anise took a step back, extended her index finger, and dragged her fingernail down my cheek. “I’m picturing you, arms and legs tied to my bedposts. You trying to keep your dessert recipes a secret while I do my best to pry them loose. You’d be naked of course.”

  I felt like my knees had given up on supporting me and I tried not to spill what was left in my wineglass as I deposited it on a nearby table. “Um.”

  “But not tonight,” she said. “You’ve been drinking.”

  Anise slammed the rest of her seltzer water before trading the glass for my hand and pulling me onto the dance floor. I tried my best to be present throughout the whole thing, but honestly, I think I probably just stood there and swayed while Anise danced around me. She wants to tie me up.

  And the longer we danced together that night, the more I wanted her to do it. As the tempo of the music slowed and I found my body pressed closer to hers, I wanted it to happen sooner rather than later.

  “Anise,” I said.

  She stopped me with a kiss, but not on the cheek this time. “I know,” she said, “I want it too. But I want you to have a little time to think it over and not just agree to it because you’re smitten with me.”

  “I am not smitten,” I said, but I knew it was a lie. Anise had me under her spell from the moment she opened the door to greet me so many days ago. And if Anise wanted to tie my wrists and ankles to her bedposts…well, that would be just fine with me.

  “Miss Baxter thinks you are.” Anise trailed her fingers from my shoulders to the small of my back where she lingered long enough for me to press harder against her. Personally, I was hoping she might engage in a little inappropriate display of affection, fancy benefit ball or not, but she just held me close and swayed to the beat.

  “I mean, really Margo, who else do you know that uses words like ‘smitten’ anymore?”

  I grinned. She was right, and I could hear Miss Baxter’s voice in my head as I repeated the words to myself. Resigned to not having my ass grabbed, I instead settled my head against Anise’s shoulder and inhaled her scent. “Are you?” I whispered. “Smitten, I mean?”

  “I’ve never asked another girl if I can tie her up if that’s what you’re wondering. So yeah, I suppose I am.”

  “Me too.” I let out a sigh. “Thanks for being my date.”

  “Thanks for asking me.”

  I spent the rest of the night in a semi-lucid trance, sometimes dancing, sometimes standing politely to one side as word got around that I was dancing with Anise Dale. And while Anise’s fans gushed about how much they looked forward to seeing her competing again, I stood with my thighs clasped together trying not to gush over thoughts of being tied to her bed.

  Miss Baxter was right, I was smitten with Anise. So smitten in fact, that it wasn’t until the next day it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen my boss at all that night.

  * * * *

  I already knew that Anise’s training schedule was very demanding, and we didn’t get to see each other again for several days. When I finally came back to the door of Miss Baxter’s boarding house for our date, it was Miss Baxter who answered.

  “Hello, Miss Baxter.”

  “Good morning, Margo. Anise will be down shortly, but I was hoping we might have a quick chat before you two go off on your adventure.”

  I nodded. The corners of Miss Baxter’s mouth had turned up slightly. I had only been working for her about a week now—mostly stocking the pantry and getting things ready for when girls started moving in—and I already knew that this was about as close to a smile as she got. So when she led me to her office and asked me to close the door, I was only slightly nervous instead of completely freaked out.

  “Margo, I want you to know that I appreciate you coming to work for me.” Miss Baxter didn’t sit down, so I didn’t either. “I understand that you had a rather generous counter-offer and you chose to come here instead.”

  Oh, is that all. I relaxed a little now that I knew this was going to be a work-related chat. “Um, yes. But…”

  “And I promise you that in just a short while you’ll be cooking for more than just Anise and me.”

  “Miss Baxter? Did you know my old boss suddenly decided to resign the day before I was offered the promotion to head chef?”

  She said nothing.

  “Did you know that he was harassing me?”

  “No one should have to put up with that kind of inappropriate behavior, Margo.”

  Now it was my turn to remain silent. Miss Baxter knew more than she was letting on, I could feel it. I remember her referring to the hotel manager as a dear old friend and began to wonder if maybe the dear old friend did a favor for a brand-new friend. I smiled on the inside.

  “No, they shouldn’t,” I agreed. “Thank you.”

  “Mmm,” was all I got in response.

  I imagined the conversation between my old boss and the hotel owner—the ultimatum—leave quietly or else. I let the smile I was feeling inside show itself on my lips as I thought about what Miss Baxter had done for me.

  “Now Margo, I understand that you and Anise have grown quite close.”

  “Um, yeah. She’s fun.” And I’m still waiting for her to take me to her bedroom and tie me to the bedposts, I didn’t say.

  “Margo, I must ask a favor of you.” Miss Baxter placed her hand gently on my forearm. “And I must ask that you keep this conversation in your confidence.”

  I straightened up, sensing a certain gravity in what was to come.

  “I’ve known Anise a little longer than you have, so I can tell you that right now you are seeing the very best of her. I’m not a medical professional, but I believe that she’s in what’s called a manic phase at the moment. Anise had a bit of a tough time when she first came to live here.”

  I thought back to the jab about scrubbing pots and Anise’s admission to almost burning the house down. I swallowed and then nodded slightly to let Miss Baxter know she still held my attention.

  “I would like to ask that if you do decide to pursue a relationship with Anise that you keep this in mind and tread carefully. I should very much like to see her continue being happy, and I think you’re a key piece of that happiness right now.”

  I had a sudden flash to stories I had heard in my youth about over-protective fathers having similar talks with their daughter’s boyfriends right before the big dance. As odd as it was, I couldn’t help but think I was having one of those conversations right now.

  “Miss Baxter, I would never intentionally hurt her.”

  “I know, my dear. She may come across as strong and confident, and I hope that she is, but my fear is that if she’s not, she’d never let either of us see it. I’m only asking you to be careful.”

  Miss Baxter moved her hand from where it was resting on my arm and waved it in the air in a dismissive gesture. “I’m probably reading too much into it,” she said as she turned to open the door again. “Where are you two off to, anyway?”

  “The Georgia O’Keeffe exhibit at the Art Institute.”

  “Oh.” Miss Baxter clapped her hands together and almost smiled before taking my hand in hers. “You two will have a wonderful time. I love her work.”

  I was a bit surprised that Miss Baxter didn’t say that Georgia was a dear old friend of hers. And she probably would have, but I didn’t think Miss Baxter was that old and they probably missed each other by a couple generation
s at least. Still, I had to suppress a smirk as Miss Baxter led me to the parlor.

  “There you are, baby.” Anise leaned over to kiss me on the cheek before weaving her fingers in with mine and pulling me toward the door. “Come on, we’ve got a train to catch.”

  Anise paused briefly to wave over her shoulder. “Bye, Miss Baxter.”

  “Goodbye, girls. Have a lovely time.”

  * * * *

  “Do you think she knows you’re going to tie me up later?” I said as we settled into our seats on the train.

  “Probably.” Anise smiled. “She does have this weird way of knowing what I’m thinking sometimes.”

  “Oh my God, yes.” I thought back to Miss Baxter’s near-psychic abilities and grinned.

  “And she is the one who gave me the book on the ancient Japanese art of Shibari.”

  My grin faded. I let that sentence float around in my head for a minute, turning it over and examining all of the possibilities of what it might mean. I came up with only one.

  “Anise,” I said. “Are you…?”

  “Sleeping with her? No. It’s not like that.”

  What was it like, then? I felt as if there was something else—something Anise hadn’t said—something that was going to seriously weird me out.

  “Miss Baxter’s taught me a few things since I’ve started living in her house.”

  “Oh my God, Anise. Does she make you…?”

  Anise giggled. “Screw her for rent? No. I tried once, but she wouldn’t have it.”

  This was shaping up to be the most awkward train ride I had ever experienced in my life. I pulled my arms and legs in and tried to make myself as small as possible. I don’t know why. I guess I thought that maybe I could hide from the fact that Anise was probably fucking Miss Baxter while we were dating. And here the old broad was worried about me hurting Anise’s feelings.

  “She had a talk with you before we left, didn’t she?”

  I nodded.

  “Did she tell you I used to be an addict?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t quite up to using words yet. In my mind I still held that image of Miss Baxter and Anise in bed together.

  “Miss Baxter straightened me out. Got me into a rehab program. It’s all very discreet, so I’d appreciate it if you did not repeat any of this.”

  I nodded.

  “We also have our own therapy routine at home.” Anise wiggled around in her seat until her butt was facing me. Normally I’d be drooling, thinking about Anise’s gorgeous ass, though not this time. She tugged at the waistband of her jeans. I could clearly make out a number of bruises in various states of fading.

  I managed to swallow my shock and find some words. “Anise, do you need help?”

  “Is my landlady abusing me? No.” Anise adjusted her pants and sat normally again. “I asked her to do this. Once a week she puts me over her knee or lately she has me kneel on one of the chairs in the parlor and goes to work with…”

  “Anise, you’re bruised. You just told me Miss Baxter is the one who did it. How is that not abuse?”

  “Because it’s therapy.” Anise shifted her body toward me, but she hung her head and stared at my knees while she continued. “I know it’s probably hard to understand, but it’s the only thing that keeps my mind off the drugs when I get tempted.”

  I extended my hand and tentatively laid it on her thigh. I had expected we might talk a little about Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings, or where we wanted to have lunch after the exhibit. I hadn’t expected this woman I had only known for a handful of weeks to unleash her life story on me. But she did, and I listened.

  “After I lost my leg, I hit the painkillers pretty hard. And when the physical pain was gone, I used them to deal with the emotional pain—well, to escape it anyway.”

  Anise still wasn’t looking at me. I rubbed my hand over her thigh in what I hoped was a reassuring gesture and she raised her chin just a little before continuing.

  “I really did almost burn down the house. I can laugh about scrubbing pans now, but that was a real low point for me. Probably the worst. Miss Baxter and I had a pretty heated exchange where she threatened to throw me out of her house, which I totally would have deserved.

  “She also threatened to put me over her knee. Eventually she did, but only after a little prodding from me. She used to hurt people—professionally. Please don’t tell her I said any of this. I don’t think she’s very proud of that time in her life.”

  “Anise, why are you telling me this?” And what the hell does hurting people professionally mean? But I kept that part to myself.

  “I don’t know. Because I like you? Because I think I can trust you? Because I’m hoping you won’t judge me too harshly.”

  I wrapped my arm around Anise’s shoulder and pulled her tightly to me. We rode the rest of the way to the museum in silence. Anise curled up next to me while I thought about what she had told me and stroked her hair to let her know I hadn’t abandoned her. Definitely the strangest fucking train ride ever.

  * * * *

  There was a theory floating around for a while that most of Georgia O’Keeffe’s paintings of flowers were actually thinly guised interpretations of the female anatomy. I think it was discovered later to be the opinion of a certain male art critic rather than Miss O’Keeffe herself, but I still couldn’t help thinking I had just stared at a wall full of vaginas for the past couple hours. It didn’t help that Anise kept bringing up what we had planned for after the outing.

  At first, she was subtle about it. She would encircle my wrist with her thumb and finger and then pull me off in some direction while she grinned. After a while she got bolder—maybe it was staring at all those vagina flowers that got her worked up, I don’t know. But at one point, when I said I needed to find a restroom, she asked me if I trusted her. And when I said yes, she asked me to give her my underwear when I came out.

  That was one of my longest restroom visits in a while. Anise must have thought I died in there, or maybe she knew that I was sitting in a stall thinking about what she asked me to do until my legs almost fell asleep. There were no strings attached to her request. She never said, ‘bring me your underwear or there’ll be no tying up later.’ She just asked if I trusted her, and then asked for my underwear.

  This is not a typical second date, I told myself as I shimmied out of one leg of my jeans and then the other while trying not to bang against the stall dividers on either side of me. What am I getting myself into?

  But in the end, I exited the restroom with my underwear wadded up in my hand and my head held high. I knew exactly what I was getting into, and that was Anise’s bed. She was just drawing the foreplay out a little more than I had anticipated, that’s all.

  When I approached Anise, I was still playing it cool. I leaned in close, pressed my underwear into her waiting hand, and nipped her earlobe while whispering to her. “My unmentionables, m’lady. As requested.” I was grinning like a fool.

  My grin quickly faded as Anise held up my undies and began to critique them.

  “Ooh, boy shorts. I like.” she said. “Practical, comfortable. Soft cotton against your skin…”

  I was almost fine with it. I probably turned a few shades of pink while I watched her turning my underwear over in her hands. But it was when she held them up to her nose and began making comments about moisture that I reached out to snatch them back.

  Of course with Anise having a couple inches on me, that was a losing proposition. “Please?” I whined, but I didn’t mean it. In fact, if Anise had done anything other than quietly stash my underwear in her front pocket, I would have been disappointed. She had me. She knew it and I knew it. She even left a little corner of white sticking up out of her pocket as a reminder.

  I had trouble walking after that. Not because of the missing layer between my denim and my privates, but because my mind was constantly being drawn to what I hoped would follow—me, Anise’s bed, some rope, and a lot of squirming. Anise assured me there w
ould be a lot of squirming.

  As we stood hand-in-hand, looking at another painting that bore more than just a passing resemblance to a vagina, Anise was whispering to me about how she had this wonderful toy called Aphrodite. She told me that she had meticulously cleaned and sterilized it so that she could use it to make me squirm. I don’t think she realized that it wouldn’t take that much even. I was under her spell. Smitten, as Miss Baxter would say.

  “I’ll offer you a trade, Margo,” Anise whispered. “Look in my hand.”

  I looked down and what appeared to be a short coil of rope.

  Anise smirked. “You let me wrap this around your wrist and you can have your undies back.”

  “You—you don’t have to.”

  “But I want to, Margo. Don’t you want me to?”

  I dislodged my fingers from hers and held my arm out with the inside of my wrist facing up. “I meant you don’t have to give me my underwear back.”

  “Mmm. Good girl,” she cooed as I watched her double over the piece of rope and wrap it around my wrist three times before tying it off. She kept the loose ends wadded up in her grip.

  If anyone else in the museum had seen this little maneuver, I missed it. My eyes were on her hands and my wrist the entire time. I thought briefly about Ms. O’Keeffe’s paintings and how I probably resembled one of those right about now—all flushed with color, petals open and glistening.

  I couldn’t quite bring myself to check my jeans for outward signs though. I just followed Anise wherever she led, floating with my feet just a few inches above the floor. Smitten, I thought. Yes, that’s a good word, isn’t it?

  * * * *

  “Do you trust me, Margo?”

  “Yes.”

  “Would you like me to tie you up now?”

  “Yesss.” I felt myself grinning like an idiot.

  We managed to get through lunch, back on the train, and up the front porch steps to Miss Baxter’s boarding house again. I’m not sure how it all happened. I just floated along until I found myself being undressed by Anise while I stood at the foot of her bed unwilling to offer any resistance.