When I brought in a pile of paperwork for Amelia, she stood next to her desk, her phone clamped against her shoulder. She wore her little reading glasses and an uncharacteristically modern outfit with a loose silk blouse and pencil skirt. Her high heels were red, matching her garish lipstick. Overall, I was surprised by what I was seeing. She didn’t look like the image she’d presented in the time I knew her. She caught sight of me and motioned me forward, still jabbering into the phone. I set the paperwork on her desk and she signed it as she talked.
“No, I don’t know,” she barked into the phone, making me jump. “I tell you, I have no idea when that will go through.” She listened for a while, flipping through the paperwork I’d brought and signing next to each of the little plastic arrows I’d put in the pile for her. “Goddamn it, Bill, if you ask me again, I’m going to fly up there and kick your ass!”
I had to turn away to keep from laughing, as the reality of her swearing was almost too funny to take. She was normally so prim and proper.
“Fine, fine. I’ll call you later,” she snapped, slamming down the phone.
She turned to me. “What is this?” she said, holding up a piece of paper from the pile. I tried to read it but found it indecipherable.
“I don’t know,” I said, confused.
“Why would you ask me to sign something if you don’t know what it is? Don’t you know how important I am?”
My stomach clenched with dread and I took a step back. “I’m so sorry, Amelia—”
“It’s Miss Winters to you, bitch,” she snarled.
Suddenly she grabbed my arm, pulling me roughly into her embrace. Her lips were on mine in a second, her tongue pushing hard into my mouth. I fought her briefly and then relaxed, kissing her back. Her hands rose to my hair, releasing it from the twist, and I felt my hair tumble down onto my shoulders. She pulled away from me, still looking angry.
“I like your hair down. I’ve told you that before,” she whispered.
“You have?” I asked, confused and befuddled by the kiss.
“You know I have,” she said, her lip curling in anger. She kissed me again, harder, pulling my hair painfully. I hissed in pain and felt her lips curl wickedly against mine.
“You want me to hurt you, don’t you?” she whispered, her lips an inch from mine.
“Y-yes,” I murmured, barely able to speak. My legs were trembling and my knees felt weak, and suddenly she was lifting me up onto her desk. My heels dropped off my feet, hitting the ground louder than they should. She quickly pushed my legs apart and slid her hands up my inner thighs. She encountered my underwear there and frowned at me.
“I told you never to wear these to work.”
“But you bought them for me!” I was honestly confused.
Her face a wild mask of rage, she ripped the underwear off me. I yelped in pain.
“Quiet,” she snarled. “Do you want Vanessa to hear you?”
“Who’s Vanessa?”
She laughed. “As if you didn’t know,” she said, kneeling in front of me.
In a moment, I felt her teeth on my inner thigh, just above my skirt line. She bit me there on my leg, hard, and I screamed. She kissed the place she’d bitten and started licking and kissing her way slowly upward, her mouth setting my entire body on fire. I lay back, closing my eyes, waiting for her mouth to reach where I desperately wanted it to be.
“What’s the racket in there?” someone said from outside the office, followed by knocking.
My eyes snapped open, and I found myself in my room at Aunt Kate’s. After another knock on my door, Aunt Kate came into the room, looking around wildly. I flushed in deep embarrassment, pulling the covers up to my chin.
“Are you okay, Chloé?” she asked me, eyes concerned. “I heard a scream.”
“It was just a dream, Aunt Kate. I’m sorry.”
“Must have been a nightmare to make you scream like that,” she said gently.
“Something like that.” I still felt embarrassed. “I’ll be down in a little while.”
“Okay,” she said and closed the door.
My sheets were drenched in sweat, and my body was flushed and hot with desire. I lay back on the bed, my mind a whirl of confusion. I’d never had a sex dream that detailed, let alone about someone I actually knew. What does it mean? I wondered. It was a long while before I was able to calm myself enough to get out of bed, and that was after I debated whether to take care of myself to calm down. I decided not. It was all too confusing.
*
By the time I got to work, I thought I’d managed to suppress most of my embarrassment and confusion about the dream, but when I saw Amelia for the first time, I tensed with shame. She doesn’t know what you dreamt about her, so calm the hell down, I told myself. That was an easy enough command, but it was hard to put into practice. I was jumpy and strange with her all morning, and I caught her looking at me a few times, seemingly puzzled by my behavior.
The work week passed quickly. I was busy every day from the moment I showed up until I left in the evening, which could be anytime between five and seven. George was still driving me both ways, to and from work, as there had been a delay on the arrival of the company car. My current project was to research the attendees at the dinner and reception we were attending tomorrow night and scope out potential new buyers. For this party, Amelia was covering possible sales to past clients.
In addition to the larger project, I was involved in plenty of day-to-day activities, like supervising the unloading of new shipments, monitoring the art restoration of two older paintings, and coordinating meetings with clients through Amelia’s secretary, Janet. It was only Thursday, but I was already getting the hang of things, surprised to find that I loved every minute of my new job.
At four thirty, I knocked on Amelia’s door, heart in my throat. I’d managed to avoid her for the most of the day, but I needed to ask her for a favor.
“Come in,” she called. I opened the door and let myself in. She wore the reading glasses she’d worn in the dream, but her outfit was typical for her, a retro 1940s-style suit-dress. She looked up at me, clearly happy to be interrupted. “What can I do for you, Doctor?”
“I was wondering if I could leave a little early today,” I asked. “My aunt is having a dinner party tonight, and I want to have time to get ready before it begins.”
She seemed surprised. “Of course! You can leave whenever you need to, Doctor, early or not. I know we’ve been busy this week, but your usual hours shouldn’t keep you here past five most days.”
“Thanks.” I turned to leave, memories of the dream making it far too awkward to be alone with her in her office.
“By the way,” she said, “you’ve been doing great work this week. I really appreciate it. What do you think of it so far?”
I turned back, trying to look natural. “I love it.”
She laughed. “You sound surprised.”
I shrugged, somewhat embarrassed. “I guess I am. I didn’t really know if I would be any good at it, but I think I might be. With time, I mean.”
“You’re already good at it, Doctor.”
I excused myself, my heart racing in a now-familiar way. Just because you like her compliments doesn’t mean you like her, I told myself. Dream or no dream.
*
I arrived back at Aunt Kate’s just before dinner. Her boyfriend Jim was due a little later. I’d met him briefly a couple of times this week, but this dinner was designed to help all of us get to know each other better.
Nothing like being the fifth wheel, I thought, unlocking the door.
Zach and Meghan were already sitting in the living room, and Zach whistled when he saw me. He clutched his heart dramatically as if shot. “Wow! You look like a movie star, lady.”
“You really do,” Meghan said. Her face was grim, however, and I sensed that our conversation from Sunday was likely start right back where it had left off. This was part of the reason I’d avoided her all week.
“Thanks,” I said, blushing. “I have to go change. I’ll be right back down.”
“I’ll come with you,” Meghan said, getting to her feet.
I sighed, accepting the inevitable. “Fine. You okay, Zach? Need a drink or anything?”
He shook his head. “I’m fine. Your aunt is making mint juleps.”
Up in my room, Meghan watched me remove my fine clothes and replace them with my usual jeans and T-shirt. My face was still made up and my hair was still styled, but I’d begun to get used to seeing myself this way and decided to leave it as it was. I could feel tension and disapproval radiating off Meghan, but I let the awkward silence stretch on and on. I heard her sigh, loudly, and glanced over to see her shake her head.
“What?” I asked, not restraining my irritation.
She shook her head. “I don’t like it.”
“What?” I asked again.
“All of this.” She waved at me up and down. “You’ve changed more in the last week than you have in the last ten years. Doesn’t that bother you?”
“No,” I snapped, “and I don’t understand why it bothers you so much. You were so angry the other night when you told me that you’re different than you used to be and I didn’t believe you. Why can’t I do the same thing?”
“Because
I’ve been working on
myself for years, Chloé.
You did this practically overnight, and the changes weren’t your idea.”
I turned away quickly, angry, and sat down at my vanity again, touching up my makeup. I knew she was speaking the truth, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. “Maybe you’re right, but that doesn’t negate the fact that I like being different than I was before I started working there. And anyway, it’s just clothes.”
I saw Meghan get up from the bed and approach me from behind. Her expression was uncertain, and she clearly regretted her words. She met my eyes in the mirror and then hugged me from behind. “I’m sorry to give you such a hard time, hon. I’m just worried about you.”
My anger returned full force and I stood up, shaking off her arms. “You shouldn’t be. There’s nothing to worry about. I have a new job and it requires a certain dress standard, a standard my boss paid for, I might add.”
Meghan’s eyes were sad. “That’s the problem. It’s too much, Chloé. There’s something else happening here, and I think you know it.” She looked at me for a long time and then shook her head again, slowly. “Look, I’m sorry. I know I’m too nosy—it’s my tragic flaw. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”
Trying to quell my anger, I broke eye contact with her. “Are you ready?” I asked.
“Sure.” I was relieved to hear that some of the tension had left her voice. “I’m sorry you’re going to be all by yourself tonight. I know it’s kind of awkward to be the only single person at a party.”
“I don’t mind. I’m used to it.”
“Isn’t there anyone you’re interested in?”
Caught unaware, I felt my face flush red and turned away quickly, trying to hide my reaction. Meghan laughed. “If that’s not a yes, I don’t know what is.”
Agitated, I found myself trembling a little. “I’m not interested in anyone. I just got back to town.”
“Well then, what the hell?” She pulled on my arm, turning me to face her. I kept my eyes on the floor. “Jesus, Chloé, what’s gotten into you? You used to tell me everything. Why are you hiding things from me? I tell you every little detail about every moment of my life.”
I finally looked at her and was surprised to find that I felt like crying. She realized that I was on the brink of tears and hugged me, hard. She led me over to the bed and we sat on it together, her arm around my shoulders. “Christ, girl,” she whispered. “What’s happening?”
“Nothing,” I said automatically, then blushed again. “I mean—it doesn’t mean anything. Nothing’s happening.” She looked at me skeptically and I sighed, realizing she wasn’t about to let it drop. I glanced over at my bedroom door, and lowered my voice. “I’ll tell you, okay? But I don’t want you to make a big deal out of it and you can’t tell anyone. I mean it.”
Meghan’s eyes lit up with happy mischief, and she mimicked buttoning her lip.
Steeling myself, I took a deep breath and said, “I had a really vivid sex dream about someone last night.”
Meghan laughed and rolled her eyes. “Is that all? I have sex dreams all the time.”
I shook my head impatiently. “Well, I don’t, and I’ve never had one so detailed, or about someone I know. It was very…graphic.”
She thought for a moment, obviously making herself take me seriously. “Well, whoever it was, if it’s bothering you this much, maybe you should do something about it. Ask him out or something.”
I looked away. “I don’t think so. I don’t think…he…feels the same way.” I blushed harder at my lie, but given the conversation we’d just had about my new boss, I wasn’t about to open that can of worms.
Meghan was looking at me strangely, and for a moment I was worried she might ask me about Amelia, but she didn’t. “Well, it’s not Charles, is it? ’Cause he’s called me a few times to get your number. I told him if you hadn’t given it to him, it was none of my business.”
I shook my head quickly.
“What happened with you guys, anyway? One minute you’re ready to move in with him, and the next you don’t want to see him again.”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said quietly.
Meghan was quiet for a long time after this, and I felt her body freeze up with tension. “Did he hurt you?” she finally asked.
I didn’t respond and kept staring at the floor. Meghan sprang to her feet and stood in front of me long enough that I was finally forced to look up at her. Her eyes were blazing with rage. “What the hell did he do?”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I said, trying to calm her down.
“That doesn’t answer the question, Chloé. What did he do?”
I sighed, and a feeling of shame and fright swept through me again at the memory. “Can we not talk about this? I-I don’t want to think about it anymore.”
“Jesus, Chloé! He should go to jail!”
“It wasn’t that bad,” I said again, looking down. “He just groped me a little. I told him to stop and he wouldn’t, and then I got away.”
Meghan’s face was a mask of anger and horror. “Jesus Christ! I’m going to kill him. I am literally going to kill him. And I’m going to kill his brother while I’m at it. He should have told me Charles was a fucking psychopath.”
“Meghan, please don’t do anything. It’s over, okay? It’s my choice, and I choose not to do anything about it.”
“Goddamn it, Chloé,” Meghan said, her anger now turning on me, “you’re so fucking passive. It’s no wonder you’re still single.” Realizing what she’d just said, she clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.
I sighed and got to my feet. “This conversation is over,” I said, the weariness of the day finally catching up to me.
“I’m so sorry, Chloé.” She clutched my arm. “I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean it.”
I sighed. “It’s okay. You’re probably right.”
“That doesn’t mean I should have said anything, especially after what you just told me. I’m really sorry. It wasn’t your fault. He’s the asshole, not you.”
Suddenly bone weary, I decided to end the conversation. “Let’s go join the others, okay? I need a drink.”
I left Meghan with Zach in the living room and went directly to the kitchen without saying another thing to her. I knew I was being childish, but I was pretty sure at that moment that if I said anything to her we’d end up fighting all night. The dinner was meant to be a chance for all of us to get to know each other, especially the two new men in Aunt Kate and Meghan’s lives, and I didn’t want to ruin it for Aunt Kate. Still, I would have given anything just to leave and go hide somewhere for the evening rather than face another moment of Meghan’s inquiring eyes.
The kitchen was a disaster—the usual state of things when my Aunt Kate cooks a big meal, or, well, anything. There was flour everywhere from the bread and roux, and the floor and counters were covered with a thin, tacky layer of various foodstuffs. Still, it smelled wonderful, as always, the air hot and heavily redolent of spices and baking bread.
My family is Creole going back several generations and, in our particular branch, almost entirely French. New Orleans was settled by the French and later the Spanish, and both groups were eventually referred to as “Creole,” which simply means native-born. So, in the case of my ancestors, Creole refers to French men and women born in Louisiana. During the generations of the late nineteenth century and earlier, my ancestors grew up speaking only French at home and attended French-taught schools. This all changed in the early twentieth century, in part because of large immigration movements at the turn of the century that necessitated English-only schools. This meant that by the time my grandparents were growing up, it was unusual to speak only French at home. A phrase or two in French was common to most French Creole people today, but I was the first person in two generations in my family to be fluent in the language.
While the language might be lost, on the whole, to most Creole families in New Orleans (though it was spoken by some Creole people outside of the city), the food hadn’t changed. Visitors to Louisiana generally conflate Creole and Cajun cooking, much to both groups’ disgust. While there is a lot of crossover between Creole and Cajun cuisine, the two are significantly different in a number of ways. During the eighteenth and nineteenth century, as the two cuisines developed, the Creoles, in general, had more money than the Cajuns, in part because they’d been there longer, and in part because, for a long while, some Creoles were part of the ruling class in New Orleans and Louisiana. This wealth meant that Creole cooking developed early on with more ingredients than the Cajuns could afford—things like butter and flour, and, most particularly, the tomato, which is traditionally not used in Cajun food.
If, like me, you grew up in a Creole home, you learned how to cook various Creole dishes, but these could vary from family to family quite significantly, in part because most Creole families have Spanish, Irish, Native American, and African-American branches now.
One thing common to many Creole family kitchens today is a bread recipe that has been passed down through the generations. We had one ancestor who was a baker, and we still make his bread, particularly his baguettes. My aunt bakes her bread fresh twice a week, and, even in France, I’ve never eaten its like. Her bread will ruin you for every other bread in the world.
Hearing me come in, Aunt Kate spun around to greet me, and I had to laugh at the sight of her. She was covered head to toe in flour and sauces, as if something somewhere in the kitchen had blown up on her. She’d neglected, as usual, to don an apron, so her clothes were, at best, filthy, but probably ruined.
“You’re home!” she said, grinning. She walked toward me with open arms and I shied away, not wanting an afternoon of mess on my clothes. She looked down at herself and laughed. “Probably a good plan to stay away from me right now. How was your day?”
“It was fine.”
I was still smarting from my conversation with Meghan, and my words didn’t convince her. She looked at me critically for a moment and, without saying a thing, went directly to the liquor cabinet. She pulled out the Cognac and poured me a small glass. I took it from her and drained it in one go, shuddered slightly at its thick sweetness.
“Better?” she asked.
I nodded, my eyes watering a little from the liquor.
“Okay,” she said. “If you want to talk about it, we can, but otherwise I won’t bother you about it, whatever it is.”
Grateful, I took her up on the offer and changed topics immediately. “When will Jim get here?”
“Any time now,” she said, and I saw a flash of nervous energy go through her as she glanced up at the kitchen clock.
“Do you want to go get ready? I can finish up here.”
Her face melted in gratitude, and this time, when she hugged me, I forgot how filthy she was and hugged her back, both of us squeezing the other fiercely. Pulling apart, we both looked down at my jeans and shirt, now with roughly half of Aunt Kate’s mess squished into them.
“Well, at least you just got some new clothes,” Aunt Kate said, and we both laughed.