LEARNING TO COOK

Nan Andrews

Jackie glanced over her shoulder as she turned the corner and headed up the steep sidewalk, but there was no one there. No footsteps following her out of the fog. This neighborhood wasn’t that safe, or so she’d heard. She’d never actually been here before, but that wasn’t the real reason she was nervous. She reached number 714 and climbed the steps. The house was nondescript gray stucco with a metal grate at the entrance. There were no names on the three mailboxes, but she’d been told which buzzer to press.

Jackie hesitated, shifting the bottle of zinfandel from one arm to the other, the tulips tucked under her elbow. She felt so off balance, like the first time she’d ever worn high heels. Liz did that to her. She wasn’t sure if coming here was going to help her find her balance or if she liked feeling askew.

She remembered the night they met. One of her business clients wanted to try a hot new restaurant called La Jetee, near City Hall. Jackie liked to eat out, primarily because she didn’t cook. When she was home alone, she ate simply: fruit and cereal, salad, takeout. The restaurant was modern—dark wood, silver accents, spot lighting. The menu was very spare and wasn’t at all what she expected; she’d assumed it would be a French place. There were large framed photos that the client said were from an obscure French film. That was as French as it got. The special that night was a fillet of beef.

“I’d like that cooked well done,” she told the waiter.

“I’m sorry, but the chef has specified that this dish will be served rare.”

“But I don’t want it that way.” She wasn’t going to let the waiter or the chef tell her how to eat her food.

“Miss, may I ask you to reconsider? The chef has a very special way of doing this dish and I think you’ll appreciate it.” The waiter was trying hard not to offend, but she could tell he was hesitant to take her order to the kitchen. Was he actually afraid of the chef?

“I’d like to speak to the chef myself.”

The server retreated into the kitchen; after a few minutes, the dividing door sprang open and the chef stalked out in a blur of black and white. She was wiping her hands on a pristine white apron as she made her way through the crowded restaurant to the table.

“What seems to be the problem?”

“I’d like the fillet and I’d like it cooked well done.” Jackie smiled up at her certain that, as the customer, she would be obliged.

“I’m sorry, but this dish is served rare. If you’d care for something else, the pork chops perhaps, I can burn them for you, with pleasure.”

Jackie stared at her, taken aback. She wasn’t used to being spoken to that way by a service person. Who was this woman? With creamy skin, flushed pink from the heat of the kitchen, and fiery red hair escaping from under her toque, she was whippet thin and had a stare that would frighten a pit bull. A shiver went down the back of Jackie’s neck, straight to her pussy, at both the challenge in her manner and the intensity in her face. The hell with the steak; she wanted to rip off the white chef’s jacket and fuck her right on the table.

“Why don’t you make me whatever you think I’d like,” Jackie suggested with a smile.

The chef stalked back into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, the server returned with an enormous piece of beef, bloody rare in the center. It was delicious.

Along with the check, she’d gotten the chef’s name and number from the waiter. Elizabeth Brennan was twenty-nine, just a year older than Jackie, single and a rising star in the culinary world. It took Jackie nearly a week to catch up with her. She worked Wednesday through Sunday nights at the restaurant and spent her days god knows where. She didn’t take Jackie’s call until her next day off.

“Liz Brennan.”

“Hi, Liz, this is Jackie Mathis. We met at La Jetee the other night.”

There was no sign of recognition on the other end.

“I had a…um, a special request about the fillet of beef.”

“Oh. Dead beef. Yeah, I remember.”

“Look, I’m…I’m sorry about that. I really did enjoy the fillet that you cooked.” She hurried on. “I was wondering if you’ve tried Atelier Crenn yet? Could I take you there for dinner?”

“Sure, I know Dominique. She was my sous-chef at Luce. Her food’s excellent. She has a real feel for her product.”

Jackie realized that she was hunched over her deck, her phone pressed to her ear, as if she were about to be yelled at again. She straightened up and pushed her shoulders back. “So, about dinner. Tomorrow night, eight p.m.?”

“Make it ten. I’ll meet you there.”

“Um, I think they close at ten.”

“Then be a few minutes early.”

She hung up before Jackie could say anything else. No goodbye, no polite conversation. What kind of evening was this going to be?

The next night, Jackie arrived at Atelier Crenn at quarter of ten and was seated at the bar. She had spent a long time after work deciding what to wear and settled on a short black skirt, a blue top that matched her eyes, and her favorite pair of boots. She ordered a martini and waited. At ten o’clock, there was still no sign of Liz. She was afraid she’d been stood up. She considered leaving, but the bartender asked if she’d like another drink, so she ordered a second martini. The last few tables were finishing up; Jackie watched the couples leaving in the mirror behind the bar.

Without warning, there was a voice in her ear. “Come with me.”

She looked up from her drink to see Liz’s retreating back. She was dressed in a pair of slim black pants and a dark maroon top that complemented her hair. Her hips were slim, but womanly. She had a sense of style, even in such simple clothing, which was very attractive. Jackie slipped off her stool and followed. Liz walked through the swinging door into the kitchen.

Jackie had never been in a restaurant kitchen before and she stopped just inside the doors and looked around. Everything was stainless steel or white tile. Enormous pots hung from a rack above a work area. The stoves were wide black expanses of metal, with looming hoods. Liz was leaning against a counter, a beer bottle in hand. She was talking to another woman chef, presumably Dominique. Jackie walked over to them, avoiding the waiters moving across the space with trays of dirty dishes.

Neither woman acknowledged her and Jackie stood by as they talked, completely out of place. It was the other woman, not Liz, who spoke to her first.

“Hi, I’m Dominique Crenn. Welcome to my restaurant.” The hand she offered was very strong.

“Jackie Mathis. Nice to meet you. I’ve read some great things about your work.”

“I’m glad. Why don’t you go have a seat?” She nodded her head toward the corner of the kitchen. There was a stool alongside a high counter.

Jackie looked at Liz. Her gaze was neutral. This whole thing suddenly felt like a serious mistake on Jackie’s part. Liz didn’t want to have dinner with her. She must be planning to embarrass her for the incident at La Jetee. Jackie’s face bloomed red, but she turned and took a seat on the stool. To her surprise, Liz picked up an apron and put it on. For the next half an hour, Jackie watched as Liz and Dominique worked together. It was a ballet—two bodies moving through space, aware of each other, barely touching as they passed, but in perfect harmony. The two women talked quietly and laughed together, occasionally glancing at Jackie, but never speaking to her.

Jackie would have walked out, except for the way that Liz moved. She was mesmerized by the way Liz handled the knife, the way her muscular arms flexed as she sautéed something on the stove, flipping the food with a neat twist of her wrist. The bumps of her spine showed through her blouse as she turned to reach for something on the counter. Jackie’s body ached with the desire to take her into her arms, to feel the motion as she moved at the stove. Cooking had never seemed so erotic before.

Finally, the women joined her at the counter with a series of plates. Each was a beautiful presentation: a perfectly prepared scallop, three tiny lamb chops on a smear of green sauce, several spears of asparagus covered in something red and shiny.

Liz and Dominique took turns feeding her bites of food, describing the provenance of each ingredient, complimenting each other on the preparation. Neither of them ate a single thing. It was the strangest feeling, being fed by these two beautiful women, as if she were a child.

When they were finished, Dominique looked her up and down.

Jackie felt as if she were being considered for inclusion in some new recipe. “Thank you. Everything was delicious.”

“Do you cook?”

“No, not really. But I really enjoyed watching you both work.” She licked a bit of sauce off her lip and noticed Liz watching closely. “This was certainly not what I expected when I invited Liz to dinner.”

Dominique laughed. “No, I’m sure it wasn’t. But Liz isn’t someone who does what’s expected.” She put her arm around Liz’s waist and kissed her cheek. “Now get out of my kitchen, I have work to finish.”

They left through the back door, and stepped into the alley. Liz walked with purpose and Jackie hurried after. Just before they came out onto the street, Liz turned and pinned Jackie against the brick with her body. The kiss was hard and hungry, Liz’s tongue taking control of Jackie’s mouth, her hand between Jackie’s legs. Jackie was panting when Liz stepped back, a half smile on her lips.

“I like the way my cooking tastes on you.” She reached out and squeezed one of Jackie’s breasts, her thumb rubbing across the hard nipple. “You have potential.”

“Do I?” Jackie’s head was spinning from the whipsaw behavior; first Liz ignored her and then she fairly attacked her. What was going on?

“Perhaps.” She stepped closer again and cupped Jackie’s pussy, her fingers pressing in.

Jackie’s pussy was slick and hot and she wanted nothing more than Liz’s fingers filling her, her tongue parting her lips and suckling her clit. She leaned her head back and moaned. Liz pressed harder, her middle finger wiggling against Jackie’s clit. She pinched one nipple and the pain speared her. Just as Jackie was about to come, Liz stepped back, dropping her hands. She had that look on her face, the one from the previous week, of intensity and challenge.

“Seven-fourteen Broderick. Nine o’clock. Monday. Bring some wine you like.” Liz turned and walked away. Jackie stared after her, then pulled out her phone to save the address.

Liz welcomed her into a spacious third-floor flat, full of polished wood and lush textiles. The color palette was cool blues and greens, with touches of bright white. She led Jackie straight into the kitchen, which had obviously been renovated to the chef’s specifications. The space took up most of the front of the building, with plenty of work space and high-end appliances. There was a long, narrow wooden table across the front, with tall chairs. Pendant lamps and ceiling spots gave the place a very theatrical feel.

Liz put the wine on the counter and found a vase for the tulips. She poured a martini and handed it to Jackie.

“How did you know I like martinis?”

“I saw what you were drinking at Crenn. Now don’t get too comfortable. You have work to do.”

“Really?” Jackie sipped the ice-cold martini and arched a brow. “What sort of work?”

“You’ll see.” Liz went to a door on the side of the kitchen. Jackie wondered if it was a bathroom, but when the door opened, she could see it was a large pantry. Liz came back, tying an apron around her waist. “Take off your clothes.”

Jackie nearly choked on her drink. “What?”

“You don’t want to get them dirty while you’re washing dishes.”

“Is that what I’m going to be doing?”

“That’s not all, but yes. You’ll be washing dishes when we’re done. You said you don’t cook, so I’m certainly not going to trust you to do that.” She cocked her head and looked at Jackie. “Take your clothes off.”

Jackie walked toward the table and glanced back at Liz, who stood with her hands on her hips, waiting. This wasn’t like disrobing for a lover; it felt more like an inspection. So why did it make her nipples stiffen? Jackie slipped off her skirt and pulled her blouse over her head. She stood uncomfortably in a set of pale-blue bra and panties, along with her heels.

Liz waved her hand. “Those, too.” She reached under a bench and held up a pair of clogs. “You can wear these to protect your feet.”

Jackie laughed nervously. What about the rest of her? Didn’t that need protecting too? She walked naked back to the kitchen and stepped into the clogs. Liz stepped up and tied a handkerchief around her neck, the ends pointing to each breast. She caught Jackie’s shoulder-length hair in a ponytail and tied it back. Jackie looked down. Naked between the blue neckerchief and the clogs, she thought she looked ridiculous.

“Now, stand over there.” Liz pointed at a spot to the side of the stove. “Have you ever heard of the brigade de cuisine?

Jackie shook her head.

“It’s the French system of kitchen management. I’m the chef du cuisine, the head chef. You are my assistant, my apprentice, and also my plongeur. That’s where the dishwashing comes in. Now, watch and listen, and hopefully you’ll learn something.” Liz laughed, as if she doubted Jackie would be capable of that.

Somehow, the sound of her laughter made Jackie wet. She realized she wasn’t angry at being made to strip, being dressed in clogs and little else, not even at being the dishwasher. The way Liz spoke to her made her hungry in a way she’d never felt before.

Liz pulled some dishes out of the refrigerator and stirred something in a bowl. “Give me your hand,” she said.

Jackie held out her right hand. Liz turned it palm up and painted some green sauce from the bowl onto Jackie’s index finger and thumb. She raised the hand to her face as if to inspect her work and licked the sauce off.

“What is that?” Jackie asked, more interested in why Liz was doing it, than what was in the sauce.

Liz spooned some more sauce on Jackie’s palm, picked a piece of papaya off a plate, ran it through the sauce and offered it to her. “Mint-chili sauce. Do you like it?”

“Very much.” It tasted tropical: hot and spicy, with a cool mint finish.

Liz took the spoon and poured some sauce over Jackie’s left breast. She took a bite of papaya, then bent and licked the sauce. The chili made Jackie’s skin tingle and the heat of Liz’s tongue made her pussy clench. She reached up to put her arms around Liz, but Liz pushed them down.

“Stand still and do what I say.” She licked Jackie’s nipple again. “I’m in charge of the kitchen.”

Jackie stood still, trembling, as Liz continued to spread chili sauce on her breasts and then lick it off between bites of papaya. She fed Jackie a few bites and then put the dirty dishes aside, as if there were nothing unusual about the arrangement.

The next course was a sushi roll made of thinly shaved cucumber filled with crab and an avocado sauce. Liz showed her how to use a mandolin to make the strips of cucumber and then instructed her on what ingredients to bring her. Jackie watched her turn the simple items into a delicious mouthful, but Liz never touched her. Jackie ached to be touched again. The pile of dishes in the sink continued to grow.

The main course was a beautiful fillet of salmon. Liz seared it skin-side-down in the pan and basted it with hot butter. She tossed some freshly chopped herbs in at the last minute and their aroma rose in the kitchen. When instructed, Jackie carefully pulled a potato galette out of the oven, which Liz had made earlier. The rosette of thin slices of potato was crisp and smelled deliciously of garlic. A salad of lightly tossed greens completed the plate. However, there was only one plate. Jackie wondered what Liz was planning, as she opened the wine and poured a glass of the zinfandel.

“Bring those and follow me.” Liz walked over to the table by the windows and lit the candles. Sitting in the chair at the end, she indicated where Jackie should put the food. Liz slid her hand up Jackie’s leg, resting on the curve of her buttocks. “Tonight, I want you to feed me.”

Jackie moved to sit in the chair next to Liz’s place, but Liz stopped her with a stinging smack on the bottom. “No, stay here.”

Jackie stepped back beside Liz’s chair. Liz slipped her hand between Jackie’s thighs and up to her pussy. Her fingers wormed between Jackie’s lips and came out wet. Liz brought them to her lips and licked them. Jackie shuddered. Liz casually slid her hand back between Jackie’s thighs and indicated for Jackie to begin.

There were no utensils. Jackie broke off a morsel of salmon and offered it to Liz. The first bite was taken delicately, but soon Liz was opening wide and sucking the food from Jackie’s fingers. She licked off the fat from the potatoes and the herbs from the salmon. Her hand was doing a subtle dance against Jackie’s pussy, rubbing and pressing. Jackie widened her stance, tilting her hips in hopes of more contact.

“Greedy girl, aren’t you?” Liz asked, licking her lips. “Give me some wine.”

Jackie picked up the glass to offer it, but Liz laughed. “No, I like this better.” She took the glass and poured some over Jackie’s breast. The ruby liquid ran over her breast and down her belly. Liz pulled Jackie close and reached up to suck the drops hanging from her nipple. Her teeth tugged as she flicked Jackie’s clit with her thumb. Jackie caught her breath, desire snaking through her body. She wanted to put her hands in Liz’s fiery hair, to press her face against her breast, but it seemed like the wrong thing to do. Liz was in charge of the meal and of her.

Liz ran her tongue from the bottom of Jackie’s breast to her belly, gathering drops of wine as they lingered on her skin. The moment her mouth touched Jackie’s mound, she began to come. The heat exploded in her belly, sending tremors from the top of her head to her feet. Her knees buckled as Liz pushed three fingers into her pussy. The wave of orgasm continued. Liz suckled her nipple again and thumbed her clit, causing Jackie to cry out. She had never come so hard, or for so long. When Liz released her, Jackie planted her hands on the table and dropped her head, panting.

Liz wiped her sticky fingers along Jackie’s flank and smiled. “Delicious.” She casually picked up the glass of wine and took a sip. “I’d like some salad, please. To clear my palate.”

Jackie straightened up and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Liz asked.

“I may never learn to cook, but I’m certainly learning how to eat.”