I sink the spoon into the thick and dark cream. I bring it close to my lips, anticipating the delight. Milk caramel always has that effect on me. I have a preference for the dark and thick variety such as the “manjar” found in Chile. As I bite into it with my teeth, I am reminded of Juan Eduardo, an old lover, whose golden skin and fleshy build always made me want to sink my teeth into him.
My mind drifts to another old lover. Hernando. Smoked salmon, cold, distant, inaccessible and delicious in the beginning. Sickening if eaten in an unrestrained fashion. This dish is one of my favorites; I love it on buttered toast topped with delicate Spanish capers and red and black caviar.
I remember Billy. A sophisticated, although somewhat bland, lobster bisque. The kind that builds excitement from thinking of the joy one is going to feel, and when savoring it, one becomes conscious that the excitement was really in the mind.
I recall Eugene. A warm lentil stew. Enough garlic and sausage to give it that special taste. Bacon. Not too much. I don’t want overpowering flavors. I like to eat my stew with a fork. I bring it close to my lips. I perceive the aroma of the bay leaf and the oregano. Floury texture of the lentils. Unique flavor of the sweet potato. Heat provided by the chile peppers.
Finally, I evoke Julian. An ice cream. A chocolate mousse ice cream. The velvety texture contrasts with the cold temperature. Also the sweet flavor. That’s him. Sweet. Velvety. Cold as ice. When we made love, Julian was a connoisseur. He knew all the tricks to transform sex into a perfect act. Too mechanical for my taste.
Like the good sybarite that I have always boasted to be, tonight I have prepared a feast. A feast of four courses. Everything is ready; the white table linen has been starched and carefully ironed. The silverware has been polished. The glass has been carefully wiped with a cloth. I have chosen my favorite dinner service: white porcelain with a garland of green shamrocks. In the center of the table a flower arrangement containing eglantines and starflowers. The table is laid for six. To the left and right of each plate first the spoon for the soup on the right side, then the fish cutlery, and finally, that for the main course. At the top, the dessert spoon. The four glasses to the right. The napkin rests on the top plate and this, in turn, sits on a golden charger.
I light the candles. As background music, Vivaldi’s Four Seasons fill the room with their chords. I glimpse at my reflection on the mirror, straighten my black dress and verify that my red lipstick has not been smudged. I open the door. There they are. The five of them. In their tuxedos, they look like wedding cake dolls. Broad smiles. All of them carrying flowers. Eugene has brought me a bouquet of violets. Just like him. Simple and sweet. I thank him with a kiss. Billy offers me a magnificent bunch of larkspurs. I frown and wonder if it is by chance that he has brought me the flowers that mean “fickleness” and “arrogance”. Hernando hands me some beautiful gladioli and I smile to myself. "Always ready" the meaning of this flower, and it cannot be more appropriate for somebody whose libido never ceases to surprise me. I place Julian’s selfish narcissuses on a nearby chair; my arms are already overflowing. I raise my eyebrows at Juan’s yellow carnations. “Disdain”. Is it what I feel for him or what he feels for me?
I accommodate them around the table and the feast begins. I place the smoked salmon in front of each guest. I take my seat, look at my old lovers with a smile, wink at them and ready myself to revel in the fun. When we have finished, I take Hernando by the hand and guide him to my bedroom. The St. Martin in the Fields Academy interprets Spring and the chords of the allegro can be heard from the other room. Devoid of our clothes, we happily make love in the hasty manner that I remember. Nothing has changed. Five minutes later we are finished and we get dressed. Juan Eduardo is uncorking a second bottle of champagne. The others drink and chat among themselves. I go to the kitchen and bring the bisque. Hernando is lying on the floor next to his chair. The cyanide which I have sprinkled on the salmon to provoke as precocious a death as his orgasms, has worked to perfection. The scent of almonds has been successfully disguised by the strong smell of smoked fish.
I set the bisque before the remaining four. The ritual is repeated. When we finish this course, Billy and I walk off to the living room. We make love to the cadence of allegro non molto. He has the opposite alternative of Hernando, and this explains why I always used to finish exhausted. Summer is concluding when we return to the table. I have confirmed that Billy continues being the anodyne lobster soup for which women usually pay too much. Death by hemlock, by analogy, begins with a brief initial stimulation followed by a severe depression of the nervous system, paralysis and death. Very similar to our sexual act. An accurate choice.
Fall begins as Eugene and I crawl under the table. We have devoured the main dish and, between the legs of Juan Eduardo and Julian and the body of Hernando, we mind our business. I feel a sensation of well-being, as comforting as a home-made stew. The heat, the contrast of flavors expand through my veins, and yet, I derive no pleasure from it. He had been a tender lover but had committed the sin of leaving me for a girl he had met one summer. Eugene is discarded twenty minutes later all through the allegro, adagio, allegro, when the belladonna I have added to his stew begins to take effect. His pupils dilate and his heart beat becomes faster. His skin turns hot and dry. Death arrives after a short while for this modest and sweet lover.
When I return to the table, Juan Eduardo is clearing the plates and Julian is washing them in the kitchen. I take the plate that Julian rinses under the faucet and run my fingers over the garland. The meaning of the shamrock is “revenge”. A revenge that in this case leaves a magnificent aftertaste. Not at all bitter. I thank them both with kisses on their cheeks and place the kettle on the stove. I have reserved the best for the grande finale. A chocolate mousse ice cream with thick milk caramel in the center. Winter begins and Juan Eduardo, Julian and I enjoy the delicious candy. Soon we undress and, on the table, engage in what I hope will be the most exquisite threesome. And it is, thanks to Julian’s flawless technique (allegro non molto) which contrasts with Juan Eduardo’s tender clumsiness (largo). I pick up the flowers that were knocked over in the midst of our passion. "Widowhood " and "he whom you love, will make you cry”. Nobody is going to make me cry any more. Of that I am certain. The kettle begins to whistle. I march to the kitchen to prepare the coffee.
I sit and wait while Juan Eduardo, Julian and I drink our beverages. Winter concludes dramatically and the music stops. Gastrointestinal problems are among the most manifest symptoms of acute arsenic poisoning. This usually happens between thirty minutes to one hour after intake, but I have doubled the dose to rush matters. Even so, it takes about forty minutes for the poison to kick in. The symptoms include nausea, vomiting, abdominal pain and diarrhea, vertigo, muscular spasms and delirium. This type of poisoning also causes damage to the neurological system and is often recognized by the rare positioning of the hands. I have reserved this beautiful potion for Julian, my first love, and paradoxically, one of my most harmful lovers.
I smile at Juan Eduardo and he smiles back. Juan Eduardo, the one with the fleshy build. When the drug I have put in his coffee finally kicks in, Juan Eduardo falls asleep over the table. I undress him slowly. I place him on the giant baking pan and brush him with olive oil. A little salt and pepper complete the seasoning. I do not like to overuse spices since I suffer from indigestion. I sprinkle my lover with fresh lemon juice and bay leaves. We must not forget its meaning: "I will change but after death ". For him I have reserved the slowest of them all, just like his love techniques. I secretly smile imagining Juan’s cushiony body broiling under the thin layer of oil. I place the pan in the oven and turn it on high. In four or five hours he will be ready.