Moving Day

I’ve moved, hopefully for the final time, before I start feeling like a college student lugging boxes upstairs and down every six months. You can find my new site with flash fiction for the cocktail hour and my resurrected blog at: SuburbanNoir.com

Extinction: 5th and Final Episode

by Cathryn Grant
A short story serialized in five episodes. Read previous episodes: Episode 1. Episode 2, Episode 3, Episode 4.

In the kitchen, Marissa and her support staff were too busy with their knives and slotted spoons and vats of sauce to look at her. She went into back room where fish was prepared before it was brought, gutted and washed, into the main kitchen. She took a glass off the shelf and filled it at the faucet. Behind her, Rick, one of the assistant cooks, tipped a stainless steel pot over the butcher block counter. Four gorgeous, shimmering sea bass, their eyes flat with death, slid onto the surface. They wiggled to a stop as if they were still alive, leaving a smear of scales on the wood.

Rick pulled a cleaver off the rack and swiped it on a whetstone, ready to remove the heads. She couldn’t watch. She turned to the sink and gulped down the water. She heard Gordon’s voice in the other room, “Where’s Zyra?”

There was a loud thwack as the cleaver came down on the first fish. Tears filled her eyes. She considered whether she should use the hidden filet knife on Rick, stop him from mindlessly removing the heads of the deceased creatures as if it no longer mattered.

The door swung open, slammed against the wall and then swung violently out the other way into the main kitchen. “Please give us a minute,” said Gordon.

“I need to get these guys ready,” said Rick.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Gordon.

Rick trudged out the door, pushing it gently so it fell softly back into place. The room was silent, except for Gordon’s heavy, wet breath. “Turn around.”

She faced him, slipping her hand into her pocket and running her fingers along the handle of the knife.

“Do you want to keep your job?”

She stared at him.

“Remove these fish heads. If you do it satisfactorily, I might give you another chance.”

“No.”

He grabbed the cleaver in one hand and her wrist with the other. He clawed at her curled fingers, trying to loosen her fist, working the handle of the cleaver into her clenched hand. When she wouldn’t relent, he pressed the handle of the cleaver against the back of her hand, squashing the bones until she yelped. Squeezing his meaty hands around her fingers and the handle, he raised the cleaver. Zyra screamed. The cleaver slammed down and sliced neatly through the scales, bones and flesh. It struck the wood surface with a clean point of contact. The head skated across the counter and dropped to the floor.

Gordon let go of her hand. She put her knuckles to her lips, then she slid her hand into her pocket and pulled out the filet knife. She waved it at him.

Gordon laughed. “If you want to save the ocean, go live on the beach or something. Why are you even here?”

“Underneath, most people are good. I can make them see what they’re doing.”

“You’re an idiot. Now put that knife away. I’ll go prepare your check and you can leave. Now.”

She pointed the knife at him. “You’re cruel.”

He laughed again. “All men are cruel. That’s how we survive. You think those damn fish are so virtuous? You ever been out on a fishing boat? They’re carnivores, just like us.”

Zyra moved closer, she swiped the thin blade at his knuckles, but he moved slowly out of the way, as if he didn’t have to try very hard to avoid her.

“You don’t have the guts to use that knife on me. Look at a shark sometime. You ever seen one rip apart a sea lion? We’re all animals. And if you aren’t an animal, you can’t survive.”

He grabbed her arm and yanked the knife out of her hand. Zyra twisted, trying to pull herself free. She stumbled back and her heel landed on the fish’s head. She cried out, knowing she was squashing it on the floor. She skidded. Her foot flew out to the side and she collapsed against Gordon as if he’d planned it that way. The knife pierced her neatly just to the left of her sternum. She wrenched away from him, the knife still embedded between her ribs. She fell. Her back smacked the floor with the same sound as the cleaver hitting the table. She felt the air rush out of her lungs. Pain shot down her spine. Strangely, there was no pain where the knife was planted. She saw the eyes of the fish, staring at her from its severed head, even though it couldn’t see her.

She wheezed, trying to fill her lungs with oxygen. Her throat tightened and the edge of her vision turned black. She moved her mouth, but couldn’t speak. All she could do was manipulate her jaw, moving it wildly, gasping for air.

THE END

© Copyright 2010 Cathryn Grant

Extinction: Episode 4

by Cathryn Grant
A short story serialized in five episodes. Read previous episodes: Episode 1. Episode 2, Episode 3.

Suddenly Gordon’s thick fingers slipped under the hem of Zyra’s skirt. She stepped back. “What are you doing? Stop it.”

“You’re so sweet. Good enough to eat.”

“If you touch me again, I’ll tell Marissa.”

He smirked. “Then you’ll lose your job.”

“So will you.”

“Not possible. Come on, tell me why you wanted to work here? Aren’t you going against your high falutin’ principles every time you walk in that door? Taking money from people who’re devouring your friends, the little fishies?” He ran his finger down her arm. “Nice skin.”

Zyra grabbed a filet knife off the counter. “I told you to stop.”

“Oooh. Brave little pacifist. If you don’t want to kill fish, why would you be waving a knife at me?” He laughed. “You’re betraying your religion.”

She pointed the knife at him. “Just leave me alone.”

“Come on, Zyra. Why are you working here?”

He’d pronounced her name correctly. She put the knife on the counter.

“You look down your nose at all the customers. You refuse to eat the food.”

“Maybe I think I can do some good.”

“So you’re an animal activist spy?”

“Maybe I can convert some of these gluttons into seeing how they’re hurting the planet. Make them see that we’re all one, and when we kill other beings, we kill a piece of ourselves.”

“People don’t want to be converted when they’re eating dinner.”

“They never want to be converted. But maybe one or two will realize what they’re doing. I think that man at Table One knows. I think he’ll leave here a different person.”

“You’re nuts.”

She shrugged.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, turned and walked out of the kitchen. “People are waiting. If you start preaching again, you’re fired.”

“I’ll tell Marissa what you just did in there.”

He walked out the door, making sure that the hunch of his shoulders and the nonchalant twist of his head gave him the last word. She slipped the knife into the long pocket on the side of her apron. It was easy to shift the knife behind her order pad where the handle wasn’t visible. The blade was so thin and light, it didn’t tug at the fabric to reveal the extra weight hidden inside.

He was so wrong. She wasn’t going against her religion at all. Human beings had a greater responsibility than the other creatures on the earth. Yes, they were all one, and what one did caused pain throughout the entire organism called life. But that life would be better served if some of the worst offenders were removed. He made her feel like a piece of fruit, pinched and sampled, if he had his way. If he touched her again, he would find those thick fingers a little less adept.

She returned to the table. “Have you decided what you’d like to order for your main course?”

“I’ll have the seared tuna with radish puree.” The woman pushed her menu toward Zyra and picked up her wine glass. She pursed her lips and sipped. “This needs a re-fill.” She set the glass back on the table. “I don’t like having to ask.”

Zyra pulled the bottle out of the chiller and dribbled wine into the glass. A drop splashed on the woman’s wrist. Zyra knew she could kiss her tip good-bye. On the other hand, she was now free to go all out, convince the man that chewing on a piece of endangered ocean life turned him into an animal gnawing at his own foot to escape a trap. She filled his wine glass and leaned over the table so her face was inches from his. Her thick black braid fell forward and wrapped around her arm like a serpent. She settled the bottle into the chiller and whispered, “If your companion has the tuna, you must have the sturgeon. You might be one of the last humans to consume it. You know you want it. You know you don’t care if one breed dies off. What does it matter? They’re soul-less. You can hardly tell them apart. They don’t cry when they suffer.”

The man whimpered. He pushed away the wine glass. His fingers were slender, advertising his delicate constitution, telling everyone he wasn’t the slick shark-like master of industry he wanted to be. He folded the edge of the tablecloth around his fingers. He fondled the fabric as if he was weaving his hands through his wife’s blonde hair. He wrapped the cloth more tightly, seeking comfort, an infantile attachment to a blanket that had the power to ease his terror.

Suddenly her braid was yanked away from her arm. Her head stretched back, exposing her neck to the table. She felt like a beast about to have its throat slit. She gagged. The woman looked smug, but the man stared in horror. Gordon whirled her around, still holding her braid. “I’ll finish serving this charming couple. Please wait for me in the kitchen, Zyra.” Again, he was back to the deliberate mispronunciation. She stepped back and her heel skidded on the tile. Even though it was terracotta, it was still prone to a slickness that came from heavy foot traffic smoothing it to a polish. She caught herself before she fell.

Episode 5: Sunday, August 29

© Copyright 2010 Cathryn Grant

Extinction: Episode 3

by Cathryn Grant
A short story serialized in five episodes. Read previous episodes: Episode 1. Episode 2.

Zyra smiled hopefully at the couple.

“What do you recommend?” said the man.

This was the question she longed to hear every evening, an open door, inviting her to defend the slaughtered creatures lying on ice slabs in the refrigerated room. How could she resist? “Order the sturgeon while you can. It’s on the list of sea life vulnerable to extinction. Soon, you won’t be able to get it. You have the chance to make a huge contribution to destroying the planet. All for the price of $49.95, plus sides.”

The man gave her an uncomfortable grimace. His brow was lowered slightly as if the effort would help his brain decipher her words. At the same time, he seemed  fully aware she’d said something upsetting. She’d stripped off his veneer of sophistication and pointed out what he was really like – feasting off other creatures to satisfy his own gourmand tastes. The continued silence, his frozen expression, told her he had no idea how to respond.

In a single breath she’d managed to stir up a deep sense of guilt, a sudden awareness that he wasn’t gracefully striding across the planet, enjoying its resources. Instead, he was stomping the earth, flattening the vegetation, sucking it dry of life and contributing to its eventual destruction. Yes, that was the other look on his face. In addition to guilt, he was terrified. Her words exposed him for the frightened creature he was, finally aware that the earth was burning up while he ignored it, racing around in his turbo-charged something-or-other, eating whatever he pleased, running the shower full force for as long as he felt like day-dreaming. And now he was reduced to a child that couldn’t find anything safe in the world. He shuddered like a hooked fish, gasping for oxygen.

The woman took a sip of wine. “That was a very offensive little speech. Please send the manager to our table.”

Zyra stared at the man until he blinked. His eyes were damp.

Suddenly Gordon was at her side. He held two narrow glass cups. Perched in the cups were hollowed brown eggshells, each one filled with a spoonful of caviar. “Zyra, please remove the soup bowls.”

She picked up the bowls.

With a flourish, Gordon set the cups in front of the man and woman. “Compliments of your chef.” He turned to Zyra. “Come with me, please.”

She followed Gordon to the kitchen. He pushed open the door to the food prep room. She followed. He turned and without giving her a chance to set down the soup bowls, leaned close. His breath smelled like the bay in late summer, a hint of seaweed and rotting crustaceans. “Why the hell do you work in a seafood restaurant if you’re a vegan? You can’t be feeding customers guilt over your idiotic animal rights notions. If you do it again, you’re fired.”

“Why don’t you fire me now?”

“We invested a lot in training you. We thought you had the polish for this place. You’re nice eye candy, you can do well here, but you have to leave that …” He waved his hand in a circular motion. “That political stuff outside. Why can’t you grasp that?”

Zyra walked around him and set the bowls on the wood block table that filled most of the room. She’d been right. He had no courage. He didn’t want to let her go, he was too consumed with the hope of getting her into his bed. She laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re mocking me.”

He moved closer until she felt his breath on her face again. Zyra couldn’t understand why he was unconcerned about being caught standing so close. Was he this way with all the female servers? His wife was the owner, the head chef. Did she notice how he hovered around Zyra? Probably not. She had her head stuck too far inside her pots. Marissa seemed to enjoy slicing the creatures that fell under the razor-like blade of her filet knife before they landed in a pan with a drop of extra virgin olive oil, their sizzling flesh stripped of its skin and the delicate support structure of bones.

Marissa was an icy-looking woman, with nearly white blonde hair, eyebrows that were only discernable when she was standing a few feet a way, and bloodless lips. There was nothing about her that indicated she enjoyed food. Her body was skeletal, which probably explained why Gordon spent half the evening looking at Zyra’s breasts with a hunger that said the man hadn’t eaten in  months. It explained why he always ended up too close, his thick wrist brushing against her hip. At the same time, he seemed terrified of his wife. It was clear that Marissa told him what to do, that the concept for the restaurant was hers, and that her desire for success was about more than serving good food. Marissa wanted to define, then control, and finally, revel in the power of fulfilling the desires she created. Gordon was the last thing on her mind.

Episode 4: Sunday, August 22

© Copyright 2010 Cathryn Grant

Extinction: Episode 2

by Cathryn Grant
A short story serialized in five episodes. Read Episode 1 here.

“I’ll have the bisque,” said the woman.

The man held up two fingers, indicating he’d have the same.

“And for our entrees tonight …”

“Later. We’ll order a bottle of Sonoma Cutrer Chardonnay. You can tell us about the entrees later,” said the woman.

“Don’t you want to get your order in now so you can ensure you’re first to try the latest?” Zyra was confused. That was the whole point of eating here.

She hurried to the bar to place the wine order. Sonoma Cutrer was a nice enough wine, but in the scale of wines offered at The Flaming Fish it was priced near the bottom of the list. So far, the couple had managed to keep her off guard by doing everything contrary to the behavior of typical patrons. They came early but didn’t care about being first to receive the evening’s specials. They reserved the most prominent table, but didn’t seem inclined to display a two hundred dollar bottle of wine to be seen by passers-by, preferring a reasonably priced bottle. They’d disrupted her rhythm. When was she supposed to take their order?

Zyra returned to the table. “You’re sure you don’t want to order now?”

“We’re waiting for our wine,” said the woman.

Well then. Clearly they had their own agenda.

After she served the wine, followed by wide, shallow bowls of bisque, Zyra waited until they’d been able to taste a few spoonfuls before returning to the table. Again she could feel Gordon’s eyes on her, watching the shifting of her hips as she moved among the other tables. The moment she returned to the kitchen, he would be on her, asking what they’d ordered, how they were doing, whether there were any problems.

“How’s the bisque?”

The man and woman both nodded.

What was that supposed to mean? Probably that it was ok, but a compliment, a sigh of pleasure would be nice. What would be even more appropriate would be some acknowledgment, no matter how trivial, of the life that had been given for their epicurean orgy. Even a small whisper of thanks to the sea creature, a remembrance of his suffering. Were they completely heartless? She knew the answer to that question and wondered for the hundredth time why she asked it of herself. Of course they lacked compassion for the other beings inhabiting the planet. And she was just as culpable, working here, making money off the deaths of so many.

She knew Gordon watched every step she took on her way back to the servers’ waiting area. Zyra turned and saw the hostess leading three women to her section. She started back across the room. Gordon grabbed her skirt. “Wait.”

“I have more guests,” she said.

“You always move too fast. Let them get settled. Especially a group of women, you need to let them stash their purses and fiddle with their clothes first.”

“But then you tell me I’m too slow. Which is it?”

“What it is, Zyra,” he said, deliberately mispronouncing her name with a short ‘i’ sound, “is that you need more sensitivity. It’s not a matter of checking your watch, or following prescribed steps. It’s a matter of sensing the needs of each individual.”

“I do.”

“You don’t. What does that couple at the window table want this evening?”

“A perfect dining experience with flavors and textures that make them forget every frustration of the past week. A taste experience to elicit thoughts of making love.”

“No. You don’t just parrot phrases out of your training manual. That couple wants to be alone, and you’re pestering them.”

She sighed.

“Remember I’m watching you.”

“You don’t have to tell me.”

“You had your warning. If you say anything to upset them, or to disparage this restaurant, this is your last day.”

Zyra looked down and smoothed her skirt. She could feel his eyes looking at the curve of her thigh beneath her skirt, and she could feel that he wouldn’t fire her. That’s what was wrong with carnivores, they had no moral courage.

When the couple’s soup bowls were empty, pushed slightly to the side, Zyra strolled to the table. They listened politely while she described the three special entrées for the evening, allowing her to chatter through the list of adjectives describing preparation and ingredients. She was used to questions, interruptions that allowed her to weave the descriptions into her own speech pattern. Now she felt out-of-breath trying to make it through the entire monologue. She had a startling thought that Gordon had sent them as plants, to check on the words she said that he couldn’t hear from his post outside the kitchen. Maybe he really did want to be rid of her, despite his conflicted desire to yank her into the darkened pantry after the restaurant closed for the night.

Episode 3: Sunday, August 15

© Copyright 2010 Cathryn Grant