Vanilla Salt (7 page)

But no. And it was better like this. They didn’t talk much, but laughed a lot. She was surprised that Àlex knew how to laugh. This was something she’d never seen.

When the film finished and she was leaving, he said. “I’ve got lots of films and I enjoy watching them over and over again. We can do this again, if you like.”

These words were even more comforting than sitting by the fire with a cup of tea on a cold winter’s afternoon in her beloved Quebec, watching snowflakes gently drifting down outside the cold-misted windows.

Annette goes down to the kitchen, hoping to find her boss there and relive the story of the film about two Italian brothers who open a restaurant in the United States with exquisite food and not a single customer who understands it. A customerless restaurant with exceptional food, just like Antic Món.

He’s not there. She’s completely alone in the restaurant and this is disconcerting. She wants to talk about their nice time last night. They were getting on well, starting to feel closer. She’s surprised that she wants to see him and spend more time with him when on previous Mondays she’d enjoyed precisely the opposite, which is Àlex’s absence and the fact that he leaves early in the morning.

She’s got a headache. She cuts a huge slice of bread, covers it with thin rounds of cucumber, some roast chicken, apple, mayonnaise and a sprinkling of oregano.

Then she goes upstairs. Turns on the computer. A whole world is waiting for her out there beyond the screen: the blogs she likes, the friends she wants to read in English and French. It’s such a relief to forget about Catalan for a while! She opens Facebook and posts some photos of Antic
Món on the restaurant’s page. They’re very enticing: pictures of forks in a row, a box of bright-red strawberries, the brilliant colours of a salad, the dust that’s collected on a venerable bottle of cognac, a golden roast just out of the oven… She’s so engrossed that she almost misses Carol, who’s chiding her from the chat window.

“What are you doing today, love?”

“Hallo Carol. I do nothing. I rest.”

“I want to see you. Let’s go and have lunch somewhere.”

“I eat now a sandwich.”

“Leave your sandwich. I’m coming to get you. I’m going to take you to a fabulous restaurant, legendary. It’s in Granollers. We’ll eat proper Catalan food there. I’ll be with you in a couple of hours. Get yourself dolled up. It’s an important day today…”

Annette doesn’t know how to say no. She doesn’t want to go, but can’t think of a remotely convincing excuse. She doesn’t understand why it’s an important day, but she’s always been obedient.

She gets dressed, runs a comb through her hair and clumsily applies some eyeliner. She still has more than an hour before Carol comes to get her. She whiles away the time surfing the web and can’t resist typing “Atlantic Viandes” in the Google search box.

She’s already seen plenty of pages where the name of the company is prominent in the news. Suddenly she finds a new one. Oh no! What’s this? More problems? Now very alert, she reads the note. It seems that a new gang of criminals has been caught fattening pigs with anabolic steroids. A few lines into the article she reads:

This is the first food safety scandal in Canada since the A
TLANTIC
V
IANDES
clenbuterol poisoning tragedy. The Canadian police have not yet arrested the director of the latter company.

Annette starts dry-retching, trying to vomit, but she can’t. She undresses and gets in the shower, as if to wash away the memories. She needs to dissolve her tears, burn away her rage in scalding water.

She loses all sense of time. She has no idea of how long she’s been under the shower. The skin on her fingers is as wrinkled as it used to get when she was a little girl splashing around in her parents’ swimming pool.

The doorbell rings insistently, three times, but she ignores it. She’s lost in thought.

Then she reacts. The doorbell! Carol’s here! There’s no time to dress. She wraps herself in a towel and runs downstairs to open the door.

Carol smiles ecstatically. She couldn’t ask for more. Annette, barefoot and wearing only a towel is a heavenly sight.

“Well, well, well! I never imagined you’d welcome me in such a sexy way.”

“Sorry, Carol, I shower late.”

“I’m charmed, love. Let’s go upstairs while you get dressed, OK?

“No, no… I come down soon as possible. You drink aperitif.”

“I’m coming with you… Then we can keep talking. I’m sure you have lots to tell me.”

“Carol, I like for you wait here. Just one minute.”

Annette’s embarrassed about Carol seeing her humble, poky little room, but Carol is not to be dissuaded, so they go upstairs, each armed with glass of cava.

Carol is entranced by the photos hanging from rusty nails driven into the wall, thrilled to be able to snoop and check out Annette’s mementos. She asks where she got the rain stick and the mate gourd and runs her finger along the spines of her books on the shelf. She asks about her travels and Annette happily offers her a string of anecdotes. Reliving the moment of buying the rain stick on a trip to Mexico, or the hilarious
moment when she was presented with the Quechuan mate gourd helps her forget the anxiety caused by the news she read on the Internet. Annette’s quite comfortable wandering around dressed in a towel and pleased to share her pressed-flower album, a collection of memories in which each petal is a little scrap of her life.

“I love hearing your stories,” Carol says happily. “But you’d better get dressed now. It’s after two, and they’ll close the kitchen in La Fonda if we don’t hurry up and get ourselves to Granollers.”

Carol opens the wardrobe to look for something worthy of the occasion, some sexy dress, but she can’t find one.

“You’ve only got jeans, white T-shirts and jumpers for climbing mountains. Where on earth did you imagine you were going to live? Livingstone’s jungle? Did you think we’re still cave dwellers rubbing stones together to make fire? Haven’t you got anything stylish?”

“I work no stop all the day. I no need the luxury dress.”

“In between luxury and woolly caps there’s a world of possibilities. There are some very good shops in Granollers. I’m going to buy you a dress this afternoon so you can wear it when you come out with me.”

“Thank you, Carol, but I no need nothing.”

“Listen, sweetheart, if I want to buy you a dress, I’m going to buy it. Now you just be a good girl.”

Annette doesn’t know what to make of these last words. She doesn’t get a lot of the nuances in Catalan, but something tells her it’s better to keep quiet.

She drops the towel on the floor and bends over to put her knickers on. When she’s doing up her bra she finds warm hands helping her.

She thinks Carol’s being very attentive.

“Remind me to get you some underwear too. What you’re wearing is fine for going to war, but I like ladies in lovely lacy lingerie. You’ll be gorgeous in garnet red.”

Annette still doesn’t catch on, but she wants to get dressed quickly and leave. She’s hungry and is keen to see Granollers and the legendary Fonda Europa. And something strange is thickening the air in the room.

In the car, almost yelling, they sing Nat King Cole’s Spanish songs: “
Luna que se quiebra sobre las tinieblas de mi soledad, adooooonde vas…
”

They giggle.

When they arrive at Fonda Europa, Annette’s astounded to see so many people. The place is bursting at the seams, with tables of customers tucking into large casseroles of rice, massive fillets and immense salads. They have to sit at the bar as there is no free table. A couple of glasses of cava help to while away the time.

They end up waiting half an hour, after which they’ve quaffed four glasses each, talking non-stop. Carol is particularly loquacious. She tells stories about Fonda Europa, her meals at luxury restaurants all over Europe, superstar chefs, exotic flavours and other aspects of her occupation as a gourmet.

Annette greatly enjoys the conversation and the meal. They order the restaurant’s most famous dishes, namely those based on offal: calf’s head and foot and pig’s head, belly, ears and trotters. They round off the feast with the celebrated
pijama
, an endurance test for the staunchest of stomachs consisting of a plateful of preserved peaches, caramel custard, whipped cream and two rolled wafers.

“Wow! Go for it!” Carol exclaims, laughing. “It’s really worth knowing about this place. Fonda Europa is a classic of Catalan cuisine. It’s belonged to the same family since 1714. Canada didn’t even exist then!”

“Yes, it exist.”

“I’m teasing you, gorgeous. I just said it to make you angry. I want to see what you look like when you’re angry, but I’m not having any luck. You’re so sweet…”

“I no get angry.”

“What do you mean? We all get angry when people attack us.”

“I before in my life very angry. I no want feel bad. I want easy life.”

“Hmmm. Well, I’ll get you a little bit irate one of these days. Then I’ll have the pleasure of consoling you in my arms,” Carol says, gently stroking Annette’s curls.

Annette goes with the flow. She’s happy with Carol. They’re laughing a lot and the conversation is interesting. She likes being treated with so much deference. She’s like a wounded animal and needs a friend, understanding, cherishing and affection. And Carol’s willing to give her all of this in abundance.

In the afternoon they stroll around Granollers. They go to see La Porxada, the sixteenth-century portico that once sheltered a grain market, and wander through the main square and its surrounding alleys.

They enter Can Montañá, an elegant dress shop where Carol insists on buying her a party dress.

“Thank you, but I never put this dress.”

“Of course you’ll wear it! You’re going to wear it next week because we’re going to have dinner in a great restaurant, in Barcelona. That and the lingerie we’re going to buy for you right now.”

“I have already the lingerie. You no waste the money.”

“This isn’t wasting money. This is an investment in what I like most: enjoying life’s fleeting pleasures. You’ll never catch me laying out money for a house, or a car, or even clothes for myself. I don’t need material things. But to see you dressed up and looking so sexy is a huge pleasure. I won’t take no for an answer. This is my priority now.”

They’re in the lingerie shop and Carol insists on selecting Annette’s underwear. Annette’s resisting. “No, I no like the red brassiere with exquisiteness,” says Annette, showing off the word Òscar taught her a few days ago.

“Well I do like it and that’s what counts. You’re so gorgeous.”

Carol says this in a croaky voice, the way she was speaking a few hours ago. It’s a voice that surges from her depths, a darker, silkier, slowly throbbing voice. Her eyes are shining. The bottle of cava, their lunch and the image of Annette in this underwear have inflamed her. She wants to touch her, here, now, in the fitting room.

“I’m tired, Annette. What about you? I’d love to have a siesta. Shall we see if they’ve got a free room at the hotel?”

“Now? I no want the siesta. Is good the coffee.”

The prospect of going to a hotel for a siesta terrifies Annette. She’s started to realize what Carol’s intentions are and certainly doesn’t want to play any dangerous game that would jeopardize their friendship. She values Carol very highly as a friend. Her life’s already too complicated without getting tangled in difficult sentimental situations as well. The timing’s all wrong. Anyway, she’s never been attracted by women. No way.

They have a coffee and Carol calms down.

They’re silent on the way back to Antic Món. The atmosphere is tense. Carol’s upset by Annette’s rejection and ashamed of having been so up front. She should have been more subtle, she thinks, but the gelatinous sensuality of the
capipota
, its melting tenderness of calf’s cheek and foot, combined with the cava’s tingling zing, has stirred up her most hidden carnal desires.

They say goodbye. A kiss on each cheek and a hand caressing Annette’s thigh. Carol once again feels she’s spinning out of control. The luxuriance of the red hair, the beautiful curving hips and the pale sprinkling of freckles on dimpled cheeks are driving her crazy.

Annette goes up to her room. She leaves the bags in a corner. She doesn’t want to put away Carol’s purchases. She’ll do that later. Right now she needs to rest and sort out her emotions.

She turns on the computer and tries to do some work on the Facebook page, read the blogs and sort out some photos, but she can’t concentrate. Images of her day in Granollers keep parading through her head. Contradictory feelings are making her dizzy. Maybe she should have been more compliant with Carol. Should she have let her have her way? But then she might have lost a valuable friendship. It’s been a bittersweet day. She wants to speak with Òscar and looks for him on Facebook. Right now, he’s the only friend she has, or at least the only one who’s not trying to push at the limits of friendship, wanting something else.

“Annette, are you OK?”

“Yes, yes, Òscar. Many emotions only.”

“I was thinking I might come and visit you and Àlex tomorrow. I have to go and see a client in Granollers and, all being well, I could come and spend bit of time at Antic Món around mid-afternoon.”

“Please come. For me is good. I need very much speak.”

“I think it would be a good idea if we tell Àlex about the Friends of Antic Món page tomorrow. He mustn’t be kept in the dark about this. If I’m there, he won’t get so angry.”

“Tomorrow, perfectly. Or no, maybe. I no sure. It depend of Àlex mood. I have sometimes fear with him.”

“I know. Don’t be afraid. Basically, he’s a good fellow but he’s got a lot of hate seething inside him. Oh, and by the way, remember that carrot-cake recipe of yours? My girlfriend wants to make it and I can’t find pecans. Could she use our local walnuts instead?”

“I think yes. Of course.”

It’s completely dark outside. Annette’s cold, but it’s the type of cold that comes from within and makes your very thoughts shiver. She’s terribly, intensely homesick for her own home, her country, her friends and carrot cake.