A Dinner to Remember

The quick rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board conflicted with the slow Pink Martini record playing on the radio, yet this conflict seemed to only enhance the melody as Justine Watts sang along softly in French. She finished chopping the onions and threw them into the pot, adding a crushed clove of garlic on top. The aroma quickly filled the spacious kitchen, and she took a quick sip of Cabernet to bring the whole scene together. If only it were snowing, she thought, and I had a fireplace crackling in the living room. Alas, the apartment she shared with her husband Brian had no fireplace, but was complete with luxurious modern furnishings and a stunning view over Manhattan. 

She chuckled to herself as she seasoned two steaks. “Share” was a funny word. The rent was paid solely by her, as were the utilities. She’d published a #1 Bestselling book not three years ago, The Crows Come Home to Roost, which had since been turned into a relatively good movie. With her money, she’d decided to move her and her then fiancé Brian into the heart of Manhattan, where they’d dreamed of living ever since they met in college. He was also an author, but hadn’t published anything nearing the success of Justine’s novel. In fact, The Crows Come Home to Roost was so successful she’d been given the advance on her second book, Murder in the Bay, straight away. Murder in the Bay was set to hit the shelves next Sunday.

She heard the door open and shut, and the familiar gruff voice of her husband say, “I’m home!”, as he put his coat on the rack and took his shoes off. 

She hesitated for just a moment, taking another sip of wine, before replying, “I’m in the kitchen!”

His heavy footsteps marched down the hallway and soon she felt his arms around her waist, one hand holding a box of her favorite artisanal chocolates, and the other holding what looked to be an army of brilliant red roses. He put his chin on her shoulder and kissed her ear, whispering, “Happy Valentine’s Day,” as he did so. 

She smiled and turned around, staring into his slightly dopey blue eyes and inky black hair and beard. She said, “Happy Valentine’s Day to you too…” 

They held each other and kissed for some time, the track changing from Hang on Little Tomato to Sympathique. When they broke apart, he was breathing heavily and had a familiar tremble in his hands, like a beast caged before a fight. She, of course, knew what was on his mind and warded him off with a look that clearly said, “Not now… but later.”

“You know, Justine… it’s been twelve years, and your eyes are just as strong as ever… the best shade of hazel… Did you do your hair today?” He set the chocolates down next to the stove and started to put the roses in a vase. 

“As a matter of fact, I did.” 

“It looks gorgeous… and so do you. I mean, that red dress…” He kissed her cheek and ran a hand through her long, strawberry blond hair. She shuddered a little - he always knew just what to say… but then she remembered how special tonight’s dinner was, and gave him another, “Not now, but definitely later”, looks. 

“You’re not looking so bad yourself, Mr. Suit.” It was true - Brian hardly ever wore suits, but he’d had an important meeting with his agent today, and coupled with the weight of Valentine’s day had driven him into a crisp white shirt and blue tie under a black jacket. It looked a little odd without the black Oxford’s on his feet, but she smiled nonetheless.

“Thank you, m’lady,” he bowed deeply and she couldn’t help but laugh. He grinned and asked, “Can I help with dinner?”

“Oh no, I’m almost done… just go sit at the table and I should be there in fifteen minutes or so.” She started searing the beef and put some stock in the pot with the vegetables. 

He finished adding water to the vase with roses and said, “Oh I know what that means… at least thirty minutes, right?” He smiled sarcastically and kissed her cheek again, “I’ll be at the table.” About a minute later, she heard the scraping of the chair as he pulled it out to take a seat. She sighed and relaxed herself, focusing on the wine and the music. Soon the pressure of the night would be relieved and she could be free again. But until then, she stirred the pot and waited for the steaks to cook. Tonight, they were having Brian’s favorite: salt and pepper crusted Ribeye with a hearty vegetable soup of Justine’s own design, and some scalloped potatoes. 

Forty minutes went by before the table was finally set to eat. In preparation for tonight, Brian had adorned the table with their best red trimmed white tablecloth and set it with gold rimmed plates and wine glasses. Though their table could seat eight, they would be occupying two seats directly across from one another, with the extra food to Brian’s left, behind the roses he’d put in a glittering crystal vase. To his right, and at the head of the table, Justine had put their wedding day picture, set within a beautiful white frame. Soon after she had placed all the food on the table and served both Brian and herself, she grabbed the wedding picture and caressed it lightly, gazing into her own wonder-filled eyes as a younger version of her looked up at a much younger version of her husband. 

“What a day,” remarked Brian, “I remember it like it was yesterday… you haven’t changed a bit… hell, I bet you’d still fit in that dress.”

She would, and she knew it, but he certainly had changed. Gone were the slim cheeks and sharp jawline she’d married, to be replaced by puffy cheeks loosely hidden behind a beard. Not that she cared about any of that - he still retained some of his boyish looks, and that was enough.

“I know,” she replied, “I remember it too… do you know what you said to me just before we had this photo taken?”

His eyes betrayed a frustration playing out in his mind. “Justine, you know men can never remember anything-”

“You said that you’d never looked at anything as beautiful as my eyes, that you’d never felt anything kinder than my touch, and that you’d never heard anything as sweet as my voice. You said you could write ten books about what I meant to you and it still wouldn’t come close to capturing it all. You said that if you could pick every flower for me, if you could catch every star in a bottle for me, you would.” She said it with a vacant yet watery look in her eyes.

“And all of that is still true,” he said softly, unable to meet her eyes. 

She smiled, blushing a little at getting carried away like that, and the two started their meal. He complimented her on the food, she accepted his compliments graciously, and they looked at each other for long periods of time, soaking in one another’s presence. Neither of the two felt like they had to say anything to break the silence, but occasionally Brian would falter. 

“My agent said Bandits and Brownies could sell well… it’d be my first children’s book.” He grasped at his wine glass and noticed it was empty. 

“Oh my god,” said Justine, “I forgot the wine in the kitchen!” She looked mortified, but Brian laughed. 

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get it - is it on the-” He hadn’t finished his sentence before Justine had rushed back into the kitchen, quickly returning with two glasses of red wine and the bottle tucked under her arms. 

“Here you go,” she carefully placed Brian’s glass in front of him. 

He laughed again, “Jesus, you looked like you saw a ghost!”

She blushed and didn’t reply, taking a sip of her own wine instead. They ate in silence again, and Justine watched her husband carefully. At last, he broke the quiet again. 

“Did you hear that Wendy’s moving out to LA?” Wendy was a friend of theirs from college. 

“No, I didn’t… why’s she moving?”

He shrugged. “Something to do with wanting more sun, I guess… I mean, good for her.”

She nodded. Brian ate his steak quickly, and finished his soup with ease. Her own portion was barely halfway complete, but she was satiated. “Shall I get dessert?”

He looked at her plate. “You’ve barely eaten anything!”

In truth, she was more nervous than outward appearances would suggest, so her stomach was filled with butterflies rather than steak. She tried to play it off and keep her husband in his natural state of cluelessness as she said, “I’m more hungry for… after dinner.” She winked at him and desperately hoped the candlelight twinkled in her eyes the way she imagined it did. 

Fortunately, Brian was already hanging onto the knees of lust as she dragged him around, so he smiled wide and said, “Well in that case, sure - let’s have dessert!”

She returned his smile and went to the kitchen, where a stunning vanilla-strawberry cake was waiting on the island, specially made by the best pastry shop in Manhattan. She cut two slices and placed them on ice cold plates. Then, she grabbed a syringe from her apron and injected one slice until the plunger was fully depressed. Taking a deep breath and throwing the syringe in the trash, she came out with the two slices and placed one very methodically in front of Brian, taking the other one for herself. She then went back and got the rest of the cake for the table.

“Wow, this looks amazing. Is this from-”

“Yes it is.” She took a bite and felt the delicate balance of flavors dance across her tongue. Her face showed every bit of her ecstasy, so Brian quickly followed with a big bite of his own. Clearly, he found something to be amiss, but Justine shovelled another two bites into her mouth just to show her passion for the dessert. Brian, convinced it must be something wrong with his own taste buds, continued eating, and Justine almost sighed out loud with relief. Once he had finished the slice, she gave him another. He took one bite and nodded like he was just receiving some flavor he’d been missing the whole time. 

“So, how’d your meeting with your agent go, Brian?”

“I already told you, she said she likes Bandits and Brownies.” She heard the words sloshing around in his mouth, and so did he, as his eyebrows arched. He blinked a few times and continued after clearing his throat, “Yeah, she said it’d sell well with… kids.” He frowned and took a heavy breath. 

“Mmhm… and your agent… did she look good under her dress?” She asked with a savage smile. 

His jaw fell open, and he lost the ability to rebut. He could only say, “What?”

“What was she wearing today, Brian? A red dress like mine? Maybe just a button down white shirt and tight black pants?” She swallowed another bite of cake and stared daggers at him.

He managed to mumble, “What’re you talking… about.”

She slammed her hand on the table and said, “Don’t lie to me anymore, Brian… I know about the two of you! I know why you meet with her almost four times a week for hours at a time! I know why you always dress your best for her! I know why you always smell different when you come home!”

He stared at her, defeated. “Yes…”

“Is she the first?” She was nearly in a frenzy, her hazel eyes surprisingly dark and almost hidden behind her hair, which glimmered eerily in the candlelight. However, he was in no position to respond. Still, she grabbed his tie from across the table and pulled his face to within an inch of hers. “Answer me!”

“No… Brenda…”

Justine froze. Brenda was her best friend from childhood… her maid of honor at her wedding. Most recently, Justine had been Brenda’s made of honor for her own wedding. Of all the names she expected Brian to drop, this was not one. However, she regained her composure and said, “Is that all? Tell me the truth!”

His eyes were those of a wounded animal afraid for his life and yet not intelligent enough to understand what to be afraid of. He mumbled, “Giselle… Melissa… Sharon.” His head lolled around as she threw him back into his chair. 

Giselle was a mutual friend of theirs from college… Melissa was someone they’d only briefly met at a writer’s conference in Chicago… but Sharon… that was her own agent! She was stunned, but it only proved to strengthen her resolve. She looked at this pathetic wretch she called a husband and strangely felt a love for him then that she hadn’t felt in years - ever since she’d started to suspect he was having an affair. His face even appeared more chiseled as he slowly came out of his drugged up stupor. She was distantly surprised that such a small dose had affected him so greatly, but perhaps it had interacted with the wine. 

He groaned, snapping her out of her thoughts. She walked quickly to the kitchen, grabbing the same knife she used for cutting the onions just hours before and returning to the dining table, where Brian was blinking and shaking his head. He was still weak, so she grabbed him by the back of the shirt and threw him on the table. His head extinguished the candles and he moaned in pain. She flipped him over, knocking the vase with the roses onto the floor. 

“You know… I love you, Justine,” his words were still forced, “please…”

“I love you too,” she said, and she meant it. She stared down into his eyes and kissed him long and hard. Even in this moment, she felt him get excited at her touch. She kept on kissing him as she unbuttoned his shirt. His arms were still too heavy to move by themselves, so he just lay there, completely limp. She pressed her body against his, wanting to feel every inch of him as she drew her mouth away just to kiss him again. Some of the drugs from his mouth got into hers and she felt it just tugging at the back of her mind, but the dose wasn’t enough to alter her movements. She kissed him again, slipping out of her dress and laying on top of him fully. Now, finally, he moved his hands to her back and started holding her. And it was at this moment that she pulled away completely and drove the knife into his stomach. She quickly pulled it out and slammed it into his chest, putting all her weight behind the blade. He didn’t scream, he didn’t even shout. He just looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. She set the knife down and watched the life leave his eyes and render them blank. 

Yet her work was not done. She ran her fingers down his chest, feeling the warm blood gushing out of his wounds. She put that hand on her face, on her chest - anywhere on her body. In a moment of pure desire mingled with grief, she flung herself on top of her husband, using her own body to stop the bleeding. A few tears fell from her face onto his lips, and she kissed them away. After getting off of him, she didn’t try to wipe away any of the blood that now coated much of her body. Instead, she took solace in its warmth as it dripped down her long, pale legs and onto the hardwood floor. She grabbed the picture next to her husband’s limp, bloodied arm. 

Back in the kitchen, she grabbed the landline from its receiver and dialed 911. 

The call was quickly answered. “911, what’s your emergency.”

“My name is Justine Watts. I just murdered my husband in our apartment at the corner of West Broadway and Prince… Send someone, quickly.” She hung up and prayed that they would take the call seriously. But she didn’t have time to wait. In the drawer containing her pots and pans, there was a bottle of the same cocktail she’d used to slow up Brian. It was simply a mixture of codeine, Nyquil, and Xanax, but it proved to be quite potent. She poured half the bottle, more than ten times what she’d given Brian, into a new glass of Cabernet, smiling wryly at the blood dripping everywhere and now drying on her body. She decided to disrobe completely and sat naked on the tile floor, still feeling a little warm from the blood. She stared at the wedding picture as she leaned against the island. How innocent were the two dolls in the picture? She downed the glass of wine in three gulps, and after a few heavy breaths, she slumped over with her head on the bottom rung of a barstool. In her hand, she still loosely held the wedding picture, now stained everywhere with blood. With her last movement, she managed to wipe away the red from her husband’s face, and it was staring into his joyous eyes that she too, died.