gold
What’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted?
The candles were so bright. Nancy winced under the light and thought of her most cherished dinner. Her first husband had been a butcher of course and he was an excellent chef. He wooed her with his blood puddings; she loved the way the black fat cracked under the grill and oozed just a little. The delicate shards of bonemeal that gave it grit.
Truffle oil I guess.
The girl just over the way was wearing an enormous black ballgown that was totally out of style. She sat down and smoothed it over her seat with enormous satisfaction. Nancy wished suddenly she were facing the other way.
Truffle oil? That’s unusual.
Nancy could tell by the way that he said it he had something far more unusual to tell her, that he was merely paving the way for one of his stories. She poured herself a little more wine.
You?
No my glass is still full.
I mean what about your most interesting meal?
That’s a different question entirely.
The girl had two gold balloons in the shape of stars attached to her chair; the table was covered in gifts gift-wrapped in the same kind of foil. The girl had a bunch of flowers in her hand. It was a bunch of black roses. You could get seeds for them in mail order catalogues but it wasn’t certain in this climate. Maybe they were flown in. an aeroplane full of flowers comes every day to certain florists. Maybe she was going away. But her face was so young; she must have been having a birthday.
Excuse me are you ready to order?
Can we have a few more minutes please…
Another bottle of wine please.
Certainly.
He couldn’t see in the blaze of the candles that she wasn’t looking at him at all but rather at the girl behind him. He looked as though he was thinking very deeply about how best to begin his story. He dropped his answer between them with some gravitas, his glasses quivering slightly under the vibration of his voice.
Gold.
She had been sitting there for about ten minutes now. She had finished a long pink cocktail that fizzed. She looked around it must have been for her friends. A waitress saw and sashayed across in her pin heels and up-do. She took the order. It was for another cocktail that fizzed but this time in green.
I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.
His face weakened a little. He ran a hand through his failing hair. He knew she must have heard him. He reached for the last of his wine. It stained his teeth but she had insisted on red.
Gold. The best thing I’ve ever tasted is gold.
The waitress returned with their second bottle of wine and poured a miniscule amount in each of their glasses before reaching inside her oversized pocket for a pad. They were ready to order. Despite their conversation they ordered two plain steaks and a dish of roast potatoes to share. Nancy toyed with the idea of winter greens and finally settled on a Waldorf salad. She took the bottle and added a healthy amount to each glass in spite of his protestations. When the waitress withdrew the girl became visible once more and was now drinking something dark purple and steaming. She was caressing the gifts through the paper and holding the shiny objects close to her face, rattling them and trying to guess their contents.
I would imagine that it tastes awful, hard and bitter. How can it be the best thing you’ve tasted?
My friends were in the chemistry class, they knew how to dilute it to make it taste good. I swear it.
I don’t believe you, it’s the idea of it you enjoyed, like the idea of champagne or truffle oil, it’s the opulence that appeals, not the object itself.
No, that’s not it at all, it really was exquisite.
Nancy was annoyed by the conversation. He invariably told these stories, and they were invariably lies. She could not bear to listen to his explanation, but neither could she bear the guilty silence that would follow if she didn’t. Their waitress returned with their charred steaks. She was not a pleasant girl and the plates were set heavily down, sweating with vegetables that Nancy had not ordered. He didn’t notice; he was looking at the waitress’s legs.
One of the girl’s balloons had come loose from its moorings somehow and floated towards the ceiling. It might be that she did it on purpose. She looked peaky in that vast velvet ballgown, her childish features dampened by the excess of black. Signalling for water she looked past the waiter for her friends. Unable to wait any longer she tore at one of the presents and gasped when she revealed a yellow-gold tiara. It was almost the shape of a cardboard crown and must have been some kind of cleverly disguised plastic. It was cheaply made and would not sit comfortably on her head. The heavy Viking plaits she had wound around her ears bulged beneath it.
How’s your steak?
Vile. If we have to discuss eating can you please continue with your story?
He perked up, drained his glass uncharacteristically and mopped his salad dressing up with garlic bread. It was disgusting to watch.
Well we were talking one day about how…
Nancy could not believe it; the man who had sat next to the birthday girl was pushing sixty. Surely her grandfather? Surely not her father? He rescued her balloon and with a practised flick called the waitress with the pin heels over evidently asking for a vase and two more drinks. A man of sixty drinking pink champagne!
His story wound inexorably on to the conclusion, she did not even nod but lit a cigarette and bowed her head beneath the smoke. He took this for concentration. Every time she glanced across to the girl and her grandfather he thought she seemed particularly animated. He smiled and allowing himself a delicious glimpse at the stockinged legs of the waitress he ordered their third bottle of red.
The girl was decidedly tipsy now and her crown had slipped entirely to one side of her head. They had decided to skip most of their courses and were sharing an enormous layered sundae scored with golden sparklers.
She really shouldn’t have been drinking so much.
His tall tale had concluded, those kooky chemists had consumed their gold and she was expected to make conversation. They did not bother with dessert and ordered coffee and cognac. He wanted a cigar. She allowed it.
It’s funny, I’ve got a story about gold too as it happens. It’s a real story my friend is a forensic scientist and he…
He pretended not to notice either the implication that his story was not true or that she was undoubtedly discussing a rival. He gave her his full attention and begged for her to continue. Over the way the sundae had been pushed aside and the girl had begun to open the rest of her presents. The last was a giant cake iced with her name. The old man urged her to cut it open, he winked at her, promising secrets. He took a steak knife and plunged it into the centre of the sponge splitting it open. There was a clatter as hundreds of gold coins poured out of the cake on to the table. Each one a pound coin wrapped in foil from chocolate money.
He was working on a case a few years ago, my friend that is, it was in France where he is originally from. It was out in the countryside. Some godless spot.
He raised an eyebrow at this, she was not exactly a believer herself, he feared her story might have some racist slant. It would not have surprised him at all.
Anyway they had had a call to go out to a crime scene, it was the middle of a quiet afternoon and he was hoping to get off early, but that’s by the by. He got there and there was a young couple sat on this terrible sofa, all springs and no stuffing. They were utterly vacant, looked unwashed and lunatic. He passed by them and went down to the cellar leaving them with the police officers. The cellar was a dreadful sight, three cardboard boxes each one holding a baby in a state of decomposition, one of them little more than a skeleton. The monsters! Anyway he took them off to his lab and did his tests, he’s extremely clever with that sort of thing, and the most interesting thing was the stomach contents. Somehow or other they had fed them with gold! Those peasants had killed their children by feeding them gold!
He looked ill. It might have been from the wine, probably not though. Nancy had been too caught up in her tale to see that his sickened gaze fell elsewhere. Not at the waitress now, though that was why he had wandered initially, but at the girl in the ballgown; the girl and her grandfather. The presents were scattered all over the table, the balloons crumpled and burst. Coins had showered on to the floor and bits of cake were stuck to them. There was a new bottle of champagne virtually untouched in an ice bucket. One of the dozen black roses were stuck behind the old man’s ears, he was evidently extremely drunk. Two red spots troubled the countenance of the young girl and sweat patches had appeared under her armpits. As the waitress walked towards them ready to clear the mess on the floor she stopped and slowly retreated. The old man had taken the girl by the shoulders and began to kiss her deeply. She crumpled beneath her heavy golden crown.
The candles were so bright. Nancy winced under the light and thought of her most cherished dinner. Her first husband had been a butcher of course and he was an excellent chef. He wooed her with his blood puddings; she loved the way the black fat cracked under the grill and oozed just a little. The delicate shards of bonemeal that gave it grit.
Truffle oil I guess.
The girl just over the way was wearing an enormous black ballgown that was totally out of style. She sat down and smoothed it over her seat with enormous satisfaction. Nancy wished suddenly she were facing the other way.
Truffle oil? That’s unusual.
Nancy could tell by the way that he said it he had something far more unusual to tell her, that he was merely paving the way for one of his stories. She poured herself a little more wine.
You?
No my glass is still full.
I mean what about your most interesting meal?
That’s a different question entirely.
The girl had two gold balloons in the shape of stars attached to her chair; the table was covered in gifts gift-wrapped in the same kind of foil. The girl had a bunch of flowers in her hand. It was a bunch of black roses. You could get seeds for them in mail order catalogues but it wasn’t certain in this climate. Maybe they were flown in. an aeroplane full of flowers comes every day to certain florists. Maybe she was going away. But her face was so young; she must have been having a birthday.
Excuse me are you ready to order?
Can we have a few more minutes please…
Another bottle of wine please.
Certainly.
He couldn’t see in the blaze of the candles that she wasn’t looking at him at all but rather at the girl behind him. He looked as though he was thinking very deeply about how best to begin his story. He dropped his answer between them with some gravitas, his glasses quivering slightly under the vibration of his voice.
Gold.
She had been sitting there for about ten minutes now. She had finished a long pink cocktail that fizzed. She looked around it must have been for her friends. A waitress saw and sashayed across in her pin heels and up-do. She took the order. It was for another cocktail that fizzed but this time in green.
I’m sorry I didn’t hear you.
His face weakened a little. He ran a hand through his failing hair. He knew she must have heard him. He reached for the last of his wine. It stained his teeth but she had insisted on red.
Gold. The best thing I’ve ever tasted is gold.
The waitress returned with their second bottle of wine and poured a miniscule amount in each of their glasses before reaching inside her oversized pocket for a pad. They were ready to order. Despite their conversation they ordered two plain steaks and a dish of roast potatoes to share. Nancy toyed with the idea of winter greens and finally settled on a Waldorf salad. She took the bottle and added a healthy amount to each glass in spite of his protestations. When the waitress withdrew the girl became visible once more and was now drinking something dark purple and steaming. She was caressing the gifts through the paper and holding the shiny objects close to her face, rattling them and trying to guess their contents.
I would imagine that it tastes awful, hard and bitter. How can it be the best thing you’ve tasted?
My friends were in the chemistry class, they knew how to dilute it to make it taste good. I swear it.
I don’t believe you, it’s the idea of it you enjoyed, like the idea of champagne or truffle oil, it’s the opulence that appeals, not the object itself.
No, that’s not it at all, it really was exquisite.
Nancy was annoyed by the conversation. He invariably told these stories, and they were invariably lies. She could not bear to listen to his explanation, but neither could she bear the guilty silence that would follow if she didn’t. Their waitress returned with their charred steaks. She was not a pleasant girl and the plates were set heavily down, sweating with vegetables that Nancy had not ordered. He didn’t notice; he was looking at the waitress’s legs.
One of the girl’s balloons had come loose from its moorings somehow and floated towards the ceiling. It might be that she did it on purpose. She looked peaky in that vast velvet ballgown, her childish features dampened by the excess of black. Signalling for water she looked past the waiter for her friends. Unable to wait any longer she tore at one of the presents and gasped when she revealed a yellow-gold tiara. It was almost the shape of a cardboard crown and must have been some kind of cleverly disguised plastic. It was cheaply made and would not sit comfortably on her head. The heavy Viking plaits she had wound around her ears bulged beneath it.
How’s your steak?
Vile. If we have to discuss eating can you please continue with your story?
He perked up, drained his glass uncharacteristically and mopped his salad dressing up with garlic bread. It was disgusting to watch.
Well we were talking one day about how…
Nancy could not believe it; the man who had sat next to the birthday girl was pushing sixty. Surely her grandfather? Surely not her father? He rescued her balloon and with a practised flick called the waitress with the pin heels over evidently asking for a vase and two more drinks. A man of sixty drinking pink champagne!
His story wound inexorably on to the conclusion, she did not even nod but lit a cigarette and bowed her head beneath the smoke. He took this for concentration. Every time she glanced across to the girl and her grandfather he thought she seemed particularly animated. He smiled and allowing himself a delicious glimpse at the stockinged legs of the waitress he ordered their third bottle of red.
The girl was decidedly tipsy now and her crown had slipped entirely to one side of her head. They had decided to skip most of their courses and were sharing an enormous layered sundae scored with golden sparklers.
She really shouldn’t have been drinking so much.
His tall tale had concluded, those kooky chemists had consumed their gold and she was expected to make conversation. They did not bother with dessert and ordered coffee and cognac. He wanted a cigar. She allowed it.
It’s funny, I’ve got a story about gold too as it happens. It’s a real story my friend is a forensic scientist and he…
He pretended not to notice either the implication that his story was not true or that she was undoubtedly discussing a rival. He gave her his full attention and begged for her to continue. Over the way the sundae had been pushed aside and the girl had begun to open the rest of her presents. The last was a giant cake iced with her name. The old man urged her to cut it open, he winked at her, promising secrets. He took a steak knife and plunged it into the centre of the sponge splitting it open. There was a clatter as hundreds of gold coins poured out of the cake on to the table. Each one a pound coin wrapped in foil from chocolate money.
He was working on a case a few years ago, my friend that is, it was in France where he is originally from. It was out in the countryside. Some godless spot.
He raised an eyebrow at this, she was not exactly a believer herself, he feared her story might have some racist slant. It would not have surprised him at all.
Anyway they had had a call to go out to a crime scene, it was the middle of a quiet afternoon and he was hoping to get off early, but that’s by the by. He got there and there was a young couple sat on this terrible sofa, all springs and no stuffing. They were utterly vacant, looked unwashed and lunatic. He passed by them and went down to the cellar leaving them with the police officers. The cellar was a dreadful sight, three cardboard boxes each one holding a baby in a state of decomposition, one of them little more than a skeleton. The monsters! Anyway he took them off to his lab and did his tests, he’s extremely clever with that sort of thing, and the most interesting thing was the stomach contents. Somehow or other they had fed them with gold! Those peasants had killed their children by feeding them gold!
He looked ill. It might have been from the wine, probably not though. Nancy had been too caught up in her tale to see that his sickened gaze fell elsewhere. Not at the waitress now, though that was why he had wandered initially, but at the girl in the ballgown; the girl and her grandfather. The presents were scattered all over the table, the balloons crumpled and burst. Coins had showered on to the floor and bits of cake were stuck to them. There was a new bottle of champagne virtually untouched in an ice bucket. One of the dozen black roses were stuck behind the old man’s ears, he was evidently extremely drunk. Two red spots troubled the countenance of the young girl and sweat patches had appeared under her armpits. As the waitress walked towards them ready to clear the mess on the floor she stopped and slowly retreated. The old man had taken the girl by the shoulders and began to kiss her deeply. She crumpled beneath her heavy golden crown.