Kendra is delighted, leaving Toto happily in his hands and heading back to the office. Avoiding Marilyn, she checks her messages, but there’s nothing from either Trent or Clint the developer guy. When she finishes work, she returns to the apartment complex, calling upstairs first where she finds Chef cooking in his kitchen. As she crouches Toto jumps up, into her arms, delighted to see her.
— Something smells good, she says. — Has he been a good boy?
— Dog no trouble at all, Chef says and puts some food on the small table.
Kendra notes how wonderfully organized everything is. Chef must have been working so hard to get all the stuff out of boxes and set up. The front room is dominated by a huge fish tank and a collection of ornate swords which hang on the walls. — Collect swords, Chef points at himself, then at the mounted weapons.
— These look… Kendra can’t think of a word, and then settles for, —… nice.
Chef takes one down from the wall. It has a curved blade of around thirty inches, with a black leather handle a foot long. He sets it down on the table, disappears briefly into the kitchen, returning with two large watermelons. He balances one on what looks like a giant cat’s scratching post that he has pulled out from a darkened corner of the room. — Stand well back, he smiles at Kendra, — blade very, very sharp. Can easy sever four inches of bamboo.
Kendra moves away. The chef takes the sword in two outstretched arms. He shuts his eyes for a few seconds and seems to go into an almost orgasmic trance. Then, in a sudden explosive movement, he twists and slices through the melon. It falls away, in two equal sides. Toto moves over and sniffs at one portion on the floor.
— Now you try. Chef places the next melon and gives her the blade by its handle. Kendra takes it and grips it tentatively. Chef moves behind her, standing close. — Take weight… that’s good. Feel the weight. This Musashi Japanese katana. Shinto sword.
— It’s kinda neat, she says.
— Imagine sword is part of arm. The edge of blade fingernails… His arms circle around her, holding her lightly but firmly at the wrists. — Now on count three you raise blade and bring down on melon. Like you putting fingers through melon. One… two… three… Chef pulls up Kendra’s wrists then pushes down, pulling his hands away at the last second as the sword falls, splitting the melon as before.
— Wow… Kendra smiles tensely, embarrassed now at the physical embrace and a strange charge that hangs in the air. — That was great…
Chef stands back, bows, and points to the food on the table. — Now eat, he urges her.
— Lordy… I can’t… she thinks of her weight, — you shouldn’t have done this… what is this?
— Pulgoki. One of the famous Korean dishes to Westerners. Means ‘Korean barbecue’. Marinated with soy sauce, garlic, sugar, sesame oil, and other seasonings. Cooked over fire in front of table.
She puts down the sword and examines the fish swimming in the tank. There are two of them. — Are these…?
— Pufferfish. Common red puffer. Also called avocado puffer. Not so cause taste good with avocado, but they do, he grins.
Kendra’s hand goes to her mouth, which is mimicking the fishes. — Do you… I mean…
— Yes.
— Oh, Kendra says, then, anxious to ensure that he doesn’t think she’s offended by this, adds, — I would love to go to Japan. Eat pufferfish in a big restaurant.
— I have prepare some for now. We eat them, he says, heading to the kitchen and returning immediately with some small raw fillets of fish.
Kendra looks at the fillets, then at the tank. — Eh… I dunno… aren’t they really dangerous to eat?
The chef stares at her, his eyes gleaming. — Can be fatally poisonous. In Japan they are delicacy after poison has been removed but eating can still be fatal. One hundred diners die each year from eating pufferfish.
— Is this okay? She looks nervously at the fish.
— Very good. Eat, he urges, then he lifts a fillet into his mouth.
Kendra takes the small piece of fish in her mouth. It is smooth and tastes buttery. She chews and swallows.
— With poison you feel tingling in mouth and lips. Then dizziness, fatigue, headache, cannot speak, tightness in chest, shaking, nausea and vomiting, Chef explains cheerfully.
— I… I… feel okay, I guess… she says shakily. Actually, she feels dizzy and sweaty, even in this air con.
Chef points at the tank. — Even though they poisonous, pufferfish popular in aquarium. Can be tame but no hand-feed because of sharp teeth.
In an instant, Kendra realizes that she’s not going to die, that the nausea is largely of her mind’s making. She walks over to the tank. — Can I see them puff up?
— No. Too stressful for fish to make this happen, Chef sternly shakes his head. Then he regards Kendra with those shining black eyes. — You seem like lady who loves food.
— Yes I do. I don’t overeat like some, Kendra says smugly, — but I like to try new things and I’m very adventurous, she purrs, suddenly horribly aware that she’s flirting with the chef.
— Me too. You can eat almost anything, Chef declares, then raises a finger, — if it is properly prepared. So you no try cook pufferfish at home!
— Don’t worry, Kendra smiles chastely, aware that she’s backpedaling, — I’ll always come to the experts.
Toto is at her feet and she picks him up, now anxious to leave without eating any more food. — Right, sweet baby boy, we’d better get you home! You gotta be hungry too!
In her departure, she is aware that her pulse is racing as she heads down the stairs.
The LP Tavern is very dark inside, illuminated only by some indented wall and bar lights, and a bank of buzzing neon at the gantry, all glowing phosphorous blue. Until their eyes adjusted, a stranger might be forgiven for thinking that it’s still the dive bar it used to be. However, the exotic and comprehensive range of spirits and beers on offer and the dress and bearing of the clientele soon dispel this notion.
Kendra is drinking with Stacie, Stephanie, and Cressida, a research assistant at Chicago University. Cressida wears her black hair short, and it glows silkily in the blue light in exactly the same way as her top. Sparkling earrings dangle like small chandeliers. The girls sit on tall stools at a round table, big enough for just the drinks and the odd elbow. Kendra admits that it is good having Chef living in her apartment complex. — He’s awesome. It’s unreal, she tells them. — Toto’s really taken to him.
— Seems like he’s not the only one, Stacie says, her tones and glance laden with coquettish inference.
— What? Kendra raises her plucked brows.
— Would you, like, well, sleep with him?
Kendra looks at her in disgust. — Don’t be crazy. He’s way too old. He’s… She stops and scrutinizes her friend’s face for signs of treachery. — What the fuck are you trying to say, Stacie?
— He’s kinda neat though. Stacie shrugs vaguely, then offers, — I’d go with an Asian guy.
— Well, you know where he fucking well lives and works, Stacie. Go and stalk him. Kendra shakes her head but she is satisfied that Stacie is too hollow to be hostile.
— I’m not saying him. He is a little old. But as a general point.
Stephanie yawns luxuriantly, her skin stretching translucent under the blue lighting. — They’re supposed to be a little, eh, light downstairs.
This comment sparks Cressida into a rage. Her pale, longish face has taken on a marine-like taint. In it her small teeth are bared, and Kendra thinks she can almost see the anger rising up inside her and spilling through them. — That’s racist BS. Who makes that shit up? The black man is too big, the yellow man too small. Who, then, is just right? Who is the fucking norm? Three guesses, she sneers, and springs to her feet, heading for the bathroom.