Even though the seared peppercorn on steak au poivre makes Lorraine gag — she ordered it anyway. It was her husband’s favorite dish and so she’d take the leftovers home for him – wrapped up in one of those aluminum foil swans. But she didn’t want to offend the chef – or make him angry because (god forbid) then maybe he’d spit on the cheese course or something. She’s heard of cooks doing that. So she took a few small, cautious bites of the steak. One of them dangled off her fork as she held it limp wrist and all — in that no man’s land between plate and mouth for what seemed like an un-ladylike amount of time. Then she swiped the beef-gone-cold through the glossy pool of cream, shallots, cognac and pan juices that had spread and congealed across her plate like a birthmark. And with a serrated knife in her other hand — she scraped the pepper off of where she planned her next cut.
It didn’t really matter that much to her anymore what she ate. Besides, Lorraine was focusing all her energy on her best friend and dinner companion, Kim. Because this woman with red hair and eyes like malachite – was unfurling right in front of her like a spring fern. It was an amazing sight — Kim in this vertigo of upwards and out – was fueled by burning the very papers that finalized her divorce. She had quit her job and now she was moving to Morocco. Lorraine sat back and watched as Kim devoured her entrée (half a roasted chicken with lemon and parsley) with all the passion of a sailor kissing land after being lost at sea. Her meal didn’t stand a chance and neither did the waiter. He blushed when she flirted about his ponytail — which was followed by the sweetest order for ‘more bread and butter please’ that he undoubtedly would ever hear.
Morocco — as Kim described it – made perfect sense. She’d always wanted to live there but when she got married – she’d put it aside. And now since that was over – she was free and ready to move on. Lorraine had never seen her friend be this confident, solid or clear before. It was a new look for Kim and the more she talked, the more Lorraine longed for a blanket to crawl under, a corner to skulk in – because from out of nowhere — a sinkhole of envy started sucking down and black inside of her — pulling the air in her throat with it. It was an inappropriate emotion to have about someone you love — Lorraine knew it.
Kim had brought a 1995 Chateau Malmaison to celebrate her new life with her best friend. ‘It’s a dangerously good wine — like heroin’ the redhead whispered through that killer downbeat smile with purple-stained lips. Lorraine rubbed the St. Christopher that hung around her neck and did her best to maintain her side of the conversation by interjecting the appropriate ‘that’s exciting’ and ‘how wonderful for you’ comments when the eddies in Kim’s rapids presented themselves. Through all that Lorraine secretly wondered what would happen if she said ‘ I’m going to Morocco with you.’ And for a few moments and deep breaths — she was acutely aware and cautious of where that thought could lead her and how it would change her life. By the time she swallowed her final bite of pepper-free steak — that nasty pit of jealous resentment was gone. Satiated, it was Lorraine’s turn to smile – in awe of her most dear friend and how the candlelight reflected like gold in her holly green eyes – and she knew that she’d never order steak au poivre again.
