its actually called Catholic Univerity. and, set works in that context (although sit would be more common). thanks for the read.
Short Story / Meat and Lamb
Jake rarely paid rent on time. He didn’t pick up his share of the utility bills. Wherever he went, a trail of empty illuminated rooms, a swath of dripping faucets. Quarter loads of laundry, hot, extended spin, when the rest of us were cold showering, the tap fruitlessly cranked past H. All winter long, he kept an electric heater at the foot of his bed, with the window cracked wide. Apparently he slept better with his breath frosting and his toes toasty. In the summer, it was down comforters and Aleutian air conditioning. The wattage meter knew no rest.
Why keep him around? Two highly visceral reasons. He could cook. Amazingly so. He wielded that chef’s knife over the seasoned cutting board like it was a baton in front of the philharmonic, rending passion and movement from the mise in place like it was a gifted yet reluctant woodwind prodigy. His Etouffees (last weeks included FedEx-ed alligator sausage), Mussel Marinara (a la Diablo for the adventurous), and Yellowtail Mango Cerviche (he called it Triton’s Manna), assuaged any ill feelings lingering beneath the palate. Granted, he was slow to clean up, always soaking pots and rarely scraping them. Mostly, we put up with all the co-habitational transgressions because his sister was forget-the-cable-bill gorgeous.
The first impression. Eyes graham cracker brown. Strategically placed mole. An ethno-ambiguous Mediterranean finish to the complexion that leaves the witness questioning whether it be Arab, Egyptian, or Grecian genetics responsible for that olive pout. Lips like they were stained in Shiraz. The smallest speck of a diamond stud in her left nostril that left you imagining, hoping, betting on, piercings hidden elsewhere. Tiziana Raphael, sister to Jacob, sole daughter of Dominic and the late Talia, stunning even through the fishbowl lens, knocking on the front door.
“Hey, can you grab that,†Jake said, zesting blood oranges with a microplane.
A quick check of the hair, a maintenance tuck in of the shirt, and I went to greet our dinner guest. All for nothing. Crowding the frame of the front door stood Dan Melbourne, the college rugby player turned Mortgage Fraud Investigator.
“For the chef, for the host, for the dog,†he said, handing me a brown grocery bag replete with imported aged balsamic, a bottle of ’94 Chateau Malescot, and a nearly empty jar of peanut butter. Dan would miss the most interesting part of the night. When the story would be re-told, however, his bringing the Chateau would, of course, be the saving grace. “If you get that Chateau breathing now, it’ll be perfect with the lamb.â€
With my marching orders, I motioned for him to set on the couch, threw the dog the peanut butter detritus, and poured two glasses of a Chilean Carmenere I had decanting. I offered one to Jake, but he had his hands gloved in cornmeal and buttermilk, breading the fresh-caught squid that would become the calamari amuse bouche. The dog wandered around the house, fully occupied, with his Skippy muzzle.
In the living room, Dan was working the iPod wheel with those salami fingers of his. He often bragged that nearly every knuckle on his right hand had been broken at one time or another during his playing days, and the only match he ever missed, begrudgingly, was for his grandmother’s funeral. We volleyed for a while with small talk. The subprime market, Capitols’ bullpen, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, beginning machinations for a labor day fishing trip. The smell of papaya and caramelized ginger came from the kitchen. Jake was on the salad course.
“So, will Tiz be joining us this evening?†Dan said, glancing from the door to the clock on the wall.
“Okay, Meat,†a nickname that survived the transition from rugby kit to dress casual, “You’re going to sit there with that Brüt lathering and pretend you don’t know Tiz is already on her way.†His mouth curved into that impish half grin.
“She said she’s bringing a friend,†Jake threw in from the kitchen.
With this, smiles abounded, we refilled our wine, and toasted the rookie quarterback the Skins drafted in April. Dan went out to the back patio to set the table and chew on one of his cigars. I rolled up my sleeves and entered the war zone. No sooner had I rinsed out the food processor than Jake had it loaded and churning again with rosemary, garlic, basil, almonds, olive oil, and a touch of that fancy vinegar. I cycled the soiled bowls, plates, and whisks, emptied, loaded, and re-ran the dishwasher, “What are you planning for the antipasto?â€
“Olives and roasted red peppers in the fridge,†Jake said, replacing the sweat on his brow with flour and crumbs. “Throw on some of that portabella hummus from last night, the pepporoni is in the plastic bag at the bottom there.â€
Jake grabbed the tea-towel I had draped over my shoulder, used it to pull out the dutch oven from the broiler. He tested the temperature of the lamb with his thumb before replacing it back into the heat. “I’m about ready for that wine. Meet me out back with a glass while I make nice with the grizzly bear.â€
“Hey, who is Tiz bringing? Not that vegetarian I hope. How long is it going to take what’s her name to realize she’s the only Republican that doesn’t eat meat?â€
But Jake was already through the sliding glass doors, nestling balls of newspaper beneath the coals of his Webber Grill. Meat pointed at something in the distance with the business end of his stogy, the smoke came through the open window and mingled with the aromatics. The flames from the grill distorted the view of the Basilica Shrine, so that it looked like a mirage of salvation. I held the two glasses of wine palm up in my right hand, answered the door with the left.
“Greetings Cletus. Meet Annabelle.â€
Tiz helped herself to her brother’s glass, and uncoiled a black scarf contraption from around her neck. She would have been offended if I didn’t watch. The scarf hid a palm sized octopus pendant, the placement of which I envied greatly.
Trailing behind, the unexpected Annabelle. All pigtails and ribbons, all eight years of age. I had wondered why there was a bottle of sparkling pomegranate next to the pepperoni.
“Did you let Meat near the music again? I’m not listening to any more Smashing Pumpkins. Not after last time,†Tiz said.
I shook hands with Annabelle and asked her what she’d like to drink. Meat and I would be fighting for the same unattainable prize, it would seem. She followed me to the kitchen and I poured her a glass of orange juice. I tried to hand it to her, but her hands were busy at the scruff of Jake’s husky.
“Don’t give him too much attention or he won’t leave you alone all night,†I told Annabelle. Tiz started rifling through drawers in the other room.
“Come over here, Annabelle, let’s make name cards so everybody knows where to sit,†Tiz said. Meat and Jake walked in, and in turn, were granted cheek kisses and hugs. I thought Meat lingered in the embrace a bit long.
“And who is this pretty lady,†Meat said, picking Annabelle up in the crook of his elbow.
“Don’t give her too much attention, she won’t leave you alone all night,†Tiz said. Annabelle stuck her tongue out as Meat put her down. She stationed herself at the desk where Tiz had set up magic markers and construction paper. Jake asked her if she thought Cletus was a funny name.
“It’s a bit early to start trading shots, Jake. Drink your wine,†I nodded to where I put down my own glass. He swooped it up as he went into the kitchen. I put the glass of O.J. next to Annabelle and Jake told us dinner would be ready in ten minutes.
Meat told a story where he was both hero and clown, I had heard it before, had to restrain myself from correcting the embellishments. I countered with a card trick, the only one I know, promising to show Annabelle how to do it later, but not in front of the adults. She tricked us, did Tiz. With all our jostling, Meat and I became the babysitters. She was free to polish off the Carmenare and start on the Riesling (Jake reserved half for the Risotto).
A short time passed, seats were assigned, place cards on top of napkins, and we sat down to the beginning of the meal. Jake walked out with a covered platter, and while we were all Pavlov salivating, my roommate, who’s nickname could have been “Post Date†transformed into master artisan, displaying his craft.
“To start, the amuse bouche, I call it Calamari Kiss. A lightly battered selection of the choicest Squid, on top of which, a mild pablono pico de gallo.†He unveiled the first course, and with a quick glance at the working cauldrons through the kitchen window, dictated the rest of the fare.
Spring Greens with Papaya and Ginger Salad.
Blood Orange Marinated Peppercorn Crusted Scallops with a Cumin Risotto. (he would grill the scallops as we dipped our warm marble rye in the olive oil and capers).
Braised Lamb Shanks with a Rosemary Pesto Glaze, over Butternut Squash Mashed Potatoes.
To finish, Mascarpone Espresso Milkshakes.
Annabelle looked at the tentacles on her plate in disgust and grew increasingly disheartened as the menu unraveled. I sensed a citizen rebellion. Jake retreated, and returned with gusto, “And for the guest of honor. Pretzel Crusted Chicken Fingers with Sweet Potato Curly Fries.â€
“Do you have any ketchup?†Annabelle, now pleased, excited at the reinvention of the kid’s menu staple.
Jake did not sit down until he served the lamb. Annabelle had long since cleaned her plate, and was off playing with the dog. Meat was sucking the marrow out of the lamb bone before the plate hit the tablecloth.
“Hey Jake,†Tiz said, picking up on the college glory days conversation Meat started with the salad, “Tell them about your side gig junior year.â€
“Which one, Essayist for Hire or Mischievous Note Taker?â€
“The second one, with the notes.â€
“Well, at Penn State, there was this off-campus business called ‘Nittany Notes.’ They would pay students, in good standing mind you, to take notes every day in class, email them in. Students like myself, we’d buy them and only show up to class when there were exams.â€
“This is where me and Cletus really hit it off. He lived in the apartment next to mine. We were drinking buddies up to this point, but there wasn’t much fraternizing during the day. Anyway, one day, I’m reading over my purchased Comm 150 notes, and come across a magnificent typo.â€
I smiled, checked to see that Annabelle was out of earshot. Jake went on.
“Whoever was being paid to take notes, they meant to write ‘some people who’re engaged in something communications related’ but they wrote ‘whore’ by accident. I saw my calling. I would become a note taker, and slip in as many curses, epithets, Freudian Slips, as was humanly possible….†He looked at the egg timer he brought from the kitchen and stood up, “Cletus, keep it going for a minute.â€
“Well,†I said, “This was senior year, and there was a GPA requirement to be a note taker. Jake, sadly, did not meet that requirement.â€
“But Mr. Dean’s List over here,†Jake said through the window, and continued as he sidled through the sliding glass, “was the perfect surrogate. I was in Professor Trimble’s History of Television. Yes, a TV History class helped me earn a Bachelors Degree. Cletus signed up to scribe notes for that Theatre 201, and we skirted the note taking requirements. I, for the first time in my collegiate career, religiously attended an A.M. class.â€
As Meat stood up, his knees knocked against the table, the wine glasses wobbled like grazed Ten-Pins. “Don’t stop on my account. I’m gonna stretch my legs.†The dog, long ago tired of the now dozing Annabelle, acted agitated when he saw the behemoth rise. On his return from the bathroom, Yoshi (did I tell you the dog’s name was Yoshi?) nuzzled at Meat’s hams. Meat carried four wine glasses in one mitt, the bottle of Chateau Malescot in the other. “Start pouring these round. Me and Yoshi are gonna see the sights.â€
Being that the only one at the table who didn’t know the end of the story (Jake started taking notes, splicing in as many profanities and synonyms for vagina that he could muster, never getting caught, however brazen), we remaining in the backyard set to the leggy red. Tiz filled the glasses. I stared, again, transfixed with the octopus. Jake relaxed, for the first time, with only the cold desert course left, already prepared, waiting in the refrigerator. Annabelle got up from the sofa and, half still dreaming, sat next to the bug light affixed to the fence gate.
Just then, as Annabelle settled in, I saw her eyes turn to question marks, aimed just over my shoulder. I was facing the house, but turned to follow her gaze to the gate behind me. Instead of the latched balustrade, I saw a hooded figure and the faint tiki light glint of iron in his hand.
“Give me your money,†our guest said, pointing the gun at the child like Meat had pointed his cigar to the horizon.
We all stood up. I took a couple steps back. Meat. Where was Meat. At first, I was angry. No way would this guy mess with us if he saw that galoot, straining the legs of the plastic chair even as he sat. Then I grew worried. Worried, at first, when Tiz asked the intruder to point the gun at her instead of the girl. He did, right at her abdomen. Then, I thought Meat might walk through the back gate with the dog. Would this spook the gunman into accidental discharge? Or would Meat tackle him into the table, saving the day, another dime novel account of Rugby Man, Savior?
“Empty you wallets.â€
I heard myself say we didn’t have any money on us, although I can’t be sure, it might have been Jake. What time was it? How long was Meat gone?. How would this black guy from God Forgot Urban D.C., believe that these people, these white people, these white people drinking wine, didn’t have their money with them in the backyard for a friendly barbeque? A dragonfly met his inquisitive demise in the bug lamp. Where was Meat? Please god, Meat, don’t come through the backyard.
I measured the distances between Virgil (the gunman, a pseudonym, he looked like an old WWF bagman) and Annabelle, Tiz. The gun seemed to be drooping. Was it heavy? His eyes were jaundiced. I remember that. The yellow where white should have been as they darted from left to right. Was he high? I didn’t think flying at him with a salad fork would do the trick. Meth-ed up or not.
“Look, we’re all emptying our pockets. We don’t have anything on us,†Tiz again, hostage negotiating. Annabelle seemed to be taking it in stride, her eyes big, downloading the situation. My bladder, all of a sudden, shrunk to half capacity. Virgil looked again at Annabelle, the gun hovered towards the ground, in between the women. “You didn’t know there’d be a little girl here when you walked up, did you?â€
Tiz, I thought, I love you. She managed a little bit of psychological play there, throwing a little bit of humanity into the situation. Without pissing him off. He lowered the gun to his side, but still gripped it tightly. Now it was Jake’s turn.
“Hey, would you like a glass of wine? We have an extra one poured,†Jake asked. This had the exact same effect on Virgil as it did on me. For Real? Did you just ask him (me) that? I thought of a dozen other things to say in this situation, I thought of two, maybe three responses from Virgil. All punctuating with loud noises and distant ambulance sirens.
“Can I?†Virgil said, taking the glass from Meats vacated spot. He seemed to devolve into a 14 year old, being offered alcohol at a family dinner. A fourteen year old still holding a gun. He looked into the crystal glass a moment before taking a thoughtful sip. His eyes closed for a second, just a bit longer than a blink. He put the gun down into his jeans. They were dark, baggy, I didn’t catch the brand.
“This is really good wine,†Virgil told us.
“Take the bottle, its yours,†I said.
“Our friend, he’s out walking the dog. He should be back any second. I don’t want you to get startled if he walks in,†Jake said.
“I think I’m at the wrong house,†Virgil said.
A pause.
“I’m at the wrong house, I’m going to go,†Virgil said.
And with that, he walked out of the gate, taking the glass of wine with him. Meat walked in from the front, maybe 5 minutes later. I don’t think any of us had moved.
“What gives guys? Where’s my glass?†he said.
The rest you know from the police report. We went inside, locked the doors, called 911. They came, searched the area, found the wine glass in an alley not too far away. It was empty and unbroken. They said we’d get it back after they dusted it for fingerprints. I kind of hope Virgil didn’t leave any.
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metaphoricalsimile reviewed Version 5 -
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Nose studs are so ubiquitous, and even conformist, that if you want the sister to seem adventurous, maybe give her a monroe, eyebrow, or lip piercing.
The lack of any sort of dialog from Annabelle was conspicuous.
Given the tone of the story, the asides in parenthesis about the name of the dog and of the gunman both seem out of place.
Overall, this story was phenomenal. I could easily imagine reading it in a literary magazine. I normally don’t give two shits about the kind of bourgeois characters you describe in this story, but you did a good job of describing them as humans rather than as rich-kid cutouts.
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danisterror reviewed Version 5 -
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Wow. Of all I’ve read on this site, I think this is the most publishable piece around. Great job. The description did it for me to be honest. You have a way of sentence variation and word choice that keeps the flow flowing and the level of understanding rather low. I could see the people you described and I could tell how they were feeling at any given time. Hell, the dialouge was spot on. This is by far the most realistic account of something I’ve read on URBIS.
As for the ending, I was hoping you would get into why Virgil had decided not to shoot the gathering of friends. You came through with a great understanding that not only suited the story but made me think about life in general and people. This is a solid piece that I can’t strike down one bit.
DantianNeiJing reviewed Version 5 -
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You must have some culinary experience… Me being a chef myself really enjoyed reading this particular peice…. Overall I think I only found 2 or 3 grammar/spelling errors: Class instead of glass and No, instead of Not but honestly this was the only things I could “pick at” atleast at this point… I will also say it was very fast paced, which is nice… and ran smoothly while keeping my interest. It also made me very hungry lol… I hope you continue to write or perhaps expand on this peice… Id love to see more.
-Erin R
Vonprosie reviewed Version 5 -
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All the short sentences in the first paragraph make it very choppy. A few long ones will make the ones you keep short more effective, and help the beginning less frustrating to a semi-reluctant reader. The imagery is good, and all the details really give a sense of the characters, they are well developed. The part about the other “less calamitous occasion” distracts from the current situation, and one could even think that the original story ended and another is starting. Not a good thing in an otherwise fluid story.
Grammar:
“of Catholic University” – of a Catholic
“to set on the couch” – to sit on the
Olive_Air26 reviewed Version 5 -
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I liked the transition from serene party scene to the almost violent ending. And you have the story all in the first sentence of the story, “there was some food and wine, a little banter, one magic trick, gunplay, and dessert.” Very Greek of you to do that. It is a mistake that I felt a bit tense in that “gunplay” part?
Another thing, I could smell your words. You do have a pretty good sense with the words you use, for example, “big, graham-cracker brown, eyes.” Perhaps a bit more metaphors concerning food would be even better. Having that connection with food, being a party with food of course.
The dialogue was very honest meaning that it was very true to the characters (being in school and such). Another part of the honesty is in the way you say the stories of these characters change, “the good stories, they get repeated, refashioned, embellished. The details get jumbled, but the tone keeps its note.” This shows a good sense of humanity in the story especially as well as the gunman (Virgil) at the end.
Overall, it is a decent storyline with good dialogue and characters that you would know as your best friend. A great turnaround ending. I’d like to see more of Meat or the gunman, maybe even both.
ewilly75 reviewed Version 5 -
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a very nice piece overall. as to grammatical, spelling, punctuation, etc. my only criticisms is an abundant use of commas. while is usually a fine style of writing, a few times i felt they made the piece almost staccato. an example:
>>I countered with a card trick, the only one I know, promising to show Annabelle how to do it later, but not in front of the adults. She tricked us, did Tiz. With all our jostling, Meat and I became the babysitters.
these three sentences could easily be made into four. the first is a bit unwieldy. but overall the comma usage is not obscene.
as a short story i think this did a fine job. the characters were introduced, a event developed, and the story resolved. the only criticism here is the final paragraph. it seems a bit rushed at the very end. you write, ‘i’d like to think that glass, unbroken, tells us something.” instead, explain to us what that unbroken glass represents. whether it’s virgil’s guilt, need to do something non-destructive, or if he cherished the moment and the wine. any of those would be good, as long as the reader can get inside the narrator’s head.
thanks for sharing
Catastrophe reviewed Version 4 -
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This story has a very easy, casual style, which makes it effortless to get involved. The characters are individuals, and you hint at their facets. Lines like “Not after last time.†establish a history and continuity. It’s obvious these folks are friends, with ongoing arguments and alliances.
You have a good grasp of details (“I think that unbroken glass tells us something.â€), and realize the scenes very effectively in describing the food and settings.
Well done.
Curtastrophe reviewed Version 4 -
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“Occasionally, he gets me the check on time.” I’d replace ‘check’ with rent’. It was a little confusing the first time I read it.
”...the window cracked wide.” I’d reword this.
The first three paragraphs (as I suspect the rest of the piece will follow) are written in a very unique voice. Not “bad” unique, just different, almost like slipstreamy.
The description of the sister is dazzling, “Lips like they were stained in Shiraz.” being one of the best.
”...uncoiled a black scarf --contraption-- from…”
Okay, I’m halway through this and I’ll give you my impressions so far. First, this story is hard to critique. I like it, and therefore find myself paying attention much more to the story than trying to scan for grammatical and sentence errors. I’m sure somebody else will be happy to do that for you. The story itself I like because it’s told very well – The narration’s good. The reader empathizes with the protag for a number of reasons. I’m a big fan of cooking shows so the descriptions of the food don’t bother me, but I suspect that to others this could be a bit distracting. The characters are all portrayed very humanely; everybody knows a “Meat”, and the contradictory qualities of the roomate are those which anyone who’s ever had to rent with someone else can easily relate to.
I like the information this piece is stacked with. For instance, the wine’s “legs”. This is something I’d never heard before, but is explained well enough that it makes sense in the very trivial, “keep the wine friends entertained†kind of way.
”...half still dreaming..” I’d switch around ‘still’ and ‘half’.
“I heard myself say we didn’t…” This is a good observation, one that shows the trauma felt by the narrator.
At first I felt that Virgil accepting the wine was unrealistic and trite, but then given the assumption of the narrator (and the reader) that he could be on any number of mind-altering drugs, I reconsidered it as something possible.
””I almost said, “it’s got legs.— Ha!
“Forward thinking…” This paragraph I’ve got mixed feelings about… I don’t really understand how it progresses the story. But then again, it seems necessary to slow down the tension for Virgil’s realization proceeding it.
”...the permeated…” I’d replace ‘the’ with ‘that had’.
I thought the story was good. It had an awesome climax and a solid ending. I like how it wraps up with the narrator ruminating on the fate of the gunman. Thanks for sharing.
-Curt
DCAllen reviewed Version 4 -
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Love the fishbowl-lense transition to the scene. Excellent. And the unexpected turn with Virgil. Very nice. Love the foodiness. My only criticism in terms of content is that the second story (the attempted robbery) could be foreshadowed more/better in the first part.
You are obviously a talented to writer, so please take the following proofreading notes as positively as I mean them:
window cracked wide (seems like a contradiction)
last weeks = last week’s ?
because, his sister (no comma here)
set on the couch = sit ?
sub prime = subprime
labor day = Labor Day
antipasto (I know this is OK for the course, but an Italian would say antipasti if the course included a variety of dishes.)
palm sized = palm-sized
At around page 4, I wondered why Jake’s dog hadn’t been mentioned in the story’s opening paragraph.
On page 5, Meat asks a question for the second time that is oddly not represented as a question. This time even without a question mark.
clown, I had (comma splice)
These are obviously people who know a lot about wine, so it seems implausible that they would start with a wine as big as a Carménère and then proceed to a Riesling. Also, half a bottle of Riesling doesn’t sound like enough for a risotto.
egg timer he brought = he had brought
Bachelors Degree = bachelor’s degree
I do, ask him (comma splice)
disband means to cease to function as an organization. I’m not sure if this is correct when describing the business relationship between two parties.
So we remaining in the backyard set (Syntax better IMO: So, remaining in the backyard, we set . . .)
sommelier worthy tirade = sommelier-worthy
bit Jeopardy trivia (of missing)
Where was Meat. (question mark missing)
Meats vacated spot = Meat’s
a fourteen year old = a fourteen-year-old
bottle, its yours,†= it’s
a game saving reaction = game-saving
Virgil tasted wine = had tasted
Virgil saw that he destroyed = had destroyed, had permeated
an eight year old = an eight-year-old
pdk19 reviewed Version 4 -
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The dabbling into stories and memories helps strengthen the impressions of the characters. This worked best in this story before the puzzling appearance of Virgil. After he’s invited, the narrator shares the story of the other occasion of Jake’s forward thinking and it helps create a pause to allow Virgil’s saying “I think I’m at the wrong house” to hit with greater force. This worked well, forcing me to look back and question what could have triggered Virgil’s unease.
You succeed in describing Jake well, and Cletus’ observations begin to reveal his personality. I think you could definitely develop a larger work around these characters.
You also do well in documenting the shifts in mood of the night. How it begins with ephemeral talk and develops into the make or break portion,then the absurd hits with virgil’s appearance. It transitions smoothly.
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