Wednesday, May 25, 2005
Dave brought the cheesecake over last night right on time -- to the second. I had warned the landlady it was coming and to be prepared. She was. She was at the door the minute he started up the walk with that special cheesecake eating gleam in her eye. Dave couldn't stay long, but he was very nice and polite as he offered up his plain white wrapped box and left. I handed the box to the landlady and told her I'd get her mail while she scurried inside with the prize.
By the time I got into her apartment she was in the kitchen ready to unwrap the box. I said hello to Pastor and petted and scratched him for a couple minutes while the landlady fidgeted with a really big chef's knife. After washing my hands, I found the end of the plastic and unwrapped and unboxed the cheesecake.
It was a pristine white and delicately brown around the sides. A true work of art. It was a shame to cut into such perfection, but I hefted the knife, plunged it into the glass of hot water, wiped it off and gored the unblemished perfection with a precision cut. Dip, wipe, cut and serve one perfect triangle of cheesecake. Dip, wipe, cut and another perfect triangle rested on its own plate.
Resisting the urge to plunge the triangle into my mouth with my bare hands, I took the knife to the sink and began cleaning it up. The landlady said not to bother while she splashed coffee into a cup and offered me a glass of milk. No milk for me. I don't really care for it and cheesecake was waiting. I had lingered over the foreplay long enough.
We sat down at her table, took up the forks, smiled at each other and slowly and gently forked off the end of the triangle, anticipation thick in the air. We hesitated with the pieces trembling on the forks, giving an almost imperceptible salute, opened our mouths and placed heaven on our tongues.
Not too sweet with a considerable yet light cookie crust, the cheesecake melted on our tongues and began an orgasmic display deep in our stomachs. YES!
The rest of the piece didn't last very long as we prostrated our tongues in humble adoration of each orgasmic bite. I didn't need dinner after that. Anything else would have been anticlimactic.
The landlady was going to a birthday party for a friend and I had errands to run so I agreed to leave the reboxed cheesecake -- sans two pieces (one for her and one for her birthday friend that she decided would be unfair to the other ladies and kept for herself) -- in her refrigerator. She promised to leave the door unlocked so I could retrieve it when I came back home. We parted, having shared a life changing experience.
After returning with a new shower curtain, bath mat, two pots of lavender and one of rosemary, some health food choices and various sundries, I tried the door to the landlady's apartment.
It was locked.
My cheesecake was in there...
She lied to me. She intended to keep it all along.
I played it off for my next door neighbor, saying she probably forgot, but deep down in my soul I knew there would be excuses and ransom notes and bad feelings over this hostage situation.
A still small voice said, "It's not hostage. It's gone. You'll see her tomorrow with sour cream frosting ringed lips and crumbs of the cookie crust on her top and dusting her fingers. It's gone!"
Oh, well, I thought. It's only cheesecake.
RIGHT! It's NOT only cheesecake. It's WAR!
About 10 o'clock, while I was laboring at my computer in the darkened sun porch and singing dirges to the departed, I heard a voice. It was the landlady and she was at the door. I plucked up my indignation, ready for the excuses and lies to begin, and went into the darkened living room. She stood there with the white box in her trembling hands.
"I forgot to leave the door unlocked."
I smiled gently at her and took possession of the still heavy white box. "It's all right. I understand," I said as I brushed off her apologies and small talk and nodded and smiled, holding my cheesecake to my bosom.
Good night, landlady. Sleep well.
I certainly did. My cheesecake was safe in the fridge. It was home and unharmed.