chapter 3 the underappreciated chef

At a table near the kitchens, the head chef of the Tiara-Masura raised a small white cup of coffee to his lips, keeping his eyes focused on the two figures seated across the restaurant.

Of course, Reggie well knew Jennifer Maurice. The huge brunette was one of the restaurant's biggest customers. Her suave young husband - barely older than Reggie himself - frequently offered him vast incentives to leave his job and take up residence at Maurice Mansion as Jennifer's personal chef.

Reggie always politely declined, not least because he doubted he could keep up with the sheer volume of food Mrs Maurice would demand. Situated in one of the most affluent suburbs on Earth, the four-michelin-starred Tiara Masura inevitably served as a magnificent and highly exclusive trough to some uncommonly piggish patrons. But of all the gluttonous girlfriends, insatiable spouses and omniverous mistresses who squeezed their richly dressed bulges through the restaurant's huge glass doors, Jennifer was easily the greediest. Even the young Lady Charlotte couldn't quite match her supreme feasting - though the swollen socialite did have several years in which to catch up.

But there was a deeper reason Reggie eschewed the employ of the Maurices - however lucrative.

It had all begun two years ago, on Jennifer's 23rd birthday. Reggie, then the Tiara's resident baking specialist, had been hired to provide the cake, and one of the perks was that he got to attend the party as well. Knowing of David Maurice's vast wealth, and having heard that his wife's lust for ostentatious luxury matched her greed for delicious food, Reggie had arrived at Maurice Mansion expecting quite a show.

But the staggering scale of the opulence and unapologeticly nauseateing excess of the celebrations were beyond his wildest imaginings. It was My Super Sweet Sixteen on steroids and sugar pills.

****

To cheers and applause from the hundred or so guests assembled on the patio, Jennifer Maurice had emerged into a baking-hot June morning resembling nothing less than a fabled Eyptain Pharohess. Adorned in flowing robes of silken gold (which exposed at least as much of her plentiful plumpness as they concealed) the birthday girl strode into the sunlight wearing an imperious smile, her lustrously coiffed auburn locks caressing soft, tanned shoulders, and the bright jewels on her tiara flashing magnificently.

The first present was aptly suited to her current style - and to her love of luxury. Four tall dark men strode out from the side of the mansion, their sinewy torsos gleaming in the sun, naked but for sandals and white, waist-high Egyptianesque robes. Above them they bore a litter so vast and elaborately golden that it could have belonged to Cleopatra herself. (Indeed, Reggie wondered if the litter *had* perhaps belonged to Cleopatra. David Maurice was known to have acquired all sorts of astonishly rare and priceless artifacts on his foreign adventures.)

Jennifer clapped her chubby hands and bounced with glee as her appropriate present was lowered, allowing her to ascend (with some assistance) into the softly cushioned seat. The moment she was comfortably ensconced, four maids dressed as Egyptian serving women emerged from the house. The first two carried wide palm fans, and moved to stand either side of the litter, shielding their Queen from the sun's glare. The following pair brought forth vast ornate vases brimming with exotic delicacies. Fluffy, floury Turkish Delight overflowed the first in multiple bright colours, while the second was piled past the brim with an enticing assortment of sweetened nuts: candied cashews, spiced pecans, honey-glazed macademaias. The vessels were so vast that the girls could barely wrap their slender arms around them, and were leaning back under their great weight.

These bounteous offerings were placed on the litter within easy reach of Jennifer's lounging arms. And as her servants begun fanning her in the hot sun, the curvaceous Cleopatra wiggled her plump fingers excitedly above the giant bowls, her eyes darting from one to the other in excited indecision. A particularly sugary piece of purple Turkish Delight soon disappeared between her lips, quickly followed by a large handful of nuts.

After a few crunches, Jennifer blanched and abruptly stopped - her cheeks reddening rapidly. For a moment Reggie thought a cashew or two had taken a wrong turn, but when the gobbling Egyptian goddess moved a plump hand to frantically waft in front of her mouth, it became clear that the culprits were pecans, apparently a little overspiced for the royal palate. Fortunately a fanning maid had the inspired idea to seize a few lumps of Turkish Delight and push them into her mistress's open mouth. Eagerly accepted, these provided adequate heat relief.

Reggie had just been glad the nuts weren't his doing. With a gulp, he imagined the poor chef who had prepared them being flogged later for his failure - while Pharoah Jennifer watched from a burnished throne, still stuffing down Turkish Delight to settle her nerves and make doubly sure the heat didn't return.

That minor incendiary incident averted, litter and party proceeded across the lawn (Jennifer now snacking happily) to where a temporary stage had been erected in the mansion's grounds. For the next hour or so, various high-profile pop stars screeched through short sets, as the guests cheered and whooped.

Caring little for the music, Reggie spent most of the show watching Jennifer. Raised above the masses in her litter, the reclining Cleopatra was tossing copious handfuls of candied nuts and Turkish Delight between her eagerly parting lips. As her plump hands delved deeper and deeper into the huge bowls, Reggie started to grow nervous. He'd witnessed Jennifer's insatiability in the Tiara on many occasions, but after such a monster helping of sweets, and with an extravagant lunch still to come...Well, he was starting to wish he'd hadn't gone quite so all-out on the birthday cake.

By the end of the performance Jennifer had transferred almost her entire supply of Turkish Delight and exotic nuts into what was now an exceedingly plump and prosperous-looking tummy. She lounged in a sugar-daze as her litter was carried back to the veranda, where the guests changed into bikinis and summery outfits to sunbathe and frolick in and around David's immense swimming pool. Filled with sweetmeats, Jennifer hazily waved away all invitations to join her friends in the water, and it seemed that nothing short of an earthquate would induce the lazing Cleopatra to descend from the cushioned comfort of her litter.

In the end it was an enormous rumbling roar - though not quite an earthquake - that brought the dozing goddess out of her disinterested lethargy. Jennifer instinctively looked down at her stomach, but moments later her emerald eyes were gleaming greedily as the true source of the rumble - and her next present - rolled up alongside her litter. With a squeal of delight, the bulging birthday girl jumped from her dais as it was being lowered (which nearly did cause an earthquake) and wobbled with surprising alacrity over to her lavish new gift: a shining silver Lambourghini.

As David opened the remote control doors, it was clear to Reggie that the staggeringly expensive sports car had been somewhat customised to accomodate the, aha, larger occupant. The driver's seat was particularly wide and the doors rose just a little higher than was usual, enabling Jennifer to duck in easily. But as she plopped her hefty behind excitedly into her plush leather, Reggie judged that some further modifications would soon be required: either to Jennifer's diet or - far more likely - to the positioning of the steering wheel, which was dangerously close to digging into the bulging brunette's surging stomach.

With a wry smile, Reggie wondered if it was possible to invent bendy steering wheels that would curve to accomodate those drivers whose bellies protruded further than the full reach of their arms.

When Jennifer emerged from her car it was with an unsteady gait and a green tinge to her cheeks. Revving and wheelspinning her new toy around the fountain in David's vast driveway probably wasn't the best idea on a tummyfull of treats. Some energetic fanning from her loyal maids coupled with the appearance of more presents soon cured her. Four pairs of six-inch designer heels. A brown mink coat. Designer frocks by the dozen, and - now that she was feeling better - box after box of rare Belgian chocolates, on which Jennifer grazed constantly as she modelled her various outfits.

Eventually the moment arrived. After an extravagant outdoor lunch, also put on by the Tiara Masura and of which Jennifer indulged in serveral enormous servings, the guests (most still in swimwear) ceased their chattering, set down their cutlery, and rose to their feet. A recently arrived string quartet, sweating in tuxedos, struck up the tune of happy birthday.

And two impeccably smart waiters brought forth the cake.

Over three foot around and twelve inches tall, weighing in at a fulsome twenty four pounds, the massive pink pudding was coated in lavishly thick strawberry icing with patterns of gold and silver glinting and flashing in the summer sunlight. Within, six chunky bands of jam separated layer upon layer of the softest, creamiest sponge known to mankind. It was the birthday cake to end all birthday cakes. It was Reggie's finest creation. The crowd applauded as they continued to sing, and there were many coos and giggles from the assembled ladies.

Only one person failed to join the applause. For all his culinary self-confidence, Reggie was a sack of nerves. By the time the prize had been set down on a specially prepared marble stand and the song had reached its climax - to thumping applause and three raucous cheers for the birthday girl - his heart was teetering on the tip of his tongue.