chapter 3 - his voice

Chapter Three - His Voice

I pulled up to the entry of the restaurant and suggested that Colette hop out and I would park the car. “Eric, your sport coat, can I borrow it? The way I am dressed, I think this may go over better if I have something over this outfit,” Colette asked. “Sure,” I replied, grabbing the jacket from the back seat and handing it to her.

After parking, I met Colette back in the entry and we were led to our table. We sat down and each ordered a beer. “Did you sample the French and Italian beers on your trip?” I asked.

“No. Most of the time it was cappuccinos or café au lait at the patisseries,” she answered. “I did try various wines, but I didn’t want anything that was going to affect my palette,” she continued. “It was difficult enough to sense out the seasonings and ingredients.”

“I guess the French and Italians are not really known for their beers, anyway. They make some that are interesting, but it's not as if you were in Germany or the Netherlands. Actually, I think the place that would be interesting to sample beers would be in the Czech Republic, anyway,” I said.

Colette laughed, “Maybe next time, but that would have to be your trip, not mine. Besides, I wouldn’t want to get a beer belly.” She punctuated this last comment with a smile and a long pull on her beer.

“No, you wouldn’t want that,” I answered, trying to figure out if she was joking. Even in my jacket, her belly was pronounced. Her roundness when seated could easily be confused with her being maybe four months pregnant. Without the jacket, the jelly roll and love handles gave it away as more likely the result of her dedicated commitment to European desserts.

While I was still trying to get used to the way she looked, I had to admit that I was getting more and more enthusiastic about when I would get the chance to get up close and personal. I have always appreciated fuller figured women and actually felt that it was unfortunate that I was a white bread white guy. I have always enjoyed watching music videos with J-Lo, Beyonce, and others who presented their “jelly” without apology. The whole idea of “booty” intrigued me. In the past, I had encouraged Colette to relax about her dance regimen with the hope that she would add some Beyonce “jelly” to her totally toned hips, ass, and thighs.

Colette had always had nice breasts, which she actually complained about since they disturbed her “line” when dancing ballet. She used to wear a super tight sports bra to squish herself tight when she danced. The size and shape of her breasts had clearly changed with her weight gain and I was eager to feel them in my hands. Actually, I was eager to feel all of her against my body and started thinking about what it would be like with her on top. I started resenting that our first stop was a restaurant instead of our apartment.

The waitress came and we ordered. I asked for my regular, the porterhouse. I expected Colette to order her regular, the filet minion, but she surprised me. “I’ll have the same, and can I get that with the steak fries and with a side of onion rings, please,” she ordered. “Oh, and can I get a Caesar salad? Thanks,” she continued.

We started talking about what I had been doing while she was away. I made it clear that, without her around, things had been all work and pretty boring. That made her smile. “Well, I am back and ready to make things fun again,” she promised.

The waiter brought over a basket of garlic bread and Colette snagged a piece as soon as the basket hit the table. We continued talking about what I had been doing and what she had been doing, with the intersection being we were both glad to be together again. I suggested that trials, such as her being away for three months, are a kind of test to a relationship. There are two alternatives: either “Out of sight, out of mind,” or “Absence makes the heart grow founder.” We were both enjoying that it was apparent that the separation had resulted in the second, not the first for either of us.

“With everything that you were doing, I was worried that you didn’t have much time to think about me,” I admitted.

“Hey, I thought about you all of the time. Didn’t I e-mail you every day and give you a complete history of every detail?” she asked.

“Yes, you did, and I appreciated every e-mail. It’s just that you seemed so consumed with your research that it didn’t seem like you had much time to think about anything else,” I commented.

“I was consumed. That was why I was there and I wanted to make the most out of it,” she explained, “but that didn’t mean that you weren’t in my thoughts. Still, I admit that I was glad that I was traveling alone so that I could concentrate on what I was doing. If you had been along, we would have been looking at buildings and seeing sites. All I wanted to do was my research on pastry. I guess I was consumed with consuming.”

“When you were trying things, was it just a bite of this and a bite of that, or how did you do it,” I asked.

“Are you kidding? First, it wasn’t easy. Sometimes I needed to have several pieces of the same thing, just to figure out how it had been made. I tried to hit some of the bakeries in the off hours so that I could talk with the chef or people working there. Usually, by the time that I had eaten three pieces of one pastry, they believed what I told them I was doing, and they got very generous with their information and samples,” she explained. “In a couple of places, I got to be real friends with the people and they let me come into the kitchens to watch them work up close. There was one pastry chef at Pierre Hermes in Paris who I got friendly with. He probably makes the best macaroons in the world. You wouldn’t believe how many I got to eat, just sampling all of the different types that he made. The white truffle hazelnut macaroons were amazing. So rich, but so good,” she went on.

I swear that she started to drool as she was telling the story. As soon as she said that I wouldn’t believe how many she had eaten, I thought of mentioning that I had a pretty good idea that it was a lot, judging from her transformation, but I stopped myself. I was worried that she would take it negatively.

Colette reached for her third piece of garlic bread right before they brought her the salad. I had never thought much about the way that she had eaten before her trip, but now I was aware that she had a real enthusiasm for everything that she was putting in her mouth. It was like her taste buds had been energized and each bite released another sensation.

We continued talking as we ate dinner and I was impressed with the way that she managed to simply keep eating until every plate in front of her was completely clean, except for the bone from the steak. Maybe it was the conversation that kept her focus, but she didn’t seem aware of how much and how quickly she had eaten it. The porterhouse portions at this place are huge. I had to give up with enough steak still on my plate to ask for a doggie bag. Sensing that I was finished, Colette leaned forward and asked, “You’re not going to finish that?” and quickly switched plates before I could even finish suggesting that she could have it. I watched in amazement as she quickly finished the rest of my steak, too.

Realizing how this looked, Colette looked a little embarrassed and tried to offer an explanation, “Remember, I have been traveling all day and kind of missed a few meals.” I just smiled and said that I was glad that she was enjoying herself.

The busboy cleared the table and the waiter showed up with the dessert menu. Wanting to make sure that she didn’t feel awkward, I suggested that she find something that she would like. Encouraged, she looked over the menu, exclaiming that there were a couple of things that sounded really good, and totally different from what she had been enjoying in Europe. “I am having a tough time deciding between the molten chocolate lava cake with sugar-coated raspberries and the brownie ala mode. They describe the brownie as ‘intoxicating’,” she said, licking her lips.

“Let’s just get one of each and share,” I offered, although I was so full, I doubted that I would be doing much damage on either.

The waiter asked if we wanted fresh whipped cream on the brownie, and Colette answered, “Yes! With the ice cream, too. Right?” The waiter smiled and said, “Of course.” Then he explained that there is a wait on the lava cake and suggested that he bring the brownie first. We agreed that it made sense.

Probably sensing which of us was most excited by the dessert, the waiter set the brownie in front of Colette. I actually did get two spoonfuls before it was gone. The waiter then brought the lava cake and I swear it looked like Colette was turned on just by the sight of it. It was huge, gooey and looked like a sin of chocolate. He set it down in front of Colette, who sat back in awe. I could tell that she was feeling full. She had to be. I noticed that she had a few beads of sweat on her forehead. From the exertion of eating? “Do you want to take the first bite?” she asked.

“Why? Are you getting too full?” I countered.

“No. Not at all. I think my capacity may have increased a bit on my trip,” she explained meekly with a smile.

“You think?” I asked her, laughing.