The meat was stringy and the sauce too buttery. The vegetables were not fresh, the plates not sufficiently warmed, the cutlery smudged, and the service slow. There were two compensations; a rather fine, if overpriced, French Cote du Rhone, and Jane. The only reason Paul had agreed to accompany this gaggle of women to a restaurant he would not recommend to an enemy, was Jane. She sat further down the table across from him, but he was glad to be able to observe her for a while before starting up a conversation. She was mid-twenties, tall, with a mousy brown hair that fell below her shoulders. She had the face of a model; high cheek bones, vivid green eyes, and very full lips. Her arms and fingers were long, and her movements lazy but efficient. Paul was quick to notice the engagement ring. She had joined the group directly from work so she wore a plain red sweater and a pair of black cotton pants. But what struck him most intensely was the exuberance of her personality. Her conversation was punctuated by a chorus of seducing facial expressions that served as a stage for the brilliance of her green, knowing and alert eyes. Paul was fascinated but at the same time alarmed by how perfect she was. At one point, after he had set aside his plate of food in disgust, he looked for flaws but could find none. Even her name, Jane, in its plainness served only to highlight the perfection of the woman. How would he convince her to be dessert? She would be the most perfect, most expensive, most delicious dessert he had ever served. The question was how. Money would not do it; he knew this from the beginning. His usual method of offering cash to college kids and single mums would more likely turn her away. He had to think carefully about the hook. He would have to seduce her, he knew that, and there would have to be something in her life that made her want to do it. The former he was very confident about, while the latter was in the hands of the gods.
Jane had noticed the attentions of the man across from her. She was not displeased by this. Although she was a beautiful woman she suffered the weakness of many beautiful women; an inner frailty, a brittleness of confidence. She would be married in just over two weeks and while this prospect pleased her greatly, it also worried her. It was not that she was a flirt, certainly not. But she enjoyed the attention of men and knew that she would suffer guilt once the wedding ring on her finger forbade her these quiet pleasures. She was in love with her fiancé and had readily accepted his proposal. He had the strength that would give her a foundation in life, he would repair her brittleness. It was her mother, whose unconscious jealousy of her husband's attentions to Jane undermined her self-esteem. She would hiss anger at her beautiful child telling her of the shallowness of her looks and the stupidity of her girlish thoughts. But Jane's looks persisted and her intelligence was never doubted by anyone other than her needlessly cruel mother. There remained though a fragility about Jane and a sense she had that she deserved to be punished for her good fortune. This led to many a bad boyfriend and many sexual humiliations. Her friends, in exasperation, advised her against each of them and were appalled by their treatment of her. But Jane was always drawn back towards the danger. Her fiancé though was very different. His steadiness and kindness was plain for everyone to see. This signaled a new start for Jane and she both hungered for this new light of the future and felt the ache of her farewell to her past.
Paul knew none of this of course, but he had a sense that Jane was susceptible to his proposal if he was careful enough to present it in the right way. He had watched how after she became aware of his scrutiny she performed for him. This was extremely subtle and no one else at the table was aware of this private dance. But he did catch her watching to see whether he had noticed; her eyes quickly darting in his direction. It was she who started their conversation.
"So, Paul," she said, leaning across the table, "what do you do that makes you so interesting?"
"I'm interesting?" Paul said, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.
"Well Pamela thinks so," Jane said her face bright with her joke. Pamela laughed uncomfortably and playfully pushed against Jane's shoulder. Paul's first thought was: Don't bruise her. "Speak for yourself," Pamela retorted sharing the humor of the moment.
"I wish I could," said Jane, her green eyes now fixed on Paul's face, "but I am spoken for." Pamela laughed loudly at Jane's joke.
"When is the big day?" asked Paul. Pamela, who seemed to Paul to be more excited about the wedding than Jane, gave him a long account of the wedding plans. By the time Pamela had finished Jane had been drawn into another conversation and Paul had to reel in his line again.
He was struggling into his long blue cashmere coat at the restaurant door when Jane asked him again about his source of employment. "I own a restaurant and I'm the cook and the bottle scrubber too," Paul replied. Standing this close to Jane confirmed for him her perfection. "He is a lucky man," Paul continued, "a very lucky man." Jane ignored this complement.
"That's really interesting. What kind of restaurant?"
"It is a very unique place. I would like to tell you about it sometime."
"Why not just tell me where it is?" Jane responded, her face now taking on an impish naughtiness that weakened Paul's knees.
"I have to tell you about it first and if you like what I say I would love to have you visit the restaurant." At this point Pamela protectively inserted herself between Paul and Jane and broke up their conversation. Paul though managed to slip Jane a business card as they left the restaurant and walked slowly through the falling snow to their waiting cars.
Jane had been expecting another boring evening of chatter about the wedding but Paul's unexpected presence had lifted her flagging spirits. He was certainly attractive to her; he was tall enough and had a strong, muscular body beneath his sharp business suit. She enjoyed his boyish face and the twinkle in his eye that accompanied his smile. But what most intrigued her about Paul was her knowledge that he was a dangerous man. She knew he wouldn't hurt her. She wasn't afraid of that. Rather she knew he was the type of man who could feed the hungry darkness of her soul. And now, two days later, she held his business card in her long fingers. Her fiancé, Bob, was away fishing with his father somewhere in Louisiana. She was getting married in ten days and she was unsure whether this was a reason to phone or a reason not to. While she sat there Pamela called, leaving a rambling message about shopping for shoes and squealing with anticipation of the ceremony. This persuaded Jane to make the call.
They met in a part of the city that Jane would usually avoid. It was a working class neighborhood with houses huddled close to one another. The roads were slick with rain and the lights from shops reflected in the puddles of water. Paul was waiting for her outside a very ordinary looking building. Jane wanted to ask him whether he was serious. She was expecting to be dining in a fancy downtown restaurant not a hole in the wall in a bad neighborhood. What kind restaurant owner was he?
Paul took her hand and led her into a bright, warm but small room crowded with tables and people. The owner, a large woman, bounded over when she saw Paul and threw her fat arms around him. Jane couldn't help smiling at this enthusiastic welcome. Paul introduced Jane who was immediately hugged in her turn. They were shown to a small table near the window onto the street.
"This is the best Portuguese restaurant on the East Coast. The best fish you will taste anywhere," Paul informed Jane as she surveyed the noisy room. "It's my secret and I only let very special people know about it," he said smiling broadly at her.
