Some of you may remember Jocelyn, a half-Filipino girl I've known since her teens. You might also remember she now has a boyfriend, whom I secretly refer to as The Clueless Bastard, on account of how he doesn't know I've fucked her a few times while they've been dating. I've always imagined how jealous he'd be if he ever found out, but never guessed that I could be the one to made feel jealous over her. Here's how it happened.
I hadn't seen her for a while, but we bumped into each other at the local farmer's markets one morning. She didn't live in my area anymore but the boyfriend (okay, his name was Haydon) was nearby, so it was inevitable we'd cross paths in the streets. I was there with my neighbour, an old Sicilian guy by the name of Antonio, who'd promised to make me an old-fashioned dinner from his homeland on the proviso that I buy the ingredients (he was on a pension, after all), and to make sure I didn't skimp out on the freshest stuff he accompanied me to the markets to show me how to identify the best produce. Already we had a tote bag half full of tomatoes, coriander and the most expensive organic flour I'd ever paid for in my life!
Well, being Italian meant that Antonio was also something of a hopeless romantic, and he waxed lyrical over Jocelyn's youthful good looks (kept muttering "beda" whilst batting his lashes at her), gallantly praising The Clueless Bastard for having secured her heart. But man, did he lay it on thick, old Antonio. The poor bastard had been widowed about ten years ago, and he'd loved his wife passionately. I know he missed her terribly, though he soldiered on with life and continued to revel in the beauty of everyday minutiae. It was part of his charm, how he could be enraptured by light through the canopy of a tree, simple stuff like that.
And he'd promised me a meal which would make me weep. His words. So when he precipitously invited Jocelyn and Haydon to join our feast (that's what he called it - he changed it up from a simple dinner to a feast to convince them they wouldn't be imposing in the slightest should they accept the offer) I almost could have wept; but whether from laughter (that The Clueless Bastard would be breaking bread with me) or from anguish (that I now had to buy more ingredients), I couldn't say.
Jocelyn was delighted by the prospect. Probably hoping to watch me squirm as she lavished the boyfriend with attention. Or perhaps the cunning little minx hoped to make him squirm by lavishing me with attention?
Either way, it was decided: Jocelyn and Haydon would be around to Antonio's that night for dinner, graciously paid for by yours truly. Antonio seemed well pleased with himself as we left the markets, going on and on about how "beda" Jocelyn was. Calm down, old man.
When I popped around to Antonio's later that night, the lovebirds were already there, wine glasses in hand. Antonio was in great spirit, fully immersed in his role as host.
"Buon amico!" he cried when he saw me, and quickly rushed forward with a glass of red for me.
There was a sparkle in Jocelyn's eye - no doubt aided by the glass of wine she'd nearly finished - and I wondered if perhaps there'd be a secret dalliance later in the evening. Perhaps we'd wait until Antonio was chewing Haydon's ear off about some subject or another, and we'd slip away and bang like bunnies in the bathroom?
"Did you know Antonio made the pasta from scratch?" said Jocelyn excitedly.
I did. I've known the old bastard long enough to know that hand-made pasta is one of his great passions. He hates the store-bought stuff. And to be honest, having tasted his pasta before, I can't blame him. His is miles above any supermarket stuff.
"You're in for a real treat with Antonio in the kitchen," I smiled as though only I alone was privy to the secrets of his cooking. "He's a master chef."
"You may garnish it with as much salt and pepper as you want, but pumpkin still has little flavour," he chided me from the doorframe, before disappearing back to the cooking.
"I'm serious," I shouted back. "You're one of the best, mate."
So I sat and chatted with Jocelyn and The Clueless Bastard, guiding the conversation into reminisces from when Jocelyn's family still lived in the neighbourhood, so as to disclude Haydon from the discourse. He was gracious about it, pretending to laugh along with us when we were amused by some anecdote or another.
Eventually, Antonio announced the dinner was ready. And he'd outdone himself, laying out a spread that could shame a King's kitchen. There was obviously no way we'd manage to eat it all, and I was thoroughly impressed with how he'd managed to stretch the ingredients we'd bought this morning into such a lavish spread.
Of course, his pasta was the real star, and he explained to us why, saying it was owed to something called "bella figura". It was a term Italians used to describe how the essence of giving back was put into something, how love and passion could infuse the cooking and make it greater than the sum of its parts.
"But also," he said slyly, giving Jocelyn a wink, "bella figura also means beautiful figure."
I swear she blushed at this, and The Clueless Bastard shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
Jocelyn had put on a bit of weight since I'd first fucked her, right next door and over the back of the old wooden seat on my porch. She'd lost that teen slimness in favour of a heavier body, but with her thick thighs and wide jaw it actually suited her.
When Antonio went through to the kitchen to ready desert, Jocelyn couldn't help but remark how charming and handsome Antonio was.
"Really?" I said incredulously. "Did you not notice the wrinkles and the greying hair?"
"It's not about that, though," she said. "A man who can cook like that, with his whole heart, well, let's just say he's got my attention."
Haydon chuckled, but I was stymied as to what the fucking joke was.
Out came the chocolate mousse (these weren't hand-cooked by our host, I noted with some small satisfaction), and as we spooned the puddings into our gobs I nearly choked when Antonio suddenly blurted out how it was like "slurping on a nice young pussy."
His eyes creased up as he started to chuckle at his own gaffe, and Jocelyn told him he was hilarious, holding his gaze a little too long. I began to feel the stir of jealousy deep within, and promptly looked to Haydon as an ally, shaking my head disbelievingly as though I expected him to stand up and declare the shenanigans must stop. But he was grinning lopsidedly like the village idiot, spooning the brown muck into his face.
