Serial

08. The Dim Beacon in Monotony

    Friday nights in Ernesting were a loud and long endeavour. The East side was littered with homeless men and women, often drunk and screaming at the heavens of their poor fate. The neon lights of the East Ernesting tattoo parlours and dive bars blended slowly into the lights of Ernesting's downtown, where music from clubs blared, and the lights never seemed to dim. In both areas of town women stood on street corners in short skirts and fishnets, shivering until shady men would pull over to the side of the road, and a short conversation later the women would clamber into a dark car, going to a dark and dirty hotel for the night.

West Ernesting, on the other hand, was a quiet haven in a busy city. It was the side of town where the smart and sensible people lived. It had rows upon rows of tidy houses, with small backyards with high fences. The odd dog would bark in the late of the night, but besides that the neighbourhoods of West Ernesting were quiet and calm, like a drawing taken out of a child’s book.

    In the late evening of Friday, October 27th, as the clock struck midnight and the day became the next, most of the smart and sensible inhabitants of West Ernesting shut off their lights and went to bed. However, one light shone dimly out in the dark serenity of its surroundings. Located in the middle of a strip of boutiques and salons, Aimie's Every Event Catering Kitchen still had lights on, despite the late hour.

     Aimie Mickiewicz stood at the back door of her kitchen, her face peering out the window into the back alley behind the business strip. She had at that time been waiting anxiously for an hour, expecting a delivery to be made at some point during the night. She did not play music, nor read or watch television, she just sat by the window, looking out as her clocked loudly ticked by each second. With every light that went by she perked up, only to be disappointed more and more every time it would drive past.

     Finally, at 12:18 a.m. a white van pulled into the back alley and slowly crept up to the back door of the kitchen.

     The van was white, and unmarked. From the outside it looked like any other utility van, with darkened windows for the driver and passenger, and no windows to reveal what was being carried in the back. As the engine stopped and the van quieted, the driver got out lazily. He was a young man in his early 30’s with long and disheveled hair and dark bags under his eyes. Aimie watched as he walked up to the door of the building, then knocked softly and rhythmically on the wood. Aimie knocked back a response, then eagerly opened the door.

     “Took you long enough to get here.” She said to him, as she walked past and crossed her arms, waiting for him to open the back of the van.

     He rolled his eyes, “You should know by now we never give exact times for our deliveries. We said between 11 and 3 a.m. You just got the good end of the stick as far as I'm concerned.”

     Aimie scoffed. As he opened the van she stood on her toes to try and look over his shoulder into its interior. The back was piled haphazardly with an assortment of bags and boxes.

     “I'm paying you to bring me a good product. You could have at least stacked it properly.”

     “Blame Processing, not me. I just drive the van.”

     “Are you sure it's all fresh?”

     “We just got in in Wednesday night.”

     “And it's good quality?”

     “How the hell should I know? I don't touch the stuff.”

     Aimie scowled at him, but then took a small wad of cash out of her apron pocket.

     “The first half. You'll get the second when it's all inside and I've checked it.”

     The driver pocketed the money, then grabbed a couple boxes and followed Aimie inside.

     Aimie's kitchen was small and modest. As the only real employee of her catering company, she got by with a crowded, but tidy room that consisted of one walk in freezer, one walk in cooler, a modest range, a convection oven, and plenty of counter space. One side of the kitchen had shelves of urns and warming plates, with pots and pans hanging from the metal bars. Near that on a counter was a large knife block, with the blades kept carefully clean and sharp. The far wall of the kitchen was almost empty, only a map of the world covered it, with dozens of countries on it having been coloured or scrawled with notes.

     Aimie led the driver to a counter, then careful went through each box and took inventory before she directed him to where it should be unloaded. The driver counted the cash Aimie had given him, and added on the extra bills she handed over as she went through to deliver and found things to her liking. When it was all unloaded he went over the now large wad of bills one more time.

     “So what's the big event this time?” He asked her as she signed a confirmation of delivery.

     “Halloween party for 12.”

     “Fitting for a Halloween party huh? You gonna make some fingers in a blanket or something?”

      Aimie scoffed again.“A little more refined than that. I'm thinking ‘Around the World in 80 Flavours.’”

     “Do they know what kind of crap you put into the food?”

     “They asked for vegan food. And I am guaranteeing there will be no animal products in them whatsoever.”

     The driver just shrugged, tucked away the payment, and walked out the door with a lazy wave. Aimie watched out the window as he drove off, then turned her attention to her recette for the party.