Hilary Fields - Bliss

Then, as the O-Bomb penetrated deeper into the throng, plates passed from hand to hand, a second voice chimed in. “Oh, yesssss! ” Sera couldn’t see who it was this time, but the voice didn’t sound familiar.

And again, coming from outside the French doors. “Oo- oooohhh! ” The cry emerged with surprising gusto from the throat of a tiny Japanese lady, bent nearly double with age and clinging to her embarrassed-looking grandson’s arm for balance.

In a moment, “aaahhs” and “mmmmmmms” were rising from all over the room.

A fiery blush bloomed on Sera’s cheeks. When I named it “O-Bomb,” I didn’t mean it quite so literally!

Then the Back Room Babes jumped on the O-train, and it really ran off the rails.

“Oh, baby! ” cried another woman. Goodness, Sera marveled, was that sweet, serene River Wind?

“Yeah, yeah, yeahhhhhhh! ” squealed another, mouth full of Sera’s dessert. She spotted the squealer—Crystal, eyes shut in rapture, tattoo-sleeved arms raised in exultation, expression on her multiply pierced face best reserved for the privacy of the boudoir.

At the front of the crowd, Pauline began to gyrate her hips, running her hands through her salt-and-pepper hair in a manner Sera could have done without seeing. Savoring her O-Bomb, she let out a guttural, primal cry, then another, and another. At her side, Hortencia, who Sera would have thought would be wildly embarrassed, was anything but. In an exaggerated motion, she raised her bonbon to her lips, chomped down, and literally screamed with ecstasy.

Then Bobbie—demure, professional Bobbie—let out a roar. “ Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssss! ”

Then Aruni, throwing her head back and howling like a pack of coyotes.

Then Syna— and Syna’s husband, who had his hands clapped over their ten-year-old son’s ears.

And Janice, hollering and swinging an arm above her head like she was set to lasso a steer.

The whole restaurant was fairly vibrating. Blake looked positively poleaxed. So did Vanessa, whose trademark smile wobbled, turning to a look of consternation and confusion. The camera crew looked to her, unsure whether to keep filming. Seeing the throng of ecstatic Santa Feans, Vanessa made a motion to the crew— keep rolling!

Sera’s mouth was agape as she watched the crowd convulse. Even Guadalupe, normally aloof to the point of rudeness, had a reluctant smile on her face. She picked up Sera’s confection and daintily took a nibble. Then she moaned. A tiny, decorous moan, but a moan all the same. And she kept moaning, even as others in the crowd took up what was becoming a chant. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!” they shouted, grinning and making their best O-faces.

Then Asher stepped forward. He grabbed his battered Indiana Jones hat and sent it sailing to the far corner of the restaurant, dropping dramatically to his knees and arching his back. “Oh, God, oh, Bliss, oh, BLISS!” he cried, doing what Sera knew to be a pretty fair impression of his most intimate experience. Several women sighed, and all around him, the chant rose. Men groaned. Women moaned. Blake’s waitstaff linked arms and let out a wail. The busboys looked at one another like the whole restaurant had gone loco, then shrugged and added their voices to the clamor. Even Blake’s second stepped away from his side, tossed an O-Bomb in the air, and caught it in his teeth, setting up a howl of his own as the confection coated his tongue.

Pauline winked at her niece, and Sera, tears of gratitude running down her face, finally let go.

Fuck it. If these folks aren’t ashamed, why should I be?

She came out from behind the counter, standing before the crowd with eyes half-blinded by tears. She placed an O-Bomb on her tongue; gave it a second to do its thing.

Then, in front of half the town and a national cable network, she let loose so loud she could be heard halfway down Canyon Road.

Vanessa’s amplified voice broke through the mass orgasm. “And the winner is… Bliss!” She was smiling a smile that spoke of more than just the promise of astronomical ratings.

Blake, more furious than Sera had ever seen him, dashed his shiny, state-of-the-art mixer to the floor. It boomed like ordnance against the restaurant’s Saltillo tiles, shocking everyone and making Sera jump. “You oxygen-deprived morons!” he raged into the silence that fell in the wake of the crash. “You backwoods rednecks! You wouldn’t know a proper dessert if the ghost of Gaston Lenôtre came down and shoved it in your ignorant pie holes himself!”

Sera caught one of the camera guys grinning, zooming in on Blake’s livid face as he insulted his audience.

He’s showing his true colors. And the crowd didn’t appreciate it. Mutters and meaningful looks passed among them.

“Gah!” he spat, flinging a plate of the ganache cake at the far wall. “I cannot wait to get back to civilization and away from the company of yokels who think cowboy hats and concho belts constitute high fashion!” He made air quotes with his fingers. “You ‘free-spirited’ fucks have been baking in the sun so long, you wouldn’t have the wits to appreciate haute cuisine if it walked up and slapped you on your slack-jawed faces! And for the record, no, you pokey-palated Paleoliths, green chile is not a major food group!” Spittle flecked his lips as he glared out over the crowd.

For a moment, the crowd simply stared back.

Then they started to laugh.

In two decades of being feted, flattered, and socially fellated, this was something wholly new. Blake’s fame, his restaurant empire, his celebrity snob friends—none of them meant a thing to the people here today.

Sera saw a flash of uncertainty—almost panic—enter Blake’s eyes as he realized it.

They don’t care what he thinks.

And for the first time, neither did Serafina Wilde.

She laughed right along with them.

Enraged, Blake ripped open his custom-embroidered chef’s jacket and flung it to the floor, beyond caring about the cameras catching every instant of his tantrum. His face was apoplectic as he turned to his former protégée. “You’ll rue this day, Serafina,” he hissed.

Vanessa, standing near enough to hear, rolled her eyes at Sera. “Who says that?” She popped an O-Bomb between her perfectly painted lips and shivered with ecstasy.

Sera just smiled. Her ruing days were over.

With a roar of rage, Blake Austin turned on one heel, shot Sera a final venomous glance, and stormed out the rear door.

Out into the alley like the rat he was.

The Back Room Babes broke through the crowd and gathered round, showering Sera in a storm of hugs and kisses.

“You did it!”

“Way to kick ass, woman!”

“You guys didn’t have anything to do with…,” Sera began, narrowing her eyes at her aunt and the rest of the ladies.

They shook their heads innocently. “That was all you, girl!” Aruni enthused. “I mean, yeah, Pauline did have a plan for us to strike back if things started to look dicey. She had us spell out A-U-S-T-I-N S-U-C-K-S-! on our fannies in Sharpie marker and be ready to drop trou if Chef Austin got uppity. Lucky thing there are twelve of us. I got the exclamation point. Wanna see?” She grabbed the waistband of her yoga pants and made as if to pull them down.

Janice slapped her friend’s hand away. “Stop that, ’Runi! Sheesh, you’ll take any ol’ opportunity to show off that toned little tush. Me, I’m just glad we didn’t need to whip out no dirty tricks.” Janice grinned. “I told ’em there were too many Texans here today who might get the wrong idea and think we were dissin’ their capital city!”