Irvine Welsh - If You Liked School, You'll Love Work

Chef stands back, bows, and points to the food on the table. — Now eat, he urges her.

— Lordy… I can’t… she thinks of her weight, — you shouldn’t have done this… what is this?

— Pulgoki . One of the famous Korean dishes to Westerners. Means ‘Korean barbecue’. Marinated with soy sauce, garlic, sugar, sesame oil, and other seasonings. Cooked over fire in front of table.

She puts down the sword and examines the fish swimming in the tank. There are two of them. — Are these…?

— Pufferfish. Common red puffer. Also called avocado puffer. Not so cause taste good with avocado, but they do, he grins.

Kendra’s hand goes to her mouth, which is mimicking the fishes. — Do you… I mean…

— Yes.

— Oh, Kendra says, then, anxious to ensure that he doesn’t think she’s offended by this, adds, — I would love to go to Japan. Eat pufferfish in a big restaurant.

— I have prepare some for now. We eat them, he says, heading to the kitchen and returning immediately with some small raw fillets of fish.

Kendra looks at the fillets, then at the tank. — Eh… I dunno… aren’t they really dangerous to eat?

The chef stares at her, his eyes gleaming. — Can be fatally poisonous. In Japan they are delicacy after poison has been removed but eating can still be fatal. One hundred diners die each year from eating pufferfish.

— Is this okay? She looks nervously at the fish.

— Very good. Eat, he urges, then he lifts a fillet into his mouth.

Kendra takes the small piece of fish in her mouth. It is smooth and tastes buttery. She chews and swallows.

— With poison you feel tingling in mouth and lips. Then dizziness, fatigue, headache, cannot speak, tightness in chest, shaking, nausea and vomiting, Chef explains cheerfully.

— I… I… feel okay, I guess… she says shakily. Actually, she feels dizzy and sweaty, even in this air con.

Chef points at the tank. — Even though they poisonous, pufferfish popular in aquarium. Can be tame but no hand-feed because of sharp teeth.

In an instant, Kendra realizes that she’s not going to die, that the nausea is largely of her mind’s making. She walks over to the tank. — Can I see them puff up?

— No. Too stressful for fish to make this happen, Chef sternly shakes his head. Then he regards Kendra with those shining black eyes. — You seem like lady who loves food.

— Yes I do. I don’t overeat like some, Kendra says smugly, — but I like to try new things and I’m very adventurous, she purrs, suddenly horribly aware that she’s flirting with the chef.

— Me too. You can eat almost anything, Chef declares, then raises a finger, — if it is properly prepared. So you no try cook pufferfish at home!

— Don’t worry, Kendra smiles chastely, aware that she’s backpedaling, — I’ll always come to the experts.

Toto is at her feet and she picks him up, now anxious to leave without eating any more food. — Right, sweet baby boy, we’d better get you home! You gotta be hungry too!

In her departure, she is aware that her pulse is racing as she heads down the stairs.

The LP Tavern is very dark inside, illuminated only by some indented wall and bar lights, and a bank of buzzing neon at the gantry, all glowing phosphorous blue. Until their eyes adjusted, a stranger might be forgiven for thinking that it’s still the dive bar it used to be. However, the exotic and comprehensive range of spirits and beers on offer and the dress and bearing of the clientele soon dispel this notion.

Kendra is drinking with Stacie, Stephanie, and Cressida, a research assistant at Chicago University. Cressida wears her black hair short, and it glows silkily in the blue light in exactly the same way as her top. Sparkling earrings dangle like small chandeliers. The girls sit on tall stools at a round table, big enough for just the drinks and the odd elbow. Kendra admits that it is good having Chef living in her apartment complex. — He’s awesome. It’s unreal, she tells them. — Toto’s really taken to him.

— Seems like he’s not the only one, Stacie says, her tones and glance laden with coquettish inference.

— What? Kendra raises her plucked brows.

— Would you, like, well, sleep with him?

Kendra looks at her in disgust. — Don’t be crazy. He’s way too old. He’s… She stops and scrutinizes her friend’s face for signs of treachery. — What the fuck are you trying to say, Stacie?

— He’s kinda neat though. Stacie shrugs vaguely, then offers, — I’d go with an Asian guy.

— Well, you know where he fucking well lives and works, Stacie. Go and stalk him. Kendra shakes her head but she is satisfied that Stacie is too hollow to be hostile.

— I’m not saying him . He is a little old. But as a general point.

Stephanie yawns luxuriantly, her skin stretching translucent under the blue lighting. — They’re supposed to be a little, eh, light downstairs.

This comment sparks Cressida into a rage. Her pale, longish face has taken on a marine-like taint. In it her small teeth are bared, and Kendra thinks she can almost see the anger rising up inside her and spilling through them. — That’s racist BS. Who makes that shit up? The black man is too big, the yellow man too small. Who, then, is just right? Who is the fucking norm? Three guesses, she sneers, and springs to her feet, heading for the bathroom.

— Oh God, Stephanie gasps, her hand going to her mouth, — I’d forgotten all about her and that Myles guy. But I’m not a racist, how can I be? I work with members of the different species we share this planet with. If I can do that, how can I logically be opposed to different races within the same human species?

Stacie’s brow furrows in response.

— Ignore her, Kendra tuts. For some reason she always feels uncomfortable at signs of weakness in Stephanie that somebody other than herself has managed to induce. — All that Chicago Uni bullshit. She’s fucking some black professor and she can’t even be pleased that she’s getting some big tenured dick inside her. She still has to make herself out to be a victim. All this trust-fund guilt, identifying with minorities, it’s such a bore.

Stacie realizes then that Kendra will never fuck a chef of any ethnicity unless he has his own show on television. She signals to the waitress. — I wanna chocolate Martini.

— Gross, Kendra winces. — Gimme a Stoli and tonic.

— Me too, Stephanie choruses, considering that a serious and intimidating waft comes from Cressida. You can never be totally relaxed in her company. Then she looks gravely at them and leans in. — And you’ll never guess what I’ve heard?

They regard her, thin, plucked brows twisting in concentration. Kendra’s hand runs over her head to make sure that her ponytail is still tight on the crown.

Stephanie bends in still closer to them, allowing them to catch a scent of her Allure. — Trent is apparently seeing, or fucking — you decide — Andrea Pallister.

— My God, Stacie says. — Didn’t she flunk psychology at DePaul and have to change to, like, art or something?

Kendra seethes quietly, aware that their eyes are on her. — She’s got cats , she squeaks in a petulant misery she can’t quite manage to repress. — I thought Trent liked dogs !

Cressida returns, an air of serenity about her now, sitting down as the waitress comes over with the drinks. She orders a Stoli. Kendra stands up. — I’d better go to the restroom and moisturize. This is my second alcoholic drink.

As they watch Kendra depart Stacie tells Cressida, — We’re talking Trent.

— Oh, she says, then exchanges malicious grins with the others.