Audrey Hepburn's Pearls: Part I

Chapter 65.1: 1995, Georgina

Chapter 65.1: 1995, Georgina

A spicy smell was filling my senses. On the couch, I closed my magazine. 

It was my second day here, and I had quickly learned how Cha Cha was quite a cook. For lunch today, I had recognized a dish of Genesis'. A Cajun sort of chicken. She'd told me happily how he'd taught her how to cook Cajun and French dishes over their friendship together. It made every bite taste that much better. But my heart ached, for I missed him too much.

I asked her if she knew what had happened to him, and she'd assured me he was still in Philadelphia, Felix as well. 

"But I don't know them anymore. It may have even been ten years," she warned me. "I just know they're in Philadelphia. My friends tell me."

"Your friends know them?" I was very intrigued.

"Yes, they live in Philadelphia, too."

My eyebrow creased at this. It didn't make any sense. "Did you live in Philadelphia?" I asked, trying to bring to air the only explanation I could think of.

"Is the chicken good? Do you need more?" she'd said. I knew what she was doing. It wasn't that she hadn't understood me. I wasn't stupid. 

"Yes," I'd said, offering her my plate. Her avoidance could only mean one thing: she wasn't friends with them anymore. And due to my politeness and possible difficulty to convey what I wanted to know, I wouldn't pry.

And now that smell. It wasn't a dish of Genesis'. I wondered if this was intentional, to make me stop asking questions. I didn't blame her, just wanted to know more. A natural curiosity. 

As I walked towards the kitchen down the hallway, the smell intensified. It had to be beef. A spicy beef. Maybe shallots. The sound of frying met my ears as I drew closer, and excitement went through my veins. 

In front of the stove, Cha Cha was sprinkling something into a pan and I saw her give the pan a good shaking on the burner, the metal scraping together as she did it vigorously. 

"Smells good," I said, sitting into a chair while using the back to stablize myself. 

"Oh! You scared me," she beamed at me. She swept back a couple of curls behind her ear and looked back at her cooking for a moment, then back at me still smiling.

"What is that?" I asked, knowing she understood this phrase of mine.

"Oh, beef, shallots...some sauce. I'm making chimichangas."

What the heck was a chimichanga? There was no way I could say that word without sounding completely ridiculous. Instead, I repeated myself. "What is that?"

She gave a little laugh. "Its really good. You might like it. Its deep fried...kind of like burritos? I'm going to make this great sauce we can put over them, too. You can dip your's in it, if you want. If you like it." She said the last bit a little shy, I thought. 

"I will like it," I tried to assure her.

"I hope so... I'm also making some rice. Do you like Spanish rice? Have you had it?"

"I have not had it." 

"Its really good."

"Of course."

"I can make a salad, too. Get some vegetables in there. You like tomatoes? Green peppers? I was going to put sweet green peppers in the beef, but I didn't know if you liked them." She sounded so worried. It filled my heart with such a good warmth. I wanted to tell her she didn't need to stress so much. I wasn't anybody special. 

"I like them."

"You like them? Should I put them in the beef? I usually do. It adds a nice crunch, I think. I cut them into small pieces. Sometimes I put carrots in there." 

"Sounds very good." 

"Okay." I saw a slight blush rise on her cheeks and she quickly looked away from me. 

A thought came to mind. I was already rising from my seat before I asked. "Can I help you cut the peppers?" 

She turned again and gave a tiny gasp. "Oh no, no. That's okay. I'll cut them up. Its too late to put them in the beef anyway. It would take too long to cut them that small. I'll julienne them for the salad after I cook the chimichangas." The worry on her face. It clearly read that she didn't think it would be safe for me to cut anything. I understood this. Perhaps I was too bold. I nodded and sat down again, smiling at her pleasantly. She breathed a big physical sigh that seemed to go through her entire body at this. It was one of relief.

Julienne. Now I knew that was definitely a French cooking term. I'd learned that from Julia Child. But had Cha Cha learned it from Genesis? It seemed likely. Genesis. How much he'd touched her life. A sad feeling cascaded through me, I couldn't help it. What had happened between them that could have possibly ended their friendship? Genesis was such a kind, giving, caring person. So jolly. I couldn't imagine him doing anything to ever hurt anybody. So then what...

I watched Cha Cha move to the counter where fluffy tortillas were waiting. They looked handmade. As I observed her scooping the meat into them and then sprinkle cheese, my brows creased in the middle. 

If Genesis hadn't done anything to hurt her, then had she done something to hurt him? To hurt Felix?

She opened a pot on the back burner and the smell of simmering oil met my nose. I laid my chin on my hand, leaning on my elbow on the table. Seeing her gingerly drop the chimichangas into the oil, seeing her watch them like they were precious things, I sighed inside.

No, she was too gentle to hurt anybody. She'd never hurt anybody either. I couldn't even imagine her yelling or saying anything unkind. Then what happened? It was boggling my mind.

After a few minutes, she scooped the chimichangas out of the oil and set them on a paper toweled plate. As if by magic, she opened up a pan on the back of the stove and inside was fluffy rice in sort of a reddish orange color. My eyes widened, as if eating it by themselves. It smelled so good. My mouth started to water immediately.

She stirred this a little bit, paused, then put the lid back on the pan, hiding it away again. 

"That looks really good," I said, transfixed.

"It is really good. I promise."

I nodded, still watching her. Suddenly, she moved fast all about the kitchen, pausing again to take another pan out and clicking on the burner as she poured oil into a pan again. What was she making now? 

I watched her put in all sorts of small ingredients from all over the kitchen. She observed all of these in the pan, stirring constantly. It looked like something she made often, she was moving so expertly. It made me feel like I had missed too much of her life. I wanted to know these things, things she did so often. 

But before I had time to dwell on it, she looked at me. Her kind smile spread on her face again, with a slight blush. "I thought of something you can do!" she exclaimed.

"Oh?" I grinned at her. 

"You can tear up the romaine for the salad. Want to?"

Did I ever. Seeing her cooking, I wanted to be a part of it so much. Not only did I want to know about the things she did so passionately, I wanted to be a part of them. I was out of my seat quicker than I could say "yes". 

Beaming at me, she leaned down and got a wooden bowl out of a cabinet. She set this on the table and brought me the romaine from the fridge. With the first tear, I was cooking with her and the feeling of contentment...I hadn't felt this happy in ages. This feeling. Like it was meant to be. It was surreal.

As I tore up the romaine in large pieces with care, slowly, I lost track of all time. Just this gorgeous feeling of pleasure. It felt normal. Too good. 

I jumped a little bit as I felt her arms wrap around me from behind. But relaxed into it. Her warmth was so good.

"I'm so glad you're here," she sighed. And so was I. So much.