Goddess of Love & Baklava

Timing is Essential

        Aphrodite liked to let the Phyllo dough for her Baklava rest for a long time. She used that resting period to watch the mortals in the streets walk purposefully from point A to point B and wondered if they ever just walked for the simple enjoyment of moving. 

        One woman, Eleanor, moved with breakneck speed. She wore ugly sneakers with her business skirt and blouse. Often, she would run someplace, most likely work, with a prepackaged granola bar hanging from her lips and a cellphone tucked between her cheek and her shoulder. The woman was averagely built and possessed symmetrical features. When Eleanor wasn't frowning or chewing, her lips were full and expressive. 

        Eleanor was always in a hurry. Aphrodite once snuck a love letter in Eleanor's purse but it remained untouched at the bottom of the bag for nearly two years. 

        She looked so stressed. 

       The Phyllo dough was well-rested so Aphrodite threw the dough on her counter and rolled it out with the grace of a patisserier. She'd made Baklava for a long time. The process was not unlike the Vodun women and their cloth dolls. It was personal and it often took all day. 

        She made this for Eleanor. The thin bottom layer of Phyllo was Eleanor's dependability. Aphrodite spread the nut, spice, and sugar mixture evenly over that layer. The mix was very finely crushed and represented all the time that Eleanor wasted on her cellphone talking to vendors for her events. The second layer was the woman's rush to move through the world. So on and so on until the layers were completed.

        The Goddess sliced into the finished dough and put it into the oven to bake. When the treat was golden brown, Aphrodite removed the tray and scooped out one perfect triangle of Baklava, placed it on a paper doily, tucked it in a box, and tied a blue ribbon on it. In her loopy cursive, Aphrodite wrote "Eleanor" like she had when she penned that unread love letter.

        Eleanor called the caterer seven times in the last two hours. Ironically, she'd used her lunch time to go directly to the caterers to corner them but the sign on their door said they were closed and all the lights were out. 

        Frustrated that she would have to spend the rest of her lunch hour finding a new caterer for her event next week, she rushed back to her office. She didn't even notice the box on her desk. She called twelve places without luck.

        "Filomena Catering. Aleksander speaking, how can I help you?" The voice was of a bored man. Boredom was good news, it meant business was slow.

        "I'm an event planner and I'm perusing through a list of vendors my company has worked with before. I'm looking for a caterer for five hundred guests next Saturday. Are you available?" Eleanor opened the mystery box on her desk without really looking at her name on the outside. There was a pastry inside that her stomach grumble and Eleanor couldn't resist. She took a bite.

        "Don't you want to know more about us?" The man asked, surprised. 

        "Mmm!" Eleanor replied, nearly dropping the phone. She'd had Baklava before, but this was something else entirely. It was a cascade of flavors, sticky and sweet, so decadent that Elenor hummed her approval again. "Mm."

    "...Hello?" His voice carried that strange note between incredulity and masculine interest. Apparently, it was a thin line. 

        "Oh! Sorry. yes. What's your specialty?"

        "Greek aphrodisiac," he replied sensually as if he had all the time in the world.