Posted by PK on November 03, 2004 at 17:07:54:
DINNER WITH LISA
"What exactly is so special about this place?" I muttered peevishly, not knowing whether to
be more irritated or intrigued. I really didn't feel comfortable dining out in fancy restaurants,
and I did have a lot of better things to do. Well, more important thing anyway.
"Relax," murmured Lisa, favouring me with one of her enigmatic and slightly wicked smiles.
Her green eyes sparkled, even in the subdued lighting. Everything here was subdued or
subtle, the scents and sounds and the illumination. It looked expensive. "You've been
working too hard. You need a break and you're going to have one whether you like it or not.
Don't you remember what day it is?"
I didn't. Her birthday? Mine? I was pretty sure it wasn't mine, even with my erratic sense of
time.
"Wednesday?" I essayed, aiming for lightness.
"It's Friday, as I'm sure even you know." I hadn't, I'd thought it was Thursday. "But that's not
what I meant." She leaned forward, still smiling. I jumped as she goosed me with her bare
foot under the table. "It's exactly two hundred and three days since we first fucked."
"A signal event, I'm sure. It's on my desk calendar, I must have overlooked it. Sorry." I didn't
have a desk calendar, as you no doubt guessed. Surreptitiously I glanced around to see if
anyone was watching. Lisa wouldn't care, of course. I tried again. "So, what's the big secret?
We could have stayed in and had my famous chili."
"Tempting, I'll admit. Or it would be if you ever cooked any more." She looked almost
serious. "All you ever do these days is work, catch the news on TV and sleep."
"Not true. I watch Star Trek religiously. And Blue Peter sometimes."
"Only because you fancy Konnie Huq. Not that I'm complaining, it's nice to know your glands
still function."
She had a point, but I was loath to admit it. I hadn't had a day off in living memory. Working
for a small software company can take it out of you, especially if you're the main programmer
on the only project that's likely to pay off. Deadlines passed like motorway signs in the fog
and the end never seemed to get any nearer. There wasn't any point explaining this. Lisa
knew perfectly well what the situation was.
"Somebody has to do it," I said feebly.
"Somebody else can get off their fat arses and pull their weight. You have two assistants,
who shall remain nameless. Let them worry themselves sick and neglect their girlfriends for
one night. Better yet, a week."
"Now look, I can't..." Lisa held up an admonitory hand.
"Tonight you're mine. Work is taboo. I have ordained it"
"I hear and obey." Did give in too easily? Well, she was right, it happens sometimes. I
decided to surrender gracefully. Part of it was relief - I did need some break time - and part
guilt. Lisa, I realised, had been remarkably patient with me.
"Do we at least get a menu?" I grouched. "Or do the waiters in these snooty joints respond to
telepathy?"
"Waitresses," said Lisa. "Boy, you really do need some time off. Look around."
I did, and she was right. A few young women in short black dresses and elegant high heeled
sandals - well, those shoes that are composed entirely of straps and hide nothing of the feet,
you tell me what they're called - were attending to the needs of the diners. They carried what
must be menus, and some sort of clipboard. At the far end of the room one of them seemed
to be taking orders. All well and good, much more decorative than supercilious mock-
Frenchmen in penguin suits. I started to turn back but something a little odd caught my eye.
The waitress was undressing. I couldn't believe it: Lisa had brought me to a high class strip
joint. She gave a snort of suppressed laughter as my eyes tried to pop out on springs.
"Drink your wine," she advised. "Your voice will come back any day now."
I feigned nonchalance and took a sip of the moderately good house wine, for all I could tell,
that she'd ordered as we first sat down.
"Not bad," I offered. "A little presumptuous, but good body." It was a fair recovery under the
circumstances and Lisa awarded it a quirk of the mouth and an arched eyebrow.
"Ready to order yet? Getting an appetite?" she teased.
"Do we get the same waitress? Or do they all do that?"
"Only on request, and I think we'll get a fresh one." She held up a hand, not high, and
summoned the hired help with a negligible gesture. Some people can just do that, it's either
genetic or something they teach you at the sort of finishing schools you read about. A pretty,
dark haired waitress glided up to the table immediately.
"Sir? Ma'am?" She accorded us each a pleasant smile.
"We're ready to order, I think. Can we see the menu?"
"Certainly ma'am. Would you like the regular menu or the special?"
"Oh, the special I think. It's a special occasion." She almost winked at me.
"Very good, ma'am." The waitress put the menus she was carrying down on the table. It soon
became apparent why she needed her hands free. Reaching behind her back, she unzipped
her short dress, which fell apart and slipped to the floor as if oiled, and stepped out of her
shoes. Then she just stood there, waiting.
"Take a good look," Lisa advised. "See anything you fancy?"
The waitress turned slightly towards me and struck a slightly hipshot pose. Nothing too crude,
you understand, just a little preening gesture she couldn't help. I don't know how long it took
for the paralysis to wear off, but after a few seconds that seemed like an age I glanced at
Lisa, who was trying to keep a straight face.
"You have got to be kidding," I said.
"Is there something wrong?" the waitress wanted to know. A small frown of concern clouded
her face. "If I'm not to your taste, I can have someone else sent over."
"You'll do just fine," Lisa reassured her. Turning to me: "Won't she?"
I nodded dumbly. It wouldn't do to offend the poor girl. Besides, there was nothing wrong with
the way she looked. Her figure was quite perfect, her skin flawless, and believe me I could
see all of it because she had neither a stitch of clothing on - evidently the uniform didn't
include underwear - nor any body hair below her neck.
"Shall I order for you?" asked Lisa solicitously.
I managed a nonchalant gesture. "Why not? Everything looks wonderful, I wouldn't know
where to start." The girl looked pleased and relieved. Whatever was going on, it seemed that
Lisa had let me off the hook and I was going to get away without a public humiliation.
"He's been living on pizza and machine coffee," Lisa explained apologetically. The waitress
gave an understanding nod. If anybody heard me mutter 'tea, I hate coffee' they politely
ignored it. "You know, he does have a point though," Lisa mused. "Everything does look
good. Mind if I browse a bit?"
"Of course not, ma'am." The waitress stood there patiently while Lisa looked, and she didn't
confine herself to just looking. Running a hand over the girl's smooth, lightly tanned and
nicely muscled thigh she turned to me and to me and invited my opinion. The girl might have
been livestock at auction, but she didn't appear to mind. Must be used to dealing with choosy
diners, I thought. Well, this was hardly a fast food joint.
"Lovely lean steak there, don't you think?" Her hand ran up the inside of the girl's thigh.
"Sweetest near the top, yes?" The girl moved slightly, she couldn't help it, but it wasn't a
flinch. She seemed to be enjoying it.
"Excellent choice, ma'am," she offered.
"Two upper thigh steaks, then, rare. And a breast, honey glazed we'll share that for dessert.
And I think the prime cut for my friend."
The waitress nodded briskly and picked up the clipboard, which had a marker attached. "For
the special occasion...?" She was marking something on the board.
"Right." Lisa looked at me conspiratorially. "You only live once, right?" The waitress smiled
dutifully at that. "Any idea how long...?"
The girl glanced around. "Quite a good crowd tonight, ma'am. I should be booked in half an
hour. After that it won't be long." She nodded politely to me and said "Sir." then moved off.
Lisa stopped her with a gesture.
"Have them send another bottle of wine, please. The house red is fine."
"Certainly ma'am." She left.
"What the hell was that all about? If this is some sort of fantasy game..." I deflated with a
sigh. It HAD been a good trick. "Okay, it was a good one. You wanted to distract me and I
have to hand it to you, you did it. Jesus wept, Lisa. You could have warned me."
"And miss the expression on your face? Come on. Anyway, it's not a trick. I told you, this is a
VERY exclusive restaurant. Not cheap, either."
I let that last one go. Lisa wasn't in the habit of rubbing my nose in the fact that she was
wealthier than I. It didn't bother me, I wasn't a toy boy and she generally didn't flaunt it.
"Not a trick? Come on, it's a gimmick, right? They give us a couple of good steaks and some
sort of confection, and we pretend we're eating the waitress." And if I was so bloody sure of
that why was I ruining the fantasy? Lisa had gone to all this trouble and I was doing my best
to spoil it. Suddenly I was contrite.
"Alison," said Lisa.
"What?"
"We're eating Alison. You ought to remember her name, it's only polite to know the name of
someone you're having for dinner."
"Oh, yes, of course. How do you know that, anyway? I didn't hear her say it."
"It was on the nametag on her dress. I suppose I can't blame you, she didn't have it on for
long."
"So what happens now?" A slinky redhead showed up with a new bottle of wine and we
acknowledged it. "We wait until Alison is booked up, right. That's what the marker was for? I
bet there was a little Alison-shaped diagram on the chart."
"You peeked."
"Pure deduction. I was too busy admiring the menu."
"Touche. Yes, that's right."
"What if nobody wants her left arm? We starve?"
"No, she'll go to the kitchen when all the prime cuts are booked, or there's not much action
left. Shouldn't be long after that, rare steak only takes a few minutes. Any leftovers can be
used up for dishes that take longer to prepare. I bet somebody's having girl pot roast even
now. You don't have to wait for that."
"They make it with the waitresses they've used up, obviously."
"Of course."
"And this prime cut, does that take long? What is it anyway?"
Lisa arched her eyebrows and glanced downward for a moment.
"You're kidding." I wondered how they were going to fake that. Should be interesting to find
out. What would it taste like? Even as the silly game it obviously was, this was enormously
exciting. I felt high already, and more than willing to play along.
"What, me, kid you?" Lisa affected innocence. "Would I do that?"
I resolved there and then that after the meal I would take Lisa home and screw her
senseless. I would not worry how much I drank or whether I'd be fit for work in the morning. I
would take the weekend off - a whole two days - and if my team wanted any help I'd tell them
to use their initiative for once. A little pressure might do them some good. Or to put it
succinctly, fuck 'em, the Doctor is OUT.
And so the conversation became light, airy and fantastical. Soon I would be eating my dream
meal of supposed girlflesh, and who hasn't had that fantasy? Come on, admit it. You
haven't? Oh well, I'm drunk, just kidding, honest. At some stage I had to pee and Lisa pointed
the way to the facilities. I made it with the enormous dignity of the truly drunk, despite having
had really very little. The release of a long held tension will do that, you can get giggly on half
a pint of shandy in the right mood. On the way back I saw two waitresses serving a table near
to ours. They were putting down a huge silver platter containing a human leg onto a long
table seating several people. I looked again. Definitely a leg, shapely and female, nicely
browned. The foot was still on it. I finished the journey carefully.
"The people at the next table appear to be having somebody's leg for dinner," I said with a
failing attempt at nonchalance. "How do they do that, exactly?" I was not exactly panicking,
really.
"Microwave oven, I expect."
"What?"
"It would take hours to do in a gas oven." Lisa glanced across. "Nice!" The aroma was
appetising.
"But..."
"You can do wonders with the browning thingy. I mean, it's not exactly authentic roasting, but
you can't tell the difference really." She shrugged. "You wouldn't want to wait hours for your
order, would you? And if you had to order in advance you wouldn't have the fun of doing it
from a live waitress. That's half the point, isn't it?"
I stared at her. She grinned. We have our differences, one of which is that I don't believe in
telepathy. She just does it anyway.
"You didn't think it was real, did you? Okay, yes, I knew that. Sorry." She didn't look it.
"Lisa," I said owlishly, "you can't just eat people. It's not done." Don't say it, I know quite well
how inane that sounds. I was still waiting for the hidden camera, for people to spring out and
say 'Surprise! Fooled you!'
"Yes you can. Perfectly legal, given consent. Alison didn't look upset, did she? Would it really
bother you?"
I thought about it, not for long. "Yes, it would. It does."
She smiled at me fondly. Of course, she knew that too.
"Don't worry, Alison won't die. Call it one of the unforeseen peripheral benefits of medical
technology. Cloning, to be precise." She put on her presenter's face.
"We're going to eat a clone of Alison?"
"Oh, no. That would be cheating. We'll be eating the Alison who came to the table. No fun at
all if the meat doesn't come from a body that's actually been, well, inhabited. No sense of
intimacy at all. What you see is what you get, as you programmer types say."
That's not what we say. That's for the bollocks you tell the public. What we usually say is
unprintable. I won't go into that.
"How?" But I knew. It wasn't exactly common knowledge, nor was it likely to be on the
National Health any time soon.
"When they chop her up, the transfer thingy pops her into the clone body. Hey presto, new
Alison, no harm done."
"I thought that hadn't been perfected yet. Is it legal?"
"Not for general release, no. You know how those medical types go on. You're going to snuff
it from AIDS in three months but they won't give you the new drug because it needs five
more years of clinical trials and, gosh, it might be *dangerous*."
"Is it safe?"
"It works, as far as I know. They get hazard pay. Best paid waitressing job ever, I bet. I
wouldn't mind doing it myself."
"Lisa..."
"Relax, I'm not looking for a career change. Have another." She poured more wine.
I'm not sure I can describe what Lisa actually does, she's in the media. She promotes, she
produces. It's all total bullshit, or so she tells me. She doesn't take it seriously and she
doesn't need the money, so naturally people fall over themselves to give it to her.
"Sir, ma'am..."
Alison, comfortably nude, hovered by the table. She was perspiring slightly. She smelled
good. Good? Her body was a symphony of warm, animal scents. Her breasts were just large
enough to sway slightly as she leaned forward.
"I just thought you'd like to know I'm going to the kitchen. Your meal shouldn't be long now. I
hope you enjoy it."
We thanked her receding back. I watched every step, just to see the soles of her feet.
"Nice bum, don't you think?" Lisa considered. "Maybe we should have ordered some of that.."
I searched for a pithy saying about the futility of regret, about seizing the moment, enjoying
what's there - you know the kind of thing. Years of reading and my verbal memory came up
blank.
"You're absolutely right," said Lisa.
I was getting pretty hungry by this stage, as you may well imagine. Some of the tables
around us were getting served already. I wondered if they were all eating girl flesh and
decided they probably were. What would be the point of coming to a place like this and
ordering a salad? Lisa left to powder her nose or something and I tried to work out what
everybody else was eating without staring too obviously. With some of the dishes you really
couldn't tell. At one table, a small group of people were carving a roast of meat. It would be
difficult enough to prove the meat was human, I would guess, even if you were eating it,
unless you'd done it before and counted yourself an experienced gourmet. I would probably
still have thought it merely a clever and entertaining trick if it hadn't been for the whole roast
leg. Could that have been faked? It is, after all, only human to see what you expect to see. I
took another sip of wine and glanced around. Nobody seemed to notice or mind. I felt that if I
leaned back in my chair and looked casual, nobody would. I had, regretfully, to draw the line
at wandering about on some pretence and peeking. Was that really a breast on that elegantly
dressed woman's plate? It was impossible to be sure. Frankly, I didn't mind. A few more
waitresses had undressed and were distracting me, the wine had done its magic and the
smells of well cooked food were doing their bit too. I felt expansive and relaxed, and hardly
impatient at all. My dinner would come.
When it did, I was taken by surprise. My dinner was served by Alison, now dressed again.
They don't muck about with those body switches, I thought. Maybe I should get one the next
time I have a hangover. She placed one plate in front of me and another at Lisa's position.
Then she sat down.
"I hope you don't mind," she said. "Lisa asked me to keep you company for a few minutes.
She got a call from the studio or something. Is everything to your satisfaction, sir?"
I stared at my plate. No nouvelle cuisine nonsense here, just a thick, juicy steak, and on top
of it...guess what? That looked pretty authentic to me, but I'd never actually seen a woman's
most intimate parts served up on a plate before. The steak was exactly the size and shape of
a woman's upper thigh, down to the slightly crisped ring of subcutaneous fat surrounding the
lean and just bloody enough meat. I looked up at Alison who was smiling.
"Lisa said you should start without her. It's best fresh, I've heard."
Was I really going to eat it with the former owner watching? Hell, why not. I imagined she'd
be enormously disppointed if I didn't. Don't expect me to describe it, I'm not a food writer. I
read somewhere that lobster thermidor is such a prized gourmet food because it tastes like a
woman's vagina. I couldn't tell you if that's true because I've never eaten that either. All I can
say is that it was a unique experience.
"Delicious," I told Alison. It was the best I could manage but I had to say something. She
smiled again, rather oddly I thought.
"I'm glad you're enjoying it, sir. Try the steak, it's excellent. She gestured at Lisa's plate and I
noticed that she'd had a bite or too herself. Something struck me as odd. All right, the notion
of Alison eating herself, so to speak, might be oddness enough for anybody but it wasn't that.
I coudn't pin it down so I ignored it. I started on the steak. It was tender and rich, just as juicy
as it looked. Beats the hell out of pizza, I thought.
"Do you...er.. do this often? I mean..." I waved a hand. Alison shrugged.
"It pays my tuition. Actually, I rather enjoy it. It was pretty alarming at first but after you get
used to it, it's quite a turn on. I don't get eaten every night, of course."
"Of course. How often would you say...?"
"Three times this month. I could do with more." I must have looked puzzled so she explained:
"There's a bonus when you get picked."
I thought about it as I chewed some more of the meat. It was superb.
"So that would be like an incentive scheme? I mean, if you can tempt the clients?"
"Exactly," Alison nodded, swallowed and went on, "but we can't be too obvious about it. This
is a 'classy joint'." She gave me a conspiratorial smile that invited a mutual laugh at the
pretension implied.
"Well, the food's excellent." I said gallantly.
"I'm sure Lisa will be glad to hear that," she replied. "She really hoped you'd enjoy it." I
looked at her again. Could it be?
Okay, I'm thick about some things, but you have to remember that I was there, not listening
to the story. It's not the sort of thing you expect, that's all. So that's why I barely even began
to suspect anything until I noticed that Alison's dress looked a lot like Lisa's. I'm a man, sue
me. The waitresses' dresses were small and black, so was hers, it just didn't hit me at first.
"Where exactly is Lisa?" I asked slowly. I had a piece of meat on my fork at the time.
"That's an interesting philosophical point," said Alison archly. She obviously knew the game
was up. A gesture took in our food, and the rest of the room. "Don't shout, we're not really
supposed to do this without telling them. I don't think anybody will notice it isn't me, do you?"
"Everybody you served...?"
She nodded. "On the other hand...." she looked up and beyond my shoulder.
I had barely noticed the dark haired waitress who had come up behind me with a bottle of
wine in her hand. This is exactly how conjurers do it, you know. Misdirection.
A pair of hands covered my eyes. I nearly choked, I swear.
"Guess who."
Guess who, indeed. I was bloody well going to get her for this.