Another short story for a collection to be called Little Crimes

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Susie Clare had the same conversation at every party.

‘So what exactly is it that you do?’

‘I am a food stylist and photographer.’

‘So you take photos of food?’

This is said with a hint of sarcasm and will be followed by a mocking smile.

‘Yes, and kitchens, decor and lifestyle shots.’

‘Right. Well, I guess the food doesn’t move about, huh? Easy to get a good shot. And you can make a living? - doing that?’

‘I have an apartment in Double Bay and drive an E-series Mercedes.’

‘Right.’

Then the conversation dies. First, they scorn her profession, and then they belittle her skills. Susie Clare feels insulted but flaunts her wealth to get in a final punch. The apartment belonged to her husband and came as a divorce settlement, but there is no need to go into all that, not with a stranger. She exchanged her child for an apartment in the wealthiest suburb in Sydney. He got custody of their son while she went overseas to study, and she never got him back. Now she gets a visit once a month from a sulky teenage boy to maintain contact with his birth mother. Susie admitted that his stepmother was doing a superb job of raising an entitled, arrogant patrician male with the assistance of an exclusive Eastern Suburb’s private school. Susie disliked her child almost as much as she despised his father, who she had married on a whim when all of her ‘A’ list friends had upmarket weddings with a dress designed exclusively for them. The photographs of the wedding day were beautiful, and she displayed one or two in her studio on the off-chance they would be mistaken for her own work.

The food did move, of course. Once arranged, it flopped and curled and wilted unless you sprayed it to hell with an adhesive. Those action shots with fat globules of milk spraying from the creamy surface of a smoothie were all achieved by trickery. Not that it was milk, just a glass of white glue used as a stand-in.

Susie had an assistant these days who would get up before dawn to take the train to the flower market and then rush over to the Marrickville market, where the best fresh food was sourced. Then a dash to the Opera store or the antique market to borrow some props. Susie had a studio in the large sunroom of her apartment with its stunning views of the yachts basking in the blue water of Rushcutters Bay. The custom-made electric blackout blinds descended into place at the touch of a button. The former dining room was converted into a preparation space with its own sink and refrigerator. Your shoes came off and were left neatly lined up in the hallway. Art directors and clients were treated to Chai lattes on the balcony.

Susie sipped her iced tea while she waited for her assistant to return. Before her was a tray of tweezers and tongs, all freshly hot washed in the second dishwasher. Everything must be sterile, even if no one would ever eat this food, once it had been poked, prodded and skewered in place. A mixture of white glue and red paint was mixed to provide a glossy tomato sauce.

Today it was burgers. Susie hated burgers, but they were big clients. Every café and fast food outlet wanted a picture of their delicious Aussie burgers, different from the American sort due to the addition of a slice of beetroot, messy to work with, but okay if you froze them rock-solid and sprayed the outside to keep the juice from contaminating the rest. The assistant had collected the buns the previous day, and they were hardening to stop handling leaving dents on the soft brown crust. The buns were separated into ‘heroes’, that is, the ones to be used, and the rest which would be used to set up the shots. Once the meat arrived, the patty would be trimmed to shape, lightly cooked with the edges with a blowtorch and painted with food dye. The cheese slices were set in a melted shape that caressed the patty and then painted with a household cleaner to keep them looking fresh. She had experimented with plastic cheese, but it looked so very fake. The tomatoes would be gutted and then sprayed so only the bright red edges were visible.

Her assistant returned with the provisions and a couple of elegant Sèvres porcelain plates on loan from the antique merchant with whom she had an arrangement. Much of her work relied on this kind of barter, a favour for a favour. The client would be billed for the fresh flowers bought on the off chance that her creative spirit might dictate their inclusion in the composition. The rest would brighten her apartment for the following week. The next step was to prepare the burgers for their close-ups with the liberal use of tooth-picks to skewer the whole lot in place and a spray of fixative to hold things still. A small smoke/steam producing unit pumped out just enough vapour to give the illusion that the food was hot. The burgers were stacked high on the delicate plates, and an additional spray of yellow wattle flowers set the scene as uniquely Australian, giving a nod to the use of native plants that was so fashionable. The lightboxes were carefully placed, and a lot of preparatory shots were taken and studied on the computer.

Finally, Susie was happy with the arrangement, and the assistant then assembled the final model using the ‘hero’ samples. A blast of steam was followed by many shots, and Susie was confident that she had captured exactly what her client wanted; an authentic burger made with the finest locally sourced ingredients served in a refined setting showing the client’s discerning taste and high style. Or rather, a selection of heavily handled foodstuffs displayed on old plates covered in glue, paint and chemicals that would trick the eye and ultimately end up in the bin. How she hated burgers!

Just as they had finished and the food returned to the preparation room, the entry phone to her apartment trilled. Susie did not welcome visitors while she was working. She squinted at the screen and saw her son, Scott, hopping from foot to foot on the mat outside. Damn! She pushed the button and said ‘hello, darling’, in the hope he was dropping something with her and then going away. But Scott wanted to come in.

‘Mom, I need to talk to you,’ he whined.

Not convenient, but as Susie had all the photos needed for the job, she would send her assistant home after the girl loaded the dishwasher and call it a 4-hour shift, thus saving some money. She issued her instructions, rewarding her assistant with some of the flowers to compensate for the shortened day’s work. The assistant opened the door and let Scott into the apartment. He marched down the hall to air-kiss his mother, only to be stopped by the look on her face forcing him to return to the doormat and remove his shoes.

Susie did not hear the disgruntled mutterings as her assistant, provided with only some lousy flowers to make up for the loss of 4 hours wages, dumped all the food into the plastic container for leftovers intended for soup. The whole lot went in with one smack, adhesive, dyes, kitchen cleaner, the lot. She snapped on the lid, and once her employer was settled with her visitor, she let herself out.

‘Coffee, darling? Have you had lunch yet?’

‘Thanks, Mom. I’ll have a coke if you have one.’

‘She waved him to the refrigerator and started the coffee machine for herself. Then she led him to the balcony and sat at the table, admiring the view from the uncomfortable chairs.

‘How is your father?’

‘He is fine.’

‘And your stepmother?’

‘She is out a lot these days. She’s doing a law degree at Sydney Uni.’

‘Really? You do surprise me. I would not have thought her capable of strategic thinking.’

Scott ignored his mother’s barbs. He knew the two women disliked each other.

‘Mom, I have a problem.’

Here it comes. It’s money, or his father, or his stepmother. Something he wants was denied, and he hopes to convince his mother to provide it. It was certainly not a girl, thought Susie, as she regarded her pimply adolescent son. How old was he now – sixteen? She had better ask him.

‘How old are you now, Scott?’

‘I am seventeen, and I leave school soon.’

‘To do what, Scott. Going to uni?’

Scott took a drink of his coke. She did wish he had used a glass; you could never be sure the cans were clean. Knowing what she did about food, it was a wonder she ever ate anything for fear of contamination.

Scott weighed up his approach.

‘Dad wants me to do engineering. He thinks it is a good career. I am good at maths, but..’ He was rather overacting his part.

‘But you don’t want to?’

‘I thought I might study photography or film. Do something like you, perhaps.’

Susie had a momentary panic. The birth of a family business or a serious competitor filled her with dread. This boy, who she did not know very well, would be coming over all the time to discuss composition and lighting. He would want her to share her contacts. The look on her face betrayed her.

‘I would go to college, Mom. I mean, I would not want to get in your way, trade on your success. That would not be fair, would it?’

The hint of sarcasm reminded her of herself.

‘I could help from time to time, but of course, you need to get formal training.’

‘Like you did.’ Scott was getting red-faced. ‘When you abandoned me and cleared off to Europe.’

Susie was relatively calm. Time for the truth. She breathed in slowly and centred herself.

‘Scott, your father dumped me for his secretary, your stepmother. Did you not realise that? It looks like she might be planning her escape now, to make up for years of her life wasted on your father. So I went as far away as I could and learned to succeed in life by myself. Your father provided for you. Without a job, I could not, and you would not have had the advantages of such a good education.’

Scott looked sad.

‘But you think I should try photography?’

‘Yes, if you want to.’ Susie could finally see herself in this boy. What she saw were the parts of her personality that she did not like. But she didn’t feel love or kinship. She felt nothing.’

‘Right, thanks, Mom. I’ll tell Dad you agree then?’

‘Yes, I agree.’ Susie said. Knowing it would annoy her husband, she saw no reason to object.

Scott looked relieved. He now had the ammunition to ambush his father. He would apply for a course a long way away before his home life became anymore uncomfortable. He wondered if he should kiss his mother, but he thought not. She wouldn’t like it.

‘Okay, Mom. I must go now. I’ll see you then.’

Scott stood up to leave, still uncertain where he stood with his mother. Susie gestured towards the other room.

‘There’s a lot of leftover food from the shoot. Why don’t you take it with you.’

‘I’m going away later today, Mom, for a camping trip with the school.’

‘Well, take it for your father. There is a plastic takeaway box in the preparation room. It will do for his dinner if he is alone.’

‘Sure, thanks, Mom. I’ll tell him.’

Susie made herself another coffee while she listened to the sounds of Scott hunting for the plastic container. Her husband would eat anything. It would be a nice treat for him.

He said goodbye, not really listening to his mother as she called to him.

‘There are burgers; your father will enjoy them. He can reheat them in the microwave if he is alone for dinner. I hate to throw good food away.’

‘Bye, Mom.’

The scuffling sound of trainers being tied and then the front door closed. Susie leaned back and regarded the bright blue harbour. She hated burgers.

By Jessika Jenvieve

From: Netherlands

Website: https://www.jessikajenvieve.com

Twitter: jessikajenvieve