Dimensional Intersections
Or how to prepare a steak before the world descends into chaos — Part I
I knew this day would end in overtime, but that didn’t bother me much. I lived a pretty solitary life at the beginning of my third decade. No one was waiting for me at home, and getting a pet was too much responsibility for my taste. Apart from that, I couldn’t do much with living creatures.
I was a numbers person through and through. To adapt my environment to this and to have as little contact with people as possible, I chose what I considered a suitable profession: I managed transactions for various private equity funds. The numbers determined my life from morning until late at night.
I stood from my computer, surrounded by many transactions, cash flows, paybacks, and other terms that are synonyms for rich people getting even more prosperous. I was not envious. My job paid excellently. Ironically, I don’t care much about money. I had plenty of it and didn’t have to worry about my life.
The company I worked for rented an entire floor in the hottest office skyscraper in the city, which was guaranteed to cost more per day than some people earn in their whole lives.
The view, especially in the evening, was breathtaking even for people like me, and I was one of the dull and unromantic types. The skyscraper was in the city’s centre and allowed you to see all the facets of urban and suburban life. The view from the southwest side of the office revealed a flat area where wealthy people lived. And the further south you lived, the closer you were to nature and the richer you had to be to afford it.
The north-eastern side was characterised by the most remarkable delusion of humankind and its striving for heights: the skyscrapers. These were not just purely commercial buildings, but also residential areas or individual apartments rented out to private individuals. One such residential area was visible from my desk.
I don’t know whether I had never noticed it before or whether it had only recently been added, but one window in this area stood out in particular. The curtains that covered a large window were coloured red, which stood out in the cold, modern architecture and caught the eye. They were a bright, blood-red colour with a velvety shimmer. They were probably even made of velvet. Or perhaps silk?
As the curtains were not drawn tightly, a warm yellow light shone out between them, giving the red even more glow.
I stood spellbound and looked at the glowing window for a moment, seconds, or minutes. I even forgot my beloved numbers, which had never happened to me before.
I was torn from my dream when a woman suddenly appeared between the curtains. You couldn’t see her face from a distance, and the light illuminated her back, making her more of a silhouette. But her figure and the way she moved, soft and flowing as if she was made of water moulded into a more solid form of a woman’s body, even struck me as particularly beautiful. At first, her attention was focused on the road below us.
I couldn’t see her face well, but when she moved her head, a reflection fell on her, revealing her appearance for a fraction. She had long, blonde, and slightly curly hair, which she wore loose and wrapped gently around the top of her head. I didn’t know if it was my subjective impression, but I thought the contours of her face, the open hair, and her pointed nose looked angelic to me, even perfect.
Just before our eyes would have crossed, I ducked under the table like an inexperienced schoolboy. I found this incredibly embarrassing and cursed quietly, praying that the woman in the room with red curtains hadn’t seen me.
Not knowing what to do and feeling strangely ashamed, I lingered under my table for an eternity. When I ventured out of my hiding place again, I saw, to my inexplicable disappointment, that the red curtains were drawn. Confused by the feelings that gripped me, I decided to leave my work today. I no longer felt like working and wanted to return to my familiar surroundings.
I opened my front door with my smartwatch. The light switched on as I entered. I put my bag in the designated place near the door. Order was just as important to me as the numbers because, in my eyes, the two belonged together like Siamese twins.
My stomach made itself heard by emitting a symphony of discordant sounds. I don’t like discordant sounds because they mean chaos. I went into the kitchen and opened my fridge.
A juicy fillet steak lay well packaged on the organised shelves. I took it out to warm it up. After thinking about it, I decided to make a salad with the fillet. I washed the salad thoroughly and left it to dry. I neatly peeled the carrots and cut them into thin strips.
In my opinion, the tomatoes should not be cut too finely or too large. I cut them into slices or four equal parts, depending on the type. I always use six tablespoons of the finest Tuscan olive oil mixed with three tablespoons of water, two tablespoons of white wine vinegar, and a good portion of Dijon mustard and sweetener as a dressing. I combine the ingredients with a blender to make a delicate, thick, sweet, and sour dressing; spread over the mixed salad until it looks golden.
Now it was meat’s turn. This task is always very delicate and must be done precisely and in the proper sequence. I spread coarse salt and pepper on the red, tender meat. The pan is heated well, the oil is mixed with butter, and the meat is fried. It is essential to turn the meat every 20 seconds so that it is cooked perfectly and evenly on both sides. At the end, always add crushed garlic and two sprigs of rosemary.
As I was about to check how well the meat was cooked, my phone rang with a shrill, snapping me out of my full attention and making me cringe. With no idea who could have called me so late, I went to the phone and picked it up.
“Hello,” I said in a strangely stifled voice. The caller opposite didn’t seem to be in a hurry, and I could hear a man exhaling or squeezing the air out of his lungs. “Mr Atkinson, Joseph Atkinson,” he spoke in a hoarse voice that sounded like a snake attempting to mimic human speech.
Besides, it was not a question, so he knew exactly who he was calling. “Yes, that’s me. What can I do for you at such a late hour?” I said, not trying to hide my annoyance at being called just before midnight.
“What can you do for me? For example, it would be advisable for you to keep your dirty hands off my wife. Because otherwise, I have no problem cutting them off, frying them, and feeding them to you,” he hissed out in a long breath.
A cold shiver ran down my spine, surprised not only by the absurd statement but also by the coarseness and brutality of it, “Excuse me? I don’t understand you. What do you mean by that?”. “I’ll only warn you this once. Next time, we’ll meet in person, and then you’ll beg me to kill you,” he hissed out again with a single breath. Then came the sound of a receiver being hung up and the beep of a busy signal.
I stood, receiver in hand, reeling from the call’s shocking content. I only woke up from my thoughts when the acrid smell of burning flesh reached me. When I rushed into the kitchen, the steak was black. I cursed, opened the windows, and then tidied everything up. I lost all my appetite after the call and the smell of charred meat and butter.
After standing for so long, everything hurt, and the day’s events seemed to have sapped all the energy I had left. I decided to shower and go to bed instead of eating.
As I finished washing away, the stench and the warm water gave me a cosy feeling; another ringing made me wince. This time, however, it wasn’t a phone ringing that startled me, but my doorbell ringing.
After the call, I didn’t feel exceptionally comfortable about a visit, especially as it was already well after midnight. I took the towel and ran to the front door, still covering myself. To my surprise, the intercom monitor remained dark. I put the chain on the door and dared to open it.
My breath caught in my throat. There she was, with her long blonde hair, perfect nose, and body. Everything about her was just perfect. I had never seen such an ideal person. But this perfection also made her seem inhuman, somehow unnatural. “Mr Atkinson, I need your help urgently. May I come in, please?” Of course, she also had a perfect voice. But that fact no longer surprised me.
I should have just said no. That I didn’t know her and that she should leave me alone. And I probably would have done that yesterday. But today, when I saw her, I was mesmerised. I took off the chain and opened the door. “Please, come in,” I said as I stepped aside to make room for her. “I am deeply grateful to you,” she said with a perfect smile, as was to be expected.
TO BE CONTINUED…
Noooo, what a waste of a good steak!