The Perfect Ending by Caelan M. Huntress 09.02.06 The chocolate wasn’t perfect. It should have been her masterpiece, this final batch. But something was missing. Running her tongue along her teeth, Darla tried to divine the flaw. The texture was incredible; light and crisp on the deep shell, gooey and moist on the inside. The tastes slid around her mouth, playing on every bud of her tongue, interacting so smoothly that she could hardly taste the cyanide. There was a false denouement to the succession of tastes, leaving her wishing for a sharp, bright finish that was absent. Darla began thinking of unconventional flavors and textures; lavender, charcoal, honey, clove; searching for some creative solution to the tiny hole in the taste profile of her masterpiece dish. Then she laughed at the simplicity. Granulated sugar. Dusted on the top. A perfect ending. Popping the rest of the truffle into her mouth, she closed her eyes and imagined the grains of sweet sugar careening along her tongue, providing an extra burst of crunch, lingering until the end. Perfection. Gracefully she reached for the cupboard, grasping the jar where the sugar was kept. She opened it in triumph, ready to call it an ending, and gasped. Empty. In a flash she remembered the cookies she baked yesterday, using all of the sugar she had. The rest of the truffles would have to be eaten as they were. Looking back to the baking pan, Darla’s eyes dampened as she examined her substandard truffles. Is this how I want to die? With imperfect chocolate? She took a deep breath, hating herself for the shudder in it. One truffle was not enough to kill her; she needed at least four more to be sure she wouldn’t have to think about Judson ever again. Too repressed, he had called her. Inhibited. He wanted more in a mistress, he said; he wanted to cheat on his wife like it was a bad thing, and not a natural extension of two people satisfying normal lusts. He wanted…extravagance. Darla might be beautiful, but she was carefully controlled. The daughter of two Marines, she favored order and cleanliness. Judson saw her habits as repression because he wanted something other than a housewife on Thursday nights, when he was supposed to be bowling. He wanted something other than his mistress. Their affair was not passionate, but it was serviceable. Darla looked forward to every Thursday night with the same relish and enthusiasm as any inhibited monogamist does towards their one guilty escape. She wasn’t really cheating, but she was screwing someone who was, every Thursday night. The loss of this small routine was enough to make Darla consider the importance of all her other routines. If she did not have Thursday nights to look forward to any longer, what was so important about Friday mornings? So she made her special truffles defiantly. He had started the end of her routines, her world, her life. It was merely up to her to finish it. But Darla knew she was better than failure. Leaving the poisoned chocolate imperfect would be worse than prolonging her life by another half hour to get it just right. Whatever else was imperfect about Darla’s life, she refused to have an imperfect death. Those truffles needed granulated sugar, and they were going to get it. Knocking her suicide note to the floor, Darla grabbed her keys and opened the door of her apartment, stopping when she saw the long, narrow stairway leading down to the street. This confined space was so familiar to her, but she thought this morning that she had said goodbye to it, never to see it again. Yet here she was, looking into it like a memory best left forgotten. Remembering her past now, Darla felt unsure of her future. She had committed, this morning, to never again feel this stairwell’s comforting claustrophobia. Already reneging on that commitment, how sure was she of the rest of it? A slightly rich burp steeled her resolve. It laced her breath with chocolate, reminding her that she had already eaten one fourth of a dose of cyanide. Turning back would be painful and imprudent. She would march forward in her search of the perfect death, even if it did mean a change of plans. Resolutely she descended the stairs and grasped the handle of the outside door. She had a tendency to step to the side when she opened this door to economize her movements. But that was a habit of the old Darla, who was no more. This last excursion out into the world was not going to be done by that inhibited woman. Opening the door and standing her ground, this new, brief Darla watched the outside light spill into the doorway, observing the world passively for a moment before entering into it. Her car was sleek and unobtrusive, a white Nissan made during the years that all sedans looked identical. It had no bumper stickers, since Darla appreciated her anonymity when she went out into public. Driving in it now made her feel nondescript. It was not the appropriate sort of carriage for a woman’s last drive. So Darla imagined it as a convertible, unrolling all of the windows to feel the autumn breeze spilling over her black hair. She increased in speed as she traversed the residential streets leading to the grocery store, progressively caring less and less for the rules of traffic and the presence of anyone else. Once other cars started honking at her, Darla began to laugh, loud and luxurious. She cut off an enormous SUV at an intersection when she blew a stop sign, appreciating the finger she was rewarded with. It was the first time anyone had ever flicked her off, and it felt great. Tearing into the parking lot, Darla skidded in a wide curve as she tried to pull off a donut. She only succeeded in a forty-five degree turn, but the long black skid marks were enough for her to be proud of. She exited the car, parked carelessly diagonal, and sauntered to the store, feeling flush with her power. Darla was not supposed to be here, back out in the world of the common day. She saw everything in a new, voyeuristic light; this world no longer belonged to her, and she no longer belonged to it. Then she crumpled when she saw a familiar Camry, beige and boring, nestled tidily among the dozens of other cars in the parking lot. It was tan and bland, just like he was, with a green pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. His car. Here. Now, of all times. Sternly she reminded herself that this was not about him; it might be because of him, but it didn’t need to be about him. Standing still in the sea of pavement and automobiles, Darla once more questioned her decision. She could find a way back into that car’s passenger seat, she could talk to him about releasing her inhibitions, continuing their affair for just another week— No. The chocolate was already made. And with this last ingredient, it would be perfect. Turning her eyes and attention away from the car, Darla moved to the wide entrance quickly, feeling exposed. She hurried to the wall of the store and skulked through the doors, ducking into the aisles rapidly to avoid being seen by anyone. She went along the familiar baking aisle straight to the sugar, grabbed a one pound bag, and reached for the purse that was not hanging from her left shoulder. Silently she grinned. Here she was, on her last day on earth, in the grocery store without money. Was she going to run home to get her wallet? Of course not. The responsible thing was done by people who had an investment in tomorrow, and that was not her. The old Darla was all but dead. There was no point in resurrecting her old self for something so trivial as currency. The new Darla returned in full, fighting back against the meekness that had attacked her in the parking lot. She stood tall with pride and made her way out of the store calmly, turning back to look triumphantly through the automatic doors into the store she had just robbed. A teenaged girl in a red vest had seen Darla walk right out without paying, and the confusion in her eyes was quickly replaced by an understanding of Darla’s character. That’s right, Darla thought. I’m naughty. She smiled mischievously and strode out into the parking lot. She was not mortified, as any good Christian should have been. She was exhilarated. This new, short lived Darla was fun, and exciting, and everything the old Darla never dared to wish she could have been. Without the threat of repercussions, it was so easy to enjoy the thrill of life, by just going outside the boundaries of what was acceptable. Committing suicide was definitely not acceptable. And here she was, moving forward on her plan to execute the ultimate wrong. Any other indiscretions she committed would not measure against her compared to this big one, so she went forth with abandon, free to do anything. She reveled in her own power, her own freedom, as she approached it. It was still out there. His car. The old Darla threatened to return, whispering prudence and caution. The new Darla, present only for these few moments before death, fully took control. When there is no tomorrow, the rules for today will change completely. Darla smiled as she unscrewed the gas cap, proud of the death she was going to give herself. Tearing the bag open with her teeth, she unleashed a white granulated torrent into the cylindrical opening. It filled instantly, and she stopped, confused. Digging her fingers into the little tub of sugar in the gas tank’s opening, she felt the circular hole below, covered with a slim metal door that opened to the inside. She pushed against this petty door and the sugar fell in. Clumsily, she poured from the bag with her off hand, coating her fingers with sugar. Plenty got in the gas tank. This would not be much of a surprise to Judson if he approached from this side; a small mound of sugar squatted on the ground, and snowy white rivulets drained down the side of the car. There was still plenty of sugar left in the bag; more than enough for the dusting she would need for her truffles. Darla rolled up the bag, turned towards her car and blushed lustily at the sight of Judson staring at her. This could have been an awkward situation, had she given a damn about tomorrow. But instead she reveled in his discomfort, comparing it to the discomfort the old Darla would have been having right now, her mortification and shame. But the old Darla’s emotions were all predicated on the assumption that there was a tomorrow with Judson that would be affected by today’s actions. Judson had made it clear that there was no tomorrow between them. There was, however, still today…. “Hey, lover,” Darla said as she wiped her sugary hand against her breast. His expressions of shock and confusion were exactly what Darla needed. Those were the same expressions on her face the night before, when he told her that it was over between them. It was fitting that she should return those expressions in kind. “Looks like you need a ride,” Darla said. Swaying her hips for the first time in years, she swept past him towards her own car, not looking back. He might stand there for an hour, dumbfounded, and have this last vengeful act as his final impression of Darla. That suited her just fine. It would make a perfect end to the Darla in Judson’s mind, and a perfect ending was what she had come out for in the first place. She didn’t care if he followed or not, but was happy to find that he did. Tossing the sugar into the back seat, Darla started the car, waiting patiently while Judson waited outside the passenger door, as if he was debating whether or not to enter the car. Darla noticed that her left breast was covered with sugar, and she brushed at it idly, making it bounce. She knew he was watching, and enjoyed knowing that it would weigh on his decision. Finally Judson opened the door and sat down. “What the hell?” he said. “Exactly. What the hell!” Darla released the clutch and pushed the gas pedal to the floor. Judson’s door slammed shut from the momentum, startling him. “Whoa, whoa, Darla, I don’t want to go anywhere. I just want to talk!” “Do you have another way out of this parking lot?” she asked as they passed his car, the gas tank now spiked with sugar. “…no. Why’d you do that? Sugar in my gas tank? That’s just mean. That’s vandalism.” Darla licked her lips, flush with a sexual aggressiveness she had never known before. “I saw your car, and I had a pound of sugar, and it just seemed like the right thing to do. You’re the one that told me I was too inhibited.” She looked at him and smiled. “I’m just expressing my feelings in an uninhibited fashion.” “I could sue you.” “You could. Would you bring your wife to court?” He huffed at her. “Fine. But you’re still paying for it.” “Okay,” Darla said. “So how is the misses, anyway? Happy to have her boy back in the stables where he belongs?” Judson braced himself as she made a hard right turn without the brake pedal. “She’s fine. As far as she knows, nothing’s changed.” Darla slammed on the brakes, honked the horn, and spun past a driver following mundane traffic laws. “You’re not going ‘bowling’ on Thursdays anymore?” When Judson didn’t answer, she looked over and smirked at the pained expression on his face. “Ah. You’ve just…changed leagues.” More silence. “Who is she?” “Darla, I don’t want to discuss this with you….” “Oh, come on! We’re buddies!” she said as she punched him in the shoulder. “You can tell me. How does she fuck? Good?” “You’re being crass.” A harlot had managed to work her way out of Darla’s Presbyterian mouth, and she was beginning to like it. “That’s better than ‘inhibited,’ though, right?” she said as she pinched his nipple. He yelped, and she laughed again when he eyed her critically. “Are you alright?” he asked. Darla honked the horn violently. “I never really cut loose with you, you know that? I was always holding back.” She smiled at his curiosity. “I always figured, since you were holding backing with me, keeping your wife and all, I should hold back with you. But not anymore.” She passed a station wagon in front of her, and the oncoming cars swerved out of her way and honked in a chorus. “I’d like to get out now, Darla,” Judson said. “Sure. My checkbook’s upstairs.” She gunned the car to get to the curb in front of her apartment. As she set the parking brake (and giggled at the absurdity of it) she noticed him frowning. “Oh, come on,” she said. “I know it’s not Thursday, but come on up, one last time.” She grabbed the half-empty bag of sugar in one sticky fist and went for her apartment without waiting for him. He was stranded in her neighborhood, his car unusable, and hers, soon to be unclaimed. Leaving the door open, Darla went directly for the kitchen, shaking some sugar out onto her palm. Delicately she dusted the now-cool truffles and stood back to admire her creation. “They look good,” James said from the kitchen doorway. “They’re my masterpiece,” she said. “These are the best chocolate truffles I have ever made in my life. They’re perfect.” She turned to Judson and watched him aggressively. “I made them because of you.” He shifted under her stare. “You know I can’t. My diet…” “I wasn’t offering you one.” She looked to the note on the floor, by his foot, and realized she had some quick thinking to do. This new Darla was being charged with making this the perfect ending. And now that Judson was here, the ending was complicated. “I don’t want you here,” she said finally. “You were going to write me a check,” he said. “You poured sugar in my gas tank.” “Oh, yes,” she said with a smile, looking off into the distance. “I did.” Judson drew closer to her. “Listen, about last night…I’m sorry if I was a little harsh. I just wanted…a clean break, you know?” “No,” she said, staring deep into his eyes. “We had a good thing,” he continued, coming closer, “but it was getting old. Predictable. Maybe…” he came close enough to share her breath, “maybe we just needed something to…shake things up. Make things different.” He brought his lips inches away from hers. “You seem different now.” “I am different now,” she said, not moving. “I see.” He kissed her slowly, and she took the time to make sure that it was not the old Darla responding. The old Darla had no place in this ending. It was the new Darla that took his tongue hungrily, threw him to the floor over her suicide note, and tore his clothes off with a ferocity which the old Darla never would have been capable of. An hour later, down the hall, Judson was lying on his back with a glazed look in his eyes. “How…how did…what happened?” he asked. “How do you mean?” Darla said as she brushed her hair along his chest. “You were…never like this before.” “’Inhibited,’ I believe, is the term you used.” “You are definitely uninhibited now. That was—whoa.” He smacked his lips. “You make me hungry.” They smiled at each other and then they began to laugh, giggling together like children. “Do you have anything to eat?” he said. “Sure,” she said, striding to the kitchen. She caught a glance of herself in the mirror above the sink and smiled at her new self. A shame it had to end so soon; but, there was no point in passing over a perfect ending, making a Thursday night out of a Friday afternoon. She took her platter of truffles back into the main room and knelt next to Judson. He hesitated, glancing to his waistline, before gobbling one truffle whole. She watched his expression; an immediate pause from the rest of life, an unstoppable focus on the miraculous feeling coursing through his mouth. The perfect truffle. Overtaking his senses completely. His eyes began to open, his consciousness recovering from the assault on every sense, and he blinked. After taking a couple of slow breaths, he said, “Damn.” She smiled lavishly, stretching on the carpet beside him. “This is great,” he said, gesturing to indicate the truffles, her bodily profile, his presence in her apartment without a bowling shirt. “Whatever’s happened to you, I think it’s a good sign.” He swallowed and reached for another truffle. “How so?” Darla asked as she took a truffle from the tray in her long fingers “It means we can go back to the way we were.” He smiled at her, and she thought about the way they were; the weekly coitus, the predictable positions, the bland conversations. Thursday nights were nothing like what just happened, what they just did, who she just was. “The way we were?” she said quietly, looking curiously at the truffle in her hand. “Like nothing changed,” Judson said with a wink. Darla took a moment to observe the changes wrought within her, the new world around her perceived with new eyes, the world before these truffles…and after. She stared at him while he chewed. “Don’t you want one?” he asked. “No, she said dreamily. “I’m not hungry.” She held her truffle to his lips. He took the whole thing into his mouth and chewed, emitting a groan of pleasure. “What is that taste?” he whispered as she held another truffle above him “Gasoline,” she whispered.