Page 45 of The Secret Dinner

Again, he let his head fall, sighing. He put his hand over his eyes, but I knew he wasn’t crying. It was just pretense.

“Hugo … did you run over this man?”

He shook his arms loose and turned his back to me.

“Of course not, Dante, are you crazy? I … I followed an ambulance. The accident had just happened, and the paramedics were busy helping the driver. The police hadn’t gotten there yet to file the report. No one was watching … I grabbed the body and ran.”

It was impossible to believe that story. Whenever any accident happens, swarms of watchful eyes always come to feed off the misfortune. Before I could press him further, Cora and Piglet arrived, celebrating the “fresh meat.”

“I’m going back down to move Bukowski,” said Hugo, disappearing through the back door.

I stayed there with Piglet for a few seconds while Cora fetched the chainsaw from the living room. She came back excited. She set the yellow machine in the corner and stood at attention.

“Ready to work, sir!”

“Very well, Captain!” said Piglet, grabbing her by the neck and planting a kiss on her lips.

“Can you help me turn it upside down?”

“Sure thing, baby girl.”

The laundry room was small, and it felt even tinier now. I left, saying I needed to start the evening’s preparations.

“Just bring me a bucket first,” Cora asked.

“A bucket?”

“Or a vase, something like that.”

I decided not to ask any more questions. I grabbed the biggest bucket I could find, one Mrs. Dores had used back when she was still working for us. When I returned, the man was already hanging upside down, held up by hooks. I handed the bucket to Cora and she placed it under the body. In one subtle movement, she turned on the chainsaw, which let out a long roar. Vroommmm, vroom, vroom. Our eyes met, and she smiled at me, running the blade across the dead man’s jugular.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” she said as blood gushed like a waterfall, pooling in the container.

4

Late that afternoon, Miguel came into the living room wearing jeans, a polo shirt, and too much cologne.

“Where are you going?”

“To see Rachel. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

I didn’t say anything, I just let him go. Earlier, when he saw the body that Cora was butchering, he’d also confronted Hugo, who repeatedly told him the same story about tailing the ambulance. Miguel was absolutely right to jump ship. I was the idiot who didn’t have the balls to leave.

In the kitchen, Hugo marinated the meat as Cora handed him the cuts. He wore a spotless black chef’s coat and his hair was tied back, tucked under his chef’s hat, with a pathetic CHEF HUGO emblazoned across its front. Whistling “Poker Face” and shimmying to the beat, Piglet acted as sous-chef, taking care of the mise en place by the stove.

Half an hour before the scheduled time, I turned the air-conditioning in the living room down to seventy-five degrees Fahrenheit—the perfect temperature—and set out the tablecloth, the water and wineglasses, the sous-plats, napkins, and the correct sequence of forks and knives for each dish, according to an etiquette website I’d found. I spritzed perfume on the furniture and lit incense to mask the faint odor that was still emanating from the back of the apartment.

Freshly showered, donning a tux I’d only ever worn to my graduation, I tried to relax. In a few minutes, I would be welcoming strangers into our home, encouraging them to interact and enjoy their dinner as if this were all routine. Still, the sight and smell of that filthy, bloody body Hugo had brought home clung to me—its foul stench had crawled inside my nostrils and refused to leave.

The first guest to arrive was a finely dressed, thin woman with bulging eyes. She had curly hair and strong features, with a nose like a pelican’s. Hesitantly, she introduced herself: “Cecília Couto.”

“Welcome! Make yourself at home,” I said, mostly to myself. “The others should be arriving any moment.”

The sweet sounds of bossa nova were playing. So close your eyes, for that’s a lovely way to be … A lounge atmosphere to ease the tension. Cecília sat on the sofa and crossed her legs, looking around at the table.

“The place is lovely,” she said.

“Thank you.” I forced a smile and poured her a welcome glass of sparkling wine.