When I Ruled the World
It was called Zelda’s. Third entrance on the left and the only one of its kind to offer true pleasure at a subterranean level.
An underground French bakery with just enough avant-garde to make me feel as though I was never less than the center of the universe and the ruling attraction of eighty-eight hundred square feet of confectionery bliss.
My days were full of catering to the imaginary diets of the wealthy, while my nights were spent indulging their every whim. I became both the confessor of their sin and the purveyor of their desire. I ruled my world like a god. For those who were willing to confess their carnal cravings of the flesh, I was the all-forgiving one. But to those who gave in, I was the monkey on their back, the needle in their veins, the addiction they could not live without.
Or at least I was until Bill showed up.
Bill of the tall and dark.
Bill who’s mouth-watering curves brought back memories of pre-dawn refrigerated trysts, turning even matrons of the staunchest dietary regimes into puddles of carefree ecstasy.
Bill who was a heart attack simply waiting to happen.
When Bill was placed under fluorescent filled lights, a person couldn’t help but find their senses undulated by spice filled bouquets of cinnamon, cloves, nutmeg and honey; aromas to make even the most resistant palette stand up and yell, “Help me Jesus!”
Bill . . . The epitome of every dream, the impetus behind every longing. A mixture of dark chocolate, creamy butter, more eggs than should go into a single serving and enough cream cheese and Amaretto to satisfy the most frigid of desires.
Bill . . . The agony of my soul and the downfall of my world.
At least the one I ruled.
The one in which I had once been considered tall and dark. Me, who’s curves were whispered to be the essence of mankind’s wildest dreams. A ruler whose power to weaken even the most resilient of determinations, legendary.
I tried being gracious, sharing my place among the racks and glass enclosed displays with an attitude of evenhanded felicity. I even went so far as to allow Mrs. Heilech’s dog, Melba, a taste of Bill’s mouth-watering, “Turkish Delight”.
But no! Bill wasn’t satisfied to share my generosity or remain regent to my throne.
He wanted it all. Every square inch of stainless steel, glass, deep-fryer and gas-powered oven.
His greed knew no bounds as he lured customer after customer into his den of iniquity.
Even to this day, had Bill but shown the least amount of remorse, I would have relented and not pulled the plug on his refrigeration unit. But he didn’t. And so the only evidence of Bill and his “Turkish Delight” is a sign saying, “Turkish Delight Cheesecake” $4.99 a slice, and a 22″ springform pan.