by Tommy Z

1.

"So what’s the word, Mr. Wokawski?" One of Steve’s few-and-far-between customers confronted him outside his shop. "How’s the predilections of a small town business-man on this beautiful sunny summer’s day?"

The butcher let a half-smoked cigarette fall to the sidewalk and ground it into the concrete, and reminded himself to sweep-up before closing up shop for the day. He drew his broad sinewy shoulders up to his neck in an act of indifference. "Two lousy customers today."

"Hey, you two, get to work." They both turned to watch a figure in a long airy dress cascading up the sidewalk towards the butcher's shop. It was Emily Frauzenhauser, Steve’s girl friend and best customer.

2.

"Hi Dick. Hi Stevie. Are you glad to see me?" Emily coaxed; and without warning lunged forward and wrapped her arms around the butcher’s waste and sighed. "My, you’re so big and strong, Stevie. If you would only sweep me up into your arms and carry me away," she swooned. "Did it ever occur to you do that? Did it, Huh, Huh. Did it ever occur to you big boy?" .

"You know I would Emi, in a second, but right now I have the shop to worry about. Now what can I get for you today?" She tried to wrap her arms around him completely, but settled for digging her fingers into his side and tickling him.

"You’re all business, and no fun at all. I might just as well go down to the Piggly Wiggly. Now say something congenial. And no small talk, make it sweet and syrupy so I can still taste it when I’m back at work playing hostess to a bunch of old fuddy-duddies."

Wokawski thought for a moment and then. "Emi, your as sweet as a pork loin, at a Republican picnic." She frowned. "Your as sweet as the morning dew, in a hearty beef stew."

"Ok," She laughed. " show me what you got."

"Right this way Miss." Wokawski escorted her up the steps and into his shop.

"I’ll see you two love-birds later." Dick yelled after them.

"See ya Dickey," Emily replied.

"Catch you later Dick," replied Steve.

3.

From the pendulous rows of Provolone strung from ceiling joists--set off by bobbing customer’s heads--to the white porcelain and glass case filled with glistening rib-eyes; to the pickle barrel, and racks of biscotti, virgin oils, caviar, red-wax cheese wheels, pastas and sacks of coffee, this was Wokawski’s Butcher Shop. And what it lacked in patronage it more than made up for in ambulatory ambiance: one could easily slip into a heavenly gastronomic coma if one weren’t careful. Wokawski slid behind the counter and selected two choice porterhouses, and in a flourish wrapped them in plain brown paper. Then he sidled over to a butcher’s block with an imposing clever in tow, and began hacking away at a side of beef. In a flurry of wild heinous hammer-like windmills he reduced it to various flanks and fillets and roasts, ribs, and bone cuts. Then the scraps were ground up into hamburger by an old-fashion hand-cranked grinder, and three pounds of it was added to Emily’s order. "How’s that for fresh, Em?" She smiled. Next came a large roaster. Steve playfully slapped its under-belly before giving it a large and demonstrative kiss. Then he slammed it down hard on the counter-top. "Got to show them who’s boss," he said

"I wish you would kiss me like that." Brooding. "Or are you chicken?" Emily closed her eyes and leaned over the counter towards the butcher. Her lips pursed. Waiting. He picked up a beef tongue and pressed it to her lips. She jolted backwards, unsure, and then screamed. "Ahhhhhh, you’ll pay for that later." Then the butcher leaned over the counter and gently took hold of Emily’s shoulders, and kissed her. "That’s more like it," she whispered into his ear, afterwards. "But I’m still gonna get you later." She withdrew her arms from around his neck; used them for a pillow on the countertop. She rested her head, staring out past the shop window to a playground filled with school children. "Stevie?"

"What’s that Em?"

"Do you love me?"

"You know I do," he winced.

"No, I mean do you really really truly love me, with all your heart."

"With all my heart, Em. Truly."

"Then let’s get married, today."

He clumsily picked up a stack of lamb chops and transferred them to the front of the case. Then he changed his mind and put them back again. "What’s that Em," he said sheepishly.

"Let’s get married, today." Undaunted. "At city hall. The mayor’s an old softy. I’m sure he’d do it. Dickey can give me away. Who would be your best man?"

"Awe Em, you don’t want to get married like that, do you? You want a big to-do over at the church. You want all our friends and relatives there. And a wedding cake. And a big reception afterwards."

"No I don’t, I just want you."

"What about the blood test? We need a blood test first, don’t we?"

"Blood test, fudge test. We can stop by the clinic and get it in a heartbeat. Doctor’s can’t resist my feminine charm." She pulled her dress up to her thigh and winked. "You bring a half dozen steaks, just in case."

Wokawski gazed up at Emily, his head vertically fixated above a container of macaroni salad. "Yer kidding me now, right?" And began furiously scooping it into a plastic container.

"Of course I’m not. We’ve known each other now for six solid months, it’s time to commit, turkey."

"Just give me some time to get my business back on track, then we can get married, OK Em?"

"Do you promise, Stevie. Do you promise me?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Do it. Swear to me right now that we’ll get married as soon as business picks up."

"I swear, Em. As soon as business picks up, I’ll marry you." "

So we’re officially engaged then. Where’s my ring?"

"I’ll bring your order over later, " he stammered. "You better get a move on now or you’ll be late for work." He was sweating, and he walked over to the back of the shop and heaved down on the handle to a large stainless steel freezer door; opened it and walked in.

"You can run but you can not hide," Emily laughed, then she was on her way.