Tomato Sauce and Tomato Ketchup

The Federation wanted to honor him. Besides, it was high time anyways for the biggest award. For 25 years, he had been building microchips, once started from his garage, now one of the largest companies in the world. From nerd to business entrepreneur, it had been a long journey, professionally and personally.

“I hope they don’t serve oysters tonight. I don’t understand how anyone can enjoy that shit.”

The Federation had gone glam recently with the amount of socialite parties thrown in the name of technology. Young models flocked to hook the 50 something head honchos with big bank accounts. That’s how he had met Seine. The sex was great, but apart from that, he didn’t feel a thing.

“Lifetime achievement award. Does it mean I’m gonna die soon? That my life’s work is over?”

Hi company was worth billions of dollars, he was the fourteenth richest man in the country, but his dream was to open a ski resort with camping and fishing, a place where he could retire peacefully. Yet a place for the uber rich, something no one had ever seen before.

“Yes darling, I know nothing about technology. It’s all wires and lights anyways, right?”

He recognized the voice, that flower petal tone. It was Irene, and she was lying. She did know a lot about technology. After all, she had to.

After all these years and the messy public divorce with the alimony proceedings, he still felt a surge of sickly love rise up inside him.
She looked stunning in her ivory gown with crystals. Maybe it was Botox. Maybe not. She was still a star. Her last Best Actress award was two years back for playing a refugee caught in a post war world.
She turned around and smiled. He went up to her with a glass of champagne.

“Ah my love, my foe,” he said coldly.

She fluttered her hand in the air to disregard him.
“Still being sarcastic D? Aren’t you getting an award tonight?”

“You always bring out the best in me Irene.”

“I heard you’re going around with that skinny sunscreen model?”

“She’s better than the underwear model who you slept with Irene, while we were married. The one you packed in from Berlin.”

“Darling, unlike you, Ralphe at least had a reason to wear underwear!”

“Tch tch, Irene, one must never wash their dirty laundry in public.”

“Come on D, I’m happily married now. For 5 years. Can we stop pulling each other down?”

It had always been like this between them. Two people too alike. They were stubborn, vain, ambitious, intelligent and popular. They thought they had a lot in common. They were right. But that was precisely the problem, apart from the fact that they wanted different things in spite of being similar people. He wanted to rule the world, and she wanted to be his world.

“Who would match up to my wit Irene, if not you? I miss that sometimes.”

“I’m not your punching bag any more honey.”

“Punching bag? The only punches you took were at others, especially younger, aspiring actresses who wanted to learn something from you.”

“There’s no business like show business. But D, I’m not going to do this now. I can’t believe I loved you once upon a time.”

“Love? Sweetheart, you only loved me because I reminded you of yourself.”

“Are you trying to say that we are the same, you and I?”

“No. On the outside we may be. Actually sometimes we may be, sometimes we could be different things. At least that’s what people believed, that we were alike, but people don’t know shit! People think tomato sauce and tomato ketchup are the same thing.”

“Aren’t they?”

“Honey, you never knew anything about food except tell the waiter at a restaurant that it tasted awful…”

“So what is the difference?”

“Well, tomato sauce is what you put on your pasta, basically a puree, but ketchup is the bottled version with vinegar and preservatives, basically what you eat with your fries. But in some countries they are the same thing. Can I have some tomato sauce, or can I have some tomato ketchup? But fundamentally they are different.”

“So, am I the sauce or the ketchup?”

“You’re the sauce honey. All natural. I’m the fucked up artificially flavored version!”

“You’re being sarcastic again, aren’t you D?”

“I duno Irene, I duno. I don’t know which is which or if we are the same, or if people think we are the same and we’re not. I duno. I just know that we’re both made of tomatoes.”

Irene played with her ring. It was a big solitaire. Then she looked at him like a puppy dog with big brown melting eyes.

“Do you think that people cross paths for a reason?”

“Of course Irene. I have heard of strangers meeting and becoming friends, becoming lovers, saving lives, changing lives, taking lives; of people living together for years and discovering strangers. Sometimes a stranger can be the best thing to happen to you. Just that we are not strangers, or are we?

She kept quiet, chewing on an asparagus stick.

He said softly, “I did love you. Tell me what I did wrong. I need to know.”

“D, sometimes there are no answers, no right or wrong. Sometimes we hurt only so that our scars make us better people. We were both wrong, and we were both right.”

“Do you love him Irene?”

“Yes D. He’s not a tomato. He’s my spaghetti. We go together.”

“I’m glad to know you’re happy Irene.”

“Aren’t you happy? You always wanted to be rich and famous, and now you are.”

“No. That’s not what I always wanted. I just didn’t know what I really wanted.”

“I won’t judge you D. I won’t anymore.”

“Thanks Irene. I’m glad we can be friends after all.”

“I’m glad too. It’s funny how it’s easier to talk to a stranger. I’m not saying you are one. Just that, that’s how it feels.”

“I know why we met today.”

“Why D?”

“I can finally forgive myself today. It doesn’t matter if you do or don’t. I can.”

“Good to know.”

“I have to go now. The journalists are waiting.”

“See you around D.”

“See ya Irene. My lil’ tomato.”

He walked away, took the side entrance into the kitchen lobby, and called his lawyer.

“Yeah, I’m ready to sell. It’s time.”




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