Marketplace (54 page)

“Er... very good, sir,” Brian managed.
He peered into the carrier and saw a glint of teeth among a thick
wall of long fur and heard a warning growl.

“I’m sure we’ll find her a nice warm,
cozy spot to rest,” Grendel said, taking his guest by one arm.
“Terrence, you remember Alison Cruz?”

* * * *

“What do I do with it?” Brian
demanded, his nerves now completely shot. Chris looked down at the
cage on the floor of the kitchen, now emitting a series of
high-pitched yaps alternating with fierce snarls whenever anyone
got too close. He sighed, picked up the pitcher of cocktails and
handed it to Ramesh.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” he
said. Jamming an old baseball cap onto his head and tossing on a
light rain jacket from the rack by the kitchen door, he took both
the pet carrier and the luggage of her supplies out into the
rain.

“Oh, my God, he’s going to leave her
outside?” Enid squeaked.

“I don’t care if he tosses her off a
fucking cliff!” Brian snapped. “Take the drinks out! Don’t spill
anything! I have to get the door!”

* * * *

“Are y’sure that’s a dog?” Jack asked,
poking his finger through the door of the carrier. He ran into
Chris at the door leading to his apartment above the stables and
relieved him of the dog carrier as they walked up the stairs. Asta
snarled and snapped and Jack laughed as he snatched his finger
away.

“Fairly sure. The owner says she’s
sick. There should be food, dog toys, I have no idea what else in
here. Just bed her down somewhere with food and water,
please?”

“All righ’ then. Don’t worry another
tick about ’er.”

When Chris stalked back to the main
house, Jack opened the little door and let the four-legged mop out.
She immediately scampered all over his apartment, yapping with
astonishing energy, and he grinned.

“Well, you’re not a Bluey, but
fuck-all... you are a dog! An’ you’re never poorly, neither, are
you? Thought you’d chuck a sickie?” He watched as she fiercely
attacked the leg of his best chair and chuckled at her antics.
Examining the tiny cans of food and the vast array of colorful
squeaky toys in the Louis Vuitton case, he frowned and eyed the
little terrier again. “Y’don’t need this shite. I know exactly what
you need. Come on, then, let’s take a squizz at them rat holes I
saw yesterday.”

* * * *

“Nice of you to order up this dramatic
storm for the evening,” Madeleine said as she sipped at her
drink.

“You should have had the ride from the
train station with Jack,” Nancy laughed, her eyes
bright.

“We aim to please,” Grendel said with
a grin.

“Where is Chris tonight?” Ali Cruz
asked. “Speaking of pleasing.”

Alex waved a hand. “He has some time
off. I’m sure the trainees are up to making your visit absolute
perfection.”

“No doubt.” Hal Lee glanced at the
library door. “Alex... did I tell you about my small food issue? I
hate to mention it now, but I’d rather not embarrass your novices
by refusing something at the table. I know it’s impossibly
rude.”

“Oh, please, Hal. I’m sure the kitchen
can handle it; tell me what we can do?”

* * * *

“Ms. Selador says he’s... lactose
intolerant.”

Brian looked at Chris, directly into
his eyes, and avoided the tray of neatly arranged crèmes brûlée
awaiting the final caramelizing before their
presentation.

“I see.” Chris took a deep breath and
stared for a moment past Brian’s shoulder. “And she would like not
to serve him something unique.”

Brian nodded.

“All right. I’ll think of something.
We can replace dessert, but the goat cheese in the
salad...”

“Please, Chris, if I might?” Ramesh
offered with a slightly raised hand. “Goat cheese is often quite
tolerable for those of us with a lactose intolerance.”

Chris took this in and checked the
clock on the wall. “Then leave the dessert to me. Places everyone,
for seating, I will see you back here for the soup.” He turned and
took the bottles of sherry and cream over to the arranged bowls,
sprigs of basil neatly arranged for the final garnish.

Brian almost felt grateful to be able
to leave. How was Chris going to come up with a dessert before
dinner was over? A non-dairy dessert? On any other night, one of
them could have hopped into the car for a quick drive to a local
bakery, but with this monsoon, and Jack baby-sitting a sick dog,
and Rachel barricaded in her room and heaping invectives on anyone
coming close? Chris would have to make something.

* * * *

“This roasted tomato soup is just
perfection,” Terrence enthused. “You are so lucky to live so close
to all the farms out here. I swear, an heirloom tomato costs six
dollars at the Union Square Market and then you have to run over
trendy chefs trying to get one.”

“I thought running over the trendy
chefs was part of the appeal of shopping there,” joked Carl. “Send
Fletcher the name of this wine would you, Gren?”

* * * *

“Hey, pretty lady,” Mercedes purred
from the door of the servants’ hall. Enid looked around for who the
chauffeur might be addressing and gave her an honest “who me?”
look.

“Yeah, you! Come on, Red, slip away
for five minutes and let’s make some energetic thumping noises on
the table. I’m sure the swinging dicks can manage one thing without
you.” She reached out and ran an admiring hand down Enid’s hip and
Enid gave a peep of surprise.

“But... I can’t, I really can’t,” she
whispered, pulling away toward the kitchen.

“Aww, I’m sure you can. Come on, just
a few minutes while they’re eating?”

Brian elbowed his way past them and
grabbed Enid’s arm. “Come on, you flakey bitch, we have the
appetizer to deliver!”

“Oh, hey, can I have some?” Mercedes
called after them.

Both of them turned to shush her and
she sighed and folded her arms in exasperation. “You slaves are
just no fun,” she complained.

* * * *

Soup bowls were traded for the
elegantly small plates of prosciutto with arugula and figs; Ramesh
and Enid each lowered a plate in front of a diner at the same time,
then took the next two from the serving tray set up right outside
the formal dining room doors. The imperial red center of the figs
glistened, the neatly cut stem on one slice per plate wept with a
single drop of moisture. “I’m sensing a theme already!” announced
Hal. “Are we going for blood tonight?”

“I think it was Long Island in
Scarlet, actually,” said Alex. “But blood is close
enough.”

“And speaking of blood, did you hear
what happened at the Owner’s Circle up in Westchester last
weekend?”

“Do tell,” said Alison and Madeleine
simultaneously, leaning into the table.

* * * *

Chris took the time while they were
eating the soup to check several cookbooks. While they were waiting
for their appetizer, he gathered ingredients and started mixing a
batter. By the time he needed to sear the goat cheese, he had a
shallow pan baking in the oven.

Brian herded the trainees into the
kitchen and stared at Chris. “Um, I think... in another minute
they’ll be ready to give up the plates. I think. No. I’m sure. One
minute.”

“Then what should you be doing,
majordomo?”

“Uh,―got the staff here... I mean...
they will be there to collect them... and... and! Uh! The wine! For
the next course!” He whirled around and kicked the door by
accident.

Chris fixed the two kiddies with a
basilisk gaze and they followed Brian. Which was a pity, actually,
since he now needed to sneak upstairs and change. Perhaps during
the palate cleanser.

* * * *

“That’s it! That’s right, get ’em,
girl! That’s me beautiful rat catcher, then!” Jack laughed as Asta
dragged another small, limp corpse out of the hole; the little
bitch was a natural! Three so far, and she was fairly glowing with
pride. He did have to stop her from trying to eat the buggers,
though; maybe she really did have a tender tummy. Not that it
stopped her from trying to taste a horse ball, gnawing at his
boots, or just snapping at anything within reach. Feeling a little
pity for her, he offered her some beef jerky he had in his pocket;
she seemed to like that just fine. He finished the rest.

* * * *

“What is this?” Lawrence asked,
looking down on the plate. “Are those slices of beet?”

“Beet carpaccio,” Alex told him. “A
vegetarian option, I suppose. Cook has been doing amazing things
with beets this year, and I love this way of serving
them.”

“What’s the sauce?” Lawrence asked,
tasting it.

Alex looked up at Brian, who said, “An
aged balsamic reduction, sir.”

“Huh! I like it. What a fun way to
present a salad.”

“Wait until you try the goat cheese,”
Nancy said.

* * * *

Chris fanned the apple slices with one
firm gesture and directed Enid to use two spoons to form a neat
quenelle of the apple/calvados sorbet. Carefully, he added a
sprinkle of mace and star anise and a garnish of mint leaves. Then,
he pulled out the sorbet tray still left in the freezer to put it
in the refrigerator, took the large container of fresh eggs out of
the refrigerator and left them on the counter next to the standing
mixer, put a spotless mixing bowl into the freezer, and ran up the
back stairs without a word of explanation.

* * * *

“Hey, Gandhi―wanna try to find my
passage to India?”

Ramesh stopped in his tracks, amazed,
and stared at Mercedes. “Pardon me for asking,” he said. “But do
you find much success with such an approach? Perhaps it is slightly
racist?”

She shrugged and dropped a rolled-up
length of proscuitto into her mouth. “Yeah, but does it turn you
on—that’s the question. I’m horny as hell and could use a body to
play with. You’re not my type—hell, you’re not my gender—but if
they got you here, I bet you can spice my curry, if you know what I
mean.”

Ramesh frowned. “No, I don’t think I
do. Did you wish more food? I may fetch you a plate―"

Chris came down the back stairs, now
in livery with a starched white shirt and bow tie; his serving coat
over one arm. He grasped Ramesh by one arm and jerked him toward
the kitchen. “Mercedes,” he cautioned, “leave the trainees
alone.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” she
muttered, eating the last fig. “And yeah, send me something else to
eat, OK?”

* * * *

Chris separated his eggs, then sliced
up his shallow, pink-tinted cake and placed blocks of it neatly
into a rectangular molding pan. “Now, spoon the sorbet over the
cake in an even layer,” he ordered Ramesh.

“But the Cook said not to use this
one,” Ramesh protested.

Chris raised his eyes to Ramesh for
barely a second and the older man started scooping the sorbet with
alacrity. The egg whites went into the chilled mixing bowl. Chris
hit the power switch on the mixer to start them whipping, then
changed knives and started carving the duck. Enid said nothing but
concentrated on placing the parsnip and turnip puree onto the
plates as the diagram directed.

* * * *

Rachel came down the back stairs
clutching her stomach and growled at Brian as he was on his way to
the kitchen to wrangle the staff for the main course presentation.
“What the fuck is wrong with you little shits?” she asked. “I’m
upstairs fucking dying and no one even brings me a fucking
snack?”

“Oh, hi, Ms. Rachel,” Mercedes said,
leaning against the doorjamb to the servants’ hall. “Not feeling
too good?”

Rachel turned to take her rage out on
a new target and then her eyes widened. “Mercedes? Mercedes, you
fucking doll! Get over here!” She reached out and grabbed the woman
by the lapel of her jacket. “Do you have gloves?”

“Not in the hall,” Chris said from the
kitchen door. “Take her somewhere else, please?”

“No problem,” Rachel snapped. And
without even waiting for an answer from the chauffeur, she dragged
her through the kitchen and outside into the storm. Mercedes just
giggled.

* * * *

“You’re a fair mess, y’are,” Jack said
thoughtfully, as Asta snarled and worried the cuff of his trouser
leg. She was plastered with mud and straw and sawdust and bits of
grain, her silky hair tangled, and the little bow long gone. But
her teeth still worked, and now he could even see her huge, round
eyes.

“Let’s have us a shower, then,” he
decided, scooping her up and cupping a hand over her muzzle to keep
her from nipping his fingers. Walking out into the rain, he saw the
kitchen door open and two figures stumble ou, and wondered what
that was all about. They seemed to be heading for one of the
visiting cars; well, he’d gladly tumble in the back of a Bentley
himself. He tossed Asta to the ground and watched her dash off into
the night and for the first time wondered if that was such a smart
thing to do.