The Feeder

by Gayle Siebert

  “And you told him I only do insurance defence work.”

  “Yup. Just as well. I don’t like mixing business with pleasure.” He slides off his stool and goes to the fridge to get another beer.

  I hold out my glass and say, “a refill while you’re up, please.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks. “I know you don’t have much left to unpack but I thought you wanted to finish tonight so you’d have empty boxes for the rest of your stuff.”

  “What’s that got to do with having another glass of wine?”

  “Well, you know how horny you always get when you’ve had a few. I’m afraid you’ll cast your eyes on me and get sidetracked.” He gives his crotch a quick suggestive tug, then grins and winks.

  “Oh yeah? So you’d rather I spent the rest of the evening in a bad mood unpacking and putting things away instead of cheerfully fucking your brains out?”

  “Point taken,” he says. He takes my glass, fills it, and comes back to take his stool beside me. He puts my glass down in front of me and touches my neck, then runs his finger along the neckline of my shirt before slipping his hand down to stroke my nipple. An electric current courses through me.

  “Mmmmm,” he growls. “Drink up! It’s past my bed time.”

  I grab his wrist and pull his hand away. “I think I’d like a soak in the hot tub first.”

  “No. Bed time first. Hot tub after.”

  Ten

  Carly

  HEADLIGHTS SHINE THROUGH the dining room window as a car pulls into the driveway. “He’s here,” I call out, and go to stand beside the stairs as Derek comes into the foyer.

  He checks his look in the mirror of the hallstand, finger-combs his hair, smooths his shirt, then turns to me and asks, “how do I look?”

  “Fine.”

  The doorbell rings. Derek waits a few seconds before he pulls the door open. “Hey,” he says, “welcome! Come in. Any trouble finding the place? I know it can be tricky in the dark.”

  “Drove past the driveway once, but didn’t go too far before I realized it,” he replies, and smiles at both of us.

  I’m a little taken aback at how different he looks compared to how I imagined him. He’s taller than Lita but not as tall as I am, and very muscular like the fighters in the MMA matches Derek watches on Pay Per View. He’s dressed in jeans and his jacket has a logo that’s a silhouette of someone holding barbells. His short hair is almost completely white, with a substantial bald spot. His eyes are as blue as I thought they would be, though, and he has a nice smile. Best of all, his voice is pleasant and he has an Irish accent! It’s subtle, but definitely there. He hands a bottle of wine to Derek, and Callebaut truffles in a shiny box, to me.

  “Thanks for this,” Derek says with a lift of the bottle. “Leave your shoes on. Let me take your jacket, though. How about a drink before dinner?”

  “Um, sure, that would be nice.” He slips his jacket off to reveal he’s wearing a polo shirt with the same logo as his jacket.

  Derek takes his jacket and hands it to me with the wine. “Right this way,” he says, and is halfway down the hallway to the family room where the liquor cabinet is before he realizes Mr. Finnegan isn’t behind him but has stayed with me.

  “Here,” Mr. Finnegan says, “I’ll do that.” He takes his jacket from me and hangs it on the hallstand as he says, “and this lovely lady must be your good wife.”

  “Carly…” I mumble as I nod.

  Derek says, “Carly, this is Mr. Finnegan.”

  “Pleased to meet you,” I say.

  He reaches out as if to shake hands but since I have a bottle of wine in one hand and the chocolates in the other and also because people have mostly quit shaking hands since the pandemic, he thinks better of it, puts his hands together and gives a slight bow. He says, “pleased to meet you, Carly. And please, call me Finn.”

  We make eye contact. For a second I believe I am the only person in his world. As if I’m important. I think I understand why he is successful. “Finn,” I agree. I glance over Finn’s shoulder and see Derek watching, his expression dark. I shrink back.

  “Let’s get that drink,” Derek says. “She has things to finish up in the kitchen. She’ll let us know when dinner is ready.” He waits until Finn’s back is to him and gives me frown and a jerk of his head to direct me into the kitchen before following Finn into the family room.

  I have everything set to go but there are things that can’t be done ahead and anyway, Derek told me earlier that he wanted private time with Mr. Finnegan before dinner. Making the Hollandaise, shallow frying the chicken and finishing the risotto and asparagus takes nearly half an hour. I hear the men’s voices, although not clearly enough to catch more than a few words or to make out what they’re talking about. It sounds like they’re having a serious, productive, discussion. Here’s hoping!

  I open the wine and set it in the ice bucket on the table, then plate everything, light the candles, and call the men in. Derek takes his usual seat at the head of the table. Rather than having him across from me, I’ve set Finn’s plate at the foot of the table, and I sit on the side nearest the kitchen.

  “This looks terrific, Carly,” Finn says, and gives me that engaging smile as he picks up the tongs and helps himself to a Chicken Kiev before passing me the plate. I watch covertly as he spears his chicken, elated when melted butter squirts out just as it’s supposed to. He slices off a piece, puts it in his mouth, and gives a groan of approval. I’m almost giddy with relief.

  Dinner goes along very nicely. I eat quietly while Finn and Derek chat about hockey, politics, the economy, other man stuff. When Finn has eaten all his asparagus, without thinking, I serve him more.

  “Thank you,” he says, “you know, my mum used to do that, serve more food like that.”

  “She always does that—feeds people whether they want it or not—you don’t have to eat it,” Derek tells him.

  “No, it’s great. It just brought back a very fond memory,” Finn says. He looks into my eyes and says, “I mean it. Thank you.”

  I blush, nod, give Derek a victorious smile and say, “I hope you like Cherries Jubilee. That’s what I’m making for dessert.”

  “I’ve never had it but I know what it is. I like cherries and anything with ice cream has to be good. Carly, you really put yourself out,” Finn says as he cuts off another bite of chicken. “This chicken melts in your mouth. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

  “She wanted to,” Derek tells him.

  “Yes,” I agree, encouraged by Finn’s addressing me directly. “Mom always said, cook your man happy! It’s good to have a chance to make something other than meat and potatoes, or Derek’s favourite bean dish that our daughter says looks as though it’s already been eaten once.”

  “Sounds appetizing,” Finn chuckles.

  I chuckle with him. I chance a look at Derek and realize he’s not only not chuckling with us, but doesn’t look even slightly amused. I get a sinking feeling. I’m talking too much, and I shouldn’t have said anything about the beans.

  Fortunately his dark look passes, and he says, “well, Finn, like I said, you don’t have to eat it all. If I ate everything she put on my plate I’d be as fat as…” He stops mid-sentence and glares at me.

  Finn is watching us with an unreadable expression; after a second, he says, “well, I sure appreciate it. I don’t think I’ve ever had anything this good.”

  High praise! I feel as if I must be glowing!

  Derek takes the wine bottle out of the bucket and tops up Finn’s glass and his own, then says, “so, about the retainer, Finn. You didn’t tell me… When should I send you a contract?”

  “Contract? Well, I’d like to see a proposal first. You got the invitation to submit a bid proposal, correct?”

  “Yeah, but I thought… I just assumed since we’re here now, you had chosen me, um, er, us, my firm.”

  Finn puts down his knife and fork and wipes his mouth on his napkin. “Oh, sorry if I mi
slead you, Derek. I haven’t made a decision. I thought you understood that.”

  A flicker of shock crosses Derek’s face. He clears his throat and says, “I umm. Yeah, of course. I just meant, when will everyone be submitting bids? Did I say contract? I mis-spoke. I meant proposal.”

  “And of course,” Finn continues, “I want to see everyone’s CV’s.”

  “I thought you were only looking for one lawyer.”

  “Hmmm, probably only need one for now, anyway, but I like to get experience with a few lawyers to see who’s the best fit. And I won’t be formally choosing one for a while at least. If it turns out you and I, or more importantly, you, me, my partner and our Toronto lawyers are the most simpatico, well, then…” He shrugs, picks up the hollandaise bowl and spoons sauce over his risotto, then loads his fork with it.

  “I see,” Derek says. “You really don’t have to go through all that. I can assure you I am the most knowledgeable. Other guys might have more experience, but don’t forget, I’m a member of the bar in the U.S., too, so if you have any thoughts of expanding down south, I can take care of that.”

  “We haven’t considered opening in the U.S.”

  “Food for thought, though, right?”

  Finn shrugs and agrees, “food for thought.”

  “Anyway, ask anyone, I have a high degree of legal scholarship, academic talent, analytical and writing abilities, because when I came here, I had to sit eight—fucking eight!—challenge exams before I could even article. Think of it! I aced them all. I’ve had way more education than the Canadian guys. I know more about their laws than they do. I’ve even had to school the senior guys in our firm.” Derek picks up his glass and downs half of it at a go. “Believe me. I’m your guy.”

  Finn’s forehead creases in a frown for a second, then he smiles at Derek, shrugs and says, “well, then, uhh, that’ll make for an easy decision.” He turns his attention to finishing his dinner.

  Derek seems to relax. I breathe a sigh of relief, get to my feet and take Finn’s plate.

  “I’m done, too,” Derek says, pushing his plate, still mounded with risotto, toward me.

  I ask, “should I serve dessert now?”

  “Not now. Let’s go in the other room, where it’s more comfortable,” Derek says, and gets to his feet. “Or, we can go outside and I’ll show you that beach access I’ve been working on. I got it fixed up so now I keep my boat right there.”

  Finn glances at his watch and says, “actually, I wouldn’t mind dessert now if that would be all right. It’s getting late, it’s been a long day and I have an early morning. As pleasant as this has been, I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut the evening short.”

  “Of course it’s all right,” Derek says, and sinks back to his chair, deflated.

  “It’s okay,” I tell them, “it’ll take me a few minutes to get the dessert ready. You could show him the top part of it from the deck, right?”

  Derek frowns but before he can say anything, Finn says, “Okay, good,” The two men get up and head across the foyer to the living room.

  I stack the plates and take them to the kitchen, scrape Derek’s into the compost bin, and deposit all three in the dishwasher. The sauce and cherries only need to be heated in the microwave for a couple of minutes. While that’s happening, I scoop a well-packed ball of ice cream into each dish. With the warm cherries and sauce spooned over the ice cream, I take them into the dining room.

  “Dessert is served,” I sing out, and stand next to Finn’s seat, Kirschwasser and a lighter at the ready.

  Finn slides into his chair. When I’ve poured a nice quantity of liqueur on the mound of ice cream and sauce, I click the lighter and put the flame close to the dish.

  The liqueur, at first reluctant to ignite, suddenly bursts into flame with a whoosh! Flames lick my hand and in the blink of an eye, my sleeve is on fire. I drop the lighter and jump back with a cry.

  Finn reacts instantly; he leaps up, grabs my arm, and wraps his napkin around it. He holds it tight and pats it all over to make sure the flames are smothered. In a moment, he pulls it away and confirms the fire’s out.

  “Oh my god, did you get burned?” he cries. “Sit down!” Holding my upper arms he gently but firmly guides me back to my chair and once I’m settled, pushes the sleeve up to my elbow to examine my hand and forearm. Thankfully it’s not my bruised arm! He takes my hand in his and turns it over, making small sounds of concern.

  I manage to choke out, “I’m okay. Thank you.” I’m shocked, of course, but quickly gather my wits, pull my hand away and say, “really, thanks to you, I’m all right. My blouse is ruined but it’s an old one, and your dessert is still okay.” I muster a smile.

  “She’s fine,” Derek says, and fills his glass again, “but I’m going to keep my distance when she lights mine, just in case.” He laughs that awful barking laugh that tells me he’s getting drunk, and pushes his plate well away from in front of him.

  “Okay. Sorry ‘bout the chair,” Finn says, setting it upright and sitting down again.

  I roll the ruined sleeve back so it’s out of the way and ignite the liqueur on the other two desserts without incident.

  “Carly, get some liqueur glasses. We’ll drink this stuff instead of burning it,” Derek barks, brandishing the Kirschwasser bottle.

  I don’t like liqueurs at the best of times and if I did, Kirschwasser wouldn’t be my choice, so I only get two glasses out of the china cabinet and put them in front of Derek.

  “Not for me, thanks,” Finn says, “I’ve had plenty to drink and I’m driving,”

  “Naww, never! A Mick turning down a drink? What’s that saying, an Irishman is never drunk as long as he can hold onto one blade of grass and keep from falling off the earth? I’m sure you can still hold onto the grass! Drink up!” Derek guffaws and fills both glasses, passing one to Finn.

  I draw a quick breath. I wish he hadn’t started drinking as soon as he came home after dropping Jennifer off. First he starts to slur, and now he says that? Did Finn take it as a joke or was he offended? I can’t tell from his expression.

  He says, “you and Carly go ahead.”

  “Sure,” Derek shoots his Kirschwasser and refills the glass, then says, “what is it you’re doing tomorrow that you have to get up early for?”

  “My partner is taking me fishing.”

  “Why didn’t you say something? I could’ve taken you fishing.”

  “I haven’t seen him since I flew in this morning so we need a chance to talk, anyway.”

  “I’d like to meet your partner. I could take you both out on my boat. Too bad it’s dark or I’d take you down ‘n’ show it to you. It’s a twenty-one footer. Plenty of room for all of us.”

  “Hmm, maybe next time,” Finn agrees. “Say, maybe you know my partner’s girlfriend. She’s a lawyer.”

  “Oh yeah?”

  “Yeah. Her name’s Lita—”

  “Lita, Lita, Lita!” Derek interrupts, expelling his breath in a whoosh. “Not many of those around. Lita Muldoon. Yeah, I know her.” His eyes narrow as he says, “you’re not using her for your corporate work, are you?”

  “No…”

  “Good! Because it’s not her area of expertise.”

  “That’s right. I understand she’s an in house lawyer for an insurance company.”

  “Right,” he smirks, “in-house is a good gig for a lawyer who couldn’t make it in private practice.”

  “I met her when I was here a few months ago. I found her very impressive and I’m sorry she’s already taken,” Finn says.

  “She only does insurance defence work. She’d be no good to you,” Derek tells him.

  At the sharp tone of Derek’s voice, a frown flickers across Finn’s face. Then he looks at me and says, “this was delicious. Thank you. The whole dinner was very nice. But I’m going to take my leave now.”

  “But—” Derek objects.

  Finn is already up and is heading for the foyer. Derek gets up and f
ollows. I fall in behind. “Thanks again,” Finn says.

  “When will I hear something?” Derek asks.

  “I really don’t know for sure. I have to run it by my partner. We’re not in a hurry because we have lawyers in Toronto, of course. I want them to have input into the decision. They’ve already vetted your firm and put it on the short list, which is why I wanted to meet with you.”

  “Good. Surely you’ll make a decision before Christmas. Like you said, it should be easy.”

  “Probably not until after Christmas, though, Derek. Thanks again.” He opens the door, steps out quickly and pulls it closed behind him.

  “He seems nice,” I comment, and I mean it, although I’m a little worried about his rather hasty departure. Derek is drunk enough he might have failed to notice.

  I go back into the dining room to start clearing everything. Derek comes in, takes his seat and refills his liqueur glass. He drinks it like a shooter and pours another. I blow out the candles and I’m reaching for the peppermill when he grabs my wrist and twists it so hard I crumble to my knees beside his chair.

  “Oww! Derek, what…?”

  He releases my arm and gives his half-eaten dessert a shove that sends it flying off the table, the bowl smashing into pieces on the wall. “He seems nice,” he mimics me in a falsetto voice. “I suppose you think that went well?”

  “I…I…yes I think it did! I think he liked you!”

  “You think he liked me? I’m sure he liked you, especially after you nearly set him on fire!”

  He gets up and takes me by the hair, pulling me to my feet, kicking chairs out of the way as he drags me around to the other side of the table. “Now look what you made me do! Clean up this mess!”

  I struggle against tears as I fall to my knees to begin picking up the pieces of the bowl. I’m scooping ice cream onto the biggest piece when he hovers over me, takes my hair again and pushes my face down into the mess. I feel a sharp pain on my cheek just under my eye. He jerks my head back and forth, rubbing my face in the sticky mess. When he releases me I sit back on my haunches, uttering a sob.