by Ben Ezzell
“Thank you, Nolan,” Bren responded. “Thank you very much. And would you like your fettuccini with white arsenic or with strychnine? Seriously, I think Jeffery and I are getting a little old for the wunderkind label.” Bren patted his thinning crewcut for emphasis. “And,” he glanced at this companion for a moment, receiving a nod in response, “strictly off the record, Jeffery and I have accepted a buy-out offer for Chez Watz. Yes, all twelve of them … Thank you, thank you,” he bowed briefly to the applause before continuing. “I can’t disclose the buyer or the terms but Jeffery and I are now at liberty. We are, however, considering opening a new restaurant with a pasta theme. So, you are all invited to our opening … just as soon as we find a location and a few details like that.” He bowed again and sat down.
What Bren hadn’t said – quite unnecessarily, as it were, since the Chez Watz chain had its own, well deserved reputation – was that the two men had established the first of their signature restaurants – and, thereby, their own reputations – nearly a quarter-century earlier when Bren had been in his early twenties and Jeffery had reached voting age the same week their first establishment had opened its doors.
While the fact that the two men were lovers was an open secret, their talents and their ages had seen them labeled as ‘wunderkind’ – a label which had stuck despite the years as they progressed from a single establishment to a series of Chez Watz, each unique in its décor and cuisine but all uniform in their quality and service.
Theirs was a record which few culinary establishments could match and they had graced the pages of food-trade magazines often enough that their faces were familiar throughout the industry.
“Jeffery?” Nolan prompted.
Jeffery Watts stood, shrugged with spread hands and sat down again.
This was also typical since Jeffery was well known for leaving his partner to enjoy the limelight of publicity even though he – personally – was the acknowledged mastermind behind their successful operations.
“Okay,” Nolan nodded. “Well, this brings us to Sarah Krews – reasonable enough since she arrived early, a couple of days ago. Sarah has been a sous chef at The Greens in San Francisco for several years but will be taking her Uncle Phil’s place following his death. Sarah?”
For a moment, there was no response as Sarah kept her attention focused on her plate. Then: “Actually,” Sarah took a deep breath, “I’ve left The Greens …”
Having said that much, Sarah wasn’t sure what more she could say.
She’d loved The Greens. She still loved The Greens except that now, following Phillip Thornton’s death, the restaurant wasn’t home anymore.
For Sarah, The Greens had been home for much of her life. She’d been nine when her mother had come to San Francisco – to The Greens. And Sarah had been eighteen when she’d left – the first time. But, for nine years before leaving for college, the restaurant had been her home where Sarah had been the unofficial mascot.
Most important to Sarah, The Greens had been a popular after-theatre spot, frequented by both local and touring actors and actresses. Important because many of the visiting luminaries of the stage – who included her childhood heroines Carol Channing and Melina Mercouri – had encouraged Sarah to pursue an acting career.
In high school, Sarah had been active in drama productions and, after graduation, she had studied theatre in college, finally going to New York where she had found roles in several shows, some off-Broadway and some on. None had been staring roles, of course, but she had enjoyed the theatre life.
Until – seven years ago – her mother had gotten sick. Cancer.
That was when she’d returned to San Francisco and had gone to work at The Greens – where she could be close to her mother – rather than seeking stage parts. She’d always known how to cook; to cook well even – you couldn’t grow up with a chef for a mother and a restaurant as home without learning a few things. But, eventually, Sarah had decided that she liked being a chef more than she did the stage and, after her mother’s death, she had stayed. And, under her ‘Uncle’ Phil’s tutelage, she had become an accomplished chef du cuisine.
Then Phillip Thornton had died, his car flattened by a truck whose driver had suffered a sudden heart attack. And Sarah’s world had come apart at the seams.
While she’d always regarded Phillip Thornton as her courtesy uncle as well as a mentor and friend, Thornton’s partner – Alex Stafford – was a different matter. Their relationship had been … well, courteous perhaps was the best way to put it – or maybe ‘professionally polite’.
Except that, in the weeks following Phillip’s death, the relationship had changed. Or, more accurately, Stafford had begun making changes at The Greens.
Not, Sarah reminded herself, that she had been against all changes. No, it was more fundamental than that. It was both what the changes were and how they were made. Not just that they were changes – not just to the décor but to the cuisine itself – that could only destroy what The Greens was but also that Sarah had no say in the changes.
And she had been left with no choice. That was the only point she and Stafford had agreed on: that there was no longer a place for her at The Greens.
But saying so – publicly … however briefly or bluntly – simply made it real. Suddenly it was concrete. Undeniable.
“I … I … Excuse me,” Sarah left the table abruptly, running toward the house.
“Oh dear,” Mrs. Maguire stood. “Would you excuse me, please?” She followed the fleeing girl.
DragonTree.com Contents
Chapter Six:
Chapter Six:
Somewhere in Chiang Mai, Monday, February 5th, 1:48 PM
“I don’t care! This isn’t her luggage!” the man growled. “You expect me to pay you for this? I gave you a goddammed photograph for heaven’s sake! For this I wouldn’t pay you a plugged nickel!”
“Photo match farahng lady. This her luggage,” the kamoy insisted. “Now you pay, kahp!”
Baan Orchid, 2:15 PM
“Sawaii de, kahp, I’m Terry Hollands.” The speaker extended a hand to the guests, appearing twice the height of Mam who was snuggled tight under his free arm. “Sorry I wasn’t here when you got in. Had to make the Penang Commute. I know Mam and Plah have been keeping you fed and I assume Nolan’s been keeping you entertained?”
Their self-introduced host was a fairly tall man – a little under six-feet in height – with long sandy brown hair gathered in a ponytail with a square, classically-German face and an accent overlying his careful English, confirming his place of origin. In attire, he was wearing a short-sleeve tail-out shirt in a soft green broadcloth over matching slacks.
Terry grinned comfortably as he attended to Nolan’s introductions, shaking each guest’s hand in turn.
He had already eaten, Terry assured the company as he joined them at table. “Not as good as yours,” he assured Plah, accepting a tall glass of milky iced tea, “but adequate, kahp.”
Terry’s visit to Penang had been a simple overnighter and was a common practice among resident farahng who were required to ‘leave’ Thailand periodically to have their visas renewed and then return. Since Penang was in Malaysia to the south, the ‘Penang Commute’ was a regular practice with even long term visitors spending a ‘day’ – or less – outside of the country every three months and then returning.
“So,” Terry concluded his explanation, “Tahm has been telling me about this morning’s adventures. Mrs. Maguire’s okay, right? She’s not too upset?”
She wasn’t upset at all, Nolan assured him, but Sarah was and Joan was at the other house tending to her ‘honorary’ niece.
In the mean time, he announced, the rest of the party would probably like to see a bit of Chiang Mai.
Somewhere in Chiang Mai, 2:20 PM
“That’s it! Not another penny. Not until you get me the right stuff! Understand?”
“Bahng tee,” the kamoy folded the bills, stuffing them in his pocket. “Ngoh
farahng, kahp!” The kamoy’s partner smiled but didn’t speak.
“Speak English damnit!”
“We get luggage but it cost you. Kow jy, kahp?” – Understand?
“What? No, never mind,” the man made a decision. “Look, I want you to get me in there. I’ll find the stuff myself. You bums wouldn’t know what to steal if it bit you.”
“Not easy,” the kamoy thought for a moment. “Too many people. No, mai dee, kahp.”
At that point, the kamoy’s partner interrupted and the two men conversed for a few minutes in tones too soft for the bigger man to follow.
“Okay, mister,” the kamoy decided. “But will take little time. And it cost you …”
Baan Orchid, 2:35 PM
“Then we’ll have Tahm drop you downtown?” Terry suggested. “Here,” he extended cards printed in English on one side and in Thai on the other. “Show this to any tuk-tuk driver. They know where to find Baan Orchid. And remember.” he grinned, “If you pay more than twenty baht … you’re really being taken for a tourist.”
2:40 PM
“Kun Sarah okay?” Mam asked, her pretty face a portrait of concern. “I call doctor, mai ka?”
“No doctor,” Mrs. Maguire disagreed. “She’s just upset. She’ll be okay. Oh, there you are, Nolan.”
“Sarah?”
“Resting. Nothing serious – not like the time … No, that doesn’t matter. She’ll be fine.”
“What…? Did I say something wrong?”
“You couldn’t know, could you?” Joan patted him on the arm. “Of course she wouldn’t tell you. Poor girl never would admit when anything was wrong. Just like her mother, really – keeping everything bottled up inside. She just needs to rest for a little bit. I’ll take her some tea later. After she has a little time to herself. It isn’t anything really, you know?”
“Er, actually I don’t. Is there something I should know?” Nolan’s forehead wrinkled with worry.
“But I just told you … Oh! Didn’t I? I’m sorry …”
“Maybe,” Nolan suggested, “you could start at the beginning? I understood that you’ve known Sarah for some time?”
Joan had, she agreed – not only Sarah but Sarah’s mother, Margaret, since they’d been in college together. “It was such a long time ago, you understand? But we did keep in touch – Margaret and I – even though we went such different ways after school. And Margaret would come see me or we’d – James and I – would come see her and Sarah whenever we could. Sarah was such a charming child. She quite stole James’ heart, you know – since we didn’t have any children of our own.
“And Margaret … Well, Margaret was into NOW – she founded our local chapter – and, don’t misunderstand, she liked men, she just always said she didn’t see any point in keeping one. That one baby was enough to raise without marrying one as well. And she never did say who Sarah’s father was, of course.
“You know what it was like,” Joan suggested, ignoring the fact that Nolan wouldn’t have started school at that time. “Haight-Ashbury in the sixties, Woodstock, the Summer of Love and all. We were all a little wild in those days. Not that Margaret didn’t have a head on her shoulders – she earned an MBA from Stamford. I never knew how she found time to study, working in the cafeteria like she did – that was before Sarah, of course. But then she went to the Culinary Institute – you know, Graystone? At Napa? – because she said that people would always want to eat and that most people would prefer to eat well.
“She was right, of course. About people preferring to eat well, I mean. Anyway, Margaret started in Philadelphia, then Denver. But when she relocated in San Francisco – this was when Phillip was still an assistant manager at The Greens even though he really did quite well at building a reputation and all – I always wondered … I mean, we’d both dated Phil – back at Stamford, you understand? When he was still ‘finding’ himself? That was before I met dear James, of course.
“Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter really. And when Phillip inherited the business from his father and made Margaret the assistant manager, it was because she was really good, not because of … anything from college days. Of course, having Alex as a partner was business. Alex inherited money, you understand – which was good since he really didn’t have that much talent – and, after the fire, there just wasn’t any way Phillip could rebuild without some real capital. So, you see, it made perfect sense; Phillip supplying the talent and Alex supplying the money.
“And they really were successful. But, of course, you know that, don’t you? And Margaret had a lot to do with it too. And then Sarah, after Margaret died. It was just like family really. I mean, Phillip wasn’t really her uncle, of course. But, after Margaret died – it was years ago, he was like a father to her. But, now that Phillip has died … Well, I’m afraid that she’s taking it rather hard.”
“She said she’d left The Greens?” Nolan seized the opportunity when Joan finally paused for breath.
“Yes, of course. Because of Stafford, you know? Changing things and all. Not that I know what he’s been changing – I haven’t been there for years,” Joan explained haphazardly. “When James got sick, we couldn’t travel so much and, later, … well, somehow, I hated to poke my head in as it were. Since Margaret wasn’t there, you know? But, when Phillip died, I had to call Sarah – to offer my sympathies and all. She always called him Uncle Phil, you know? And because Phillip had talked me into joining him on this tour – we’d dated a bit back in college and … well, old friends and all. But, anyway, he knew how tired I was of the East Coast and Florida and all so when he suggested this, I thought it was a marvelous idea. Then when … when Phillip was hit by that truck … and after Sarah told me she was leaving The Greens, well, I just thought it was the perfect chance for her to get away. Selfish really, I suppose – I mean, having her here. For my sake, that is.
“Of course, she could go back to the theatre,” Joan added. “That was her first love. When she graduated from high school? She came to New York to study acting, you know? Lived with James and me for two years. I still think she should have stayed with it – she was really quite good – but that’s something she’ll have to decide, isn’t it? I mean, whether she wants to be a restaurateur or an actress. Of course, I suppose she might do both but … Well, She’ll be okay,” Joan assured both Nolan and Mam. “But I think she should sleep for a while.
“In the mean time, I do need to buy a few more things …”
3:30 PM
Baan Orchid occupied two houses along the east bank of the Peng River.
In Thailand, where stringent laws limited timber harvesting and the climate was temperate even in the winter, older style houses were built with heavy beams for structural support while the walls, quite often, were constructed from bamboo and woven mats rather than being solid or structural. In this fashion, on older houses, during the warmer summer season, entire walls could be opened while steeply peaked roofs were constructed to shed the heavy rains during the cool season.
Newer houses and structures were often constructed from cinderblock and concrete, again avoiding the use of expensive timber with the two houses occupied by Baan Orchid falling in the latter category.
The two structures had been built as a pair, each the mirror image of the other. Both were two-stories tall in front with single-story extensions in the rear. In front, the houses were tall with tall windows stretching from just above the ground floor to just below the second story. Lacking glazing, the windows bore iron grillwork with screens inside and, being open to admit the breeze, had tall shutters which could be closed during rain storms. The heavy concrete walls and floors tended to stabilize the inside temperatures, retaining the day’s warmth at night and only slowly warming during the day. Ceiling fans in every room provided air conditioning
A broad porch with a tile roof crossed the front of each house, more for shelter from the rains than for shade since the latter was supplied by the hundreds of trees – all taller than the bu
ildings – which filled much of the two properties.
Inside, each house consisted of a large L-shaped living room adjoining two downstairs bedrooms – or offices – sharing a single bath. Upstairs, four more bedrooms shared two baths.
The kitchens for both houses were in the single story sections two steps down to the immediate rear of the living room cum dining rooms. Behind the kitchens, additional rooms provided servant’s quarters, utility space and storage rooms.
While the two houses were separated by a partial fence toward the front and a hedge to the rear, much of the hedge had been removed to provide a broad pathway connecting the two structures. To the north and the south of the paired houses, the partial fences were complete, extending from the road in front to the riverbank in the rear. In front, heavy iron gates blocked both houses from the road.
Under the aegis of Baan Orchid, the north house of the pair was devoted solely to residential use by guests while the southern kitchen was used to provide for the residents of both. Despite disuse, however, the kitchen in the northern house was still spotless and hung with gleaming pans and utensils.
“Naturally, Plah is no more gracious about sharing her kitchen than any other cook. But,” Terry’s gesture took in the stove, sinks, counters and utensils, “like I told you, I’ve had the spare kitchen fixed up complete with all the conveniences. Except, of course, for a refrigerator. There is the big one in the other kitchen but…”
“They aren’t used much here,” Nolan nodded. “No, this should be fine. As long as nobody objects to the gingkoes,” he nodded as one of the striped green lizards dashed up the wall and across the ceiling.
“That’s right,” Terry laughed. “Hot and cold running gingkoes in every room.”
It was an old joke and Nolan had heard it before but he smiled anyway. The ubiquitous miniature lizards were unavoidable, living everywhere that they could hope to catch a few bugs. At night, the gingkoes would cluster around lights to catch phototropic prey. Since they also helped to minimize mosquitoes as well as less annoying bugs, hardly anyone objected to their presence.