Apotheosis

by Joshua Edward Smith

  A man burst through the swinging doors that separated the kitchen from the rest of the restaurant. “Bonjour!” he bellowed, as his tall frame took long strides toward her. “We are not open just yet.” His accent was thick, like Lumiere’s in the Beauty and the Beast animated movie. “But you are welcome to sit at the bar. A woman like you should not be alone, non? Where is your companion?” He looked around behind her, as though there might be a person hiding there.

  Cynthia swooned a little at the accent, and even more when he took her hand in both of his. He was simultaneously forceful and gentle in his handshake. She swallowed and smiled, laughing at her own reaction more than anything. “It’s just me, but I’m not here to eat. I am the concierge at Phillips House, and I was wondering if I could purloin a menu for my files.”

  “Purloin?” he asked.

  Cynthia smiled. “Steal.”

  “Ah! Oui, oui! Purloin! Like The Purloined Letter. Detective Dupin from Paris! Of course!” He laughed as he went to the hostess stand and pulled out a stack of menus. “I am Claude, by the way. This is my restaurant.” He spread the menus on the bar and started looking them over. “My patrons, they are very messy, non?” he said, pointing out food stains on menu after menu.

  Cynthia laughed. “I’m sure it doesn’t matter,” she said.

  “Aha! This one!” he said, holding up a menu triumphantly. “Clean as my table linens.” He handed her the menu. “Now you sit and I get you a little something, non?” He put his hand at her back and guided her to the bar. She had no choice but to comply. He swept up the menus in a single move of his hand and stacked them at the end of the bar. Then he strode around to the back, pulled out two wine glasses and placed them in front of her. He then scanned an array of wines on display in a small refrigerator and pulled one out. As he filled the glasses he yelled to the kitchen in French. Whatever he said was loud and fast and it startled Cynthia.

  “You really don’t have to—” she started.

  “Nonsense!” Claude stepped back around the bar and sat on the stool next to Cynthia. He handed her a glass and took one himself. He swirled his, then put his face into the glass and inhaled deeply. “To new friends,” he said, tapping his glass against hers. Then he took a little sip and let it linger in his mouth, breathing over it and then swallowing. He looked at her, “Drink up! It’s Chablis. Very good with the snails. You will join me for the snails, non?”

  Cynthia sat in stunned silence a moment. This encounter was not at all what she expected and nothing like any of her other restaurant visits that day. She sipped slowly, taking the opportunity to collect her thoughts. She set the glass down and looked at Claude. “Yes, thank you. Some escargot would be lovely. Truth be told, I’m starving.”

  “Apportez du pain! Se dépêcher!” he yelled toward the kitchen. Before the echo of his voice in the empty room had dissipated, a young woman in all black burst through the swinging doors with a basket of bread. She placed it carefully between them without a word then flew back to the kitchen.

  “You needn’t go to all this trouble on my account,” Cynthia said.

  “Ha! It’s no trouble. I’ve heard of this Phillips House. It’s new, oui?”

  “Oui and non,” she said with a smile. “The inn has been around for a long time, but we recently rebranded it and are making it more of an upscale place.”

  He nodded and took another sip of wine. “This risky, non? This rebranding?”

  “I suppose it could be. But it’s working out for us.”

  He nodded. Cynthia watched him as he seemed to be thinking something through. She took the moment to surreptitiously look him over. He was quite attractive. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, but being a chef, she figured that might be merely occupational.

  “No, I think I will stay Chez Claude,” he declared. “No rebranding for me.” He looked at Cynthia with a serious, almost stern expression and then broke into a laugh.

  Cynthia laughed with him. The girl in black suddenly appeared next to them—Cynthia wasn’t sure where she came from—and placed a plate of escargot between them. She added two small plates and flatware, then placed a napkin carefully across Cynthia’s lap. She started to do the same for Claude, but he snatched it from her hand and waved her away with a flick of his wrist. She vanished into the kitchen without a word.

  “Is she mute?” Cynthia asked.

  Claude laughed. “No, no. There is an order to things, you know? The expression—do not speak unless spoken to?”

  “Ah, I see.” Cynthia picked up her fork. “May I?”

  “But of course!” Claude said. He watched as Cynthia picked out a snail from the plate. “Very hot,” he said.

  Cynthia blew on it a little and then popped it into her mouth. The flavor was divine. She was expecting garlic and butter, but got something completely different. She chewed slowly, as Claude watched her intently. She closed her eyes and swallowed. “That was amazing,” she said.

  “Oui?” he said.

  “Oui, oui,” she replied. “What is the preparation? That’s unlike any escargot I’ve ever had? Usually it’s all garlic and butter.”

  Claude smiled. “I do a little of this a little of that. How the mood strikes me. Never the same.”

  “And your mood today?”

  He wobbled his head side to side and pushed out his lip. “Wine, tarragon, shallots. You smell them, non?” He inhaled deeply, holding his hand up and curling his fingers toward himself, as though to guide the vapors in. “A little fat of the duck and a soupçon of truffle,” he added, holding his index finger and thumb almost touching.

  Cynthia took a sip of the wine, which complemented the food perfectly. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I have some bad news.”

  “Oh no! What is that?” he asked.

  “I’m going to have to eat all of these. They are too good to share,” she said, mirroring the serious expression he had used earlier.

  Claude laughed loudly. He slid the plate over to her. “Bon appetite!” he said.

  ¤

  “Not too much for me,” Cynthia pleaded as Emma brought dinner to the table. “I had a plate of rich French food just a couple hours ago.”

  “Oh? Now why’d you go and do that?” Emma asked.

  “It was an accident! I was just going around getting menus from all the area restaurants—you know, for my concierge book—and I kind of tripped and fell into a plate of escargot at Chez Claude.”

  Emma laughed. “That man is an ass.”

  “Excuse me?” Cynthia asked.

  “You heard me. He give you that whole French accent act?”

  “Act?”

  “Boy’s from Indiana. He comes here—name is Charlie. Tries to get something going. Not much luck. Now, mind, it was a tough time then. Just after that dot com crash, lots of businesses are going under. Next thing you know, his name’s Claude and he’s got this accent like Inspector Clouseau.”

  Cynthia stared in silence. Emma filled their plates while Cynthia sat dumbfounded. “The fuck he did,” she finally managed to say.

  “Uh huh, child. He did.”

  “But I had his food! It was amazing!” Cynthia protested.

  “Oh, man can cook. No doubt about that. He’s got the credentials. But that whole being French to sell the business—just chaps my ass, you know. Be who you is, my momma used to say.”

  Cynthia took a long pull from her wine glass. “Well fuck. I liked him, too.”

  “He’s a charmer, that’s for sure. You’re lucky you got out of there with all your clothes on,” Emma said with a big smile. Then she started laughing.

  Cynthia laughed along with her. “You have no idea how right you are. He could have taken me on the bar if he wanted.”

  Emma shook her head. “You don’t need no man, honey. But you do need to get laid. I’m not much of a… what do the kids say?” She paused and stared at the ceiling. Cynthia waited patiently. “Oh! Wingman! I’m not much of a wingman. Maybe you can get Celita to take you out.�
��

  “Or her sister Nina. Hoo boy. What a body on that girl, huh?”

  Emma grimaced. “Girl doesn’t have an off switch either. I see a couple come in here when she’s milling around, the men are all over that. Gonna make some trouble, that girl.”

  “It’s not her fault men are pigs. Lying cheating pigs. With fake accents,” Cynthia said. “I feel like such an idiot, falling for his act.”

  “You certainly wouldn’t be the first girl it worked on, I’m sure.” Emma said. “Now eat up.”

  “Is he single?”

  Emma shrugged as she ate. “Haven’t seen him in years. No idea,” she said, covering her mouth with a napkin as she spoke.

  Cynthia picked at her food. “Dammit.”

  ¤

  Cynthia got up from her concierge desk and walked around to the front desk to greet the new arrival. She was a moderately attractive woman, about Cynthia’s age, maybe a little older. She was pulling a small suitcase behind her.

  “Welcome to Phillips House!” Cynthia said enthusiastically.

  The woman smiled and handed Cynthia her credit card. “Hello! I’m excited to be here.”

  Cynthia swiped the card. “There will be a $100 hold on the card, for incidentals. But that’ll go away when you check out. I see that you’ve already paid on the web site.”

  “Okay. Yes, I did.”

  “I see this is your first visit. May I ask how you found out about us?”

  “Oh, geez. A bunch of ways. I don’t remember which was first. But I’ve been seeing your ads all over. Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. And I got a postcard from you announcing the new name and everything. And then I got another one with a code for a discount this weekend, which is what finally convinced me to come. Whoever is doing your marketing is amazing!”

  “Oh thank you! That’s me, actually,” Cynthia said with a broad smile.

  “You look really familiar. Do I know you?” the woman asked.

  Cynthia shrugged. “I don’t think so. Maybe you saw me in the background of a picture on our Facebook page or something.”

  The woman nodded. “Yeah, that’s probably it.”

  “Any plans while you’re here?”

  “Social media detox. I have a couple books. Might head to the park to do some walking. If you see me using my phone, take it away from me!”

  Cynthia laughed. “It’s addictive, right?”

  “It’s so addictive,” the woman agreed. “Say, I passed a yoga studio maybe a mile back. Do you know if they are open to a drop-in for their morning class?”

  “I don’t know, but I do yoga every morning in the game room,” Cynthia gestured toward a room off the lobby. “You’re welcome to join me.”

  “Oh, that would be great! What time?”

  “6:30. Will you need a wake-up call?”

  The woman thought a moment. “You know, actually yeah. Usually I just use my phone as an alarm, but having it on my bedside table is probably too much of a temptation.”

  “No problem at all,” Cynthia said, typing into the computer. “Just making a note here. Is there anything else you need? Do you want our bellman to take your bags?”

  “Oh, no. I just have this little one. Just point me toward my room, and I’ll be all set.”

  “Okay. I’m the concierge,” Cynthia pointed at her nametag. “If you need a restaurant recommendation, or want me to make you reservations, or anything else, really.”

  “Oh! Thank you! Yes, actually, that’s a good idea. I’m alone on a Friday night, so I guess I want a place with a bar, so I don’t have to sit at a table by myself.”

  “Like a bar in a nice restaurant, or like a dive bar?” Cynthia asked with an impish grin.

  “You’re trouble,” the woman said. “I like that. But tonight a nice restaurant. Italian, maybe. Or French.”

  “I have just the place. They usually don’t take reservations for people at the bar, but I know the owner. I’ll make sure you get a seat. What time do you want?”

  “Maybe seven. Seven thirty?” the woman said.

  “Okay. I’ll set it up. You’ll get a note under your door with the time, directions, and so on.”

  “Thank you so much! I’m so glad I did this. You guys make a great first impression.”

  Cynthia smiled and handed the woman her room key. She explained how to get to the room, then immediately called Chez Claude.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Yo! Tía, you ready?” Celita came bursting into the lobby, followed by Nina who looked bored and was staring down at her phone. The girls were dressed in very short, very revealing party dresses. Both had winged eyeliner, bright lipstick, and generally looked kind of unnaturally perfect to Cynthia.

  “I’m not! Don’t hate me. I got caught up in a thing here. But I’ll be quick. This is going to be fun!” Cynthia slipped out from behind the front desk and headed toward her room. The girls followed.

  “For the best anyway. This way we can make sure you looking fine,” Celita said.

  Cynthia waited for Nina to saunter into the room, never looking up from her phone and then closed the door behind her. She slipped out of her work clothes and into a short dress she had picked out the night before after trying everything in her closet. It was a red cocktail dress she had worn to a New Year’s Eve party while she was still married. She was thrilled when it still fit.

  “Ooh! Look at you!” Celita said with such enthusiasm that it caused Nina to glance up from her phone for a second. But only a second. “Now you sit down and I’ll do your makeup,” she ordered.

  Cynthia did not love that idea, but she sat and waited as Celita went to work. “Where are we going?” Cynthia asked.

  “You driving right?” Nina chimed in.

  “I can,” Cynthia said.

  “Good, because we ain’t got no wheels,” Nina said. “You got a car, we can go anywhere.”

  “Tía drive up in the club, skrt skrt!” Celita said with a laugh. Nina laughed with her. Cynthia sat mostly puzzled—patiently waiting to see what Kardashian she ended up looking like when the makeover was through. “There! Selfie!” Celita declared.

  In a flash, the sisters were sitting on either side of Cynthia looking up at a phone held high. They made a variety of kissing faces as Nina pressed the shutter rapidly. Cynthia tried to look happy, instead of horrified at what Celita had done to her eyes.

  “You a sex packet now, Chiquita,” Nina said. “Let’s go!”

  Cynthia could not have hated the makeup job more but decided that if she was going to tag along with these young women onto their turf, she’d best look the part.

  The women headed out to Cynthia’s car. Nina slipped into the back seat, and Celita took the front passenger seat. “Thank you so much for this,” Cynthia said as she started the car and backed into the parking lot. “Emma gave me the idea of asking you. I don’t really have any girlfriends here.”

  “Buelita gave you the idea? That’s funny! We should bring her along,” Nina said from the back seat.

  “Can you imagine?” Celita said.

  “Where are we headed?” Cynthia asked.

  “Head for the Golden Gate,” Celita replied. “We know a place.”

  Cynthia started driving, and Celita figured out how to connect the car stereo to her phone. She put on some hip-hop music that Cynthia had never heard. Cynthia glanced at Nina in the back seat. She was bobbing her head a little as she stared at her phone. “Is this the sort of music they’ll play at the club?”

  “Probably. You like it? It’s got a good beat, right?” Celita danced in her seat a little.

  “Sure, I guess. Do you girls go out a lot?”

  “We’ve got no wheels. So no, not really. Not unless some boy wants to go.”

  “You must have lots of boys chasing after you,” Cynthia said.

  “Chula back there beating them off with a stick,” Celita said.

  Cynthia glanced at her, confused. “You know,” Celita explained, “Chula?” Celita pantomimed holding up
two large breasts in front of her.

  Cynthia laughed as she glanced back at Nina in the mirror again. Nina was ignoring them. “Oh, yeah. I can see that.”

  “But I do okay, too. She don’t know nothing. I know what the boys like.”

  “Oh yeah? What’s that?” Cynthia asked, glancing over at Celita.

  Celita stuck her tongue in her cheek hard, so it poked out. Cynthia burst out laughing. “I guess some things never change. That’s what they liked when I was your age, too. So what happens at these clubs you go to?”

  Celita shrugged. “Just dancing. And shots, of course.”

  “Are you old enough to drink?” Cynthia asked.

  “I am. She’s got a fake ID. Not that they even look. She’s our ticket to the front of the line.”

  “Say, I was wondering. Why do you call me Tía? Is it like short for Cynthia?”

  The girls both laughed. Cynthia glanced back at Nina who was shaking her head, still looking down at her phone. “No!” Celita answered. “Tía is like your momma’s sister, you know? I always called the old lady Buelita because she’s just like my abuela, you know? And then you came and you like her daughter, so—”

  “Tía. I get it,” Cynthia said. “I like it.”

  “Good thing, because it’s your name,” Nina called up from the back seat.

  The conversation ended as the music got louder, and Cynthia merged onto the highway toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

  ¤

  Cynthia parked in a garage near 11th street, and the three headed on foot toward the string of nightclubs there. Along the way they stopped in at a small pizza shop for a slice. Cynthia paid, of course. Before she knew it, they were walking past a line of people waiting to get into a club. She could hear the bass thumping through the walls. It was nearly as loud as the catcalls she and her crew were drawing from single men waiting in line.

  They reached the front and the doorman unclipped the rope to let them skip the line, exactly as Celita predicted. Cynthia felt a little guilty about the special treatment but also grateful. The people in line didn’t make a peep about it. She figured it was business as usual. Nobody checked IDs, and she followed the girls into the dark interior.