Marketplace

by Laura Antoniou

  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, yo
u 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.

  * * * *

  “So, we’re going to visit with Arturo Massimiliano for a while, and then wind up the tour in England at Rothmere.”

  Terrence nodded. “You won’t find too many trainers who turn out tops the way he does. I don’t know his magic, but I wish we had some of that over here. I could sell ten, maybe a dozen, skilled top slaves a year if I could find them.”

  “Hard to spot for,” Hal said, between bites. “Either they think they really are masters or they think topping their owner is profane. By the way, this cherry sauce is amazing.” He scraped some up from his plate on a slice of duck and looked up as Brian approached with a silver serving bowl.

  “Would you care for more, sir?”

  Hal nodded eagerly and Horace chuckled. “You know, keep the slave tops. I just want service like that.”

  There was general agreement around the table.

  * * * *

  Chris piped the last of the meringue over the sorbet and popped the tray into the freezer to firm a little. Ramesh and Enid were instructed to take the dessert plates to the serving table outside the dining room, which left Brian looking somewhat distressed.

  “Are they finishing fast?” Chris asked, pouring a measure of Cointreau into a cup.

  “No... no, in fact, they’re, um, lingering. It’s just, well. I had a question?”

  “Yes, yes?”

  Chris threw off the chef’s coat and replaced it with his service coat and Brian nodded his chin at the outfit. “It’s that. You’re in livery. So, I completely fucked up, didn’t I? I fucked up and you have to take over?” He tried to keep his voice from shaking too much, widening his eyes to keep from tearing up.

  Chris looked up and his expression softened slightly. “No. You’ve done well, under the circumstances. But I never taught you how to serve something on fire.”

  * * * *

  “Come on now, girl! Come to daddy, ’ere girl!” Jack called. Where was the little bitch hiding? He could hear her yapping at something behind the main house.

  * * * *

  “Oh, Jesus Christ, fuck me you dyke bitch, harder, harder, come on and give mama a good fucking ride!” Rachel screamed, as the Bentley Turbo R rocked back and forth.

  * * * *

  The meringue ignited with a muffled whump, and both Enid and Ramesh held the double doors open so Chris could carry it in.

  “Oh, my God, is that Baked Alaska?” Nancy asked, clapping her hands in delight.

  “I haven’t seen one of those since my last gay cruise,” laughed Terrence.

  “What a surprise!” Alison exclaimed. “It is so good to see you, Chris! And mira, you bring food on fire. I never know what I will see with you!”

  “Thank you, Ms. Cruz,” Chris said with a smile and a bow. He sliced the first portion off, and Hal Lee sighed when he saw the interior.

  “Is that ice cream?” Alex asked, looking slightly forbidding.

  “No, Ma’am, this is raspberry-blood orange sorbet.”

  The trainees hurried to present the plates, and Lawrence laughed. “We finally have your blood, Hal!”

  * * * *

  “Now, now, let’s be reasonable, then,” Jack soothed, as he gripped Asta firmly under one pinning arm. Not for nothing had he pinned many a slave under his wiry strength. “You’re a bloody mess, you are, and there’s no time for a proper groomin’ now, is there? When y’go runnin’ off, y’take the med’cine like a good bitch.” He turned on the clippers and went to work, whistling through his teeth.

  * * * *

  “That’s a good girl,” Rachel sighed, leaning back. Mercedes grinned, and pushed her matted hair back out of her eyes.

  “Pleasure to be of service, I’m sure!” She tucked the lubed and bloody glove into a trash bag and helped Rachel out of the back seat, pulling the picnic blanket out after her. Good thing she’d thought to grab it from the trunk. She’d either get someone at home to figure out how to get the bloodstains off, or just report it lost. To fist-fuck Rachel was easily worth a beating. In fact, the only thing that could make the night better was to be beaten while fist-fucking someone like Rachel! She wondered how long Madeleine and Carl intended to stay and if she could piss Chris off just enough. Probably not. That guy was made of ice.

  * * * *

  They devoured the Baked Alaska in good cheer and Brian filled the little dessert glasses with wine over and over again as the guests lingered at the table before moving to the library for brandy or coffee.

  Returning the staff to the kitchen, Brian ordered them in clean up duties under Chris’s watchful eye, and only one glass was lost to clumsiness. They rotated back and forth to keep the guests served, and slowly the kitchen began look more familiar.

  Ramesh stiffened in horror when Rachel and Mercedes staggered in through the back door, soaking wet and dripping, but Chris only sent Enid for a robe and some towels. Thinking quickly, Brian offered them both coffee, and caught one of Chris’s approving nods out of the corner of his eye. Rachel took hers with a healthy slug of Cointreau and trudged up the back stairs humming to herself. Mercedes took a mug gratefully and asked, “Whatcha got to eat around here? I’m starved!” as she headed back to the servants’ hall, a towel over one arm. Her hair was damp and sticking out all over her head, and her suit rumpled, but she hummed a bit, too.

  * * * *

  Jack shoved Asta back into her carrier against her protests, and slammed the door. “Thanks for the fun, sweetheart,” he snickered, as he brought her and her luggage back up to the house. He hoped the torn cuff of his nice trousers wasn’t visible to Nancy and Lawrence, but after chasing the little ratter around, he hadn’t had time to change into something nicer. “Hope they like your new do!” he said to the cage, and got a resounding round of vicious barks in response.

  * * * *

  “Please come back again,” Grendel said, shaking hands as the guests started to leave.

  “Any time you’ll have me,” Hal Lee said. “Best meal I had in ages and best company for miles. Next time, maybe you’ll come down to my shore house. We’ll do something a little more casual, like a barbeque, if the weather is nice. But by all means, bring your trainees. After all the time I spend working with spots, it’s nice to have someone around who is actually trained well.”

  “We’d love to,” Grendel said, with a slight smile of pride.

  Madeleine peered out the front windows and sighed. “Where is that girl?”

  “She is bringing the car from the back of the drive,” Chris said, as he helped Nancy with her coat. “There she is now.”

  Madeleine nodded. “Good. Although Carl wouldn’t mind if I dismissed her and got a man to drive around, now would you?”

  Carl laughed. “I got nothing against Mercedes,” he said genially. “But yes, it would be nice to have an
other man around so I am not always bothering your butler when I want a change of pace.”

  “I’m sure Fletcher is honored to be bothered,” Madeleine said with a slight smile. “But I’ll keep thinking about it. Chris, Claudia sends her affection.”

  “Thank you, Ma’am,” Chris said. He handed an umbrella to Brian, for him to walk the couple to their waiting car, Mercedes already standing by the rear door. Jack was pulling up in the rented car right behind the Bentley, and Ramesh got another umbrella to walk Nancy and Lawrence out. Hal’s sedan was parked to the side, and Enid was helping him on with his raincoat.

  “Where’s daddy’s little sick princess, how are you my sweet—” Terrence stopped cooing suddenly as he reached inside his dog carrier and pulled out a very well shorn little dog who looked at him and wriggled and tried to lick his face.

  Chris stiffened and closed one fist on the umbrella he was holding. A spine cracked under his clenched fingers.