A Deadly Éclair

by Daryl Wood Gerber

  “Got a good one,” the photographer chimed, and the trio broke apart.

  Angelica resumed her place at the table. Bryan and Edison remained standing. With a stabbing motion, Edison said something to Bryan, who batted his brother’s finger away.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow,” Bryan said gruffly and returned to his seat. Edison had no other choice but to do the same.

  Eager to diffuse the tension, I chirped, “Who wants champagne?”

  Kent and Bryan raised their glasses. I poured Kent’s first and then Bryan’s.

  Lyle extended a hand toward Edison. “Sir, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” They shook, and Lyle introduced his future father-in-law to the others.

  “Mimi,” Angelica said, raising her voice to be heard above the chatter, “Bryan told me you’re serving éclairs for dessert. Did you know they are my favorite dessert of all time?” Edison snorted. Angelica gave her father a cautious look, then continued. “What inspired you?”

  “Éclairs are my favorite dessert, too,” I admitted. “I have fond memories of my friend Jo and me, when we were old enough, riding our bicycles every Saturday morning to a mom-and-pop bakery and picking up an éclair apiece. Afterward, we would ride to a grassy park area where we could devour our goodies while watching the wine train pass by.”

  “How delightful!”

  “I like to think so.”

  Kent banged the table with his palm. “Hello, everyone, your attention!” He hopped to his feet, his flute of champagne raised. “Don’t serve dessert yet, please. For those who don’t know me, I’m Kent Clarke, business partner and best friend to Lyle, although not best man. It seems Paula gets that honor.” There was a sting in his tone. “So I’d like to say a word about the man of the hour now.”

  Lyle moaned.

  Kent glanced mischievously at his pal. “Don’t you think Angelica should know what she’s getting herself into, old man?” He splayed his arms for crowd approval. “Am I right?”

  The guests clapped. The scruffy-bearded director whistled. The football star whooped.

  Kent swung to face Angelica. “Did you know, love, that Lyle is a geek?”

  Angelica grinned. “Of course.”

  Lyle batted her.

  “A certifiable geek,” Kent went on. “He knows the capital of every country in the world. In alphabetical order.”

  “So do I,” Angelica said.

  Kent frowned. “All righty. But did you know he is also an ace speller? He competed in spelling bees as a child.”

  Paula muttered, “We were homeschooled.”

  “Not because I wanted you to be,” her father cut in. “Your mother spoiled you with a maid and a cook and a—”

  “Daddy, don’t,” Paula snapped, her face pinched with pain.

  Bryan, who had risen to his feet, sidled closer to me and clicked his tongue.

  I leaned toward him and whispered, “What was that about?”

  Quietly he said, “Years ago, Lyle and Paula’s mother fell down a set of stairs and died. Paula, a slip of a girl at the time, was the only one home. How could David bring up her memory at a time like this?”

  “I can hear you,” David hissed.

  Bryan threw his hands up in mock surrender.

  “He’s right, Daddy,” Paula said. “You’re insensitive. Mama wanted us to be smart.”

  “That’s swell. However, you can’t iron or cook a lick.”

  “But I do windows, Daddy,” she jeered. “Jewelry case windows.”

  “Yoo-hoo!” Angelica waved a hand and, with true journalistic skill, changed the subject. “Tonight is all about me, isn’t it? Kent, I love geeks. Go on. What else should I know about my beloved?”

  “He can spell antidisestablishmentarianism, as well as that word from Mary Poppins—”

  “Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,” Angelica said, not skipping a single syllable.

  “Bob’s your uncle!” Kent shot a finger at her. “Plus, he knows the derivations of most words and root origins. Boring.” He faked a yawn.

  “Okay, that’s enough,” Lyle said.

  Kent chuckled. “Oh, no, bucko, I’m not done. One more thing. What dear Lyle does best, Angelica, is jewels. Like everything else he has ever studied, he put his mind to jewels, and he became the most knowledgeable person in the world—next to his father, of course. Why, he even travels with a sack of gems so he can pour them out whenever he wishes to reeducate himself. There’s not a gem in the world he can’t identify”—he inhaled pointedly—“which is why he picked you.”

  Finally, I thought. I had wondered where he was going with his off-the-cuff, rambling speech. Good for him.

  Lyle shot Kent a thumbs-up gesture. Angelica blushed. Tears pooled in Francine’s eyes. Paula, on the other hand, seemed decidedly ticked off. Perhaps she had never measured up to her brother, and Kent’s praise of his pal was rubbing salt in the wound. Maybe she couldn’t stand the fact that Angelica was such a catch. Or was it possible that she was still upset about her father’s reference to her mother? Paula stood and excused herself to the restroom. I watched her depart. As she reached the door, she swiveled her head and threw a decidedly sour look at the others. Talk about dramatic.

  “Angelica,” Kent continued, “I raise a toast to you, because you, you daft cow, are going to be stuck with this blowhard forever. Luckily, I hear you have the patience of Job.”

  Angelica cut a quick look at her father. How often had she needed to be patient with him? Did everyone know her distress? Edison, feeling her gaze, scraped back his chair and bolted from the table. He fled toward the kitchen.

  Bryan said, “Want me to—”

  Angelica waved a hand. “Let him go. He told me earlier that he doesn’t want to give me away tomorrow. Or ever. He can be very protective.”

  “Or territorial.”

  “Don’t, Uncle Bryan.” She patted his hand. “I’ll fix it later.”

  “In post,” Bryan joshed, using industry slang that meant postproduction, the part of a show’s process after principal photography, during which all the editing was completed.

  “As I was saying,” Kent continued his speech, “may you have the patience of Job or fleet feet if you need to cut and run!”

  The guests laughed. Many toasted Lyle with a quick wisecrack. He responded in kind. Francine gave Kent a thumbs-up sign. Angelica whispered something in Lyle’s ear. He grinned and responded by giving her a full-on smooch. In fact, it was so hot and heavy that Bryan, who I thought was unflappable, left my side and strode to the back patio. Did public displays of affection bother him, or had Edison’s hasty exit upset him?

  I hurried to Stefan. “Pour coffee. Offer brandy.”

  “I saw that kiss.” He winked. “How about a cold shower? I’ve seen romantic movies with kisses that weren’t that steamy.”

  “You go to romantic movies?”

  “I’m a Renaissance guy. Why, I even read poetry.”

  I shoved him good-naturedly. “Go!”

  Through the French doors, I spied Bryan on the patio pacing agitatedly, his mouth moving. Maybe he had hoped to give a toast and Kent had spoiled the moment. Paula, upon returning from her bathroom break, slipped out to the patio and joined Bryan. She touched his arm and smiled coquettishly. He shrugged her off and said something. Paula, clearly taken aback by his words, bowed subserviently and headed toward the French doors. She shuffled inside, slinked into her chair, and began chewing her fingernails. What a sorry sight. Had any man ever given her the respect she thought she deserved?

  Her brother offered her a charitable glance. Paula jammed her hands into her lap and averted her gaze. In a flash, Lyle rose from the table and strode outside. Was he going to confront Bryan about his poor treatment of Paula?

  Like a moth transfixed by a flame, I watched the action. Lyle withdrew a package of cigarettes from his pocket and approached Bryan near the fire pit. He offered a cigarette. Bryan turned him down. The golden glow of the flames in the fire pit gave both
men a chiseled warrior look.

  Lyle lit a cigarette for himself and took a puff. He said something to Bryan, who seemed unmoved. Lyle became more animated, gesturing toward the bistro and slapping a hand on his chest. Bryan still didn’t react. Lyle stabbed his cigarette in Bryan’s direction.

  Whatever he said that time snared Bryan’s attention. He seized Lyle’s wrist. Lyle wrenched himself free and backed up a step, arms raised. Angrily, he tossed his cigarette on the ground, jammed it with his toe, and headed into the bistro.

  I peeked over my shoulder. Angelica seemed oblivious to the drama that had unfolded outside. I tried to signal her, but she didn’t look up. Francine had settled into the chair Edison had vacated and was gripping Angelica’s right wrist. Her mouth was moving rapidly. Was she predicting Angelica’s fortune? Could you tell a fortune by measuring someone’s pulse?

  Lyle returned and settled onto the chair beside Angelica. He seemed downtrodden. He didn’t touch her, didn’t whisper into her ear. After a person huffed, as my mother called it, a person needed time to unhuff.

  A minute later, Bryan strolled into the bistro, his face calm and his eyes once again full of humor. He tapped Angelica on the shoulder and jerked his head. Apparently he wanted a private conversation. They moved to the front door and talked in hushed tones. Paula swiveled in her chair and stared daggers at them.

  Whatever Bryan was saying to Angelica affected her. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Bryan offered a handkerchief. She dabbed the tears before they could fall, kissed him on the cheek, and made a beeline for the kitchen. Seconds later, she emerged, her forehead pinched. Her father must have exited out the rear door. Angelica resumed her place at the table, and Francine once again took hold of her hand.

  Bryan clasped my elbow. “Join the party. You deserve it.”

  “Dessert,” I protested, but he wouldn’t release me.

  He led me to his seat and pressed me into it. How could I refuse?

  “What’s the prediction, Francine?” he asked. “Will she live?”

  Francine released Angelica’s hand and beamed. “A happy, contented life.” She faltered when she caught sight of me. “Mimi, how lovely that you could join us. It’s nice when the help takes a breather.”

  A prickle of exasperation cut through me. The help? I started to rise.

  Bryan held me in place. “What did I miss when I went outside to ponder the stars?”

  Is that code for regrouping? I wondered.

  Kent waggled his thumb between himself and David Ives. “Lyle’s dad and I were discussing a bloke’s real estate deal. He was a friend of the family. It occurred a decade or so ago. David said you were involved, Bryan.”

  “Really?” Bryan aimed a stern look at David.

  Kent continued. “He said I wouldn’t believe how many people go for the jugular just to seal a deal. Did you go for the throat? Did you ruin one of David’s real estate deals? C’mon, old chap, spill the beans.”

  Bryan worked his tongue inside his cheek.

  “He said you made a mint on it,” Kent continued.

  “I didn’t, and he knows it.”

  David smirked.

  “Bryan”—Paula fluttered her fingers—“is it true that you date hundreds of women?”

  Visibly grateful for a change of topic, Bryan turned his attention to Paula. “That’s a rumor.”

  “Angelica’s father told me you like to play the field.”

  “My brother likes to fabricate stories.”

  That threw me for a loop. Moments ago, Edison said he didn’t lie. Maybe that was a lie.

  Stefan exited the kitchen, this time balancing a huge tray on his shoulder that was filled with glowing tea-light candles and plates of chocolate éclairs. “Dessert!” he announced and paraded past all the tables to a chorus of oohs and aahs. He set the tray at a serving station, and four waiters delivered the goods.

  As after-dinner drinks were served, the chatter in the room became muted. The dessert course often was the time when people consumed without talking. I wasn’t sure why, but over the years, I had taken heed and always had music at the ready. Debussy’s “Claire de Lune” was in the queue.

  I left the head table and crossed to the sound system. I twisted the volume control knob to moderate and found myself humming along to the music as I roamed the room, removing bread plates, extra silverware, and butter dishes. Presentation is of utmost importance, a restaurateur had told me when I had worked as a waitress during high school. That includes tidy tables at all times. Don’t ever forget that. I hadn’t.

  As I gathered plates from the head table, David rose and exited to the rear patio. Paula scrambled to her feet and sprinted out of the bistro after her father. He acknowledged her as he stretched, arching his back. Paula said something. He flourished a hand but didn’t say a word.

  Fascinated, I watched the next scene as if observing a silent movie. I could have added my own captions, and no one would have known whether I was telling the proper story.

  Daughter grabs father. He whirls around and starts in on her, jabbing a finger. She responds by throwing her arms wide but ultimately lowers her head and tucks her hands behind her like a chastened toddler.

  Were they talking about Bryan?

  Father: Don’t pursue him. He’s not worth it.

  Daughter: Don’t tell me I can’t have him, Daddy. He’s mine.

  Father: You fool! He’s twice your age.

  Daughter: I love him.

  Ha! I was not missing my calling as a screenwriter.

  A hand brushed my shoulder. “Mimi?” Angelica glowed with good vibrations. Wow! If only I could bottle the stuff. “Lyle is talking to guests. It’s almost time to close this party down. So c’mon, tell me the story of how you started all this. How did you and Bryan meet?”

  “My friend Jo introduced us.”

  “You are so lucky. He’s so fabulous. I’ve seen him turn people’s lives around, but I’ve got to admit that this”—she opened both arms to include the bistro—“is amazing! So creative. Did it cost a fortune? Where did you find the bar and all the gorgeous mirrors and—” Angelica stared in the direction I was gazing. “Say, what’s caught your attention?”

  “Right outside, over there”—I wiggled a finger, indicating the patio—“something is going on between Paula and her father. It’s very dramatic.”

  Angelica sighed. “They can be a little soap opera-ish. It’s in their blood. Both of them dabble in community theater. I’ll bet they’re arguing about who will run the business while we’re on our honeymoon. Kent demanded to be put in charge. Lyle nixed that. Then Paula begged, but she minces about—Lyle’s words, not mine. He said no to her, too. She’s probably telling her father to intercede.”

  “Who will run it, then?”

  “Lyle says he can manage. So much can be done via the Internet nowadays. Oh, Mimi!” She giggled like we were the best of friends. “Two weeks with the love of my life in Australia seeing the Great Barrier Reef. Can you think of anything more romantic?”

  Back when Derrick and I were together, we traveled a lot. We snorkeled in Cancun, hit all the museums in Paris, rode mules in Yellowstone Park, went pearl diving in Japan. But when I discovered his secret—Pfft! All romantic memories vanished. Nowadays, when I thought of romance, I couldn’t help but think of Nash Hawke, but I doubt he saw me as anything more than a client.

  Angelica knuckled me. “Where did you go?”

  “Me? I’m on planet Earth, living in reality.”

  “No romance? No true love?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’ll find someone. Love is out there. And it’s not always at first glance.”

  “You and Lyle fell in love at first glance.”

  “Don’t let him snow you. It took him an entire year to get me to agree to a date. Granted, I kept going back to Ives Jewelers to get this or that item cleaned or reset. I didn’t play completely hard to get.” Angelica scanned the room. “Oh, he’s signaling me. Time to call
it a night. Thanks for making this evening so special. Make sure tomorrow is the same.” She aimed a forefinger at me and popped her thumb. Bang! Then she pecked me on the cheek and trotted to her fiancé.

  I searched for Bryan, but he had already left. So much for saying Job well done or giving me a pat on the back. Tomorrow I would make him pay. Literally. I giggled and headed for the kitchen. It would take a couple of hours to clean up the bistro. I didn’t need to supervise that, but before leaving, I wanted to make sure all the prep for the big event was in place. I checked the food in the pantry and the walk-in refrigerator. I made sure there weren’t any last-minute items that we needed from our supplier. Before leaving, I told each staff member how well he or she had performed during dinner.

  “Chef, stunning job tonight!” I said and gave her a huge hug.

  Chef C was a cube of a woman with white hair, apple cheeks, and alert eyes. She adored hugs. Her full mouth broke into a grin. “I am looking forward to the wedding. The cake will be fantastique.”

  “How many tiers?” I asked.

  “Three,” Stefan blurted.

  Chef C gave him a cautionary look. Stefan responded with a smirk. I screwed up my mouth in mock frustration. She hadn’t let me see a sketch of the cake. She wanted it to be a surprise. Knowing that she was a marvel with baked goods and that she had obtained Angelica’s approval for the design, I hadn’t pressed until now.

  “Don’t worry.” Stefan held up the V sign. “I’ve seen it. It’s in the refrigerator. The roses are exquisite. And the ribbons—”

  “Shh,” Chef C warned.

  “All I can say is ooh-la-la.” Stefan kissed his fingertips.

  I laughed. “Don’t work too late,” I said and left.

  Around eleven thirty, before falling into bed, I fed my goldfish, Cagney and Lacey. As much as I would have liked to own a cat—not just the fly-by-night Scoundrel—I worried that cat hair might travel with me into the restaurant, so I adopted fish instead. Goldfish were far less demanding than a four-legged friend.