For Want of a Nail: A Marketplace Short Story by Laura Antoniou Read online

  ‡

  “I don’t know what happened! I don’t know!” Brian was insisting. Enid was coughing and gagging on her hands and knees in the hallway outside the bathroom she’d been ordered to clean; the air seemed sharp and foul. Chris pushed Brian aside and slammed the door shut, grasped the retching Enid around her body, and forcibly pulled her away from the closed door.

  “Call 911,” he snapped. “Now! Tell them it’s sodium hypochlorite poisoning! And Ramesh, open the hallway window, now!”

  ‡

  “Well, hasn’t this been an exciting day so far?” Grendel asked, as an EMT took the oxygen tank to pack it away. “Broken car, changing guest list, and an accidental poisoning. And a broken window.”

  “As you say, Sir,” Chris murmured. Ramesh had slammed the window so hard to get it open, the glass cracked.

  “I am not used to windows that slide open so easily,” he said in his own defense. His mournful, dark eyes were red with allergies, his shame at having overreacted so clearly palpable. But he was now also on the list of trainees to suffer the Wrath of Chris on the following day and he knew it.

  “You never mix bleach and ammonia,” Grendel said to Enid, who insisted she was fine, and had to be ordered to accept the medical attention from the emergency crew. “Now you know why. I’m shocked—!—to find Chris has not taught you that.”

  As Grendel walked away, Chris turned his narrowed eyes to Enid for just a moment before he thanked the EMTs and escorted them to the door. He was holding one of the phones to his ear, waiting for confirmation on the rental car. The glazier was arriving. The deluge started. The avalanche continued. And Cook was packing to leave.

  ‡

  “The sorbet for tonight is in the top tray. You understand how to fan the apple slices under a wee scoop? Don’t use the raspberry by mistake! And I trust you will not burn the house down when you fire my cremes brulee?”

  Normally Chris would enjoy the teasing banter. He merely nodded politely and Cook took pity on him before giving him the latest news. “There’s a bit of a leak under the sink, I think. I’ve slipped a pan down there.”

  ‡

  Alex came downstairs for more soda for her aching head just as Julio arrived. Chris was about to tell the Salvadoran masseur to find Rachel upstairs when Alex cried, “My God, Chris, you are an absolute treasure. Julio, come on up! I need quiet and darkness and a deep tissue massage today.”

  Chris smiled and acknowledged her as she swept away his only bribe to get Rachel’s help.

  ‡

  Brian found Ramesh, his nose no longer dripping, but his head nodding over the pot of simmering parsnips. “What’s the matter with you now?”

  “I am so sorry,” Ramesh said, covering a yawn. “It is the drug. It makes me very sleepy. Normally, I would have a few cups of tea, but we are forbidden the tea I drink, and therefore, I am feeling fatigued.”

  “You have to wake up! Fuck!” Brian stormed off, wondering what he’d ever seen in that pathetic Indian whiner. He turned into the dining room and found Enid staring at, of all things, her own hand. “And what the fuck is wrong with you?” he demanded.

  “I broke a nail!” she wailed, showing it to him.

  Indeed, the nail on her index finger was cracked and the tip broken off. For a former guy, Brian thought savagely, you are the femmiest piece of shit I ever met. “Well, fix it!” he shouted.

  “Oh, thank you, thank you!” she said, scampering off. What did she expect me to say? Brian wondered. Of course fix it. Five minutes, then come back down because we have to help Chris set up the kitchen. How long could it take to fix a nail? They just glue a new one on, right?

  ‡

  Chris came to the kitchen with his toolbox, got on his back under the sink and fixed the leak with no trouble. Grendel stuck his head in while Chris was showing the yawning Ramesh and fretting Brian how to handle the palate cleanser.

  “Horace is out again,” Grendel said, and then went on his way.

  Brian whimpered.

  “Leave the table as it is,” Chris said firmly. He turned to Brian and asked, “Why is this staff member of yours so tired?” Brian explained, haltingly, about the allergy medicine and the tea, until Chris held up a hand to stop him.

  Ramesh trembled as Chris turned to him. “You need caffeine? I think we can manage that.” Chris grabbed the carafe of cold coffee left over from his morning brew in one hand and Ramesh’s training collar in the other. “I’ll return him shortly,” he said, pulling the man upstairs. “Where the hell is your other staff member?” he called over one shoulder.

  ‡

  “Well, I had to file the rest of them down to match, see?” Enid explained, showing off her hands. “And then I had to get fresh nail polish, because I used the last of my lucky bottle of Iridescent Desert Blush, but Rachel yelled at me and wouldn’t let me use hers, and none of the ones I had really went with the red shirts, so I had to ask Alex what she had.”

  “You bothered Alexandra for nail polish?” Brian felt his cock shrivel and his balls compress with the thought of how well that was going to go over. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  “I thought she’d want me to match?” Enid offered with a very weak apologetic shrug.

  “We are all dead, do you understand?” Brian knew he was getting hysterical, tried to pull it back and failed completely. “You didn’t kill us with poison gas, so you did it with fucking nail polish!”

  “I’m sorry!” Enid sniffed, her grey-green eyes wide and filling with tears. “I didn’t mean to ruin... everything!”

  They panicked and gave into hysteria together until Brian heard Chris approaching and fled.

  ‡

  Jack cleaned up very well in his best suit, his hair tied back at the nape of his neck. He still smelled a bit of horse, but Chris reflected, Nancy and Lawrence would like that. In fact, when Jack heard who he was picking up he laughed and offered to bring them over to the stable. “You c’n send pretty Brian over and we’ll have a party there, eh?”

  “Not this time,” Chris said. “Just try to get them here with no accidents?”

  Jack snapped off a credible salute and sauntered out into the storm. He liked this sort of weather. And the rented Lincoln Towncar. He couldn’t wait to see how it handled on the rain-slick roads.

  ‡

  Ramesh returned to the kitchen more alert. Whether it was from the caffeine now coursing through his system or from the rude way in which it had been delivered was debatable. But he and Enid and Brian were lined up with brutal efficiency by Chris as he slipped into a chef’s coat. “You—slice the beets paper thin on the mandoline. You—rinse and dry the mache. No, that’s the mache, that’s the arugula. You—keep an eye on the soup and start making the puree in batches over there.” Chris was sorting the best of the basil for garnishing the soup when Ramesh suddenly hissed and swore in Hindi. The red beet juice was being augmented by his own blood.

  ‡

  “I thought we’d decided against gloves?” Alex asked, feeling refreshed from the lengthy massage and the eventual success of her various remedies for the migraine. “Didn’t you have some concerns they’d get stained with all the red sauces we’re having?”

  “It seems prudent to give them the opportunity to show me they can succeed,” Chris answered. Without showing the bandage on Ramesh’s finger, he neglected to add.

  “Excellent! I hope they live up to your confidence. Oh, by the way?”

  “Horace is coming,” Chris said, not bothering to make a note.

  Alex smiled. “I don’t know why we need to tell you anything!”

  Chris smiled and nodded politely and waited for her to turn away before he dashed the pairs of serving gloves over to the kitchen.

  ‡

  The three trainees were spot checking their livery: black trousers and jackets for the men, a severe pencil skirt for Enid, with Venetian red shirts for them all, buttoned to the top with their training collars dangling over the front. E
nid and Ramesh slipped into their shortwaisted jackets and took the back stairs down to the kitchen, which was full of wonderful smells and simmering pots. Brian put his more formal jacket on and tried one of the many mantras he’d found in the library. I will serve with dignity and grace; I will serve with all my heart; I will serve for the benefit of others and bask in the radiance of their pleasure.

  I will fuck this up so badly I’ll be sent walking home tonight, he concluded. In the rain.

  ‡

  “Madeleine, Carl, how wonderful to see you!” Alexandra Selador, resplendent in a shimmering satin jacquard sheath dress, met her first guests as their chauffeur walked them to the door under a golf-sized umbrella. Brian felt tight as a virgin and about as confident as he stepped to one side to take coats and hats. He remembered Claudia’s mistress, but had never met her companion before, a tall, imposing, dark-skinned man with a beautiful, bald scalp and the roving eyes of a connoisseur of flesh. For a moment, he panicked about what to do concerning the chauffeur, but the woman simply returned to the idling car, and he busied himself putting the garments away.

  ‡

  “Hey, Chris, whatcha doing back here?”

  “Cooking,” Chris was slightly terse, not looking up from his work slicing figs. “You can camp out in the servants’ dining area as usual. This is Ramesh and that one is Enid and no, you can’t have either, they’re both working. Trainees, make sure Mercedes is fed and has reasonable accommodations but under no circumstances take your attention away from the master table.”

  Mercedes made a pouting face and shook her cap to get the rain off, splattering the floor near the kitchen door. With a crooked grin, she angled her way toward the servants’ hall, eying Enid with some speculation. Enid shook from the slight draft of cold air in the wake of the departing chauffeur and looked at Chris with question and panic in her eyes.

  “Mercedes is notoriously promiscuous, having her owner’s permission to be so,” Chris said, again without looking up. “Don’t allow her to distract you. Am I perfectly understood?”

  Enid nodded and turned with her cocktail tray, knocking perfectly into Ramesh. The tray hit the floor.

  ‡

  Alison Cruz arrived with her on-again-off-again date, followed by one of Grendel’s favorite spotters, Hal Lee, who had given a ride to another guest, who brought something else for Brian to stare at helplessly.

  “I’m so sorry, Alex,” the portly man was saying, as he handed Brian a small suitcase and pet carrier. “But Asta is really not feeling well and my regular girl is on loan for the whole week. I just couldn’t bear to leave the poor thing. But she’ll sleep most of the time! I brought her special food and all her favorite toys, poor little thing.” He handed her over, looking expectant.

  “Er... very good, sir,” Brian managed. He peered into the carrier and saw a glint of teeth among a thick wall of long fur and heard a warning growl.

  “I’m sure we’ll find her a nice warm, cozy spot to rest,” Grendel said, taking his guest by one arm. “Terrence, you remember Alison Cruz?”

  ‡

  “What do I do with it?” Brian demanded, his nerves now completely shot. Chris looked down at the cage on the floor of the kitchen, now emitting a series of high-pitched yaps alternating with fierce snarls whenever anyone got too close. He sighed, picked up the pitcher of cocktails and handed it to Ramesh.

  “I’ll be back in five minutes,” he said. Jamming an old baseball cap onto his head and tossing on a light rain jacket from the rack by the kitchen door, he took both the pet carrier and the luggage of her supplies out into the rain.

  “Oh, my God, he’s going to leave her outside?” Enid squeaked.

  “I don’t care if he tosses her off a fucking cliff!” Brian snapped. “Take the drinks out! Don’t spill anything! I have to get the door!”

  ‡

  “Are y’sure that’s a dog?” Jack asked, poking his finger through the door of the carrier. He ran into Chris at the door leading to his apartment above the stables and relieved him of the dog carrier as they walked up the stairs. Asta snarled and snapped and Jack laughed as he snatched his finger away.

  “Fairly sure. The owner says she’s sick. There should be food, dog toys, I have no idea what else in here. Just bed her down somewhere with food and water, please?”

  “All righ’ then. Don’t worry another tick about ’er.”

  When Chris stalked back to the main house, Jack opened the little door and let the four-legged mop out. She immediately scampered all over his apartment, yapping with astonishing energy, and he grinned.

  “Well, you’re not a Bluey, but fuck-all... you are a dog! An’ you’re never poorly, neither, are you? Thought you’d chuck a sickie?” He watched as she fiercely attacked the leg of his best chair and chuckled at her antics. Examining the tiny cans of food and the vast array of colorful squeaky toys in the Louis Vuitton case, he frowned and eyed the little terrier again. “Y’don’t need this shite. I know exactly what you need. Come on, then, let’s take a squizz at them rat holes I saw yesterday.”

  ‡

  “Nice of you to order up this dramatic storm for the evening,” Madeleine said as she sipped at her drink.

  “You should have had the ride from the train station with Jack,” Nancy laughed, her eyes bright.

  “We aim to please,” Grendel said with a grin.

  “Where is Chris tonight?” Ali Cruz asked. “Speaking of pleasing.”

  Alex waved a hand. “He has some time off. I’m sure the trainees are up to making your visit absolute perfection.”

  “No doubt.” Hal Lee glanced at the library door. “Alex... did I tell you about my small food issue? I hate to mention it now, but I’d rather not embarrass your novices by refusing something at the table. I know it’s impossibly rude.”

  “Oh, please, Hal. I’m sure the kitchen can handle it; tell me what we can do?”

  ‡

  “Ms. Selador says he’s... lactose intolerant.”

  Brian looked at Chris, directly into his eyes, and avoided the tray of neatly arranged cremes brulee awaiting the final caramelizing before their presentation.

  “I see.” Chris took a deep breath and stared for a moment past Brian’s shoulder. “And she would like not to serve him something unique.”

  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 noi
ses 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.