Fleur De Lies(90)
“Both!” said Victor. “How do you feel about mergers?”
Cal made a T of his hands. “Okay, guys. Time out. Neither one of you can make a decision about anything until a heck of a lot of people put their two cents in, so why don’t you cool your jets before you set the price on your initial stock offering.”
“My son.” Woody jerked his head toward Cal. “The party poop.”
“Look at you.” Virginia glanced from Woody to her husband. “Two old men making pie in the sky. You just can’t let go, can you? Move over, gentlemen, because no one is buying what you have to offer anymore. You’re all washed up. Passé. Do yourselves a favor, would you? Deal with it.”
Our waiter arrived with a tray of soup bowls and an apology. “You will please forgive that our meal this evening begins with the soup course.” He opened a nearby tray jack and set his burden down. “Due to an unfortunate mishap in the kitchen, there will be no appetizer.”
That gave me pause. “I hope no one was injured.”
“No, madame. Only the duck.”
While Jackie escorted Margi and Nana back to their table, our waiter, whose name tag read “Ivandro,” proceeded to serve the soup around the table. “Our selection this evening is creamy lobster bisque with cognac.”
“How come Patricia’s not waiting on us?” asked Woody.
“I’m sorry, monsieur. We have no Patricia on our wait staff.”
“He means Patrice,” said Cal. He leveled a disgusted look at his father. “You can’t even pretend to try, can you?”
“Ah, Patrice.” Ivandro waited for Jackie to sit down before he set the bowl down in front of her. “He is tending bar in the lounge.”
“Does that mean you’ll be pouring our drinks this evening?” asked Virginia as she held up her empty stemware. “Or do we have to send a telegram to the kitchen to get our wine glasses filled?”
“Eh. Forgive me again.” Ivandro shot into immediate overdrive and retrieved two bottles of wine from the serving station. As he circled the table again, decanting either red or white, he loitered almost involuntarily by the blondes, his gaze lingering on the provocative plunge of Dawna’s neckline.
“Will we be ordering an entrée this evening,” Virginia asked him in a syrupy voice, “or do we have to wait until you finish ogling the eye candy?”
“That is enough, Virginia!” Victor slammed his fist on the table, causing the silverware to jump and the soup to slosh.
“Not by half, Victor, dear.” She raised her glass in a toast before knocking back half the contents. “Not by half.”
Ivandro took our entrée and dessert orders and melted as fast as he could into the far reaches of the dining room. I tasted the soup and was immediately transported into a state of bliss. “Oh, my Lord. Have you tasted this?” I glanced around the table. “It’s incredible.”
“It’s a gross color,” mewled Bobbi.
“I think it’s gone bad,” agreed Dawna.
Virginia gave her soup an idle stir before setting her spoon down and shoving the bowl toward Victor. “It tastes terrible. I don’t want it.”
“Have you even tried it?” asked Victor.
“I don’t need to try it to know I’m not going to like it.”
Wow. This was just like eating a meal with my five nephews … or Margi.