Chapter Twenty-Five - James
1913 Words
Chapter Twenty-Five - James
Children cluster around Klempner. His eyes dart, one way and the other, his expression is… hunted… Close by, foot tapping, Mitch watches him.
“'lo.”
Klempner looks around, then down, to where a small figure of indeterminate s*x tugs at his trouser leg. It could be a girl. “Paulie sez you was with a maggoty lady and I sez that int true. So, is it true? She was all maggoty?”
Pain flits across his face. “Yes, it's true.”
Her mouth opens to an O. “Wicked!” She rushes off, arms waving. “It IS true.”
Do I take pity on him?
Making my way through the throng of wedding guests, I stand close by him. My voice low. “What are you looking for?”
His lips barely move. “A legitimate reason to not be here.”
I run that through my social translators… “Legitimate meaning, acceptable to Mitch?”
“That’s about it, yes.”
I raise my voice, slap him on the shoulder. “Larry, I'm shorthanded in the kitchen. Can I borrow you?”
His eyes widen. “Abso-lutely.”
Mitch’s eyes narrow as she watches us leave.
*****
Sally’s expression is horrified. “How many? I can’t accommodate that many covers. James, we’re already fully booked. We don’t have the tables, the staff, the stores…”
“Calm down, Sally. I’m sorry to drop this on you, but there’s no alternative. We’re not going to see Kirstie and Ryan’s wedding day ruined when there’s something we can do about it. We’ll figure something out.”
Wringing her hands, “James, I’m not trying to be difficult, but we don’t have enough in stock. We’re booked right through the New Year.”
“If you empty the stocks today, it doesn’t matter. I’ll go into the City tomorrow and restock with anything you need.”
Her mouth quirks. “You mean you’ll send me out with a shopping list to the supermarket. The wholesalers are closed now until January.”
“Fair enough…”
“Staff?” she says. “The kitchen staff are knocking off in an hour. They have homes to go to.”
“Any that stay will be paid double-time. I’ll be here as long as I’m needed. Larry’s here to help. Now… what do we have plenty of?
Her reply is prompt. “Turkey.”
Of course we do…
“Alright, let’s strip those carcasses. I'll make curry.” I turn, scouring the kitchen for ideas. “There’s not the time to oven-roast whole turkeys so…”
Sally folds her arms. “Not everyone likes curry, James. Especially the older ones.”
Klempner sniffs. “How about the original idea. Kiev?”
“Turkey Kiev? The breasts are huge.”
He shrugs. “So cook them in the normal way and serve them sliced.”
“Good idea.”
Sally is looking more relaxed. “What about the children?”
“Larry, take the turkey legs, slice them up into finger-sized pieces and we’ll serve them as nuggets for the kids.”
Sally shouts across the kitchen. “Billy, get that stale bread from the larder. Mr Alexanders is going to need breadcrumbs. Then whisk up half a dozen eggs with milk. Then...”
I return my attention to Klempner. “What are your cooking skills like?”
“I can feed myself if that's what you mean, but I'm not up to your standard. Just tell me what you need doing.”
The door bangs open and Michael marches in. “James, got some more recruits for you. This is Ryan’s Uncle Guido. He’s the chef at Luigi’s restaurant in the City. And this is Ryan’s Aunt Eileen. They’ve both come to help out...”
“All volunteers are welcome…”
“… and I’d like to take Larry off you. We can use his skills better in the gym. You can rig up the lighting for us, can’t you, Larry?”
Klempner unravels his apron… “Certainly well enough for an evening.” …and Eileen all but snatches it from his hand… “… Lead the way.” As the doors swing closed behind them, I hear Klempner’s voice. “Are you on single phase or three-phase out there?”
I turn to our latest staff members. “Let me introduce you. This is our head chef, Sally. Given the circumstances, there’s no particular menu. Just cook what you’re good at and that we can turn out quickly for hungry mouths.”
Guido’s eye sears across the kitchen. He sniffs then, heavily accented, speaks. “What do we have to work with?”
Eileen pipes up. “Do you have potatoes?”
Sally’s face clears. “Yes, sacks of them. Out in the roots cellar. Billy,” she yells. “Take Eileen and Guido through our supplies. Show them what we have.”
*****
Twenty minutes later, I’m more confident we might have a servable meal for our unexpected party. Sally rises to the challenge of having another chef in her kitchen, although I notice that they work as far from each other as space allows.
Eileen peers over Guido’s shoulder. “What’s that you have boilin’ away there?”
He barely looks at her. “Gnocchi.”
Her jaw slackens. “What’s nokki?”
Guido comes to life. “Gnocchi is a delicacy of my home country…” He raises hands, punctuating his words with chops to the air… “…often described as a substitute for pasta, but that does it insufficient justice. Properly served, it is a vehicle for the most…” He rings thumb and forefinger to his lips… “… delicate of accompaniments. Ricotta and spinach are my personal favourites. It may incorporate semolina or polenta…” His arms are waving like the maddened conductor of some orchestra… “…and may be served layered with butter or a fine quality cheese…”
I cut him off before he delights us with the entire encyclopedia of Italian cuisine. “Eileen, it’s a potato dumpling, served with the sauce of your choice.”
“Why couldn’t he just say so? I’d have understood right off then.”
*****
Since I’m excess to need in the kitchen, I leave them to it.
What’s next?
Help out in the gym…
The sports area is a standard enough example of its type. The main workout room contains treadmills, cycles and rowing machines, along with benches, dumbbells, pull-up frames and the like. Most of the rest is a single large space, normally partitioned into sections for dance and yoga classes, pilates, the self-defence classes that Charlotte sometimes oversees, rumba and line-dancing.
All that has gone. As I walk in, the partitions have all been opened wide or removed altogether. Tables are laid out in rows, Mitch and Beth spreading them with paper table-roll. Another series of tables line one wall, stacked with paper plates, plastic cutlery and glasses. Richard and Ross are carrying in cardboard boxes and crates of bottles.
At one end, the band is setting up. As luck would have it, they’d not even unloaded their van when disaster struck at the mill, so for them, it’s no more than a change of venue.
Cabling and spotlights that I recognise as Michael’s exhibition equipment are stacked at one end, Klempner up a stepladder fixing it into place. A battalion of small children is lined up close by, the tallest ones nearest to his ladder…
He snaps out orders. “Lift it as high as you can while I get this pinned.” The boy who sheltered under the table with him stands on tiptoe, stretched upwards to hold the cable… “That’s it. Now hold it there for just a minute.”
He aims a finger. “You. What’s your name?”
The girl of maybe six or seven lisps her reply. “I’m Milly.”
“Alright, Milly, pass me that drill… No, that one, that’s plugged in. Don’t touch the switch.”
On celery-stick arms, she lifts the heavy-duty tool, huffing as Klemper stoops to take it from her.
“Did she really have maggots coming out of her head? Really and truly?” She’s saucer-eyed.
Klempner flicks a switch on the drill, the hammer-action I assume, and sets the bit against the wall. “Yes, really and truly. Now move away.”
Obediently, Milly takes a step or two back, but another small boy, his face etched with suspicion, says, “Where from her head? Just her eyes?”
“No, out of her nose and mouth too.”
“Yeah?” His mouth and eyes fling wide. “Brilliant!” He runs off, arms windmilling.
Klempner watches him go, then leans into the wall. The drill whirrs and clatters for a few seconds and he backs off again. “Milly, take this and put it over there on the floor. You, Archie, pass me that strip of wall-plugs… No, not the yellow ones, the brown ones.”
A young woman approaches. “There you are, Milly. Come on. Time for your nap, or you won’t enjoy your evening.”
Milly’s face crumples to a mask of tragedy. “But I want to help Grandad K.”
“You’ve already helped him. Now you have to have a nap.” She looks to Klempner. “I’m sorry if she was being a nuisance.”
“Not at all. She was a great help.”
“I’m pleased to hear that. Now, come along, Milly.” She takes the girl’s hand, pulling her towards the door.
“Don’t wanna!” She digs her heels in. “Don’t wanna go! Wanna stay and watch. Wanna help Grandad K.”
Still up his stepladder, Klempner shouts down. “Hey, you. Milly’s Mom.” He points a finger. “There’s a stack of gym mattresses and workout mats over there. Why don’t you put her on one of those and lay your coat over her.”
Milly’s Mom hesitates. “Milly, If we do that, do you promise to be good and have your nap?”
The tragic mask morphs to cherubic. “Promise, yes.”
“James…” Mitch appears at my elbow. “Even with all the paper plates, we’re short of enough to go around.”
Hmmm…
“How about getting the kids to fold up napkins into cones? They can have their nuggets out of those.”
A chuckle by my ear: Richard. He nods toward Klempner. “Mitch, get Larry to put his team of minions onto it.”
She snaps her fingers... “Gotcha.” … and strides away. A few moments talk up the ladder and Klempner nods. Mitch vanishes, returning only moments later with a box of napkins. Two minutes later and children are fighting for the privilege of folding napkins into cups.
Richard shakes his head, murmuring, “You’d never thought of Klempner as having a way with kids, would you?”
“No. I wouldn’t. It’s certainly a unique way.” I huff a laugh. “I think he’s as baffled by it as the rest of us. How’s it all going? Kirstie and Ryan settled in?”
“They’re fine. All the guests are safely here now. And it’s just as well. The weather’s moving in and it’s getting dark. The snow plough’s heading back for the day.”
“I’m amazed we had the snowplough here at all. It was a real stroke of luck.”
“Luck had nothing to do with it. I got onto Vandervoort.”
“You got the mayor onto organising the snowplough?”
“I did. You know that donation his wife was looking for? For the water park?”
“Ah-ha. You telling me she got her donation?”
“Yup. But we got our snowplough.”
“I think that technically, that qualifies as bribery and corruption.”
Richard winces. Rocks his hand. “Possibly. But it’s all in a good cause. And I was going to shoehorn it into the budget anyway. But I’d intended to leave Vandervoort owing me a favour.”
“Okay, so you called in the favour early. And as you say, it’s all in a good cause... Whoa!”
Richard slaps his hands to his forehead, shielding his eyes against blinding light. So do I.
“Sorry about that,” Klempner fiddles with a control box and the light dims to a more sensible level, then cycles through red, green and gold. Ovals of light spiral the walls as a glitterball spins. At the far end of the hall, the band are abruptly under the spotlight.
Klempner climbs down from his stepladder, swipes his hands clean on a rag. calling out to the band. “You should have power now.”
An electric twang reverberates, followed by a short guitar riff and another twang. “Yeah, we’re good to go.”
He gives a short satisfied nod and strolls over to join us. “How are we doing?” Then his head jerks down.
A small hand tugs at his trouser leg. A small face looks up. “I want to hear about the maggots.”
*****
- Writer
