Leaving New York

Chapter 16

At Wild Foods the following week, I inspected the vegetables while pushing the teensy cart. A thin fifty-ish guy stacked a pyramid of oranges. He accidentally dropped one in my cart.

"Oh, pardon monsieur."

"No problem."

"Fruits have a mind of their own."

"Ha." I looked at his skinny arms and Gallic nose.

"You do all these cool displays?"

"Oui, monsieur."

"I liked the cantaloupe pyramid last week."

"Merci."

"I do need five oranges." He handed them to me one by one flirting with me. I tried hard to stay engaged—I usually rush away from flirting strangers, attractive or not.

"I'm making celery carrot soup tonight."

"Oh monsieur, we just got carrots—over there. They are so beautiful. They will make you a good soup, yes?"

"Thank you. Do you own the store?"

"Oh, no. I just run the produce section."

"I'm Jack."

"Clement. Nice to meet you."

"Well, I must get back to the stacking."

"Sure. Hey, would you like to come to dinner?" As soon as I said it, I regretted it. But I didn't have a single friend. Lately, Chloe and Gar were becoming more and more like the employers they were.

"Sure."

"Okay. It's Rue Murillo, Number 6."

"I bring wine."

"No, we have everything. About 7:00?"

"I see you then."

"Okay."

When I got back to the Connally's, I had to rush making the soup. Then I ran upstairs, took a shower, tried on some linen pants Gar had given me, saying they were too big for him. But I just looked like a flamboyant gay Frenchman. I yanked them off, pulled on jeans, a white polo shirt then ran down the grand staircase. The front buzzer went off.

"Bonjour, Jack."

It was Chloe. "Gar said you rang him about bringing a dinner guest." We walked into the small dining room.

"Yeah."

The room, officially a "breakfast room" was all set up with cloth napkins and silverware—it looked a little too gay when I looked at it with her. I wished I'd used Dixie cups and paper plates.

"I'm grimy, honey, so I'm going to take a shower." She kissed me on the cheek. "You take such good care of us, Jack. Who's coming to dinner."

"The vegetable guy from the market." I realized then I had never said anything to them about liking men.

"Oh, nice." She cocked her head a little.

The front door buzzer rang again; it always made me think of handbells rung at Christmas. Chloe rushed up the stairs. The bell rang again. I hurried through the wood-paneled main dining room, checked the mirror, deciding I was older than I felt, regained my composure, walked into the two-story front hall then opened the red lacquered front door.

"Bonjour, Jack."

"Bonjour, Clement."

Regardless of being worn around the edges, the house was still very grand, a mini-chateau almost. I wondered what Clement thought. He followed me to the kitchen.

"Would you like some wine or I bought some Hariot's root beer you have at the store?"

"Just some water. I walked a mile in this weather--you sweat."

"Yes."

"This is an ancient house."

"Eighteen fifty-eight." He looked at the cracked ornate ceiling.

"Is this your house, Jack?"

"No, I'm just staying here."

"How nice." He looked out the open French doors overlooking the garden.

"It is lovely."

"I love yard work."

"You could plant some vegetables there." I noticed a foot-long scar on Clément's arm. The front door slammed.

"Jack?"

"In the kitchen, Gar."

Gar wore a dirty tank top showing his boyish 45-year-old frame.

"Hey, I'm Gardner."

"Clement."

"I need to get cleaned up—been working on a friend's old car down the street. Where's Chloe?"

"She's showering herself."

"Okay. I'll be quick." I poured the soup into a cool old tureen while Clement carried in everything else. After everyone bathed and had a high ball, we finally ate.

"So Clement, you work at Wild Foods?"

"Oui, Monsieur, Gar—all the produce."

"You look familiar."

"I showed you how to pick a melon one time."

"Right."

Chloe said, "I love your creativity. I'm an artist."

"I would love to see your work."

"Well, I'll show you sometime."

"Merci, madame."

"Chloe."

"Ca va, Chloe." Something annoyed me about Clement. He went on and on about a revival of "The Boys in the Band," a bitchy gay play from the Seventies. He must have said twenty times how 'fabulous' it was. No one could get a word in edgewise.

Finally, Gar said, "Jack, everything was awesome," and rubbed his belly. "Did Chloe tell you we're going to Africa?"

"What?"

"The company opened a new office. They need me to train the research guys, so I get away from old Turdface (Fred Marshall was his diabolical boss—Gar had twenty derogatory names for him). Can you look after the house while we're gone?"

"Sure."

Gar looked at Clement, "Maybe you'd like to stay here to keep Jack company? Jack hasn't met many people while he's been taking care of us. Okay with you, honey?"

"Of course, Gardner."

God. I cleared the dishes. "I have vanilla ice cream."

I brought everything on a tray, irked that the Connally's just dumped things on me. House sitter. And I'd have to share it with the swishy fruit man! It's incredible how a person can evolve badly during a simple dinner.

"The partners decided on a whim to send me down there."

Chloe said, "It could be an adventure."

"I guess."

We ate our ice cream then Clement helped me wash the dishes as the owners retired.

"I never go anywhere . . . it might be nice to stay here."

"I been here two months—it's a lot of work. You'll have to work too."

"I will try it."

"Okay. Come Sunday after they leave."

"Sure." He looked at the ancient wall clock.

"I need to go—I have work tomorrow."

"Okay."

"Please tell them 'thank you.'

"Sure."

"Well, I look forward to seeing you Sunday; how about noon?"

"Okay"