THIRTEEN FOR DINNER

Chapter Two

Chapter Two

        The only time I ever saw a suit as nice as the one Mr. Brackett was wearing was when my momma made me watch a video of Prince Charles and Lady Dianna’s wedding. She was obsessed with Princess Di and she mourned her death for over a year as if she were a personal friend. Whenever anyone came into the salon not sure of the style they wanted for their hair, mommas default was always the Princess Di cut. I think over half the town was wearing that cut for a while, men included.

            Mr. Brackett looks like one of those distinguished older gentlemen. He’s tall and his hair is jet black with a little silver showing in the corners. I’m pretty sure he colors it himself; I’m good at noticing things like that ‘cause of all the time I spend in the salon. It doesn’t look like a professional job, more like he bought a case of Just for Men hair color. He has thick brows and a big moustache and a finely trimmed goatee. He looks a little apprehensive about tonight and is over in the corner of the kitchen talking with Mike.  I guess the way the entire crew screamed when they saw him didn’t give him that great of confidence in our ability to serve his guest. I feel for Mike, he is in deep conversation and I hope he is able to pull this off without having to call Steffi. I busy myself by stirring the bisque but I can’t help but notice Mike and Mr. Brackett both are looking my way. Nervously, I tuck my hair deeper into the net just in case a curl has slipped past its barricade and Mr. Brackett is complaining about it.

            “Avery,” Mike motions me over with his hand. What could he possibly want? I place the lid back on the pot, careful not to lick the spoon, God I am starving. Mike introduces me to Mr. Brackett in such a polished professional way that I do everything I can to keep from laughing.           “Nice to meet you,” I say and I wonder why I just lied. It really isn’t that great to meet him and honestly I could care less except for the fact that he is Steffi’s client and she has paid me handsomely for helping tonight.

            Mr. Brackett smiles, “She’ll do”, he says.  “I’ll introduce her as my niece, Makayla.”  Heading for the dining room, he leaves, and I am left standing there confused as hell. “What’s he talking about?” I ask Mike, and by the look on his face, I know I am in some serious trouble.

            “He needs and extra guest for dinner and you’re it.”

            “What?” I say.

            “Just hear me out Ave,” He uses his shortened pet name for me and now I know I am in trouble. “I guess Mr. Brackett is very superstitious and he refuses to have thirteen for dinner. One of his guests just cancelled and he needs another one to make it an even fourteen.”

            “Mike,” I whine, I cannot sit in a room and eat where thirteen people were butchered to death! Not to mention the fact I won’t know anyone at the table, how awkward is that? Besides,” I lower my voice to a whisper, “I already saw Miss Emily herself.  You know how fearful of a person I am. I just can’t be in that room!”

            Mike puts his hand on my shoulder, his voice is calm and reassuring, “Ave,” he uses it again, “I would never let anything happen to you. I will be right here in the kitchen and if you want I will trade places with Brent and serve the table. Besides,” He continues, “You get to eat filet mignon and Mr. Brackett said he’ll pay you an extra hundred bucks on top of whatever you’re making tonight.”

            Two-hundred dollars for one night! My heart leaps at the chance so I am not sure why I continue to come up with excuses. “But I don’t have anything to wear and I can’t attend a swanky dinner party in double knit pants and an oversized polo.”

            “Mom always keeps an extra dress and heels in the catering van just in case she spills something on her clothes.” Mike leaves me no outs.” She and you are the same size so that isn’t a problem.” I sigh.

            It’s sweltering in the back of the catering van. I could change in the house but I don’t dare. I pull at the hem, Steffi and I are the same dress size but I am at least four inches taller. I yank the hairnet off and try fluffing out my curls but I’m perspiring like crazy and the sweat is causing my hair to stick to my neck. Not able to stand the stifling heat any longer, I push open the back doors and jump from the van. A light breeze gives some relief. The wind seems to be picking up and in the distance I can see why. Dark clouds are boiling up on the horizon, looks like we are in for a storm.  Slipping on the stilettos I hobble up the stone path toward the kitchen door. How in the world does Steffi wear these things?

            One look from Mike and I know I am presentable. He grins and takes my hands, “Why Miss Avery you are a ravishing quatorzien.”  I give Mike my sideways smile, not only is he adorable but he as smart as heck, and as usual, he is throwing out a word I’ve never heard and I am wondering if he is complimenting me or making fun. “What’s that?” I ask, “And please tell me it’s not some type of ghostly phantom or something.”  He grins at my uncontrollable fear. “A Quatorzien, or a fourteener, is a French socialite who fills in as a 14th dinner guest. Their purpose is to rescue the other thirteen guests from bad luck. And in my opinion you’re a gorgeous good luck charm, not to mention you look very French.”  He delivers his last few words with an accent. I smirk, His compliments are sweet but I’m still not sure about the whole thing. On the other hand, two hundred dollars and a good meal begins to push away most of my apprehensions.

            “Bon appetit my lovely quatorzien,” he keeps in his French accent as he escorts me from the kitchen. “Dinner is served.”