Red Flag

18. Beneath the Façades

After our visit to Bistro du Midi had netted us another lunch refusal and a dinner reservation for Sunday evening, we left and headed along Mainland Street. When far enough from the entrance, I said, "Very smooth operation."

Lorne nodded. "So similar one to the other that it appears they're following a script – or they've been trained. They likely have more than the five restaurants we suspect."

"Yeah, as I was thinking. We need to dig deeper, don't we? Where do we go next?"

"Home for lunch. After that, we'll begin with the photos I shot."

"What? How? You've lost me."

"All the framed reviews they proudly display in their reception area. We'll identify who wrote them, go to their blogs and sites to see who else they've reviewed."

"Aha! And follow those to the restaurant sites to search their tab of reviews – most have a media page showing their best mentions."

"Exactly! Lead us into an expanding data source – and the deeper we dig, the larger it becomes. If our postulation bears out, we'll find snout-in-trough reviewers as a common theme. Winnowing through them, the involved restaurants will become obvious."

"Yeah." I adjusted the scarf at my throat and looked down. "And I can get out of this stuff. Makes me feel as if I'm nothing but your chattel. Both managers ignored me – spoke only to you – as if I had no value."

"That appears to be the purpose. Draw no attention."

I blew a deep breath. "No attention to the body, I can understand, but why deny the person's very existence? Makes as much sense as – as what? I have no comparison."

"How about my Aunt Tessa rarely removing the dust covers from her exquisite furniture?"

"Ummm, yeah. And Dad keeping his Bentley under a tarp in the garage." I shook my head. "But those are with things, not people."

Lorne nodded, took my hand and guided me toward the SkyTrain escalator. A quarter-hour later, I unwrapped my headscarf as we entered his loft, heaving a loud sigh. "Reminds me of the relief I used to feel removing my bra."

Lorne chuckled. "But the scarf wouldn't cause your head to sag."

I unbuttoned the dress front, flipped out my hair and rubbed my neck and cheeks. "Though, it might accelerate the onset of a double chin, a wattled neck and jowls. Thank God, this is short-term – but let's try wrapping it a bit looser the next time."

"Yeah, focused on the technique and appearance, didn't I? You get into something more comfortable; I'll go zap some pôchouse and baguette. You want wine?"

"Ummm. Love some."

I arrived in the kitchen a short while later to see Lorne moisten two frozen baguette pieces and roll them in a tea towel. "I do that, as well."

He turned and smiled. "Yeah, prevents the microwave from drying them." Then after checking the timer, he continued, "Another three minutes for the pôchouse. Come, let's choose a wine."

Lorne took my hand and led me across the kitchen to a door, opened it to a dark room and flipped on a series of switches, illuminating the interiors of the wine cabinets lining the walls. "Oh, my, God! I thought our three were excessive." I paused to count. "But you've twelve."

He shrugged. "What's your preference, Kate?"

"I'll go with whatever you recommend."

Nodding and pursing his lips, he opened a door, lifted a bottle from one of the racks and turned it so I could see. "We could do a '96 Montrachet Laguiche; you'll find it even better now. The past few years have worked magic with it."

I stared at it, shaking my head. "Please, don't wake me. I love this dream."

He chuckled. "I assume this means you approve."

"Oh, God, yes. Been my benchmark chardonnay ever since that dinner at Drouhin."

"Yeah, I still remember the sublime expression on your face."

"No!"

"Oh, yes! That was far more exquisite than the wine."

"Hold me, Lorne. Before I swoon."

A passionate while later, when our lips parted, I asked, "Why had you never told me that you love me?"

He sighed. "Thinking I'd not be able to satisfy you."

"Fuck!" I placed two fingers on his lips and moved them in a slow circle. "Always satisfied by doing this on Miss Fanny while thinking about you. Sometimes, home after meeting you at an event, I barely had to touch."

"If only I had known."

"Yeah – both of us."

Our lips met again.

Half an hour later, as we lay entwined on the bed, basking in the afterglow, I said, "We were going to eat."

"Ummm. I did. And so deliciously."

I snickered. "No calories in that."

"True, but so satisfying." Lorne cupped my butt cheeks and sighed. "But to lunch – we've now missed three. The reheated pôchouse is now cold, and re-zapping it risks turning the fish to mush. Best we consign it to the garburator and start over."

"Or do the jambon persillé and a cheese board. I feel more like grazing."

"Hmmm, yeah. And better with the Montrachet."

"You sure you want to open it now? A fifteen-hundred-dollar bottle should be saved for a special occasion."

"This is a special occasion."

"Hunh? How so?"

"In many ways, Kate. Declaring our long-standing love of each other. Getting Cyclops working. Turning fantasy into reality. Seeing that sublime look on your face again. Knowing I caused it."

"Oh, God!"