Unexpected

Hitting the Fan

I dropped off Broussard and Blanc's soups, catching a quick comment about banks. Obviously they were talking about price and from the self-satisfied look on Blanc's face; he was winning the haggling so far. He gave me another wink as I placed his bowl in front of him. Ignoring it I searched for Odeletta as I strolled through the dining room towards the kitchen. Stepping through the swinging wood door, I caught sight of her.

"Hey, Jean! Lend a hand?" She asked nodding her head to two trays with soups and salads on them that matched the ones she already had in her hands.

"Large party?" I asked grabbing up the trays and preparing to follow her.

"Some big anniversary there's like six couples not including the actual celebrated couple!"

"Expensive anniversary!" I exclaimed, "Who has money for that?"

"Not me that's for sure." Odeletta laughed, leading me out into the dining room again. We wove through the tables to two larger round tables where the large celebrating family all sat around chatting amiably to each other. I smiled at the wrinkled couple who apparently was celebrating seventy years of marriage today. Both of them had thick glasses and were shriveled and sunken, but their faces glowed with happiness as they watched their family talk and eat and laugh, and as the man glanced at his wife as her soup was placed before her, he took her hand and brought it to his lips in such a gentle, sweet motion that my heart fluttered at the sight. Who didn't want that, to be loved so well so long?

I glanced away, feeling like I shouldn't intrude by watching such a sweet, intimate moment between the pair, when my heart dropped momentarily like someone had shot down the fluttering butterflies in my chest. As my eyes swung around the room, taking stock of Broussard's henchmen as we made our way back to the kitchen, I thought I'd caught a glimpse of long dark hair and emerald eyes. My gaze shot back to where I thought I'd seen the figure, but there was nothing there, just another white table clothed table. My pulse quickened. Had I seen him, or was it just my mind playing tricks on me? The agents watching from my camera glasses didn't mention anything, nor were the disguised agents making any moves like they saw the Norse god of Mischief suddenly appear then disappear. It must be in my head.

"Jean? Are you listening to me at all?"

"Hmm? What? "I snapped my attention back to Odeletta.

Odeletta rolled her eyes, "I said, "The only ones spending more money than that party tonight is Monsieur Broussard no doubt." You'd know that if you were listening."

"Sorry." I answered bashfully, before growing excited, pushing away thoughts of my imagined glimpse of Loki, "You won't believe how much he spent on a bottle of wine though! Four hundred ninety Francs! On one bottle!"

"Seriously?" Odeletta snuck a peek at the rich man and his dining companion from over my shoulder as we passed, "If I was that rich I wouldn't be wasting all my money on wine!"

"No?" I giggled, though internally I couldn't help but comment that Broussard was using his money to buy something very, very different than wine tonight. From my quick, hopefully careless-looking glance, it looked like they had almost finished their soups. I'd have to get their entrees to them soon, if not to catch anything they say then to calm down their conversation. They seemed to be getting pretty heated as they spoke and I could feel the tension of Broussard's guards putting me on edge.

"No, I'd buy one of those high rise apartments, real chic near the Eiffel Tower. I would make one room into an amazing studio where I'd paint all day then my boyfriend and I would sit on the balcony at night and watch the city light up!"