Tall, Dark & Hungry

"Well, that's one crisis taken care of," Bastien an¬nounced as Terri entered the office. "Kate got the e-rnail last night. She and Lucern looked over the pictures and picked the arrangements they wanted, then e-mailed them to me. They were in my in-box when I got up this morning, and I just called Roberto to pass along their decision." He narrowed his eyes when he noted Terri's grim expression. She ap¬proached the desk. "You don't look happy. You should be relieved. Tragedy has been averted. We saved the wedding."



"I'm glad we've averted that problem. Now we have another one."



She laid the newspaper she'd brought with her on the desk in front of him, and Bastien glanced down. She'd folded it in half. There were three stories showing.



"I'm guessing you aren't wanting me to look at the story on New York doing a doggie census?" he asked.



"Try the story next to it," she suggested.



" 'Bankrupt Caterer Commits Suicide,'" he read aloud, then glanced up blankly. "So?"



"I'm pretty sure that's Kate's caterer."



"Dear God," Bastien breathed.



"Hmm." Heaving a sigh, Terri dropped into the seat facing his desk. "I'm not positive, though."



They stared at each other for a moment, then Bastien reached for the phone.



"It's just after six A.M. in California," Terri re¬minded him, having guessed his intention of calling Kate and Lucern.



Bastien hesitated. "Too early?"



"From what Kate's told me about conferences, they last until late at night. She probably won't be up for another hour. And I wouldn't want to wake her up with this news."



"No. You're right." He set the phone back down. "I should wait another hour at least."



"I would," Terri agreed.



Bastien nodded, then began to drum his fingers on the desk. He wasn't used to inactivity in a crisis, but he also didn't have a clue what to do. And this time, even he could see it was a crisis.



"We could make up a list of caterers to contact in case this guy is her caterer," Terri suggested after a moment.



"Good thinking. At least that way, we won't just be calling with bad news. If it is him," Bastien added.



Sincerely hoping it wasn't, he pulled the Yellow Pages out from the drawer where it was stored. Terri stood and walked around the desk to look over his shoul¬der. Bastien leafed through, looking for the section with caterers. He relaxed a little when he saw that the list was several pages long.



"There are a ton of them," Terri murmured.



"Yes. That's good. Isn't it?"



"Not necessarily," she said. "Many of them will be booked up and unavailable, so we'll waste time calling those, and I haven't a clue which of those left over are good. Do you?"



"Damn," Bastien breathed. He was the detail man, the decision man, the crisis man--the one everyone looked to when a problem cropped up. But he'd never been faced with these kinds of problems. Food wasn't a big priority in Bastien's life, and therefore it wasn't a problem he had any experience dealing with. The only time he had to worry about food was during business meetings that included mortals, and then he just handed the problem over to: "Meredith!"



"Meredith?" Terri asked.



"She'll know which are the good caterers and which are the bad ones, and..." Not bothering to finish his explanation, Bastien picked up the phone again. This time he punched in the number to his of¬fice. Meredith picked up on the second ring.



"Argeneau Enterprises."



"Meredith, I think Kate's caterer killed himself," he blurted by way of hello. "I need a list of the best caterers in town. We have to call them all and see which are available for the date of her wedding."



The woman didn't exclaim in horror at this newest tragedy plaguing Kate's wedding, or bother with questions; she simply snapped, "I'm on it. Do you have her menu plan for what she wanted served?"



Bastien blinked, then glanced at Terri. "Do we have a menu plan for what she wanted served at the wedding?" he echoed.



"A menu plan?" She considered for a minute, then straightened abruptly. "I might. She e-mailed it to me. Actually, that e-mail mentioned who the caterer was, too. If I still have it, we might not have to trou¬ble Kate with this at all. Can I use the computer?"



"Be my guest."



Phone still to his ear, Bastien stood and stepped aside for Terri to sit in the desk chair and start up the computer. He didn't bother explaining what was go¬ing on to Meredith; she had probably heard anyway. Instead, he watched as the computer warmed up and Terri logged on to the internet. It only took a mo¬ment for her to open her e-mail program and find the e-mail needed.



"It was her caterer," she said with a sigh. "But I do have the menu plan. That's something, anyway."



"Forward it to Meredith," Bastien instructed, then gave her his secretary's e-mail address before speaking into the phone again. "Terri's forwarding it to you, Meredith. Is there anything else you need?"



When she said no, and assured him that she'd get back to him directly, Bastien thanked her and said good-bye.



"She's good," he commented as he hung up. "I should give her a raise."



"Yes. You probably should," Terri agreed with a laugh. She closed the e-mail program, then the Inter¬net itself. Once that was done, she turned off the computer. "She seems very efficient."



"Well, you aren't too shabby yourself," Bastien said softly as she stood. "Someone else might not have caught that news article, or recognized the name."



"Hmm," Terri murmured. "I need coffee."



"I'll make you one," Bastien offered.



"Actually, I have one," she said, moving around the desk toward the door. "I was drinking it while read¬ing the paper, but forgot it in the living room when I saw that article."



"I guess we'll have to delay our outing today." Bastien's gaze dropped to Terri's behind as he fol-lowed her out of the office. He was beginning to un¬derstand Lucern's fascination with Kate's behind. Not that he found Kate's rear end fascinating, but Terri's? Well, that was another matter.



"What outing?" Terri asked. When she glanced over her shoulder at him in surprise, Bastien forced his eyes up to hers.



"I was thinking maybe I would take you around the tourist stops today. You shouldn't leave without seeing those," he said as they walked along the hall. "But we'll have to do that tomorrow, I guess. There could be a lot of places to call when Meredith fin¬ishes a list."



"I'll take half," Terri offered.



"I was hoping you would," he admitted.



She chuckled, then sighed as they entered the liv¬ing room. "I wonder what else will go wrong. What's next, do you think: The reception hall burns to the ground? The church floods? Or perhaps the parking garage holding the wedding limo explodes?" She dropped onto the couch and picked up her coffee, taking a sip. "I'm starting to think this wedding is doomed."



"Hmm," Bastien murmured, but his attention was on Chris. The editor's expression was making him nervous. A look of realization had crossed his face as Terri made her facetious comments.



He didn't feel much better when the editor breathed, "Oh, damn," in a sort of horror.



"What?" Bastien asked, afraid he didn't want to know.



"I just thought of something," Chris said.



"What?" Terri lowered her coffee cup to eye him anxiously.



"The flowers."



"Oh." She relaxed. "We've taken care of the flower problems, C.K. Kate's chosen the ones she wants from the arrangements Roberto sent over. It's all decided and settled."



"No. Not the live flowers. The tissue flowers," he explained. "For the cars."



"What about the tissue flowers?" Terri asked, her gaze shooting to Bastien. "I thought they were made and ready to go?"



"They are," Bastien assured her, quite relieved to be able to say that. He moved to sit on the couch next to her. "Lucern and Kate took care of it. He was complaining the day you arrived about it taking forever."



"Yes, they did make them, and it did take forever," Chris agreed, looking miserable. "But Kate's place is small. Really small. And she didn't have anywhere to store them."



"No," Terri breathed.



"What?" Bastien asked. He didn't like being the one in the dark, and her expression suggested she al¬ready had an idea of what was coming.



Chris grimaced, then nodded at Terri. "She asked me to store them."



Bastien suddenly had a thought. "Where did you store them, Chris?"



"My apartment."



"Where in your apartment?" he asked, knowing the editor's evasiveness was a very bad sign. And there was only one place that the flowers would have been damaged.



C.K. sighed, then seemed to decide there was no hope but to confess. However, he prefaced the con¬fession with an excuse. "My place isn't all that big, ei¬ther," he said.



" Where?" Terri asked wearily.



"The bathroom."



"Dear God," she moaned.



"They may still be safe."



"And the pope might be Protestant," Bastien snapped. "Why on earth would you put them in the bathroom of all places?"



"In case he ran out of toilet paper?" Vincent sug¬gested. He yawned as he entered the living room.



Bastien was less than amused. "Shut up, Vinny. Don't you have a rehearsal to go to or something?"



"No. Lucky for you, I'm free today. And don't call me Vinny."



"Lucky?" Bastien snorted.



"I put them in the bathroom because that's the only place I had room," Chris explained, drawing their attention again. "It's an old building, and the bathroom is huge compared to the bathrooms they make now."



Bastien muttered something uncomplimentary under his breath regarding the editor's intelligence. Chris heard him and flushed, then said, "She brought them over in cardboard boxes. But I put those boxes in big black garbage bags to protect them from the humidity when I showered and stuff, so they might still be okay."



Bastien glanced at Terri. She was looking to him in question, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. But he had been at the apartment. From what he had seen, the chance that Kate's flowers were still okay wasn't good. He didn't want to upset Terri until he knew for sure, though. "I'll have to go check on them."



"Do you want me to come?" Terri asked.



Bastien hesitated. He really would like her to go with him. He enjoyed her company. But the landlady had given him a hard time when last he'd gone to the editor's apartment; and if he ran into her again and she caused difficulties, Bastien might have to take control of her mind again. It would be easier if Terri weren't there for that.



"No," he said at last. "Perhaps you could wait here for Meredith's call? I'll be as quick as I can."



"Okay," she agreed promptly.



"Thanks." He stood and started out of the room.



"Bastien?" Chris called after him, bringing him to a halt in the entry. "You need the keys," the editor said, and grabbed them off the coffee table where they had sat for the past few days. He tossed them over, then added, "Would you mind picking up some more clothes for me while you're there?"



Bastien grunted and turned to leave. Whether he would or not depended on his mood. And that would depend on the state the flowers were in.



"I tried to get a hold of Kate's catering company this morning, hoping that someone would at least be there to take calls and answer questions, but of course they aren't answering the phones. If there's even any¬one there to answer the phones anymore."



"Hmm," Terri murmured into the receiver. She wasn't terribly surprised at the news. Neither was she surprised that Meredith had checked it out. The woman seemed superefficient.



"But I was able to get some information from other sources, and it would appear that any deposit Kate might have given the caterer is as good as gone. She isn't likely to see it back. Nor can she expect any service. The company is completely defunct."



"I was afraid of that."



"Yes," Bastien's secretary agreed. "So I called around to all the best caterers in town. They're all booked up, of course."



"Of course," Terri said wearily.



"However, Argeneau Enterprises does a lot of business each year in catering, and our contracts are cov¬eted and everyone is eager to impress us, so almost all of the caterers are willing to hire extra staff and do whatever is necessary. They're no doubt hoping to make enough of an impression to get future con¬tracts."



"Really?" Terri perked up. Perhaps all was not lost.



"They're all vying for the job. I've sent out copies of the desired menu, and each of them is working up competitive prices and arranging to send sample meals over to be tried. Bastien or you, or both of you, can decide who to go with. That probably won't be until later tomorrow, though." There was a pause, then Meredith added, "I know Kate should probably make the choice, but as she's in California, and this has to be arranged and decided at once so that the provisions can be ordered, it--"



"It will have to be us," Terri finished. She paused, biting her lip. "Meredith, I'm thinking that, since she can't make the choice, and since this news would just stress her out--"



"And at a time when she's already under a great deal of pressure," Meredith put in.



Terri felt herself relax. It sounded like the secretary had the same idea, but she said it just the same: "Do you think we should just keep this to ourselves? Bastien and I can choose the best price and meal, and Kate doesn't really even have to know about it if all goes well."



There was a pause on the other end of the line. Whether it was because Meredith was considering the question, or because she was surprised that Terri would even ask her opinion on a family matter, Terri didn't know.



"I think that--judging by how upset she was over the floral incident--keeping this from her might be the best decision," Meredith announced at last.



"Yes, I think it's best," Terri said, then hesitated before saying, "Since you're now a co-conspirator, would you care to be in on the taste testing when the sample meals show up?"



"Oh. Oh, that's so nice, but... no, I couldn't." The woman was obviously flustered. "But thank you."



"Are you sure?" Terri asked.



"Yes. Thank you," Meredith repeated, a hint of warmth creeping into her previously cool and efficient tone. "I'll leave that up to yourself and Mr. Argeneau."



"Well, if you change your mind, let me know," Terri said. "And thank you, Meredith. I fully ex¬pected to spend the day calling caterer after caterer to deal with this, but you've handled it all and left noth-ing but the eating, which is the fun part. Bastien's very lucky to have you working for him."



There was a soft expelling of breath on the other end of the phone. "Thank you, Ms. Simp--"



"Call me Terri."



"Thank you, Terri," Meredith said. "It's always nice to be appreciated."



"Well, you certainly are that," she told her, then thanked her again. Saying good-bye, she hung up.



"Was that Meredith?"



Terri glanced up from the receiver she'd just set in the cradle to find Bastien in the doorway to the pent¬house office. "Yes, it was," she admitted, getting to her feet and moving around the desk. "She's arranged for price quotes and sample meals from the best caterers in New York. We decided that, since Kate isn't here to taste them, which means you and I will have to in her place, there's no reason to even tell her about the change--unless something goes terribly wrong at the wedding." She paused and raised her eyebrows. "How did it go at QIC's apartment? Are any of the flowers salvageable?"



Bastien raised a bag he was holding, grasped both handles, and opened it wide for her to peer inside. Terri tipped her head and peered down at several boxes of Kleenex.



"Darn," she breathed, knowing what that meant.



"There are several more bags out in the living room," he told her dryly. "And some string."



Terri closed her eyes, then opened them again. Rais¬ing her head, she peered at him. "None of them were salvageable?"



"The garbage bags were ripped by the ceiling cav¬ing in, and the pipes poured water down on them, ap¬parently turning them into tissue stew. The landlady had them carted out with the rubble when they cleared it away."



"Ah."



"The good news is, I rented several movies to watch while we make the flowers. That was the sales-clerk's suggestion when I asked how much Kleenex I needed to make flowers for a wedding," he admitted, following her out of the office.



"Clever girl, suggesting that," Terri commented. In the living room, she saw the collection of bags sit¬ting in the center of the room.



"I thought so," Bastien agreed.



Chris was no longer in the room. Terri guessed that meant Bastien had brought him back fresh clothes, and he was in his room changing. Terri rifled through the shopping bags until she found the string, then moved to claim a corner of the couch.



Bastien immediately settled next to her, and dumped the boxes of Kleenex on the coffee table. They both grabbed and ripped open a box, then paused.



"Do you know how to make these things?" she asked doubtfully.



"I was rather hoping you would," he admitted.



"Darn," she breathed.



"I do."



They both glanced up with surprise as Vincent walked into the room and came to join them.



"You do?" Bastien asked doubtfully.



"Mmmm." The actor dropped onto the chair across from them, and claimed a box for himself. "It's amazing the things you learn while working in the theater."



Terri tossed another flower into one of the large cardboard boxes Bastien had fetched. That had been Vincent's suggestion: storage that would prevent the flowers from being crushed. While Bastien was off finding the boxes, the actor had proceeded to show Terri and Chris how to make the flowers. He had repeated the lesson for Bastien's benefit upon his re¬turn, making Terri and Chris watch again too, since they were still struggling somewhat with their efforts. All of them had been working at the project almost nonstop since. Terri was hoping that meant they would be finished before the wedding--which wasn't a joke. Vincent was the only one of them who knew what he was doing; the rest of them were ruin¬ing more flowers than they were making.



They'd been at it since the morning before. It was now late afternoon of the next day. After two days of work, with only a pause to sleep last night, they had watched countless movies and produced one whole and one partial box of usable flowers. And three boxes of rejects. They were improving, though. Two of the boxes of rejects were from the first night, and the third box was only about three-quarters full with today's failures.



"How many more do you think we need?" Terri asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn and popping it into her mouth, her gaze fixed on the television screen. She jumped as the actress onscreen was at¬tacked from behind, then winced as the woman's chainsaw wielding attacker turned her into dogmeat in a matter of seconds.



"Is it just me, or does anyone else think there is just something so wrong about watching horror movies while making tissue flowers for a wedding?" Chris asked.



Terri grinned at the editor. She even managed not to wince at his misshapened face. Some of the swelling had gone down, but not much, and his coloring was still an angry red. "I'd think, as a man, you'd find it totally appropriate," she said. "After all, isn't the idea of marriage itself a horror to most men?"



He paused to consider, then nodded. "You've got a point."



"I don't know," Vincent said as Terri laughed. "Some men, smart men, recognize the value of a good life mate. A partner to share life's sorrows and joys with."



"Why, Vincent," she said with surprise. "You al¬most sound like a romantic."



The actor recoiled. "Well, I wouldn't go that far."



Terri chuckled and picked up the ball of string to cut off a length.



"What time is it?" Bastien asked suddenly.



"Three-thirty," Chris answered, glancing at his wristwatch.



"Oh." Bastien looked perplexed for a minute, then glanced at Terri. "I don't remember you eating today."



"I had a bowl of cereal when I got up," she said absently. She finished with the string and began to fold a sheaf of Kleenex.



"But you didn't eat lunch."



Terri glanced up, surprised at the accusation in his voice. "I didn't eat lunch?" she echoed with surprise. "No, I didn't. But then neither did you. We were busy, so we've been snacking instead."



Bastien scowled as she gestured to the junk food on the table. "Popcorn and corn chips do not make up a healthy diet."



Terri grimaced at those stiff words. She'd said something very similar to C.K. a day or two ago and only now realized how annoying that must have been.



"You're absolutely right, Bastien," Vincent said. "Perhaps you should make something to eat."



"Me?" He blanched at the idea, and Vincent laughed.



"Yes, you. Well, surely you weren't suggesting Terri cook for you?"



"Not for me," he said firmly. "I'm not hungry."



"Neither am I," Terri said with a shrug. "Problem solved."



She didn't miss Bastien's scowl, but merely grinned. The man hardly ever ate. And when he did, he mostly just picked at the food. He had some nerve lecturing her, when he had such poor eating habits.



"Well, I'm hungry," Chris announced, grabbing his crutches to get to his feet. "So I'll cook."



"Oh, I don't think that's a very good idea," Vincent said calmly and fanned out the flower he'd just fin¬ished making.



"Why not?" Bastien asked. "Terri's cooked for him, Chris can cook for her."



"Look at the man," Vincent said. "So far he's been to the hospital twice in less than a week--once for a toilet falling on him, once for a bee sting. Are you really will¬ing to risk letting him play with fire and sharp objects?"



"Dear Lord," Bastien breathed in horror.



"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Terri set her half-finished flower down with exasperation. "I'll cook."



"No." Bastien stood abruptly. "I'll cook. How dif¬ficult can it be?"



"I'm thinking takeout would be a good idea," Vin¬cent said as he peered down at the charred mass in the bottom of the pan. He tilted his head to get a differ¬ent perspective and asked, "What was it?"



"Ha, ha," Bastien muttered, dropping the pan in the sink and turning on the tap. It would definitely need soaking to come clean. If it came clean. Perhaps he should just chuck it out, he thought, then pointed out, "It was you who suggested I cook."



"Well, I was trying to do you a favor," Vincent re¬torted. "I was afraid Terri would think you were try¬ing to get her to cook for you. No woman wants to be a replacement housekeeper. Speaking of which, how's the hunt for a new housekeeper going, any¬way? And have you found Mrs. Houlihan yet?"



"I haven't any idea," Bastien admitted. He'd given both problems to Meredith, and he hadn't been keep¬ing up with much lately. It seemed there had been one crisis after another keeping him busy and dis¬tracted. He supposed he should check in with the of¬fice. "What time is it?"



"Almost five."



Bastien nodded as he shucked the oven mitts he'd donned to rescue the burning meal from the oven. Not that he'd managed to save it. He gri¬maced to himself as he recalled leafing quickly through a cookbook and choosing what had seemed simplest: Roast. Throw it in a pan and throw it in the oven. What could be easier? And Bastien had done so--but as the recipe had called for a thawed roast of beef, and he'd only had frozen, he'd upped the temperature a bit. All the way, actually. Then he'd gone back to work on the tissue paper flowers. By the time he'd remembered he was cooking something, the meat was done. Past done. Black on the outside and red on the inside. Disgusting. Bastien saw there was more to cooking than he'd realized.



"How's it going?"



Both he and Vincent glanced toward the door, where Terri stood. She was glancing around curi-ously. "Is that dinner I smell?"



"We're having takeout," Bastien answered, walking past her to stride up the hall. "Order whatever you want. I have to check in at the office. I'll be back di¬rectly to pay."



As Bastien left, Terri raised her eyebrows and turned back to Vincent. "A problem?"



"Bastien found cooking more of a challenge than he expected," Vincent explained and gestured to the sink.



Terri crossed the room and whistled as she peered down at the mess there. A large black chunk, with several smaller black chunks, lay discarded in a pan.



"So, what are you going to order? Chinese? Or pizza?" the actor asked.



Terri shook her head and grinned. "With all the food in this place? I'll whip up something myself and have it done by the time Bastien gets back."



"That a girl! Make him feel inferior," Vincent said lightly. They both laughed, only to pause and glance around in surprise as the elevator buzzer sounded.



Terri  followed Bastien's  cousin  curiously  to  a kitchen wall panel that was an exact replica of the one in the living room.



"Hmm. Do you know who that is?" he asked, push¬ing the button to bring up an image of the interior of the elevator.



Terri leaned closer for a better look at the man standing by a covered trolley. She started to shake her head, then paused. "Oh, wait! It's probably one of the caterers. I'd forgotten Meredith had arranged for them to bring samples of the wedding menu for us to try."



Vincent nodded and pushed a button. "Yes?" he asked.



"Katelyn's Catering. I have a delivery." "This is your lucky day, Terri." Vincent pushed the button to release the elevator, then flipped off the monitor. "You don't have to cook after all. It's being delivered."



Terri chuckled, but said, "I hardly think they'll be bringing anything that in any way resembles a meal. They'll just be samples--hors d'oeuvres, and bits off the menu. Nothing substantial."



Despite her comment, curiosity made Terri follow him out to await the caterer. The moment the eleva¬tor doors slid open, the deliveryman smiled at them cheerfully and wheeled out his little trolley. Stopping before them, he lifted a clipboard with a work order and read: "Terri Simpson or Bastien Argeneau?"



"I'm Terri Simpson." She stepped forward and ac¬cepted the clipboard and pen.



"Just sign on the bottom, miss," he instructed. "Where do you want this?"



"The kitchen, please." She pointed the way. "First door on the right."



Terri did a quick read-through of the paper he wanted her to sign as the men moved away up the hall, Vincent accompanying the deliveryman. Assured that it merely stated she had accepted the delivery, she signed and dated it, finishing as the men came back up the hall.



"Thanks," the delivery man said as he took his pen and clipboard back. Then he ripped off a pink copy, handed it to her, and moved back into the elevator. "Just phone the office when you've made up your mind and are ready to have the trolley taken away. Someone will come by to pick up everything."



"All right. Thanks," Terri called as the elevator doors closed. "Well." Glancing over the invoice copy she'd been given, she turned and headed to the kitchen. She was curious to see what had been sent. She expected a couple of sample dishes that were on the menu, but you never knew. "Did you look when he brought it in?" she asked Vincent as he followed her.



"No. I just watched him roll it in, then followed him out," he said. They paused by the trolley that had been left next to the small dinette set.



"Hmm." Terri glanced over the trolley. It looked rather like a chrome chest on wheels, or a chrome-colored barbecue. The top was a square lid with rounded edges and a handle. Terri grasped the handle and lifted upward, inhaling the steam released into the room.



"God," she breathed, and she gaped at half a dozen china plates of food. The caterer hadn't sent samples of different things, they'd sent two samples of everything.



"He said the desserts were in the lower drawer," Vincent spoke up.



Terri hesitated, then stepped back, only then notic¬ing that there was a lower drawer on the trolley. Grasping its handle, she pulled it out and sighed as several delicacies rolled into view. There were two of each of those, too.



"Well, as I said, you don't have to cook."



Before Terri could respond, the elevator buzzer sounded again. The actor moved to the wall panel and pushed buttons, as Terri closed the drawer and then the chest top to keep everything at the correct temperature until Bastien came back.



"Another caterer," Vincent announced. "You'll need to sign for this too, probably."



Nodding, Terri followed him back into the entry. They arrived just before the doors opened to reveal another trolley-pushing deliveryman.



"Terri Simpson?" he asked, glancing at her.



"Yes." She held her hand out for the clipboard and pen.



"Where do you want--"



"The kitchen. Follow me." Vincent turned to lead the way as Terri signed the invoice.