Foodchain (20 page)

Yet another brother appeared. “May I get you a drink, sir?”

“Sour mash whiskey. Two ice cubes. In a glass this wide,” Sturm made a ring with his thumbs and forefingers. “And this high.”

“Yes, sir.” The brother tore off to the kitchen.

Sturm nodded at Frank. “Frank.”

Frank nodded back, not surprised at anything anymore.

Sturm nodded at Annie. “Miss.”

“How are you, Mr. Sturm?”

The same two brothers yanked his chair back and threw him at the table. “I’m doing well.”

Alice came back with the flowers in a ceramic vase. She put them on the table between the candles. “How lovely.” She sat down in the last empty chair. Her sons helped her up to the table. Zeke rushed up to Sturm with his whiskey, then stood rigidly at attention behind Sturm.

Silence grew across the table. Alice looked more and more uncomfortable. Frank figured the Gloucks didn’t entertain folks too often. Four brothers burst into the room, each carrying a bowl of minestrone. The soups were delivered at exactly the same time, quick and smooth; the brothers didn’t spill a drop. They faded into the walls and Frank was impressed with the near professional conduct of the brothers. They worked hard.

“Please. Enjoy,” Alice said.

Frank and Sturm murmured thanks. The soup was spicy, more vegetable than water, and delicious. Neither hesitated for a second spoonful. But as soon as everyone finished their soup, silence bloomed again.

Alice couldn’t take it anymore. “Music! Would anyone like to hear music while we eat?”

“I guess that would depend on what kind of music,” Sturm said.

Alice wasn’t ready for that. “Well, ahhh, we have…classical?”

“We have classical music, Mr. Sturm,” Annie said.

Sturm wasn’t impressed. “Fine.”

“We also have plenty of gangster rap,” Annie said. “Would you prefer that instead?” Frank thought he heard a whisper of a laugh from the kitchen.

Sturm didn’t dignify that with an answer.

“I have some serious black metal—Scandinavian death metal, you know?” Clearly Annie’s favorite.

“I don’t—I don’t think that would be appropriate for the dinner table,” Alice said.

The second course was brought out, giant ceramic tubs of some kind of pasta in a creamy white sauce, with broccoli. Like the minestrone, it tasted fantastic. Edie came out and asked, “You folks need anything?” and got a sharp look from Alice. “If you’re looking for music, we’ve got some really cool disco albums around here.” She started to softly sing under her breath.

“Please Edie, no ABBA. Not tonight.” Alice helped Edie into the kitchen.

Annie’s tone got more playful with Sturm, nicer somehow. “Let’s see. I think we may have some country music around here. Old stuff.”

“I always liked them singing cowboys, the early ones. Roy Rogers, Sons of the Pioneers. Gene Autry. Not like that shit you here on the radio nowadays. Just ’cause they wear a damn cowboy hat. Those people wouldn’t know authentic country music if it came up and bit ’em on the ass.”

Frank himself had a weakness for the Mexican tunes he had heard around the barns from twenty dollar boomboxes choked with dust. The only Spanish he spoke was related to racehorses, so he figured the music had to be love songs. The lead singer sounded wounded somehow, but sang with a rolling melody like water over rocks in a desert creek. The band was almost always made up of trumpets, tubas, maybe a strange little guitar or two, and an accordion holding the whole thing together.

Frank kept this to himself.

Alice came back. “I’m sorry. She always gets nervous around company.”

“She won’t be like this around the guests, will she?” Sturm said. “I mean, maybe its best if Mrs. Glouck stays in the kitchen once we have company.”

Frank knew Annie’s feelings were hurt because she took her eyes off Sturm and for a second, couldn’t look into his face. Frank had been wondering which mother was Annie’s, but still wasn’t sure. He heard Alice say, “Ah, I, well—don’t think that will be a problem. I hope this won’t interfere with our arrangement.”

Annie cut in quick. “I think Mr. Sturm will understand this is a trial run, won’t you Mr. Sturm?” She’d looked back up and now stared across the table at him. Without waiting, she rolled on. “He’ll understand that we have thirteen days to polish our services. We will get it straight. Tonight is a simple get together.”

“No dear,” Alice said just as fast. “I believe the word was ‘audition.’”

“Tell me, Mr. Sturm—”

“Call me Horace,” Sturm damn near shouted.

“Tell me Horace, who exactly is this family’s competition? Given the nature of your enterprise.”

Sturm crossed his arms, leaned on them, knocked on the table. “Just making sure the food and service is at a professional level. Our guests have traveled the world, eaten at the finest restaurants, slept in the finest hotels. I’d hate to disappoint them.”

“I think you’ll find, Mr. Sturm, that your guests will be taken care of. There will be no complaints, I promise you,” Alice said with an edge in her voice, an invitation for Sturm to disagree.

“I gotta be honest here, ladies.” Sturm leaned back and turns his palms up, as if surrendering. “Everything I have seen and tasted tonight has been delightful. If I come across as some mountain man who’s been out in the hills for too long, my apologies. I believe in being up front and honest. I have full confidence in this family’s capabilities.”

“See?” Annie said. “I told you Mr. Sturm—”

“I said, call me Horace,” Sturm said and pulled an envelope out of his pocket. Inside was four pages of legal writing.

“—Horace would understand.”

“How lovely,” Alice said.

Sturm waved the brothers away and got up and flattened the papers on the table next to Alice’s plate. He signed it, then let Alice sign. She signed twice. Sturm took the top two pages, refolded them and tucked them away as he sat back down. Alice gave her copy to a brother and he took off.

And just like that, the ice was broken. Frank could feel everyone at the table relax, as if the house itself had exhaled. Alice and Sturm talked politics and weather. Frank caught Annie glancing at him now and again throughout the dinner, but her expression was indecipherable. He couldn’t figure out what the next dish was, chicken parmesan maybe, but something was different. Sturm had to point out it was tiger meat. Frank didn’t care. It tasted unbelievable.

* * * * *

Edie came out and tried to kiss Alice at one point, but Sturm didn’t say anything. He just looked at his plate. The only other incident came just after desert, delicate little pastries filled with heavy crème. Frank didn’t know how it started, just that there was a pop from the kitchen, and Gun slammed backwards through the door, the front of his shirt on fire. He was pursued by two older brothers, who seemed to be more interested in making sure the flames burned off his face before the fire was extinguished.

Still, Gun fought back, punching and kicking, ignoring the flames searing his flesh. Eventually, he ripped off his burning white shirt and tried to use that as a weapon. Annie jumped to her feet and hurled the pitcher of water at her brothers, but it glanced off Gun’s back and exploded against the wall. Edie burst from the kitchen and slammed Gun onto the floor. She kicked her toe under his shoulder and jerked him up, rolling him against the still damp shag carpet. That put out the fire.

She whirled and slapped both of the attacking brothers at the same time. They backed into the kitchen without a word. Then she got herself a handful of Gun’s hair and lifted him off the floor and threw him at the kitchen door. He landed on the linoleum floor and slid into the stove with a crash.

Edie turned and said, “My deepest, sincere apologies. I knew it was a mistake to give him a job lighting candles. Should’ve never given him a lighter. You have my word, Horace, that this will never happen again.” She vanished into the kitchen and slammed the door.

* * * * *

The house was quiet except for the muffled slaps and cries from the kitchen. The rest of the brothers had vanished into the shag carpet. Annie stood. “If you gentlemen will excuse me. I’ll be right back. In the meantime,” she snapped her fingers and two brothers reluctantly appeared. They quickly poured two whiskies and threw the glasses in front of Frank and Sturm.

Annie followed her family into the kitchen. “Stupid goddamn French fry licking—fucking morons—you too—” The door shut, reducing Annie’s voice to hisses and barks.

“Well,” Alice said. “My goodness. The boys, they like to roughhouse. Um, cheers.” She lifted her glass at Sturm and Frank.

Sturm took his whisky, saluted Alice, and threw it back.

Frank decided it would be okay to drink. So he took a solid sip. It left a clean, pure burning path down his throat and rekindled the embers lying dormant in his stomach. His mood improved instantly.

Sturm waved his glass in the general direction of the brothers flanking the front door. They leaped to life and immediately refilled it.

Ignoring Alice, Sturm asked, “How’re my girls?”

“They’ve been worse.”

Sturm snorted into his whiskey. “Hell yes, son. I know that. Are they going to be ready to hunt?”

Frank took another sip and let it sit in his mouth for a moment, feeling the smooth sizzle of the amber liquid. He swallowed and nodded. “They’ll be ready.”

“That’s all I ask.” Sturm finished the rest of the glass and thumped it on the table. “Miss Glouck, this evening has been quite satisfactory. Well done. Give my compliments to the chef. Unfortunately, it is time for me to remove myself. I have a very full day tomorrow, as do we all.” He gave Frank a meaningful look.

“Yeah.” Frank emptied his glass, set it gently on the table.

Alice fought to rise quickly in her tight dress, as if she was afraid Sturm or Frank might stand first. “Well, thank you gentlemen for gracing us with your presence. It was lovely.”

Sturm stood and nodded, “Of course.”

“So…we will be waiting to hear from you,” Alice said.

Sturm patted his pockets to reassure himself that the contract and his wallet were still there. “Soon as we get the tents set up, I’ll let you know.”

Frank stood as well, eyeing the kitchen door, but Annie didn’t appear. “Thank you for dinner. It was delicious.” He meant it.

Alice gave him a smile, a genuine one this time, unselfconscious, one that pulled her chin back in tight to her throat and exposed her crooked bottom teeth. It made Frank feel even warmer, fueling the whiskey fire. He felt almost safe. Alice stared right at him. “You come back anytime you want. You got a place at this table anytime, understand? You helped Petunia.”

“That’s his job,” Sturm said. “He fixes animals that are broken.” One of the brothers brought his hat. “Thank you again for a
lovely
meal.” Settling the black Stetson on his white, bald head, he said, “Let’s go.”

Frank nodded, almost bowed, at Alice. “Thanks. Tell Annie I said goodnight,” he said and followed Sturm out the front door. They walked through the deep shadow of the satellite dish eclipsing the streetlight. Sturm paused long enough to light a cigar. “That haircut. That’s a whole lot better. Cleaner.” Sturm said, popping his cheeks to draw air through the cigar. “Bet it feels better in this goddamn heat.”

“How’s the wound?”

“Frank!” It was Annie, silhouetted in the front door. Then, more calm, more composed, as she slowly came down the steps. “Running off without saying goodbye?”

Sturm grinned at Frank under the cigar smoke.

“Hold on, okay?” Annie said. “Just hold on. Don’t go running off. Got someone here who wants to say hello.” She went around the side of the house, and a few moments later, Petunia came bounding out, claws digging into the bare dirt, tail wagging furiously. She slammed into Frank and nearly knocked him down. Her tongue was all over his hands and she bounced like a kangaroo, trying to reach his face. Frank grabbed her wide head and bent over, crinkling his eyes shut and curling his lips inward, allowing the dog’s wet leathery tongue to lick his cheeks, nose, and forehead.

Annie followed Petunia at a leisurely pace. “I think she’s got the hots for you, you know.”

“She’s just a good dog, aren’t you?” Frank said. “Yes. That’s right. A goddamn good dog. Yes.” Petunia seemed to agree, wiggling even harder.

“You in a hurry?” Annie asked.

“No. Suppose not,” Frank said, scratching behind Petunia’s ears.

“Then let’s take Petunia for a swim.”

Frank caught himself looking at Sturm for permission. Sturm just grinned back, puffing furiously on his cigar. Frank stood, and patted Petunia’s skull. “Where?”

“Up at the reservoir. That okay with you, Mr. Sturm?” She’d caught Frank’s look, and this seemed to be more to fuel Frank’s embarrassment than Sturm’s okay.

Sturm waved his cigar, smoke streaming in the orange light from the streetlight. “You kids go have fun.” He walked back over and shook Frank’s hand. “Don’t worry. Go have fun. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” Frank saw the hint of a wink, and felt something flat and stiff in his palm, left from the handshake. He casually tilted his hand and saw a twenty-dollar bill, crisply folded in thirds, tucked into his palm. Sturm walked back to his pickup. “Tomorrow.” He awkwardly stepped up into his pickup, like handicapped child clambering into a playground spaceship, and roared off.