Dinner for Deux

Dinner for Deux

By James Ott

“I’ll be gone for a few days. Take care good of the dogs. Feed them meaty treats. And the grass needs cutting. Clean the five bathrooms if you have a chance. For you it’s a vacation.”

“Yes mam,” Ernie said.

“Here, take this weekender bag. Now take me to the airport.”

“Yes, Mrs. Radcliffe.”

Ernie, a husky man with a penchant for watching wrestling on television, picked up the bag and toddled to the front door. Mrs. Radcliffe followed him, feeling in her purse for her cell phone and the image there of her airline ticket.

“Be good to the dogs. They are such dears,” she said, locking the front door.

“Yes, mam,” Ernie said out of habit after storing her weekender in the trunk of the Cadillac sedan.

He was a sight opening the Cadillac door, bulging everywhere in his blue suit and a too-tight, billed chauffer’s cap. But he smiled.

Paying respects to their departing mistress, Duke, an aging Great Dane, scrambled to the front door and peered through the glass panel. Behind Duke, yapping at the Dane’s dangling physical equipment, was a younger and more difficult dog, a white miniature Poodle named Smooch.

Ernie at the wheel, the black Caddy hummed through the neighborhood, sailed along the interstate highway, and pulled to a stop at the head of a line of colorful automobiles, discharging soon-to-be airline passengers.

Mrs. Radcliffe was met by a comely young woman. A valet garbed in a jump suit hustled the weekender bag from the trunk. Mrs. Radcliffe emerged with a smile for the young lady. Ernie, his right arm over the front seat, watched Mrs. Radcliffe depart through automatic doors with the twosome in her trail.

“At last,” he said.

Ernie ditched the tight cap and drove the fifteen-mile return trip to the Radcliffe mansion making plans. He had a notion to escort girlfriend Zorah Chambers on a tour of the mansion. A big “R” letter was stamped or embroidered on everything from the front door to cloth napkins. A 1950 duplicate of a fifteenth century suit of armor kept falling apart, the breastplate and gauntlets crashing to the hall floor. A full-length portrait of Seymour Radcliffe, the late husband, dominated the den over the nonfunctioning fireplace. Two small recently added oil paintings of the Duke and Smooch hung alongside.

Ernie called the mansion “the museum.”

Thinking ahead, he mused, “If I could intern the dogs on the property, I can have a wonderful evening with Zorah.”

He had met Zorah at a UFO convention. His attendance was pure accident. He followed a crowd he thought was going to the smackdown in another section of the convention center. He had sat next to her and liked her right away. While talking in a bar they discovered they half-believed that aliens manned those elusive machines. It was shaky admittedly but a start.

Ernie typed a message to her on his cell phone. “Prisoner has escaped. Come by at six.”

A message quickly came back. “It had better be good.”

Ernie regarded himself as an excellent cook in the narrow confines of red meat and chili. He learned from a French chef Emile, who the late Mr. Radcliffe had hired while on a business trip to France. For years Emile cooked to everyone’s delight. After Mr. Radcliffe’s funeral he lasted one week before tearing off his white cook’s hat in front of Mrs. Radcliffe and stomping on it. He couldn’t bear another minute of her meddling. Besides, he had a much better offer from a rival of hers, Mrs. Thompson. His departure was timely. Mrs. Radcliffe had been trying to cut down on expenses. Lately, she dined out five nights each week and believed she was saving money spending the two other evenings at the mansion forking through boxes of restaurant leftovers. Ernie made do with McDonalds on most nights.

The Cadillac safely parked in the garage, Ernie changed clothes in his room over the garage. He donned shorts and a Hawaii-styled shirt and headed for Emile’s former kitchen. Six o’clock was only an hour away. He removed from the refrigerator two strip steaks that had been marinating in red wine. A green salad with sliced tomato looked invitingly fresh. Asparagus, thick as one-inch drill bits, lay gleaming on a plate.

“The beer!” Ernie exclaimed, imitating the smack sound from the lips of the former chef.

He stuffed four bottles of domestic brands into a silver bucket of crushed ice and placed the bucket on a patio table. Dinner plates and silverware had been set for two. As Ernie turned the steaks on the hot outdoor grill, Duke and Smooch appeared at the patio’s glass door. At the same moment, the front door chime sounded.

“Should-a told her to come straight to the patio,” Ernie said.

He walked the seventy-five yards through the mansion passing the suit of armor, which rattled as he passed and greeted Zorah with a kiss on two cheeks, another tip from Emile.

“Nice place you got here,” Zorah said. “What did you steal to get it?”

“Yeh, all inherited.”

They laughed.

Zorah wore a yellow minidress that showed off her large and shapely legs. The dogs greeted her with wagging tails. Duke wanted to play, dipping his massive head and taking a bow. Smooch’s round eyes shifted from friendly to terrorized. She snarled and barked.

“Just take it easy,” Zorah said to the dogs. “It could be a long night.”

Ernie went to the kitchen refrigerator pursued by the dogs. He withdrew a pile of red meat, showed it to the sniffing dogs and headed toward a pair of his-and-her bathrooms. He tossed a huge hunk of meat into the men’s bathroom. Duke responded, galloping inside. Ernie closed the door. Next, he took the remainder of the meat and tossed it on the women’s bathroom floor. Smooch considered it for a moment and then trotted inside. Ernie closed the door.

“At last,” he said again.

“That’s mean,” Zorah said.

“You won’t think so in the next hour or so.”

Ernie peered through the window to the patio. Fire flashed and smoke billowed from the grill.

The two steaks, black as coal, steamed and dripped when he picked them up with a fork.

“Have a cold beer,” he said to Zorah. “I’ll get the salad.”

Distance muffled the barking from the two impounded pets. Ernie felt like singing and belted out “O Solo Mio.”

“Better stick with cooking,” Zorah said.

They laughed.

“Why don’t you let the dogs out?” Zorah said pointedly

“Well, okay.”

Ernie made his way to the pair of bathrooms. The poodle’s yapping sounded like someone was putting a knife to her stomach. Duke was quiet. At the door, Ernie turned the handle and pushed hard. The door opened by three inches. The huge brown body of Duke was wedged against it. Ernie tried again. He couldn’t budge the door.

“Hey, what’s happening?” Zorah shouted from the patio..

“Aw nothing. I think the dog is a goner.”

He pushed at the door again. Nothing.

Fork in hand and chewing on lettuce, Zorah appeared. “Anything I can do?”

“We got a situation here. The dog is kaput. He’s jammed up against the door, and I can’t open it.”

“Is there a window?”

“I think so.”

“Well, there you are.”

Inside the other bathroom and not liking it, Smooch was hysterical.

Ernie opened the door and the poodle dashed out, looking to the right and to the left. She trotted directly to the cracked open door and sniffed at Duke. Then she threw up the meat bribe.

“Oh Lord,” Ernie said.

“Two down, one to go,” Zorah piped. “Better get to the window.”

“Toute suite,” Ernie said. That was a favorite word of Emile’s.

Outside the bathroom standing on a bed of flowers, Ernie was puzzled. The window glaring back at him was made of frosted glass and had a layer of chicken wire. It was locked shut. He left for the garage and came back with a sledge hammer.

“I’ll get in that bathroom if it kills me.”

He stepped back and swung hard with the sledge hammer, striking and cracking the window. He swung and hit it again, and again, and again. He made a hole big enough for him to reach inside and unlock the window.

“There!” he said, satisfied as the window came open. His contentment lasted only until he saw Duke’s body wedged against the door.

“You did it,” Zorah shouted through the door.

“Yeh, I did it all right.”

Ernie hunched up to the window and climbed through to the bathroom, stepping over broken glass on the floor. He grabbed Duke’s back paws and with great effort dragged the dog out of the way.

“My Lord, what will Mrs. Radcliffe say?”

Zorah heard Ernie’s question and said, “I’ll bet it’s something you’ll remember.”

Smooch stirred and stood upright. She started yapping in a toned-down falsetto.

“Well, at least she will be presentable,” Zorah said.

An automobile stopped at the front door. Ernie saw people emerging from the car. Heavens! It was Mrs. Radcliffe. He felt the urge to run and run away fast.

He decided to stand firm.

“Ernie!” Mrs. Radcliffe called out.

“Yes mam, coming.”

Ernie and Zorah walked together to the front door.

“Who’s this?” Mrs. Radcliffe asked.

“My friend Zorah Chambers. We were having dinner on the patio.”

Mrs. Radcliffe looked at Zorah and said, “Hmmm.”

Then she added, “My flight was cancelled. This man here, the airport valet was kind enough to bring me home.”

Ernie and Zorah exchanged nods with the valet, still garbed in a jump suit.

“Trouble?” he asked.

Smooch stared with bulging eyes at Mrs. Radcliffe. She was conveying a message.

“What’s happened?” Mrs. Radcliffe asked, angrily.

“Well,” Ernie said, gulping. “A couple of things.”

The foursome walked toward the pair of bathrooms with the anticipation of people approaching an occupied and sizzling electric chair.

“I put the dogs away with some meat in the bathrooms so we wouldn’t be disturbed at the meal. Then I burned the steaks. Zorah here told me to let the dogs go free. When I tried, I found Duke. He must have had an attack or something.”

“You’re fired,” Mrs. Radcliffe said.

Turning to the airport valet, she said, “Mr. Valet, or whatever your name is, you’re hired.”

Ernie’s feelings were complicated. He was contrite but he felt a sense of relief. “Sorry about the mess. I had to break the window to get in the bathroom.”

“No excuse. I’ll use your last paycheck to pay for damages. Have a nice day.”

Ernie walked to his apartment above the garage and collected his few items, a laptop computer, clothes that he stuffed into a suitcase, and photos of his mother and a new one in a frame of Zorah. She drove her Ford Escort around to the garage to pick him up. He put his things in the back seat.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You can get an apartment anywhere and anytime. What you need is a job.”

“After today, who would hire me?”

“You would make an efficient burglar, housebreaking a specialty.”

“Maybe a short order cook?” he suggested.

“A UFO investigator?”

“No to that. Maybe a waiter.”

“Like tonight, managing dinner for two.”

“How about dinner for deux.”

The Ford Escort cruised wonderfully down the street.

The End