Part 10 (1/2)
Suddenly frightened at the intensity of these feelings welling up inside me, I took my chair, momentarily subdued. Maddy noticed.
”Are you okay?”
”I'm fine,” I lied. ”Just a little too much sun today.”
The steward a.s.signed to our table introduced himself and handed out the menus, and I made a great pretense of studying mine while attempting to sort out my muddled thoughts.
I saw Harlan gloating out of the corner of my eye, and turned to him. ”You arranged this, too, didn't you?” I asked him, grinning slyly.
His eyes widened in mock surprise. ”Me? Now, wherever did you get such an idea, kiddo?” He laughed then, and I made out another mental IOU to add to the mounting pile. One good thing. Even if Harlan meant to spoil me, Maddy would help me keep it all in perspective.
The waiter began taking orders and I returned my attention to the menu. In honor of the original t.i.tanic, Harlan had arranged to have our first night's meal use the same menu as was served on that last fateful night in 1912. It was a full eleven courses, and while I knew I would never be able to eat it all, I intended to savor a bit from each dish, so I ordered with a cavalier abandon, starting with the Canapes a l'Amiral, through the Consomme, four rich entrees with a sorbet in between each one, a salad, a cold pate dish, finally ending with Peaches in Chartreuse Jelly, a sort of proto-Jell-O for the Edwardian set.
When the steward left with the orders, the Sommelier stepped forward. ”Would you like to choose the wines, Monsieur Astor?” he asked.
Harlan clapped me on the shoulder and announced to the others: ”I'll have you good people know, that aside from being a crackerjack writer, Trevor's quite the wine connoisseur. Aren't you, kiddo?”
I shrugged, trying not to let the embarra.s.sment I felt show on my face. Under the table, Maddy squeezed my hand. Somehow that made it both better and worse at the same time.
”Are you really?” Mrs. Bates asked, trying to adjust her over-tight corset without attracting attention.
”I know a few things-how it's made, how to taste it, how to store it, that sort of thing. But it's not as if I write for the Wine Spectator. I'm strictly an amateur.”
If she recognized the name of that world famous magazine for wine collectors and connoisseurs, she pretended otherwise.
”Well, in any event, I think that's wonderful. I never could make head nor tails out of a wine list. My late husband always drank vodka, poor sod.”
Hoyt Asbury gave Mrs. Bates a withering glare. ”I think its all b.l.o.o.d.y c.r.a.p, anyway,” he said with a snort. ”I read somewhere if you blindfold someone they can't tell the difference between a good wine and grape juice. All this swirling and swis.h.i.+ng and spitting is a lot of poppyc.o.c.k, I say.”
”You're absolutely right, Mr. Asbury. Taste depends a lot upon both sight and smell. Without either of those senses to aid us, we might as well be drinking grape juice, as you say. As for wine tasting, I'll admit the ritual looks a bit pretentious-”
”b.l.o.o.d.y poppyc.o.c.k.” Asbury said, punctuating each syllable with a curt nod of his head.
”Mr. Asbury, please,” Mrs. Bates said, shaking her head, eyes narrowing in disapproval.
I smiled, noting the older man's discomfort. ”Anyway, the tasting process is strictly a means to enhance the pleasure of drinking the wine, nothing more. As for my alleged expertise, if you'll allow me....”
”Far be it from me to impose,” Harlan said, handing me the wine list. ”It's all yours, kiddo.”
I glanced at Maddy, who gave me a rea.s.suring wink.
The first thing I noticed on the list were the modern vintages. I was relieved. Aside from their scarcity, most 1912 wines would be little more than expensive vinegar. It was a minor miracle the champagne Harlan had given me back in Gdansk had been any good at all, though I'd come to suspect he'd taken a far more recently bottled vintage and had it re-labeled.
In all, I ordered five different wines: a Pinot Grigio and a dry Chardonnay for the lighter fish and poultry courses, two vintage Burgundies for the meat dishes: Chateau Margeaux and La Tache Domaine De La Romanee-Conti, as well as a delightful late harvest Riesling for dessert.
When the Sommelier, returned with the first of the wines, the first course was being served.
”I have a confession to make,” Maddy whispered, in between bites of her Oyster a la Russe. I fought back the feeling of dread that stole over me and forced a smile onto my face.
”Nothing bad, I hope.” It was a trite thing to say, but because of the way I was feeling at that moment, I couldn't think of anything else.
And that earnest look on her face made it all the worse, as did her next words.
”You're going to hate me....”
This was the moment she would tell me she was married.
”I a.s.sure you I won't,” I said, all the while my stomach roiled.
”I've never read one of your books...until last night.”
I was relieved and stunned all at once and my expression must have shown it.
She laughed. ”I'm sorry, but you looked so surprised just then. What did you think I was going to say?”
”I don't know, Maddy, but you made it all sound so melodramatic. I had visions of all sorts of wicked things. You worried me.”
She rested her hand on mine, infusing me with her warmth.
”You're such a dear man.”
I shook my head. ”Oh, G.o.d, don't say that. The next thing you'll say is that I'm 'such a nice guy.' And after that we'll just be friends.”
I couldn't believe I'd said that. But instead of acting indignant, as I would have expected, she merely smiled one of her sly smiles. ”Oh, I don't think we'll ever be just friends, Trevor.”
Back from a short break, the band began playing. Consisting of an octet of stringed instruments, they sat in the open area just inside the double doors, off to the side and played mostly ragtime and other light pieces. When they began a slower tune, a waltz from The Merry Widow, Maddy turned to me. ”Dance with me, Galahad?”
”I don't think they allow that. What I mean is, I don't think they did that on the original s.h.i.+p, at least not in the dining room.”
”Go on, Trev, enjoy yourself,” Harlan said.
”But no one else is doing it.”
”Trevor,” Maddy said, disappointed. ”Don't you want to dance with me?”
”More than anything. The trouble is...I never learned how.”
She stood and held out her hand to me. ”No time like the present. I promise not to lead you astray.”
”And I promise not to turn your feet into hamburger,” I replied, taking her hand.
She led the way to the area right in front of the band. The leader, the violinist, smiled and gave us an encouraging nod. Maddy took me in her arms and pulled me to her. She felt soft and delicate, yet underneath I sensed a hard core, a toughness I admired. She was the kind of person who would meet a challenge head on, rather than shy away as so many others would. I admired that quality, and wished I had more of it within me. Sometimes, being a writer allowed me to indulge the part of me that wanted to hide from the world, and I was beginning to chafe under that regime.
”You know, you might do a lot better if you moved,” Maddy said.
”What? Oh, I'm sorry.” I leaned close to her and whispered in her ear. ”What the h.e.l.l do I do?”
”Just go with the flow,” she whispered back.
We began to sway to the lilting rhythms and I suddenly found it easy to dance with her. When I was a young boy, my mother forced dancing lessons on me. After a while, I ducked them, spending the time in a local pool hall that didn't mind a bored and curious kid hanging around. Right now, I really wished I'd gone more often.