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19 October 2009
| "The I Do's of
March"
by M. Mitchell Marmel & E.O. Costello © 2007-9 by M. Mitchell Marmel and E.O. Costello Willow Fawnsworthy, Reggie Buckhorn, Franklin Stagg, Orrin Brush, Leslie duCleds, Kara Karoksdottir, Charles Foster Crane, Inocenta du Cleds (nee de Ciervos), Carlos de Ciervos, Senora de Ciervos © Eric Costello Rosie Baumgartner, © M. Mitchell Marmel Marryin’ Sam and Lulubelle Mae Brunswick © E.O Costello and M. Mitchell Marmel Brenda and Covina Johnson © Walter D. Reimer Part Nine
Reggie: “Lodge?” “Yes, Sir?” “Well, um, err, yes. I have a favor to ask.” “Yes, Sir?” “As I’m sure you know by now, Les and Inocenta are getting married, and Senor de Ciervos is wanting to do the thing up brown.” “I am aware of the upcoming event, Sir.” “Well, I’m to be the best man, but we need ushers. I was wondering if – “ My valet raised an eyebrow and his tail gently slapped against the backs of his legs. “Sir, are you asking me to be one of the ushers at the duCleds wedding?” “Um. Yes.” Lodge bowed. “I would be honored, Sir.” He shimmered off to be about his business, and I sighed in relief. ***
Willow: “You just missed him. He was in here, asking after you, ee-ven.” “Oh, that’s too bad,” I said in my best sincere voice. I thanked the oddly pink lion who ran the front desk of Shepherd’s (I still have no idea why he’s dyed pink) and walked to the restaurant for lunch with Reggie. So far, so good. We were managing to miss each other. ***
Rosie: Hard to believe that it only took a week for the contractors to finish. I was used to Gnu York Standard Time, i.e., twice as long and twice as expensive. The Spontoons have their points. I stopped at the front gate and admired my new domain. I had kept the name; Luchow’s was an old and established eatery, and it was best to keep something familiar to draw the customers. The iron gate had been stripped and freshly painted black, the wall separating the street from the biergarten was painted a dazzling white. Walking in, I noted with satisfaction that the tiled patio was clean and the new tables and chairs were set up. The building itself was painted a softer shade of white, with all exposed wood sanded and varnished. The second-floor railing (the second floor still had to be cleaned out, so I could start moving in earnest) had been repainted. Inside, the place smelled of fresh paint and varnish. I sighed happily and brushed away a tear before starting the coffee pot. I'd checked on Nick, more of a formality after that omelet he'd made me. He had, in fact, worked at the Grand for five years before quitting. Something about the head chef waving a cleaver at him. You think they'd be worried about that beaver. For a rabbit, he knew meat, which surprised me a little. I had expected to do most of the shopping, but he dealt with the Fenwick jobber as if he were the Tsar, and got everything on the list for a lower price than I had anticipated. We – Nick, Vicky and I – had worked together for a day or two to get things straight, and now it was Opening Day. “Hi, Rosie!” My best smile. “Good morning, Sergeant.” “Dis joint looks awright,” Brush said. “Gotta potta java on?” “Help yourself.” The menu and price list were posted on an old chalkboard I’d found. Menus would come later, I figured. He got a mugful, which after a few sips, became a muzzle full. “Yup, dat’s durn good coffee.” Then he glanced up at the price list and dropped twopence on the counter. “Take that back,” I said. He looked at me. “You heard me. Any constable who wants coffee can come in here and get it.” Brush looked impressed and grateful. “Thanks, Rosie. Not even ol’ man Luchow did that. By th’ way, have yez found a handyfur yet?” “No, not yet,” I admitted. “I imagine either me or Vicky can take turns washing up.” “I might have found one fer yez. Mind if I come by wit’ him later?” “Mind? Of course not, bring ‘em over.” “Great.” He left smiling, still savoring his coffee. He left the twopence on the counter, though. I growled and scooped the coins into the till. Vicky and Nick got things going, and as folks started to notice the lights were on, they came in for their breakfasts. The bell on the front door dinged and I turned to see my lawyer and friend Kara Karoksdottir walk in. “Hi, Kara! Like the look of the place?” “Rosie, the place looks fantastic. Do you still remember my payment?” I grinned. “Sure. Nick, um . . . a rack of toast, with strawberry jam.” I looked at Kara. “And tea, right?” She smiled. She almost stopped smiling when I asked her to be a bridesmaid. Took a bit of persuasion, but I got her. ***
Don Carlos: Aha! I have it! The roof of the Saint Anthony’s Church is not right for the showering of these rose petals. So! I shall engage the small airplane and the pilot to help me scatter the petals over my Inocenta’s reception. Is a good plan. next |