Annie said awful quick, “Why don’t we all have a seats. Maybe a drink?”
There was a knock at the front door.
“That must be our other guest,” Alice said, but didn’t let go of Frank’s hand. One of the brothers ran to the door and yanked it open.
He wore jeans and a dark green cowboy shirt with the shoulders embroidered with scrolling, thick black thread. He’d gone to the trouble of wearing a shark tooth bolo tie.
“Please come in,” Zeke said.
“Thank you,” Sturm said and came inside. He moved a little stiff, but otherwise just fine.
“How lovely to see you again, Mr. Sturm.” Alice finally let go of Frank’s hand and worked her way over to Sturm. It took a while in that dress. “Flowers, how lovely.” Her words came out in halting, stiff sounds, like they tasted unfamiliar. She took the flowers and said, “Let me get a vase. Please, please, have a seat.”
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.