"Really?" Terri perked up. Perhaps all was not lost.
"They're all vying for the job. I've sent out copies of the desired menu, and each of them is working up competitive prices and arranging to send sample meals over to be tried. Bastien or you, or both of you, can decide who to go with. That probably won't be until later tomorrow, though." There was a pause, then Meredith added, "I know Kate should probably make the choice, but as she's in California, and this has to be arranged and decided at once so that the provisions can be ordered, it—"
"It will have to be us," Terri finished. She paused, biting her lip. "Meredith, I'm thinking that, since she can't make the choice, and since this news would just stress her out—"
"And at a time when she's already under a great deal of pressure," Meredith put in.
Terri felt herself relax. It sounded like the secretary had the same idea, but she said it just the same: "Do you think we should just keep this to ourselves? Bastien and I can choose the best price and meal, and Kate doesn't really even have to know about it if all goes well."
There was a pause on the other end of the line. Whether it was because Meredith was considering the question, or because she was surprised that Terri would even ask her opinion on a family matter, Terri didn't know.
"I think that—judging by how upset she was over the floral incident—keeping this from her might be the best decision," Meredith announced at last.
"Yes, I think it's best," Terri said, then hesitated before saying, "Since you're now a co-conspirator, would you care to be in on the taste testing when the sample meals show up?"
"Oh. Oh, that's so nice, but… no, I couldn't." The woman was obviously flustered. "But thank you."
"Are you sure?" Terri asked.
"Yes. Thank you," Meredith repeated, a hint of warmth creeping into her previously cool and efficient tone. "I'll leave that up to yourself and Mr. Argeneau."
"Well, if you change your mind, let me know," Terri said. "And thank you, Meredith. I fully expected to spend the day calling caterer after caterer to deal with this, but you've handled it all and left nothing but the eating, which is the fun part. Bastien's very lucky to have you working for him."
There was a soft expelling of breath on the other end of the phone. "Thank you, Ms. Simp—"
"Call me Terri."
"Thank you, Terri," Meredith said. "It's always nice to be appreciated."
"Well, you certainly are that," she told her, then thanked her again. Saying good-bye, she hung up.
"Was that Meredith?"
Terri glanced up from the receiver she'd just set in the cradle to find Bastien in the doorway to the penthouse office. "Yes, it was," she admitted, getting to her feet and moving around the desk. "She's arranged for price quotes and sample meals from the best caterers in New York. We decided that, since Kate isn't here to taste them, which means you and I will have to in her place, there's no reason to even tell her about the change—unless something goes terribly wrong at the wedding." She paused and raised her eyebrows. "How did it go at QIC's apartment? Are any of the flowers salvageable?"
Bastien raised a bag he was holding, grasped both handles, and opened it wide for her to peer inside. Terri tipped her head and peered down at several boxes of Kleenex.
"Darn," she breathed, knowing what that meant.
"There are several more bags out in the living room," he told her dryly. "And some string."
Terri closed her eyes, then opened them again. Raising her head, she peered at him.
"None
of them were salvageable?"
"The garbage bags were ripped by the ceiling caving in, and the pipes poured water down on them, apparently turning them into tissue stew. The landlady had them carted out with the rubble when they cleared it away."
"Ah."
"The good news is, I rented several movies to watch while we make the flowers. That was the sales-clerk's suggestion when I asked how much Kleenex I needed to make flowers for a wedding," he admitted, following her out of the office.
"Clever girl, suggesting that," Terri commented. In the living room, she saw the collection of bags sitting in the center of the room.
"I thought so," Bastien agreed.
Chris was no longer in the room. Terri guessed that meant Bastien had brought him back fresh clothes, and he was in his room changing. Terri rifled through the shopping bags until she found the string, then moved to claim a corner of the couch.
Bastien immediately settled next to her, and dumped the boxes of Kleenex on the coffee table. They both grabbed and ripped open a box, then paused.
"Do you know how to make these things?" she asked doubtfully.
"I was rather hoping you would," he admitted.
"Darn," she breathed.
"I do."
They both glanced up with surprise as Vincent walked into the room and came to join them.
"You
do?" Bastien asked doubtfully.
"Mmmm." The actor dropped onto the chair across from them, and claimed a box for himself. "It's amazing the things you learn while working in the theater."
Terri tossed another flower into one of the large cardboard boxes Bastien had fetched. That had been Vincent's suggestion: storage that would prevent the flowers from being crushed. While Bastien was off finding the boxes, the actor had proceeded to show Terri and Chris how to make the flowers. He had repeated the lesson for Bastien's benefit upon his return, making Terri and Chris watch again too, since they were still struggling somewhat with their efforts. All of them had been working at the project almost nonstop since. Terri was hoping that meant they would be finished before the wedding—which wasn't a joke. Vincent was the only one of them who knew what he was doing; the rest of them were ruining more flowers than they were making.
They'd been at it since the morning before. It was now late afternoon of the next day. After two days of work, with only a pause to sleep last night, they had watched countless movies and produced one whole and one partial box of usable flowers. And three boxes of rejects. They were improving, though. Two of the boxes of rejects were from the first night, and the third box was only about three-quarters full with today's failures.
"How many more do you think we need?" Terri asked, grabbing a handful of popcorn and popping it into her mouth, her gaze fixed on the television screen. She jumped as the actress onscreen was attacked from behind, then winced as the woman's chainsaw wielding attacker turned her into dogmeat in a matter of seconds.
"Is it just me, or does anyone else think there is just something so wrong about watching horror movies while making tissue flowers for a wedding?" Chris asked.
Terri grinned at the editor. She even managed not to wince at his misshapened face. Some of the swelling had gone down, but not much, and his coloring was still an angry red. "I'd think, as a man, you'd find it totally appropriate," she said. "After all, isn't the idea of marriage itself a horror to most men?"
He paused to consider, then nodded. "You've got a point."
"I don't know," Vincent said as Terri laughed. "Some men, smart men, recognize the value of a good life mate. A partner to share life's sorrows and joys with."
"Why, Vincent," she said with surprise. "You almost sound like a romantic."
The actor recoiled. "Well, I wouldn't go that far."
Terri chuckled and picked up the ball of string to cut off a length.
"What time is it?" Bastien asked suddenly.
"Three-thirty," Chris answered, glancing at his wristwatch.
"Oh." Bastien looked perplexed for a minute, then glanced at Terri. "I don't remember you eating today."
"I had a bowl of cereal when I got up," she said absently. She finished with the string and began to fold a sheaf of Kleenex.
"But you didn't eat lunch."
Terri glanced up, surprised at the accusation in his voice. "I didn't eat lunch?" she echoed with surprise. "No, I didn't. But then neither did you. We were busy, so we've been snacking instead."
Bastien scowled as she gestured to the junk food on the table. "Popcorn and corn chips do not make up a healthy diet."
Terri grimaced at those stiff words. She'd said something very similar to C.K. a day or two ago and only now realized how annoying that must have been.
"You're absolutely right, Bastien," Vincent said. "Perhaps you should make something to eat."
"Me?" He blanched at the idea, and Vincent laughed.
"Yes, you. Well, surely you weren't suggesting
Terri
cook for
you?"
"Not for me," he said firmly. "I'm not hungry."
"Neither am I," Terri said with a shrug. "Problem solved."
She didn't miss Bastien's scowl, but merely grinned. The man hardly ever ate. And when he did, he mostly just picked at the food. He had some nerve lecturing her, when he had such poor eating habits.
"Well,
I'm
hungry," Chris announced, grabbing his crutches to get to his feet. "So I'll cook."
"Oh, I don't think that's a very good idea," Vincent said calmly and fanned out the flower he'd just finished making.
"Why not?" Bastien asked. "Terri's cooked for him, Chris can cook for her."
"Look at the man," Vincent said. "So far he's been to the hospital twice in less than a week—once for a toilet falling on him, once for a bee sting. Are you really willing to risk letting him play with fire and sharp objects?"
"Dear Lord," Bastien breathed in horror.
"Oh, for heaven's sake!" Terri set her half-finished flower down with exasperation. "I'll cook."
"No." Bastien stood abruptly. "I'll cook. How difficult can it be?"
"I'm thinking takeout would be a good idea," Vincent said as he peered down at the charred mass in the bottom of the pan. He tilted his head to get a different perspective and asked, "What was it?"
"Ha, ha," Bastien muttered, dropping the pan in the sink and turning on the tap. It would definitely need soaking to come clean. If it came clean. Perhaps he should just chuck it out, he thought, then pointed out, "It was
you
who suggested I cook."
"Well, I was trying to do you a favor," Vincent retorted. "I was afraid Terri would think you were trying to get her to cook for you. No woman wants to be a replacement housekeeper. Speaking of which, how's the hunt for a new housekeeper going, anyway? And have you found Mrs. Houlihan yet?"
"I haven't any idea," Bastien admitted. He'd given both problems to Meredith, and he hadn't been keeping up with much lately. It seemed there had been one crisis after another keeping him busy and distracted. He supposed he should check in with the office. "What time is it?"
"Almost five."
Bastien nodded as he shucked the oven mitts he'd donned to rescue the burning meal from the oven. Not that he'd managed to save it. He grimaced to himself as he recalled leafing quickly through a cookbook and choosing what had seemed simplest: Roast. Throw it in a pan and throw it in the oven. What could be easier? And Bastien had done so—but as the recipe had called for a thawed roast of beef, and he'd only had frozen, he'd upped the temperature a bit. All the way, actually. Then he'd gone back to work on the tissue paper flowers. By the time he'd remembered he was cooking something, the meat was done. Past done. Black on the outside and red on the inside. Disgusting. Bastien saw there was more to cooking than he'd realized.
"How's it going?"
Both he and Vincent glanced toward the door, where Terri stood. She was glancing around curiously. "Is that dinner I smell?"
"We're having takeout," Bastien answered, walking past her to stride up the hall. "Order whatever you want. I have to check in at the office. I'll be back directly to pay."
As Bastien left, Terri raised her eyebrows and turned back to Vincent. "A problem?"
"Bastien found cooking more of a challenge than he expected," Vincent explained and gestured to the sink.
Terri crossed the room and whistled as she peered down at the mess there. A large black chunk, with several smaller black chunks, lay discarded in a pan.
"So, what are you going to order? Chinese? Or pizza?" the actor asked.
Terri shook her head and grinned. "With all the food in this place? I'll whip up something myself and have it done by the time Bastien gets back."
"That a girl! Make him feel inferior," Vincent said lightly. They both laughed, only to pause and glance around in surprise as the elevator buzzer sounded.
Terri followed Bastien's cousin curiously to a kitchen wall panel that was an exact replica of the one in the living room.
"Hmm. Do you know who that is?" he asked, pushing the button to bring up an image of the interior of the elevator.
Terri leaned closer for a better look at the man standing by a covered trolley. She started to shake her head, then paused. "Oh, wait! It's probably one of the caterers. I'd forgotten Meredith had arranged for them to bring samples of the wedding menu for us to try."
Vincent nodded and pushed a button. "Yes?" he asked.
"Katelyn's Catering. I have a delivery."
"This is your lucky day, Terri." Vincent pushed the button to release the elevator, then flipped off the monitor. "You don't have to cook after all. It's being delivered."
Terri chuckled, but said, "I hardly think they'll be bringing anything that in any way resembles a meal. They'll just be samples—hors d'oeuvres, and bits off the menu. Nothing substantial."
Despite her comment, curiosity made Terri follow him out to await the caterer. The moment the elevator doors slid open, the deliveryman smiled at them cheerfully and wheeled out his little trolley. Stopping before them, he lifted a clipboard with a work order and read: "Terri Simpson or Bastien Argeneau?"
"I'm Terri Simpson." She stepped forward and accepted the clipboard and pen.
"Just sign on the bottom, miss," he instructed. "Where do you want this?"
"The kitchen, please." She pointed the way. "First door on the right."
Terri did a quick read-through of the paper he wanted her to sign as the men moved away up the hall, Vincent accompanying the deliveryman. Assured that it merely stated she had accepted the delivery, she signed and dated it, finishing as the men came back up the hall.