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“Yes, thank you.”
“May I offer you a cocktail while you are waiting?”
“Yes. A negroni, please.”
The man bowed and disappeared through another door.
Melanie made a sweep of the foyer. The sitting room was to the right of a massive staircase. Straight ahead, a hallway led to two large hand-carved doors, with another bronze plaque. This one said PRIVATE. On the opposite side of the sitting room were two more large wooden doors. That plaque read DINING ROOM. Just before the entrance was a single Dutch door labeled: VALET. Their fancy version of COAT ROOM. She was curious where the bathrooms were, but didn’t dare ask. Not yet, anyway. She wanted to scope out the dinner guests as they arrived. Within minutes, “Jeeves”—Melanie’s imaginary name for the butler—returned with the sparkling red potion. She’d never had a negroni but knew it was trendy and felt the cocktail went along with her persona. Trendy and edgy. She smiled to herself.
A few minutes later, two men arrived together. They both had dark complexions and black hair. They were speaking Spanish. Maybe they’re bringing the Cuban cigars? A man appeared from behind the PRIVATE doors to greet them. He had a French accent. Melanie presumed it was Monsieur Escoffier. He snapped his fingers, and Jeeves appeared. “Henri, have zumone open zi valet, s’il vous plait?” Okay, so his name isn’t Jeeves. It was fun for a minute.
Melanie stood off to the side, eavesdropping. She heard one of the agents in her ear. “Move in closer.”
She cleared her throat. All heads turned in her direction. “Pardon my interruption. I am Moira Rockwell.” She extended her hand. Escoffier kissed the back of it. “Enchanté, mademoiselle.”
“Le plaisir est à moi,” Melanie answered. The pleasure is mine.
“Ah, you speak French?””
“Un peu. Very, very little.” She smiled.
He turned to the two gentlemen and introduced them as Guillermo Gutierrez and Ricardo Torres. Melanie noticed Mr. Torres’s hands were not as well manicured as Mr. Gutierrez’s. His hands didn’t match the expensive designer suit he was wearing. She glanced at his shoes. They, too, were at odds with the rest of his clothing. She would keep an eye on him.
A valet opened the coat room and began to exchange club blazers with the men’s suit jackets, giving each of them a plastic tag. Melanie wondered how many jackets the club had and in what sizes.
Three women entered the vestibule. After they were introduced, she learned that Annika and Elsa were from Sweden, and Olivia from Finland. That made four, including Melanie/ Moira. She made small talk with the women, making sure her microphone was facing the men so the agents could pick up on their conversation. Henri opened the door as four more men entered the vestibule at the same time. Escoffier introduced everyone. Munir Balgesh from Pakistan; Yassin Cumbe from Mozambique; Geoffrey Leeds from Australia. It was quite a mix of accents and styles, each gentleman turning over his hand-tailored suit jacket for a dull wool blazer with the club crest.
Two additional women walked through the main door, Maxine Rieux from France, and Isabella Fromentini from Sicily. Lots of chatter as clothing was swapped. Fortunately, there was no dress code for women. They were only allowed into the club when invited to an event.
Escoffier opened the double doors to the dining room. “Voilà!” It was a grand room that could accommodate more than a dinner for twelve. Buffets and sideboards lined the perimeter walls, where paintings that could possibly be original Gainsboroughs hung between the large casement windows. The scenes could have been torn from the pages of Voltaire’s Candide. Melanie wondered why men had worn those ridiculous wigs. Another stupid idea.
Escoffier showed everyone to their assigned seat. Melanie made sure her David Yurman necklace caught the panorama of the room. She wondered if Shannon was on the premises. She hoped not.
Melanie was seated between Cumbe and Geoffrey Leeds. Annika was on the other side of Leeds. There were six on each side of the very wide table. Conversation would be a little challenging if she wanted to speak to someone sitting across from her.
Wine was served, along with the first course. Melanie was looking forward to the menu, a copy of which was on each place setting. Shannon was right. It was beef Wellington. Escoffier tapped his glass with his knife to get the group’s attention.
“Bonsoir. Welcome.” He made a short speech and introduced everyone. “Tonight, we will enjoy a wonderful meal, fine wine, and good companionship. Then later, we will be sampling some of the finest cigars in the world with demitasse and dessert. Bon appetit!”
Everyone lifted their glass and declared their own salutation. “Chin-chin!” “Salud!” “Skål!”
Melanie particularly appreciated Leeds’s toast: “To those who have seen us at our best and seen us at our worst and can’t tell the difference!” She was relieved he had a sense of humor.
Leeds was very charming and a big fan of Bach. Melanie wasn’t particularly fond of the composer’s work but could speak about it in depth. “Personally, I prefer Vivaldi.” She smiled. “The Four Seasons is masterful. And to think they wrote all that music by candlelight.”
“Extraordinary,” Leeds concurred.
The first course was exactly what Melanie had been salivating for. Lobster with a dollop of caviar. The wine was crisp and cut the saltiness of the fish roe. As the first course plates were being removed, one of the side doors opened. It was Shannon, checking to see if everything was in order. Melanie turned in the opposite direction, pretending to remove a crumb from Leeds’s sleeve with her napkin. “Oh here I go again. I’m always feeding my clothes.” He smiled. “Thanks.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Shannon leave. Even though she couldn’t hear what her sister-in-law said to Escoffier, her microphone picked it up. An agent’s voice spoke inside Melanie’s ear. “She’s gone for the evening.”
Melanie let out a whoosh of air.
“Already full?” Leeds joked.
“It was delicious. A bit rich, but I would do it all over again. Just not right now.” She chuckled.
As more wine was poured, the conversations became louder. Melanie was careful not to imbibe heavily. She had to be alert. Be aware. One thing was certain, Mr. Torres did not look comfortable. Did he not think his behavior was obvious? Then again, men could be oblivious to their own behavior and everyone and everything around them. Poor dears. When are they going to realize women are superior? She laughed to herself. She wasn’t man-bashing. Simply observing.
