Page 20 of The Dinner Party

Avery leads you into a room where about a dozen people are sipping on glasses of wine and chatting together. The room reeks of Old Money, from the expensive suits to the designer gowns to the jewelry and Rolex watches. The men all have gray or white hair, and the women all look like they’ve had Botox. But they do, indeed, look very pleased to see you when you enter the room.

“Hello!” This enthusiastic greeting comes from a gray-haired man wearing a sleek gray suit that contrasts sharply with his gentle smile. “This must be our new waitress, Sloan.”

“It sure is,” Avery answers for you.

The man looks pleased by her answer. “It’s so good to meet you, Sloan. My name is Davenport Wentworth, and I’m the host of this dinner party.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Wentworth,” you say politely.

Mr. Wentworth takes your extended hand, but instead of shaking it, he lifts it to his lips and kisses the back of your hand. But it wasn’t a kiss—not exactly. Maybe it’s your imagination, but it almost seems like he licked you. That’s ridiculous, though.

Mr. Wentworth insists on introducing you to all the guests in the room by name, even though you immediately forget all of their names. Hopefully, you won’t be called upon to remember them later.

“Sloan,” Mr. Wentworth says, as he introduces you to a tall, gangly man with large spectacles perched on his nose. “This is my dear friend, Heinrich van Houten.”

“Ah, Sloan,” he says in a thick Eastern European accent as he clasps your hand in both of his. “I cannot wait for you to be served to us.”

Mr. Wentworth shoots him a look. “Sloan, please excuse Heinrich’s English. What he means is, he can’t wait for you to serve us. Our dinners, that is. We’re famished!”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Heinrich corrects himself. “To serve us. My mistake.”

Okay…

“Is dinner almost ready?” you ask.

“Dinner is… in progress,” Mr. Wentworth says. “The chef does not wish to prepare it until soon before we are ready to eat. He wishes everything to be… fresh.”

“Do you need me to change into a uniform?”

“No, no.” Mr. Wentworth smiles at you. “There’s no need for you to change.”

“Sounds good,” you say, glad to be allowed to remain in your own clothes. “Do you want to show me the kitchen now?”

“Yes, of course. But first…” He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a camera. “I need to get your photo for your ID badge.”

ID badge? That seems a little like overkill for a one-night gig. Especially after Carson’s cryptic warning, the idea makes you uncomfortable.

But then again, what’s the harm in having your photo taken?

To agree to the photo, turn to Chapter 35 (page 86)

To refuse the photo, turn to Chapter 36 (page 88)

35

It definitely makes you uncomfortable to have your photo taken, but on the other hand, aren’t all rich people eccentric? What’s the harm?

“Sure,” you agree.

“Excellent.” Mr. Wentworth gestures across the room. “Could you please stand in front of that wall over there?”

You obediently stand in front of a white wall. Mr. Wentworth pulls a camera out of his coat pocket while everyone in the room watches with interest, especially Heinrich.

“Very good,” Mr. Wentworth says, “but you’re a little too low. Would you mind getting on that step so you’ll be higher up?”

You look down at where he’s pointing. It takes you a moment to figure out what he wants you to stand on.

“That’s a scale!” you protest.