Read Online Cobalt by Nathan Aldyne - Free Book Online Page A

pick up a home Detox Unit, do you?”

Chapter Nine

    A LITTLE LATER Valentine and Clarisse were walking back up Commercial Street from Kiley Court. Valentine wore a loose-fitting white summer suit circa 1940 with a black shirt printed with a single line of enormous long-stemmed yellow roses. Clarisse wore a white dress of the same period with the spray of cymbidium pinned to her bodice. She’d fashioned her hair into a style in imitation of one worn by Eva Perón. Their appearance as a sterling couple of fashion and consequence was undermined only by Valentine’s winking at every good-looking man that passed.
    After the madness of Saturday night and Sunday afternoon, the streets seemed almost deserted. The day’s blasting heat had abated beneath a balmy salt breeze that wafted across Commercial Street from the bay.
    The Swiss Miss in Exile was a small two-story Victorian house, set well back from the street which had been renovated into a fair likeness of a Swiss chalet, with pierced shutters and a great deal of gingerbread. It was painted raw sienna and canary yellow, and its window boxes were filled with red geraniums. Daniel led Clarisse up the evergreen-lined path toward the entrance.
    She paused at the threshold and glanced at a couple of grinning stone dwarfs that stood bowing at either side of the door. “I’ve never eaten here before,” she remarked meaningfully. “Swear to God that the food will make up for the decor?”
    â€œFood’s good,” said Valentine, stepping into the front parlor. In this room was the maître d’s desk, the reservation book open on it, and several comfortable chairs for guests waiting to be seated. “But don’t you know why I brought you here?”
    â€œYou’re meeting a boyfriend who’s into dirndls?”
    Valentine shook his head, and lit cigarettes for them. The maître d’ hadn’t yet appeared. “Your uncle owns this restaurant.”
    â€œWhat!”
    â€œHe bought it last January, and then had it fixed up. I forget what it was before—a guesthouse I think. It wasn’t gay so of course it went under.”
    â€œYou mean to tell me that Noah authorized those charming architectural details on the facade of this building?”
    Valentine pointed to the bright red-and-green stenciled walls in the reception room: “And the interior decoration as well.”
    â€œ Why? Noah keeps his business dealings pretty much secret, but I didn’t think he knew anything about restaurants—or does he?”
    Valentine leaned forward and whispered, “Maybe not, but the White Prince does…”
    Clarisse nodded with sudden understanding. “And that’s why he’s never mentioned it to me, I’ll bet. So Noah invested let’s say fifty thousand dollars to keep the White Prince happy. I might have known. Why doesn’t Noah want to make me happy? For only twenty-five dollars he could buy me a sledgehammer for the Provincetown Crafts Boutique.” She looked around her with increased interest. “It’s probably doing all right, too. Noah’s never lost money at anything he did.”
    â€œAnd the White Prince has never made any,” Valentine reminded her.
    â€œGod. At least he’s not the maître d’. If he were, straight customers would never get seated.”
    â€œI think he’s mostly kept out of sight. Even though he looks as though the only pencil he ever used was to do his eyebrows, the White Prince is actually pretty good with books.”
    Beyond the front parlor, in the warren of large and small rooms on the first and second floors, from two to seven tables had been set up in each, and in the backyard, made private by an old and vigorously pruned privet hedge, there was garden dining. Presently, the maître d’, wearing a saffron-hued peasant shirt and raw-cotton slacks, seated them in a tiny room overlooking the garden. The