chefâs uniform. His entrance awakened Clara, and she sat bolt upright in the lawn chair.
âOh,â she said, rubbing her eyes, âhi, Papa. What are you doing here?â It was very strange for her father to visit her in her apartment.
âI just wanted to see what happened with your friend... Ms. Bloat...â
âBlurt. Sheâs fine.â
âIs she?â He rubbed his hands together. âDid you slap her?â
âNo.â
Her father looked disappointed, and Clara realized that that was probably what he had come to find out. And, in fact, it did appear that he was about to leave, but he suddenly changed his mind, walked up the stairs to the porch, and sat beside Clara in a lawn chair. The light from the streetlamps was still dim, an early morning light, even though it was actually nearly midnight outside. But it was very convincing, and Clara really did feel like the day was just beginning, rather than ending.
âNice room,â her father said. âMakes one feel homesick somehow.â He turned to her and smiled. âIt reminds me of the little village in France where I was bornâyou know, the smells, the sound of les enfants playing. One day, when I have the time, Iâd like to take you there to see it, to meet your grand-mere ... He shut his eyes and seemed to drift off in his own reverie.
âPapa,â Clara said.
âMmm?â he asked without opening his eyes.
âWhat do you know about Audrey?â
âAudrey Aster?â His face lost its dreaminess, and he frowned. âI know she makes a tolerable soup, when she isnât lazing around like a bespectacled sloth.â
âWhat do you know about her, though? Where does she come from? Does she have a family? Things like that.â
âHow on earth should I know?â Pierre looked at his daughter with bewilderment, as though she had asked him what he knew about earthworms.
âWhere did she work before you hired her?â Clara persisted.
âWhere, what, how?!â Pierreâs voice had reached its usual restaurant boom by now. âI have no idea! It was Dr. Piff who brought her to me.â
âDr. Piff?â Clara sat up.
âYears ago, when we first opened. He said that she needed work and that she would not disappoint meâoh, what a lie! They are a lousy, putrid lot, the whole bunch of them. If I had my way, I would tie them all to a tree and...â
Clara sank back down in the lawn chair. Once her father began on a rant, there was no stopping him. He bellowed on and on, drowning out the taped neighborhood noises, making the lawn chair squeak every time he threw up his hands to show how he would throttle the busboy or tear the pastry chef into a thousand pieces, until, finally exhausted, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his chefâs jacket and stood up.
âWell, bon soir, Clara, Iâm completely done in.â He gave her a quick peck on the top of her head and left her alone. Well, not quite alone. Now she had some new ideas to keep her company.
Dr. Piff, huh? ...
CHAPTER NINE
T hat morning Clara passed the dining room, eyed the stack of waiting newspapers on the table, and decided that they could wait.
âNo breakfast today,â she called hastily to the cook as she passed the kitchen and headed directly to Pish Posh.
Lila Frankofile was sitting at the restaurantâs bar, deep in thought. Lila wasnât generally there that early, but she had a touchy situation to deal with: the princess of Macedonia was to be there that evening at the same time as her sister, the empress of Bulgaria. The two of them were known to detest each other, and whenever they were in the same place at the same time, a fistfight invariably erupted. Lila scratched at her head as she stared at the reservation book, trying to figure out the best way to keep the two sisters from getting within sparring distance of each other.
When
âOh,â she said, rubbing her eyes, âhi, Papa. What are you doing here?â It was very strange for her father to visit her in her apartment.
âI just wanted to see what happened with your friend... Ms. Bloat...â
âBlurt. Sheâs fine.â
âIs she?â He rubbed his hands together. âDid you slap her?â
âNo.â
Her father looked disappointed, and Clara realized that that was probably what he had come to find out. And, in fact, it did appear that he was about to leave, but he suddenly changed his mind, walked up the stairs to the porch, and sat beside Clara in a lawn chair. The light from the streetlamps was still dim, an early morning light, even though it was actually nearly midnight outside. But it was very convincing, and Clara really did feel like the day was just beginning, rather than ending.
âNice room,â her father said. âMakes one feel homesick somehow.â He turned to her and smiled. âIt reminds me of the little village in France where I was bornâyou know, the smells, the sound of les enfants playing. One day, when I have the time, Iâd like to take you there to see it, to meet your grand-mere ... He shut his eyes and seemed to drift off in his own reverie.
âPapa,â Clara said.
âMmm?â he asked without opening his eyes.
âWhat do you know about Audrey?â
âAudrey Aster?â His face lost its dreaminess, and he frowned. âI know she makes a tolerable soup, when she isnât lazing around like a bespectacled sloth.â
âWhat do you know about her, though? Where does she come from? Does she have a family? Things like that.â
âHow on earth should I know?â Pierre looked at his daughter with bewilderment, as though she had asked him what he knew about earthworms.
âWhere did she work before you hired her?â Clara persisted.
âWhere, what, how?!â Pierreâs voice had reached its usual restaurant boom by now. âI have no idea! It was Dr. Piff who brought her to me.â
âDr. Piff?â Clara sat up.
âYears ago, when we first opened. He said that she needed work and that she would not disappoint meâoh, what a lie! They are a lousy, putrid lot, the whole bunch of them. If I had my way, I would tie them all to a tree and...â
Clara sank back down in the lawn chair. Once her father began on a rant, there was no stopping him. He bellowed on and on, drowning out the taped neighborhood noises, making the lawn chair squeak every time he threw up his hands to show how he would throttle the busboy or tear the pastry chef into a thousand pieces, until, finally exhausted, he wiped the sweat from his forehead with the bottom of his chefâs jacket and stood up.
âWell, bon soir, Clara, Iâm completely done in.â He gave her a quick peck on the top of her head and left her alone. Well, not quite alone. Now she had some new ideas to keep her company.
Dr. Piff, huh? ...
CHAPTER NINE
T hat morning Clara passed the dining room, eyed the stack of waiting newspapers on the table, and decided that they could wait.
âNo breakfast today,â she called hastily to the cook as she passed the kitchen and headed directly to Pish Posh.
Lila Frankofile was sitting at the restaurantâs bar, deep in thought. Lila wasnât generally there that early, but she had a touchy situation to deal with: the princess of Macedonia was to be there that evening at the same time as her sister, the empress of Bulgaria. The two of them were known to detest each other, and whenever they were in the same place at the same time, a fistfight invariably erupted. Lila scratched at her head as she stared at the reservation book, trying to figure out the best way to keep the two sisters from getting within sparring distance of each other.
When
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