“Thank you for joining me here at La Biscuit de Fortune, Clove. French food, who knew? You don’t know how much your service has meant to me over the last 30 years.”
“It’s meant a lot to me as well, Mr. Featherbottom. You’re my family,” Clive said.
“I think so too. Family. You’re literally all I’ve got left; my wife was brutally murdered and my only son has gone missing. You know I won’t speak to papa anymore, he’s practically dead to me. That’s why I wanted to ask you here tonight. I’m 95 years old, Clove. I’m not going to be getting any younger. As you know I’ve been spending a lot of time with Candy from the Mount Two Timbers Cabaret and Sushi Bar and, well, I’ve asked her to marry me. I’d really like you to be the best man. What do you say?”
Clive’s jaw hung with his spoon frozen to his mouth. He had no idea what to say, so he started to mumble.
“This, uh, this hassenpfeffer is delicious in the balsamic fig reduction. The root vegetables that they used are just tasty as hell. I was so torn between getting it or the surströmming pasta. Maybe we should come back again tomorrow and try the things we didn’t get to try. I heard they have really great desserts here.”
The waitress came to his rescue.
“How was everything this evening?”
“It was just wonderful,” Mr. Featherbottom leaned back in his wheelchair to greet the young woman’s breastline and he inhaled deeply.
“Would you be interested in any dessert?”
“Our house specials start with a chocolate mousse…”
“My dear, I am grotesquely, wealthy,” Mr. Featherbottom pursed his lips.
“I see, sir. For the obscenely wealthy this evening we are serving cactus crepe fondue with…”
“Madame! I said GROTESQUELY wealthy,” steamed Mr. Featherbottom.
“Of course, sir. I will fire myself upon completing your order. For the Grotesquely wealthy we are serving Ulrica Arfidsson’s Alphabet La Biscuit de Fortune Bisque. It’s a Swedish delight offering future insight. Your raspberry-based soup includes blueberries, strawberries, rhubard, and plenty of cardamom and clove. Give the soup a stir with your provided pine stem and it will reveal your fortune in delicious gluten-free alphabet noodles. Fortunes guaranteed with a 97.805% accuracy.”
“That sounds delicious, one bowl please. Oh, and my butler here, he’ll do that chocolate mouse thing. Thank you,” Mr. Featherbottom waved the waitress away with a bony wrinkled hand.
The soup arrived with a little curl of steam above it and they set it down in front of Mr. Featherbottom. He picked up the pine stem and just as he was about to stir a new waitress brought out a second bowl.
“Here is, oh, they already delivered it. I grabbed the wrong one. Oh, well, would you like a second bowl? I would have to throw it away now that it’s been delivered,” the waitress said.
“Yes, throw it away,” Mr. Featherbottom said.
“I wouldn’t mind trying some,” Clive said.
“Oh, yes, you may give my butler the fully comped mistake soup. Please go fire yourself now.”
Mr. Featherbottom and Clive picked up their pine stems and swirled the soup around. Then watched as fortunes raised to the surface.
Clive wasn’t sure what to make of his. He understood the words, but there was absolutely no context.
“Oh my, isn’t this just wonderful, my boy. I will not give you a choice, you will be my best man and you will be here by my side tomorrow because…”
Mr. Featherbottom lifted his bowl to face Clive and Clive read it out loud, “Your life will perfect in 24 hours.”
“…and that is exactly when I plan to propose. Here at this restaurant, this was a test run to see if it was good or if it needed to be demolished. I give them another week.”
They left the restaurant and Clive drove the old man home and put him to bed. He went about his nightly duties: putting away the shoes, letting the cat out, and biting all the almonds off the almond joys. Then he went to bed.
Clive loved his job. He knew Mr. Featherbottom could be a handful, but he really had been a father figure to him when his real father died of a heart attack on the job. Mr. Featherbottom hired 10-year old Clive on the spot to be his new butler!
“It’s all about business, being in the right place at the right time,” Mr. Featherbottom would say.
The next day Clive went about his morning routine of dusting, toilet scrubbing, and de-holing the swiss cheeses. While he was mid-cheese he saw Mr. Featherbottom’s favorite lawyer come into the house, enter Mr. Featherbottom’s bedroom, and close the door.
Around lunchtime, just before Clive threw out yesterdays socks but right after he brushed the cat’s teeth, Clive saw Mr. Featherbottom’s favorite lawyer exit the house.
When Clive finished sorting the bananas in order of eye color his household chores (with just a minute to spare) were complete. He ushered Mr. Featherbottom to La Biscuit de Fortune’s lobby and wheeled him into the elevator.
Mr. Featherbottom reached for the button that led to the 30th floor and La Biscuit de Fortune, but Clive reached in a little quicker. He pushed the button and faced Mr. Featherbottom.
“I saw your favorite lawyer here today,” Clive said cheerily.
“Yes! Yes, keen eye, boy. He was here to update my will. I need to make sure I take care of Candy and as soon as we are wed she will become the sole beneficiary,” Mr. Featherbottom said with a grin.
“I thought I was in your will,” Clive let his smile falter.
“You are! My boy, you are such a good servant I am going to treat you like a king. Yes, yes. I am the king and you will be buried with me. Like the Egyptians did, I heard. Can’t move on without my best boy, but nothing is official until this is signed and it can’t be signed until she says yes. As of right now you would inherit everything. Hurry, hurry my boy, make the lift go faster,” said Mr. Featherbottom.
Clive’s eye twitched.
“We seem to have missed the 30th floor. The elevator is still going up,” said Mr. Featherbottom.
Clive’s other eye twitched.
Ding.
“50th floor, my, that appears to be the roof, boy. What a wonderful idea, I should bring Candy up here to see the city view. However, we are so near to the 24 hours now and I’d like to perfect my life.”
“Mr. Featherbottom, what did you fortune say?” Clive asked while he wheeled Mr. Featherbottom to the edge of the building’s roof. The sun was just tickling the tips of the distant peaks and turning orange.
“It said ‘your life will perfect in 24 hours,’ and I am ready for it,” Mr. Featherbottom said.
“Did you know that the word perfect can also be used as a verb to mean bring to completion or finish?”
“Hmmm… interesting. Interesting. May we go inside?”
“Do you want to know what my soup said, Mr. Featherbottom?” Clive asked.
“How in the world could you afford a bowl of soup?” Mr. Featherbottom gasped.
“It said ‘The Butler Did It,’” Clive said and gave the chair a good shove.
THE END
*****************
Created for the August 11th writing prompt!
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About the Creator
Amos Glade
Welcome to Pteetneet City & my World of Weird. Here you'll find stories of the bizarre, horror, & magic realism as well as a steaming pile of poetry. Thank you for reading.
For more madness check out my website: https://www.amosglade.com/
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Comments (1)
An interesting and fun read, and we have had a few great French restaurants in Newcastle