Page 103 of Triple Threat

“They have a place for everything,” Conan declared as he waved down a car to take us to the restaurant, not wanting to give up our parking space as he’d paid for the whole day.

“Sounds like it could be fun,” I said and the look my ginger lover gave me was priceless. The laugh it dragged out of Kyle worth its weight in gold.

“Cheeky little monkey,” Roan said, opening the car door for us. Kyle went in first to keep me in the middle.

I couldn’t keep the grin off my face if I wanted to.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Lach…

Chevalierwas one of the nicest restaurants in Indigo City, and a premiere destination for East Coast gourmands and Francophiles. Which meant that Roan was the one to swing us getting a table. We were slightly underdressed, this was certainly a black tie and cocktail dress kind of place, but we were saved by the fact that there was literally nothing special about the day we arrived. If it had been any sort of holiday, anything of note, we would have been turned away.

We were certainly well healed enough to be customers, so the only ruse we played was slumming. It was easy enough to pull off, It wasn’t a place you walked into off the street, and everyone there knew it. There was a subset of obscenely wealthy people who took no interest in pretension, and despite having billions, still wore denim and print tees, had no interest in custom fitted suits.

Places likeChevalierhated them, because this place was all about pretense and being hoity-toity. They also tended to be bootstrap types and had no appreciation for Micheline Star cuisine. Hard to sell a six-hundred-dollar chicken dinner with a twelve-thousand-dollar bottle of wine sitting a table away from a guy sitting in a pair of worn jeans and a trucker hat.

That son of a bitch probably had enough money to buy the entire restaurant.

That chapped their asses too.

We were seated, and the host looked at Sadie in a serious manner, like he was trying to figure out who she was. A Hollywood starlet, an influential politico up from DC, someone so incredibly famous that it was an insult to recognize her? We were given the treatment that one would give a pair of highly capable and competent bodyguards.

“When do we get a menu?” Sadie asked, after we had been seated.

“The only menu we will get is a wine menu, and we have to ask for that,” Roan said. He picked up a glass and inspected it. “It is generally better manners to ask the sommelier’s recommendation and go off of that.”

“How do we know what to order?” she asked.

“Chevalierdoes a prix fixe menu, you pick an appetizer, what dressing goes on your salad, and what protein you would like,” Roan said. “The waitress will give us the layout, and we’ll go from there.”

“So this definitely isn’t like an Applebees,” she said, giggling.

“It would be hard to get much further from that establishment than here,” I said. “And I’ve only been here, twice? This might make my third visit.”

“Well it's my first, mister,” Sadie said.

The waitress came by and gave us a quick and formal run down of the menu. The choices were short, and Sadie looked horrified when Roan made an executive decision and picked the escargot.

“Snails!” She made a face.

“Give them a chance, Poppet, we’ve not steered you wrong yet. Have we?” He raised an eyebrow.

“You haven't,yet,” she said. “But…snails…”

“Don’t worry, if you don’t like them you don't have to eat any of them,” Roan said.

“One,” I said. “Tryone, I think you’ll like them.” She nodded and gave me a dubious look. “Roan made me try them, they’re alright.”

“Just alright?” she asked.

“Well, yeah. But they make him do that thing with his face, and then it’s just hard to say no,” I admitted. She laughed.

Drinks were served, I had an Aviator: gin and crème de violette. It was a flurry of herbal, floral, and pine notes. Roan had some fancy bottle of Chardonnay and split it with Sadie. She ended up having a further treat in a kir royale, some concoction of crème de cassis and champagne. Our spirits were high as the snails in garlic and parsley arrived.

There was a certain weird little thing, eating this frequently mocked French food, sipping the nicest of spirits, while some quartet practiced their music in the corner. If I knew classical music, I might enjoy it better. Roan seemed to be pleased, and Sadie liked the escargot enough to eat a second one, but that was it.

We were halfway through the main course; they were having the duck a l’orange and I was indulging in the raw decadence that was the chateaubriand with lavender and rosemary. When I was eating it, it was like my tongue was fucking my mouth in ecstasy. And then everything turned sour.

---