NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
Mrs. Rutherford stands patiently behind the curving glass counter covering a selection of pastries, cakes and cookies available to her customers at the Cavendish Pie shop.
A couple in matching red and blue SnazE running outfits have selected two chocolate croissants.
As Mrs. Rutherford moves to serve them. The male runner changes his mind and asks for a brownie instead.
“For here or to go sir?”
The woman speaks up.
“To go.”
The man has already said they will eat here.
Mrs. Rutherford is smiling.
“Ah, which is it folks?”
The woman leans over the glass.
“To go, that’s to go Ma’am.”
Mrs. Rutherford places one croissant in a small paper bag and then puts down the tongs she uses to serve them and picks up a spatula to lift a brownie from the display.
Mrs. Rutherford has a brownie in midair on its way to a waiting bag but pauses when he moves close to his companion to mumble something in her ear and she responds.
“Oh well, okay…no, not the brownie, I’ll have, ahhh…a couple of those almond cookies.”
Mrs. Rutherford puts the brownie back.
“Are you sure about that hon.?”
“Sure, I’m sure!”
Mrs. Rutherford pulls a plastic bag over her hand to pick up cookies.
“Okay, how about something to drink?”
He has stepped over to the left side of the display in his green and black running shoes with red wing-shaped SnazE logos rising from the toes.
“Ah, I don’t want a croissant either, can I have one of those strawberry jobs there?”
“Just a minute sir.”
Mrs. Rutherford pulls the plastic bag off her hand so the two cookies are inside. Now she moves to the other end of the counter to serve him.
He points out a thick creamy looking triangular slice with strawberries on top.
“The strawberry cheese cake special! Good choice sir!”
Mrs. Rutherford takes the other croissant out of its paper bag and puts it back then moves over to the strawberry special.
“Oh, ah…ma’am, ah, over here!”
Mrs. Rutherford looks up, and over to her right where the woman who wanted a brownie, then almond cookies has changed her mind again.
‘Yeah, instead of the cookies I’ll have a piece of cherry pie please.”
Mrs. Rutherford doesn’t move. She is looking hard at the woman in blue track suit with red piping and SnazE logos running across the back of her jacket, who was sure she was sure she wants two almond cookies.
The man has stepped over next to his friend to look at the cherry pie.
“You mustn’t eat cherries remember?”
“Oh, I can eat these!”
“No, No, you can’t, remember what happened at Derick’s?”
“Listen, I am having the pie, alright?”
“No, it’s not alright, I don’t want to have to call the medics.”
A man walks forward from behind me and goes up to the arguing couple.
“Why don’t you settle this outside? You are not the only customers in here you know!”
They ignore him, and now they are shouting.
“You didn’t call any one.”
“Yes, I did!”
“It was Derick who called, and beside it wasn’t even necessary!”
“Oh no? You wouldn’t be standing here now if he hadn’t called!”
“You are so wrong!”
It was Westie North who stepped up to them and as he is tapping the man’s shoulder, Mrs. Rutherford looks up at me.
“Next customer please.”
She serves me a small Darjeeling tea, and keeps looking over at the arguing couple as she presses down the lid on the sky blue paper cup.
“Enjoy it now, sir.”
“What’s that?”
“Its been a bad season over there in Darjeeling.”
“Oh really, poor harvest, you mean.”
“So, I hear. One of my customers has folks over there.”
Mrs. Rutherford is staring past me towards the door.
“Well I’ll be…”
The couple walk outside, still in dispute, without buying anything.
“Sorry you had to put up with them!”
“Please excuse me…ah, Fred, You are Fred right?
“That’s me.”
“I find that kind of behavior just hard to understand.”
Steve Strether is sitting with his back to the sunlit window at the far end of one of the dragon tables. He is tapping his I-pad looking for a web site as I sit down to join him.
“Look at this on Shrinkrap today!”
Axel Ensor’s nineteen-year old Asian wife is shown reclining nude on a huge crimson velvet cushion with palm trees in the background.
“Is it real?”
“Who knows?”
“Looks like she’s on a yacht.”
“Yeah, this isn’t just a tabloid thing. It is all over. Look at this.”
A headline comes up from the Guardian with few more taps.
“Well maybe it was taken years ago.”
“Fred, he only married her last year in a huge ceremony over on Mindanao.”
“She is under age!”
“Mr. Ensor’s influence assured that she was 21.”
“Well, maybe she was.”
“Someone claiming to be her sister was quoted as saying she is 18. Then a reporter for Shrinkrap produced a copy of the birth certificate showing she was 19 last month.”
He brings up a Daily Beast article, with picture, and a long article
by Laticia Lantern, of the popular talk show.
“Was she on Laticia’s show?”
“No, he was, and Axel was highly critical of our president.”
“Oh really!”
He taps another news site where Glen Gasberg is doing his daily commentary, accusing the FBI of publishing the picture, “through their liberal allies in the media.”
Steve picks up his coffee for a swig, and then taps up yet another news site. It is FOX. Robert Byron is standing on a tropical beach. It is a windy overcast day. His tie is blowing hard to the right and his hair has come unstuck from its perfect wave and streams chaotically in the same direction. Steve turns the sound up. We can hear Byron’s voice above the muffled buffeting wind on the furry microphone.
“As the Ensor story has seized the nation’s attention, here in Key Biscayne, you can see the Macadamia yacht pulling out of its slip into this gusting wind. Is Ensor on board? That is the question everyone is asking. Over to you Bob, for a weather update.”
“Have you seen anything on Macadamia’s alternative budget proposal?”
“Nothing.”
“What about the government shut down?”
Steve shakes his head.
“… or the joint DHS, FBI alert on the Russian government’s targeting our energy, nuclear and commercial facilities.”
“Fed, that’s back page stuff, these days!”
A shadow falls on Steve’s I-pad as Westie North walks in front of the window behind him to sit down opposite me.
“So, Westie, what’s new on the Guild Water Committee’s deliberations?”
“We have plenty of water, but we are one pump down, with two running fine.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Steve, that will happen in good time.”
“How long is that?”
“Well, you know what committee time is. It is the combined time of everyone on the committee, so it is longer and slower than individual time.”
“Okay, so that explains something about Congressional time as well I guess.”
“The red and the blue, gives me the blues!”
“Westie, are you talking politics or that little fracas at the counter just now?”
“Ah, both…but I’ll say this about that, the media need to stop their assault on the president and get behind him!”
Steve laughs.
“What about the president’s assault on truth?”
“Who’s, truth is that Steve?”
“There’s only one kind of truth isn’t there?”
“Depends what you believe, doesn’t it.”
“Not really Westie, beliefs can be mistaken.”
“Not while your believing them they’re not!”
“Of course, they are. If you believe that Armond Macadamia won the last election, you are wrong.”
“Ha! Truth in politics is what you believe. You’re talking philosophy!”
