Nights 'Round the Table (3/14)
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight Part Nine Part Ten Part Eleven Part Twelve Part Thirteen Part Fourteen
After a week of negotiation, Leon and Aglain had successfully coordinated Arthur’s and Morgana’s schedules for not one, but two dinners in the East Bay. Arthur was feeling put out by it. He’d prefer to stay in the City and in civilization, since there couldn’t possibly be anything so special that it would require him to cross the bridge twice in one week. Although he supposed there might be something to it. Surely no restaurant in the City (also known as civilization) would allow cameras to invade their space on what would have to be insanely short notice. Maybe he should just think of Oakland as the Minors, where people with promise went to train and learn the demands of being a pro, before they got called up to the Majors and got to work in real restaurants.
Of course, all the planning in the world didn’t help him find parking. He was reminded yet again, why he hated coming out here. They couldn’t just build parking garages. No, he had to park blocks away on some sketchy side street and risk a mugging. He considered himself lucky when he made it to Ambrosia without being accosted.
The host stand was empty when he entered, so he shot off a quick text to Morgana to let her know he had arrived. Since he had his phone out, he assumed it wouldn’t hurt to look at his schedule for tomorrow and double-check his email; he would be offline for the next hour or so, after all. He knew he could trust Leon to take care of emergencies, though the only likely emergency would be Valiant deciding he needed to wrestle the sea lions.
“Sir, do you have a reservation?”
He looked up to see the hostess had returned. She was a small woman, with dark hair and eyes, and an accent that he couldn’t place. He was also fairly sure he recognized her from the club, which he supposed wouldn't be too unusual, if the singer also worked here. Of course her coworkers would turn up to cheer her on.
“Yes, sorry. Pendragon for two.”
“Of course, sir. The rest of your party is already here. If you’ll just follow me.” He saw Morgana as soon as they entered the dining room, but he followed the hostess anyway. As he took his seat, she handed him a menu, and began the introductions.
“My name is Freya. Welcome to Ambrosia. Your server tonight will be Morris, and Lance will be with you shortly with our wine and beer list. Our specials are a Carpaccio of Welsh black beef fillet with picked ginger, served with parsnip chips, or pan-fried trout stuffed with fresh herbs, wrapped in bacon and served with crushed new potatoes and roasted vine tomatoes. The soup today is potato leek.”
While she spoke, someone came to fill their water glasses and leave a carafe for the table. Arthur could hear him mutter something to Freya in a language Arthur didn’t recognize, and that seemed to have too many consonants, and she responded in the same. So it really wasn’t English then, he’d have to figure out how to bring it up in some way that wouldn’t be completely embarrassing, which would mean to someone not Morgana. ...Who was currently giving him her patented “there’s something wrong with your head” look.
“Sorry, I was thinking about work,” he said as soon as Freya left them alone.
“Valiant’s gimp friend made another public appearance then?”
“‘The Machine’? No, he’s in Bali. It’s this project.” Diverting Morgana with real world problems was always the safest course of action. “I get the whole, ‘let’s make some TV!’ concept, but why are we here, again?”
Morgana sighed. “You, Arthur Pendragon, are going to talk to whomever is in charge and you are going to ask them, if they had the opportunity to appear on national TV, what format they would like to appear in, and then you are going to do the same thing at The Blessed Cafe, and if either of them are kind enough to take you up on the pitch, you are going to bring in cameras and make some magic.”
“Ah, okay. I suppose that is the best way to get this done quickly.” He hated to give her the satisfaction of knowing he needed her on this. And judging from the way she rolled her eyes, he didn’t need to tell her.
“Just look at your menu, Arthur.”
Before he could do more than open it though, the bass player from the band was asking if they wanted to look at the beer and wine list.
“Lance,” Morgana practically purred. Arthur wondered what ridiculous thing she was about to ask him to do. “Guinevere tells me you trained in France to be a sommelier.”
“I did, although we’re better known for our beer pairings here than for our wines. We do have some lovely choices, whichever you’re interested in.”
“Do I really have to choose, then? I can see the merits of both. I’m going to get the souffle, so maybe a nice hoppy ale with dinner and a sweet wine for dessert?”
“An impeccable choice, but are you sure you want both? Not many people recommend mixing your drinks.”
“I am. They’re both too tempting to turn down, and besides, I like to live on the edge.” Morgana was looking like the cat that got the canary, but Arthur had to give her credit for buttering up the staff, even if she was going to be unbearably smug about it.
“I’ll just have a Fat Tire. Thanks.” Arthur resisted the urge to count how long it took Lance to break eye contact with Morgana, but it did happen eventually. Before he could resume his earlier conversation with Morgana, the waiter had come and taken their orders. Yet another person he recognized from the club had delivered their drinks.
“Does everyone in, and fan of, Lapsang Tea work here?”
“First of all, it’s Lapin Tueur, it’s French, and secondly, yes, I think everyone in the band does work here, except the guitarist. He works at some dive downtown.”
“Wait, so Merlin works here, too?”
“Oh, you remember Merlin’s name but not Gwen’s.” She was glaring again.
“It’s just...” He thought fast to divert the conversation from why he really remembered Merlin’s name. “You said you were in the same class.”
“Yes, Arthur. That happens on occasion when you are enrolled at the same university.”
“But you went to Stanford.”
“Yes Arthur, your point?”
“But why, if Merlin went to Stanford, is he working here?”
“Because he likes it, because it’s the family business, because he decided not to go the dot com route? I don’t know. You’ll have to ask him.”
“But, that makes no sense, you don’t waste that kind of degree.”
“God, Arthur--, sometimes I swear you sound just like Uther. All I know is, he was getting a degree in Chemical Engineering, there was some weirdness with his frat brothers, and he fell off the face of the Earth. I didn’t hear anything about him again until I saw him at the club.”
He wasn’t sure which part of that he wanted to focus on, and went with the part where she said he was like their father. He thought Uther was a great man, really, but he’d always thought he was his own person, and the idea stung more then he wanted to admit.
“Why does being surprised that he would give up a prestigious degree make me like Father?”
“Because it’s never occurred to him that even with all the planning in the world, sometimes what will make you happy isn’t doing what’s expected of you, or even sticking to what you thought you wanted. It’s taking a chance that you’ll lose everything in order to get what you need. And I worry that it will never occur to you, either.”
“Morgana.” Arthur was completely unsure of how to respond. Of course that was when their food began to arrive.
The first course was soup for Arthur and something called a wild greens salad for Morgana. The soup surprised him; from the rest of the menu and what he’d seen being served to others, he’d expected it to be heavy, probably with chunks of potato, but it was delicate and cold, certainly the best vichyssoise he’d ever had. On the other hand, since he’d only had it at event type dinners, for awards, fundraisers and the like, he wasn’t sure if ‘ the best he’d had,’ was a glowing recommendation.
Whenever he looked up to Morgana to try and continue their previous conversation, she glared, but otherwise she looked enraptured just eating her salad. He wondered if it was a put-on; she couldn’t actually like being vegetarian. How much joy could a person get from only eating salads? He was sure it was just one more way for her to pretend to be morally superior to him. When they did talk again it was kept to safe topics: work, but not the new station, Morgana’s mother’s escapades as a designer and her hopes for her Spring line, Arthur’s attempts to keep the team’s rivalry with LA from escalating into property damage.
When their main courses arrived, however, the mood changed again. Morgana’s eyes went a little glassy and faraway when she took the first bite of her soufflé. She looked up and around the restaurant like it was the first time she was seeing it, and as she took another bite, her face went from bliss to something between confused and agitated, but soon returned to bliss. Arthur wondered if maybe she’d had a break with reality, something caused by too many salads, maybe not enough protein getting to her brain, but he stayed silent, not ready for her to possibly push too hard with things he didn’t want to think about again just then.
They ate the rest of their meal mostly in silence, punctuated by occasional sounds from his sister that could only be described as moans, which made Arthur feel distinctly uncomfortable. Yes, his meal was delicious, but he didn’t think it warranted Morgana’s extreme response. He had again been surprised by what he had expected to be simple mashed potatoes to find they had the sharpness of some kind of cheese, garlic, and an herbiness he couldn’t figure out, coupled with a gravy that seemed to be made from beer. When they finally set down their forks, Morgana leaned back in her chair with the self-satisfaction of someone who had been properly laid.
Arthur leaned towards her. “For fuck’s sake, you’re being obscene,” he said, hissing out the words.
“Oh, Arthur, you have no idea. I can’t believe how easy it was to get a table here. The wait for reservations should be months at least.”
“Morgana, it’s just food. Don’t be ridiculous.”
She gave him a condescending, pitying frown, and stood up, putting her napkin on her seat. “I’m going to find out who we need to speak to so that you can have your show. Try not to embarrass me with your lack of interest in the subject matter, please.”
And with that she headed off towards the bar and as he watched, struck up a conversation with Lance. It wasn’t too long after that Lance disappeared into what Arthur supposed was the kitchen, and Morgana returned to their table.
“Apparently everyone on staff works on Tuesday nights as part of some team-building exercise, which means that Gwen will be joining us shortly since her assistant is here tonight, and some of the others will probably join us when they can slip away.”
Almost as soon as she had said it, Gwen was angling one of the empty chairs at the table closer to Morgana so she could face Arthur, and sliding into it. In her white chef’s coat, she hardly seemed like the same girl he saw last week on stage. Her curls were mostly hidden by a close fitting cap, and what didn’t fit underneath was caught in a loose bun at the base of her neck.
“Hi, Guinevere, right?” Arthur said, reaching out to shake her hand. She stretched across the table to take his, and then seemed to think better of it, pausing to grab a towel from her back pocket, wiping both hands off, and then reaching back.
“Sorry, yeah. You can call me Gwen. Everyone does. I mean, all my friends do, or, I hope we can be friends... The mess -- it’s the desserts, sorry. I’m the pastry chef. It gets everywhere.”
“No problem. I’m glad for a chance to make a second impression.”
“Oh! Yes, Morgana told me you were having, um...Thanks for offering to replace my shoes. I just don’t really have the time to get to the City and replace them.”
Morgana was giving him the “agree or I will shiv you” look, so he figured it would be in his best interest not to question what exactly Morgana had said about him or promised on his behalf, and if replacing a pair of shoes that he admittedly did ruin was all it would take to smooth things over so they could film here, he was willing to have Leon make that sacrifice.
“Of course, I’m happy to replace them. It should have never happened in the first place.”
“I suppose I should be thanking you, though, since it gave me and Morgana an excuse to exchange numbers.”
“Glad I could help. Morgana needs to get out more.” Not that that was strictly true, but most of Morgana’s friends were in entertainment in some way, which meant Uther gave her a hard time for not maintaining a professional distance, since someday she might have to fire them. Arthur had it easier with the players. They either retired or got traded. If anyone did something drastic enough to get fired, the press coverage and their likely league suspension meant it never came as a complete surprise.
“I’m sure we can help keep her occupied,” Gwen said, giving Morgana a smile that widened as Lance pulled the other chair at the table to Morgana’s other side. Arthur felt a bit as if he were facing a committee, which was odd. He was fairly sure the three of them had only met the once. There absolutely no reason to feel like they were presenting a unified front.
“How come it’s not absolutely impossible to get a reservation here?” Morgana asked. Arthur did not understand why she deemed the topic important.
Gwen smiled. “It’s because Gaius Emrys is still known as the executive chef. I mean he’s good, he’s really really good, but it’s not going to make news, so everyone thinks it’s business as usual. We’ve got our regulars, and good reviews on Yelp, and no one knows that the next Thomas Keller is our sous-chef.”
“Wouldn’t your sous-chef have had enough of a following that people would know he was here?” Morgana asked.
“This is the only restaurant Merlin’s ever worked in, and Gaius is his uncle. Why would anyone know? I mean, I agree they should, but short of bribing bloggers to come here and check out what Merlin’s done for the menu, I don’t see how they would have found out.”
“So, you need publicity.” Arthur made it a statement, not a question. “It wouldn’t take much, either. Maybe as little as ten minutes of air time to get the buzz started.” Arthur still wasn’t sure if he’d devote a whole show to this place, but compilation shows were popular and cheap to produce, so it would be in his best interest to set someone on creating a few.
“I’m sure if the word got out the two of you were here, we could get a mention in the society pages.” Merlin joined them, grabbing a chair from a neighboring table and sitting on Arthur’s side, facing the others.
“Oh, Merlin, play nice. You’re just jealous that you keep turning down your chances to be in them yourself,” Morgana chided.
“You know me, Morgana. I live for fame. It’s why I’m here and not at Dow.”
“I always did wonder why you left.”
“Plastics are yesterday’s news, Morgana. Food and rock ‘n roll are where it’s at now.”
“Did the band come first, or the restaurant?” Arthur interrupted. Merlin seemed much less hostile then he had the last time they’d met, and Arthur hoped that by steering the conversation away from Morgana’s questions, he could keep it that way.
“Oh, the restaurant,” Gwen said. “The band was Gwaine’s fault.”
“Yeah, Gwaine said that everyone he’s ever slept with is either in a band or a cult, and since Gwen, Percy and I didn’t want to give up all our worldly possessions, we figured we should get on that band thing.” Merlin looked like he might be joking, but when Gwen reached over to punch him on the arm, it was more playful than offended.
“Lance isn’t on that list?” Morgana asked, giving the man in question a once over.
“No, our Lance is the only completely straight arrow in our quiver,” Merlin said, laughing.
“Didn’t stop Gwaine from trying. We couldn’t let him feel left out of the band, though -- so I took one for the team.” Gwen leaned into Lance as if to reassure him.
“Are you guys always this shameless?” Arthur asked smirking. He was only amused by the display, not remotely interested in Merlin’s apparent lack of straightness.
“Did you see Ratatouille? They had a guy who killed someone with his thumbs in a kids movie. This business is crawling with deviants.” Merlin wiggled his thumb in what Arthur could only interpret as misguided attempt to turn it into a believable weapon.
“Ratawhat? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Merlin. Why would I care about a kids’ movie?” Arthur wasn’t sure how they’d gone from shamelessness to children’s entertainment.
“I wouldn’t say that too loud. Someone from Pixar might hear you.” Gwen looked side to side quickly as if making sure they were safe.
“And that matters, why?” Arthur knew Pixar was somewhere on this side of the bay. He couldn't have survived in either of his industries and not have at least vague awareness of them. He’d never been fond of cartoons, though. Uther found them frivolous, despite having an appreciation for the sheer profit that could be made off of them with all the associated merchandising and low production costs, although he had to admit, Pixar never skimped on its budgets.
“Arthur has no Bay Area pride at all.” Morgana rolled her eyes.
“Oh please, how many of you are actually natives.” Arthur made a show of looking around the table skeptically. He and Morgana had grown up mostly in Marin, although she’d had several stints globetrotting with her mother. If it would add to his credibility, he would take native status.
“Merlin is. Grew up in El Sobrante and everything.” Gwen nodded,
“Gwen, you don’t even know where El Sobrante is,” Merlin said fondly.
“Sure I do. It’s somewhere over there,” she said, gesturing behind her.
“What about the rest of you?” Morgana asked, deftly directing the conversation.
“Well, I grew up in La Jolla,” Lance said. “I moved to Oakland after I got back from France, thinking I could work here while I looked for something permanent in Napa, and I just never left.”
Gwen went next. “I moved out here from Ohio with my brother. Our dad’s a programmer, and we thought we’d give the family business a go out here, but it was right before the dot-com crash, so it didn’t work out very well. By the time there were tech jobs again, we’d both decided we didn’t want to go back to it. Elyan’s a bartender, and I’m here.”
“I’m sure Morgana’s told you all my secrets by now,” Merlin said, his grin implying that he didn’t mind in the least.
“I don’t know if anyone knows all your secrets, Merlin,” Morgana said with a smirk.
“What am I paying you people for if you’re going to sit here lollygagging with with your friends?” The speaker had the same accent as the hostess and the server, but it seemed milder, as if he had been in America for a long time. Arthur tried to put on his best ‘I’m a professional, trust me’ face, since he assumed he would have to convince the owner he wasn’t wasting his staff’s time.
“Gaius Emrys, owner and Executive chef of the greatest and possibly only Welsh fine dining restaurant in Oakland, meet Arthur and Morgana Pendragon, heirs assumptive to Pendragon Broadcasting. Arthur was giving us advice on publicity.” Merlin said as he hopped out of his seat and grabbed another chair from the neighboring table and guided Gaius into it.
“Morgana asked where you were earlier, but you didn’t answer your door when I knocked.” Lance said.
“I was taking my glaucoma medicine,” Gaius said indignantly. Merlin snorted, and Arthur realized Gaius meant the kind of medicine that you smoked. He supposed Gaius’s eyes were a little bloodshot.
“Gaius taught me everything I know. He trained under Escoffier himself.” Merlin’s grin was bright and endearing, and it made Arthur feel slightly breathless. He was beginning to suspect that Merlin knew his smile made people think he was far more innocent then he was, and that it actually meant he was deliberately doing something he knew he shouldn’t. It appeared Gaius at least was immune to the power of it, however -- if his eyebrow was anything to go by.
“I’ll make you clean the deep-fryer if you don’t behave, Merlin.” Gaius seemed to realize that neither Morgana nor Arthur understood the joke. “Escoffier died well before I was even born. But you would do well to study him, young man. Your sauces are appalling.”
“You only say that because I don’t see the point in doing them the French way.”
“I should send you to Geoffrey to be his saucier until you learn to do them right.”
Merlin made a face that seemed to be an impression of Gaius. Gwen was giggling and sliding out of her chair, and Lance was smiling indulgently at her.
Two things struck Arthur, then. One, that nearly everyone in this restaurant, from the moment you walked in the door, was almost ridiculously attractive, and two, that Merlin and Gaius’s mentor/mentee rapid-fire banter was the kind of thing that won writing awards. He knew that he needed to keep looking, that he couldn’t just offer them a show without seriously considering all his options. But it was a hard thing when all his instincts were telling him a show here, with these people, would be a sure thing.
“Hypothetically speaking, if you had a show on a nationally televised cable channel devoted to food, what would you want it to be about?” he asked. Looks of skepticism were exchanged among the Ambrosia staff, but in a show of good faith, they went along with him.
For the next hour they talked about ideas, from Gaius doing the traditional cooking instruction style show, to a reality show with a confession booth where they all promised to hate each other for effect when the cameras were rolling. Well, Merlin promised. Gwen went off on a tangent about how Lance couldn’t hate anyone if he tried, and she would never be able to face her mother again if she was rude on TV.
Then the conversations turned to gossip and local food lore. Gaius turned weepy for a moment recounting his tragic love affair with a woman named Alice who left him to found her own restaurant. Merlin told a tale about a local critic named Timothy Kilgharrah, who everyone called The Great Dragon, for reasons that were left unexplained, and who was notoriously cranky, to the point that the legendary five chefs to garner good reviews from him had formed their own club called the Dragonlords.
Freya came by long enough to tell a story of when she had been sixteen and her mother was the hostess. She had been instructed to come to the restaurant to get some money so she could take their cat to the vet (“A vicious black hell-beast,” Gaius interjected), but the cat had escaped it’s carrier, and they’d had to evacuate all the guests. Three people had needed stitches. Everyone had stories to tell about various local celebrities and big name stars who lived locally, and the chaos they brought along with great sales.
Eventually, Morgana began telling tales about their stepmother’s culinary creations, which had everyone in hysterics. Arthur had tried to defend Catrina half-heartedly, saying that her cooking wasn’t that bad, which resulted in everyone looking at him with complete disbelief.
By the time they left, the restaurant was empty. Freya had been hovering so impatiently to be able to close out the register that Gaius had announced the meal was on the house and that Lance had best get everyone another round of drinks. Morgana said her goodbyes, giving Gwen and Lance hugs, and she must really have been tipsy because they lasted a little longer then necessary, but she didn’t hug Merlin, just gave him a smirk and said she’d see him around.
Eventually everyone left to finish their closing duties. Arthur had the distinct impression that most of those duties had been pawned off on other members of the staff at Gaius’s request, but they couldn’t avoid them entirely. Merlin lingered for a bit longer though, ostensibly to escort Arthur to the door and lock up behind him.
“You should come back, Pendragon. And not for business... To actually learn something about food.”
“Think you can teach me something I don’t already know, Merlin?”
“Oh, you have no idea what I could teach you,” Merlin said, closing the door with a smile.
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