Steele Yourself a Merry Little Christmas
The Nutcracker March
Part 3 of 8
The lights in the Symphony Hall foyer were just beginning to softly show in the darkening evening as Laura pushed one of the heavy entrance doors open and stepped onto the wide sidewalk. Turning, she briefly shook hands with Mr. Bell as she parted from him once again. A thick new folder in her arms, Laura walked toward the waiting Rabbit, humming a snatch of the Tchaikovsky that richly filled the lobby she had just left.
Glancing into a colorfully lit restaurant to her left, Laura stopped short. She quickly ducked her head to conceal her face under her wide brimmed fedora. Peeking out from under the brim, she found a bemused man looking back at her, raising his glass in an open invitation. With a blushing smile, Laura shook her head and stepped forward to enter the kitschy little tea room, its warmth a pleasant contrast to the cool Los evening air. Glasses tinkled, rosy warm lamps sat atop each cloth draped table. Tchaikovsky’s Arabian Dance thrummed in her ears.
Laura tucked herself in behind the maitre d’s corner to peer once more into the room, striving for a clearer view of the familiar head of thick, dark, impeccably quaffed hair sitting across the table from an elegant, long necked blonde.
“May I help you, miss?” a deep voice asked imperiously.
Laura looked over her shoulder at the restaurant’s maitre d'. “No, no…Well, yes. I’m waiting for a friend. I just wanted to make sure she hasn’t already taken a seat.”
“There are no unaccompanied ladies seated in the Tea Room this evening, Miss,” the maitre d' stated firmly. “Perhaps you would care to take a seat here until your friend arrives. I hope you have a reservation, as I am afraid there are no open tables available for the evening.”
“Of course. I’m sure she does, under the name of…” Laura was saved from further subterfuge when a voice called anxiously to the maitre d' from the kitchen. She took advantage of his departure and slipped into the dining room.
Focused on the back of Steele’s head, Laura maneuvered closer to the table where her partner sat engaged in an earnest conversation with a beautiful blonde. She skirted a nervous young waiter with a tray full of entrées balanced on his upraised hand. The waiter swallowed anxiously, feinting left as he juggled the heavy tray. His shoulders appeared to visibly relax as he unloaded the first, second, third and fourth plate to the table next to Steele and his dining companion. As he turned to walk back to the kitchen, he stopped short, very nearly falling over Laura as she crouched on the floor between two tables.
“Sorry - lost my earring,” Laura offered in an affectedly deep voice.
The young man nodded tersely and with caution, gave Laura wide berth as he headed back to the kitchen.
Laura crept forward, keeping a table between her and Steele, standing out of sight behind a broad, four sided wooden pillar.
“Paul, darling,” a voice purred, “You can’t be serious!”
“I’m quite serious, Tasha. You might say I’ve got a vested interest,” Steele spit out hoarsely.
The woman’s laugh bubbled out. “I can’t take you seriously when you are so quaintly stuffy, Bupchka. I wish I could take you back to my room and tuck you in with a hot water bottle and a glass of vodka. We could relive that night in front of the fireplace in Bruges. Unfortunately, I have a performance tonight and must leave you.”
Laura pulled farther back as the woman suddenly stood, reaching to cradle the back of Steele’s head. She kissed him chastely on the forehead before sweeping away from their table, calling over her shoulder, “Call me when you’ve recovered your health, my adorable little dumpling.”
“Blast it all, Tasha. Wait!” Steele stood, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his rather red nose as he pursued the blonde from the room.
Just as a violent sneeze overwhelmed the detective, the young waiter reentered the dining room, another heavily loaded tray balanced on his upturned arm. Doubled over with the force of his sneeze, Steele backed into the waiter, launching him and his tray forward in a magnificent spray of plates and food. Intent on his pursuit and unaware of the disaster he had caused, Steele trailed his companion from the room.
The stunned young waiter, his shiny new name tag obliterated by the brilliant borscht he had skidded through, lay defeated in the midst of scattered plates, potatoes, pot roast and pork. The man who had earlier raised his glass to Laura laughed broadly as she shrugged apologetically and stepped carefully around the chaos.