The Dollhouse(46)

“Esme was taken away.” Darby could hardly get the words out. “Two men. I’m not sure where they went.”

Sam seemed unperturbed. “Don’t worry; that Esme can take care of herself.”

“But they seemed awfully angry.”

“All bark and no bite. Everyone’s a tough guy downtown.”

His laconic manner put her slightly more at ease. “And someone just threw an umbrella at me. Threw it.” She grabbed a hanger and stuffed a coat onto it. “They’re a bunch of animals.”

“If it makes you feel any better, they don’t treat the waitstaff much differently. Or the musicians, if they see them in the street. Up onstage is one thing, but the magic is gone in the light of day.”

“I don’t know how Esme handles this night after night. I’d go crazy.”

“You sounded great the other night, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Seriously. Esme’s voice is like velvet, but yours is silvery, like a nightingale.” He scuffed one foot on the floor.

As she paused to catch her breath, the enormous pile of coats slid off the divider and landed in a mad crush on the mud-stained hallway floor. She and Sam stared in dismay at the mound of fabric, then burst out laughing.

He placed his cup on a nearby table, and reached down and lifted the pile in one fell swoop. “Open the door.”

She did and stepped to the side. He handed her a coat and she hung it on a hanger, placed it on the rack, and shoved them together to make more room. They kept at it, over and over. The motion reminded her of the slam of a typewriter carriage return at the end of a line.

“Why aren’t you in the kitchen?” she asked.

“They’re fine in there, they don’t need me.”

“But you’re the cook.”

“They’re just making simple stuff—peas, fries, and chicken liver sauté. Nothing they can’t handle.”

Every so often, their fingers would touch during the handoff of the hangers, and he was close enough that she could pick up the scent of fryer oil and clove on him. An interesting mix, and not unpleasant.

To her embarrassment, he noticed her sniffing the air. “I hope I don’t reek.”

“No. You smell like clove. Reminds me of the holidays.”

He smelled his forearm. “I’ve been working on a new recipe. Steak with a mixture of clove, turmeric, and honey.”

Her mouth watered. She hadn’t eaten anything since a Danish from the Barbizon coffee shop that morning. “Sounds lovely.”

“We’ll see.”

“Will you put it on the menu?”

His laugh was harsh. “Not if my father has anything to do with it. He doesn’t want anything that tastes ‘weird,’ in his words.”

“So you found out about combining spices in the army?” She liked hearing him talk. And it was much easier to have a conversation when they were both focused on the coats.

“Right, in Southeast Asia, working as a cook. I had to use what I found.”

“And what did you find?”

“So much. There are ten tiny islands clustered in the Banda Sea that used to be the only source for nutmeg and mace. And the oldest clove tree in the world is located on an island called Ternate in the Molucca Sea.”

“How old is it?”

“They estimate between three hundred and fifty and four hundred years old. It even has a name. Afo.”

“Afo.” Such an exotic word. “What did it look like?”

“It’s tall but lifeless, with some bare branches. I saw it when we took over the island from the Japanese at the end of the war.”

“I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you.” To go to islands at the other end of the world, to visit dead trees and learn about history that went back so far in time, was unfathomable.

He shrugged. “In the beginning, lots of guys were complaining about the food. The rations were pretty horrible. But then I began experimenting with what the local folks used. I started adding spices to everything we served: eggs, fish, meat. Even desserts. Some of the guys hated it, of course, but they were idiots. Everyone else raved. They gave it a chance. Although, to be honest, the soldiers didn’t have much of a choice. Unlike my father.”

His rush of words surprised and flattered her. He thought she was someone worth talking to. She hung up a coat and surreptitiously smoothed her hair behind her ears. “Has he tasted any of your experiments?”

“No.”

“Well, I’d like to.”

Esme appeared, looking flushed but unhurt. “Sorry, D.” She startled when she noticed Sam. “What on earth are you doing in the hatcheck girl’s closet?”

“Helping out your friend, here, who was helping you keep your job.”

Esme’s eyes grew wide. “You are the most wonderful amiga in the world, Darby.”

“Well, we didn’t do a very good job. I have no idea what coat goes with what person. And what was with those two men? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Her voice was steely. She didn’t want to talk in front of Sam.

He took the hint. “I’m heading to the kitchen. Darby, come back and visit me when you’re through. I have something to show you.” He sauntered off, hands in his pockets.