Chapter 9

“If only she was older ... I’d try.”

“If she wasn’t my daughter ... so would I.”

“She’s so exotic.”

“Yeah ... ask her in, please.”

The vision that walked through the door wasn’t his jeans and sweatshirt wearing daughter ... not even the Sunday Church outfits. If she was dressed for a formal dinner out with Daddy, Genevieve looked all of 12. Not much of an age change but her light was no longer hidden under a bushel basket. She wasn’t going out with Daddy ... she was going out with an older man.

“What?” she asked. Almost belligerent.

Same voice ... same attitude. Yup ... Genevieve. David relaxed, “Money?”

“You know I have my card.”

“Greasing palms money. Tip ... t.i.p ... means ‘to insure prompt service.’ There’s a stack of 20’s in the top left drawer...” he nodded at the Lenia white oak nine drawer dresser. She opened the drawer.

Genevieve Austin wasn’t a snoop ... Daddy lived in his own room ... she lived in hers. They shared the house. Being in His room was a ‘first time’ for her. “Nice Dresser.”

Counting on his fingers he said, “One for the valet parking, one for the doorman, one for the cloak room attendant, two for the Maître d’hôtel, one for the Sommelier, two for the waitstaff, a second for the parking valet ... but only if the mileage checks out, and there’s no damage. You should take ten ... just in case.”

“Two Hundred dollars before we sit down? Daddy!”

David held up a ‘stop’ hand, “If you don’t, you’ll never get reservations again.”

Gen flummoxed.

“I have to finish.” She left.

He queired the Doctor, “You drove?”

“The Lincoln.”

“That will never do.” He held a set of car keys out to Dr. Grost, “Take the Chapron Delehaye 175 ... the red roadster. George is detailing it as we speak. He’ll bring it round when it’s time.

“A libation, Dr. Grost?”

“What have you?”

David motioned to a sideboard ... five 2.5 gallon oak barrels: Wood burned lables ... Rum. Vodka. Tequila. Whisky. Scotch. Just that ... no brands. Five barrels ... and shot glasses. No ice dispensers, water taps, or soda bottles.

“The good stuff,” David said.

“Which?”

“Doesn’t matter.” David said, “I guarantee you never tasted any of them before.”

“Really?”

“Doctors don’t make that kind of money.”