his patisserie and asked. There was no arm-twisting involved. He also said not to worry about drinking all the wine or eating up the gourmet groceries, because he can get us more at very good prices.”
“So he supplied all the stuff that’s here?” asked Ted.
“Yeah. He said he always makes sure Norah’s cupboard is well stocked,” replied Sue, lifting a slice of tarte tatin onto a plate and passing it to Richard.
“It must be nice, living the good life at cut-rate prices,” said Richard, accepting the plate.
The tarte tatin was a revelation. They all agreed they’d never tasted anything so delicious.
“Who knew apples could taste like this,” mused Bill.
“The trouble is, you get used to it,” said Richard with a wry grin. “Now when I go back to the States, I really miss French cooking.”
“No McDonald’s for you?” asked Pam.
“No trips to the American grocery for peanut butter and brownie mix?” asked Sue, referring to a Paris institution.
“Nope. I shop like the rest of Paris, at the market on Saturday morning.”
“We went to the market today as part of our cooking class,” said Ted. “As a matter of fact, some guy roughed up our teacher.”
“Really?” Richard’s tone was sharp, but he quickly added, “That’s not at all typical. They must have a history.”
“Apparently not,” said Sue.
“I think he was an Arab,” said Bob. “He was dark, swarthy. He had that look.”
“Could be,” offered Richard. “There is a lot of tension in the Arab community. It’s spilling over from the Arab Spring. The old dictators, like Gaddafi and Mubarak, are gone, leaving a power vacuum. There’s a lot of rivalry between different factions, even here in France.”
“I don’t think you should jump to conclusions,” said Pam, sipping her decaf. “We don’t know if he’s Arab or Italian or Romany, or anything at all about him, except that he seemed to have some sort of issue with Chef Larry.”
“Larry said not. He insisted he didn’t know him,” said Lucy.
“Maybe he was a pickpocket,” suggested Rachel.
“Well, I have an issue with Chef Larry,” said Sue, narrowing her eyes. “He’s a nice guy, but I can’t say I’m terribly impressed so far.”
Lucy started to mention her suspicions about the guy she’d seen lurking in the doorway, but was cut off by Bob.
“Why are you defending that thug?” he demanded, challenging Pam. “He attacked Larry. It’s a good thing we were all there. If Larry had been alone, I don’t like to think what might have happened. These Arabs are out of control. They hate America, and they want to destroy Israel.”
“We don’t know what was behind the attack,” said Ted. “It could be a woman, a debt, a grudge.”
“And it was just a shoving match,” said Bill. “High school stuff.”
“Bob has a different perspective, that’s all,” said Rachel, eager to smooth things over. “When you visit the Mémorial de la Shoah, well, you see how intolerance and prejudice can have catastrophic results.”
“That’s right,” said Pam. “But it’s a two-way street. Isn’t Bob being intolerant in this case?”
“Is that what you think?” demanded Bob. “Six million Jews died in the Holocaust, and these Islamic radicals want to finish off the rest of us! Remember nine-eleven? They call it jihad and think they’ll go to heaven if they kill infidels.”
There was a long silence until Sid spoke up. “This infidel found a rather nice bottle of brandy at the Monoprix. Who’d like a taste?”
“I’ll bite,” said Bill. “You wouldn’t believe what I had for lunch. . . .”
Chapter Four
A fter a second bad night spent beside Bill, who slumbered peacefully, Lucy had to admit she wasn’t really all that interested in the cooking classes. If she had her way, she’d skip the class and sleep in, but that was impossible since her bed was in the middle of the apartment’s living room. The others tried to be quiet and tiptoed
“So he supplied all the stuff that’s here?” asked Ted.
“Yeah. He said he always makes sure Norah’s cupboard is well stocked,” replied Sue, lifting a slice of tarte tatin onto a plate and passing it to Richard.
“It must be nice, living the good life at cut-rate prices,” said Richard, accepting the plate.
The tarte tatin was a revelation. They all agreed they’d never tasted anything so delicious.
“Who knew apples could taste like this,” mused Bill.
“The trouble is, you get used to it,” said Richard with a wry grin. “Now when I go back to the States, I really miss French cooking.”
“No McDonald’s for you?” asked Pam.
“No trips to the American grocery for peanut butter and brownie mix?” asked Sue, referring to a Paris institution.
“Nope. I shop like the rest of Paris, at the market on Saturday morning.”
“We went to the market today as part of our cooking class,” said Ted. “As a matter of fact, some guy roughed up our teacher.”
“Really?” Richard’s tone was sharp, but he quickly added, “That’s not at all typical. They must have a history.”
“Apparently not,” said Sue.
“I think he was an Arab,” said Bob. “He was dark, swarthy. He had that look.”
“Could be,” offered Richard. “There is a lot of tension in the Arab community. It’s spilling over from the Arab Spring. The old dictators, like Gaddafi and Mubarak, are gone, leaving a power vacuum. There’s a lot of rivalry between different factions, even here in France.”
“I don’t think you should jump to conclusions,” said Pam, sipping her decaf. “We don’t know if he’s Arab or Italian or Romany, or anything at all about him, except that he seemed to have some sort of issue with Chef Larry.”
“Larry said not. He insisted he didn’t know him,” said Lucy.
“Maybe he was a pickpocket,” suggested Rachel.
“Well, I have an issue with Chef Larry,” said Sue, narrowing her eyes. “He’s a nice guy, but I can’t say I’m terribly impressed so far.”
Lucy started to mention her suspicions about the guy she’d seen lurking in the doorway, but was cut off by Bob.
“Why are you defending that thug?” he demanded, challenging Pam. “He attacked Larry. It’s a good thing we were all there. If Larry had been alone, I don’t like to think what might have happened. These Arabs are out of control. They hate America, and they want to destroy Israel.”
“We don’t know what was behind the attack,” said Ted. “It could be a woman, a debt, a grudge.”
“And it was just a shoving match,” said Bill. “High school stuff.”
“Bob has a different perspective, that’s all,” said Rachel, eager to smooth things over. “When you visit the Mémorial de la Shoah, well, you see how intolerance and prejudice can have catastrophic results.”
“That’s right,” said Pam. “But it’s a two-way street. Isn’t Bob being intolerant in this case?”
“Is that what you think?” demanded Bob. “Six million Jews died in the Holocaust, and these Islamic radicals want to finish off the rest of us! Remember nine-eleven? They call it jihad and think they’ll go to heaven if they kill infidels.”
There was a long silence until Sid spoke up. “This infidel found a rather nice bottle of brandy at the Monoprix. Who’d like a taste?”
“I’ll bite,” said Bill. “You wouldn’t believe what I had for lunch. . . .”
Chapter Four
A fter a second bad night spent beside Bill, who slumbered peacefully, Lucy had to admit she wasn’t really all that interested in the cooking classes. If she had her way, she’d skip the class and sleep in, but that was impossible since her bed was in the middle of the apartment’s living room. The others tried to be quiet and tiptoed
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