Chapter 17 Austen #2
The sun is drowning in the evening’s blood-red glow.
We make Tuscan butter scallops and scampi ravioli from scratch.
Billy and I race each other through everything.
Lightning fast chopping and dicing, laughing and occasionally bumping each other.
We argue about techniques. I call him a lazy shit and he calls me prissy.
The girls talk with each other and drink champagne.
The guys watch the lake and the food being made.
We put the seafood dish in front of our guests. Amelia looks at it with dread.
“That’s okay,” she says, and tries to hand it back. “I’m not hungry.”
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m actually allergic to shellfish,” she says.
“You didn’t tell us.”
“We’re on a lake, I didn’t think it would come up.”
“A lake on an island,” William says.
“Oh my God though,” Mischa says, offering her his second ravioli, “try it anyway, it’s worth dying for.”
This happens sometimes. People try too hard to fit in with us, and don’t speak up when they should. The last hour must have been awful for her. William and I look at each other and get back up.
“You’re not allergic to Cognac and steak?” I ask.
“No,” Amelia says.
“Medium rare?”
She smiles. “Please.”
“Coming right up.”
“I am also not allergic to that either,” Mischa says.
“Order for two,” I smile.
“Anyone else?” William looks over at the others. “Hayden, three? Kane, four? Girls? Okay, let’s fucking go!”
William is happy, because the few things he enjoys most are messing with people, feeding people, and killing things. Not a good combination if you think about it.
The girls politely wait and drink wine while we cook. Mischa eats his scallops and pasta while loudly exclaiming its virtues.
“This is like, that good good like, crazy good,” he says between chews. “You two are like artists.”
“I like you,” William tells Mischa, and all eyes shoot between them.
Then Mischa takes Amelia’s abandoned plate, and scoops up her ravioli. At the same time he starts eyeing Billy's. If my brother eats it, he might spiral.
“Have William’s pasta, Mischa,” I tell him.
“What!” William shrieks.
“Billy can’t eat it,” I explain. “He’s lactose intolerant.”
He scowls. “You’re lactose intolerant.”
Mischa grabs the plate and holds a large ravioli between his fingers.
“This is for your own good, Billy Boy!” he says and drops it in his mouth.
William narrows his eyes at Mischa. “I take it back; I don't like you.”
We take the pan of steaks and drown it in Cognac and light it on fire. The vapors make a vwoompf sound as they ignite in blue flames.
We put the firework in front of our guests and Mischa lays his head on the table like he’s worshipping it.
Everyone has had a few more drinks than us, and it shows. They ooh and ahh and giggle and drink more. It’s been a long day. I want to get them fed.
Mischa presses his cheek into the table and looks up to the flames, smiling coyly.
“I love you,” he says to the flambé, as if nobody can hear him. The girls howl with laughter. “I love you so much, I think my heart might explode. You’re all I’m ever gonna want. All I’m ever gonna think about for the rest of time. I don’t know if I’ll ever find love like this again in this life.”
“You boys have a fan,” Sabrina tells us.
William laughs. “Thanks buddy.”
“I’m not talking to you,” Mischa tells him.
“He’s talking to the steak!” Isobelle interjects.
I pour the flaming cream sauce for Mischa. He accepts it with reverence. Everyone goes quiet as they try their first bite and fall into deep contemplation.
“Yeah,” Mischa moans, and drunkenly holds up his steak. “We are getting the fuck married.”
The laughter starts up again.
“You can’t marry a cow,” Amelia says, her skin red from all the wine.
“Or me,” Billy says.
“Don’t trivialize my love!” Mischa points his steak knife at Amelia.
He reaches down with his other hand and tickles her exposed midriff and she yelps.
Amelia is convulsing with laughter and cries, “Shellfish, your hands!”
The whole table starts caterwauling. Mischa drops the knife and puts his hands up, horrified.
“Oh no!” Sabrina gasps.
“Sorry!” he yells, holding his face.
“We have a couple of those emergency pens,” I tell her.
Amelia checks her stomach.
“Yeah,” she says and sits up again. “Good idea.”
Isobelle punches Mischa's arm. “Your fishy fingers are attempted murder on my new best friend!”
“Smooth, Mischa,” Billy taunts him. “Real fucking smooth.”
Mischa runs to the first aid kit, grabs a syringe and takes it to her. Everyone’s eyes go wide.
“Stop!” Isobelle growls at him. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“Giving her the shot.”
“That is for William,” she says, so shrill that she coughs, “and Austen.”
He looks around in confusion.
“It’s insulin,” Sabrina explains gently. “For their hypoglycemia. It will put her in a coma.”
I’m not sure Mischa believes it. I’m pretty fucking sure insulin is refrigerated. It’s the stuff I have to knock my brother out and vice-versa.
Mischa looks at the needle in his hand as Sabrina takes it. Hayden gets the antihistamine pen from a bag and gives it to Amelia.
There’s a welt on her side but she can’t quite see it. Everyone settles back down to their meals and pretends not to notice Amelia’s neck and chest is turning bright red and lumpy. Sabrina and Isobelle make quiet humming noises while they eat and try not to laugh. Mischa doesn't know where to look.
“Let’s get you another shot,” Sabrina suggests.
Amelia checks her side and sees the growing rash.
“What’s the matter, Mischa?” she asks and raises an eyebrow. “Has something come up?”
The laughter starts up again. Even Hayden cracks a smile. Amelia takes her antihistamines, but it’s still bad. Her lips and eyes balloon like she’s been beaten.
“I’ll call the helicopter,” Hayden says. “Amelia can go to the hospital tonight, and fly back here tomorrow.”
“The medical bill for this trip is off the bloody chart,”Kane shakes his head. “Pain in the ass getting all the medicine through customs too.”
Isobelle shakes her head. “Could everybody please stop fucking dying all the time.”
“This is why we never go anywhere,” Billy sighs.
Amelia’s eyes swell shut. Hayden feeds her yogurt and guides her to the loungers. He wraps ice packs for her and she presses them to her neck and eyes.
After dinner, Mischa still has room for dessert, which is also set on fire with a flaming sauce. He eats too much of it, chugs two more drinks and gets sleepy. He sits on the seat beside Amelia. Soon he’s resting on my shoulder.
William is entertained. “He’s always falling asleep on people.”
I shunt over to give him room, but I don’t give him enough.
“Move,” he croaks in a husky, tired voice. In his drowsy state, he puts his head on my lap and gets comfortable. “This is fine.”
At once, he goes into a deep slumber. I look around for help but everybody is amused.
“It’s so cute,” Sabrina coos.
“I can move him if you want,” Hayden offers.
“No,” I say. “It’s okay. He’s probably exhausted after partying all week, nearly drowning, a night in the hospital, an early flight, a long drive, and a whole lot of food and alcohol. He can sleep on me.”
Sabrina looks at us. “It’s... you know...”
I nod in fascination. “I really don’t mind for some reason.”
“He’s kinda like a really big puppy,” William says, and then adds, “or a sweet guard-dog.”
“Yeah,” I smile, and pat his dark curly locks.
It’s nice to pat him. I scratch under his chin and he squirms a little and stretches his hands, adjusting so his head is on my forearm as a pillow and his big arms wrap around me.
“Adorable!” Sabrina squeals.
Isobelle is enthralled. “Oh my god, Austen has a friend!”
“I have friends,” I frown. “I have you, Kane and Hayden.”
“An unpaid friend!”
“Let me draw you,” William decides.
“No Billy, please.”
He pulls out his sketchpad, and begins the outline. “The day is almost over, and I haven’t done one yet.”
“I’m borrowing your lap, Kitten,” Isobelle says.
She finishes her drink and lays down, putting her head in Sabrina’s lap.
“Can I put my head in someone’s lap too?” Amelia asks. “I know I’m a monster right now but I’m feeling really fragile.”
“You are beautiful inside and out, my love,” Sabrina tells her.
“But only inside at the moment,” Billy says.
I pick up a piece of ice from the bucket and throw it at him. He ducks.
“I mean I’d still fuck you...” Billy smiles, and Kane throws more ice at him, “but it would have to be doggy style.”
Isobelle picks up a whole handful of ice and throws it at him.
“Ow!” he laughs.
“Thanks,” Isobelle says. “That’s fucking great.”
Hayden goes to Amelia and places his lap under her head.
After a few minutes of drawing, William sighs. “I wish I could lie in someone’s lap and have them feed me grapes, while others fan me with palm fronds.”
“Sounds like deep down you want to be worshipped as a pharaoh,” Isobelle says.
“I’d love to,” he says, “and not deep down.”
“Ask your employee to do it,” Isobelle says. “Besides, he's the last lap left.”
William looks at Kane. “That might be considered workplace harassment. Anyway, he’s off the clock.”
Kane grabs a bunch of grapes and brings them to Billy’s mouth. Billy wraps his lips around one and bites it off the stem.
“Thanks,” he tells Kane. “I’ll take a raincheck on the rest until I finish this.”
Billy finishes the sketch and puts the book away.
The nocturnal chill is setting in. Sabrina grabs blankets from the blanket box and places one over Amelia, another for Isobelle, Mischa, then me.
Billy wraps himself in one and lies his head on Kane.
He makes sweet, fluttering eyes, and Kane scoffs and gets the grapes again, slowly lowering them to William for him to eat.