The habits of a lifetime are hard to break regardless of how long your life has been. I never developed a love for eating breakfast chiefly because it meant getting out of bed earlier than I liked. At most I would grab a muffin or a toasted bagel at a coffee shop or on rare occasions I would manage to put a bowl of cereal together. I was adept at making coffee, however, and always started my day with a few cups of freshly brewed coffee to jolt myself into action.
On days when I was driving Miss Cousins to work I could—most of the time—expect something from her kitchen to fall my way. Lourdes was now working for Miss Cousins with greater regularity since The Secretary died and seemed intent on feeding me. I would loiter in the kitchen while Miss Cousins rushed to get ready and there was always something for morning nosh at her place. (My favourite was cinnamon toast, which I had been known to request.)
Miss Cousins did not eat breakfast in the normally accepted sense of the term unless, of course, coffee and orange juice with a chaser of cigarettes counted as breakfast. Lunch was her first meal of the day, a sacrosanct time where work at the office stopped and the studio emptied and conversation ranged from mild to wild and from serious to gossip.
Beebe had breakfast every morning without fail and always from a strict menu designed to guard against weight gain and sloth. Coffee with skim milk—which was horrid—orange juice and fruit. Beebe did not eat much until supper; even lunch was a scant affair consisting of cottage cheese (if she was at home) or a salad or, say, an omelet if she happened to be out. Ted ate a large breakfast every day that he enjoyed in the kitchen while reading (his) daily newspaper. Ted would read each section of the paper in turn, noting certain features for subsequent follow-up, and making a quick count of all the advertisers appearing that day. He was, after all, concerned about the bottom line of The Canadian Record.
In a rare show of corporate pride Beebe also read the paper carefully and circled errors in spelling, grammar or syntax. She also decided if certain items were “unfit” and paid close attention to any typographical errors that escaped the copy desk. Her “edited” copy would then be sent down to “the main office” where an editor would make note of her corrections. Large errors—which in truth were rare—would warrant a telephone call. Mrs Grade’s calls were never ignored; she did, after all, own the newspaper.
Harry and Esther Steinberg ate breakfast together in their dining room each morning from a varied menu prepared each day by their housekeeper. Esther watched her diet—Ardie chided her about that—so she was usually avoiding carbohydrates, sugar, butter and cream and stuck to one English muffin with low-cal jam, coffee with milk. Harry ate whatever was put in front of him without complaint.
Did I tell you that Ardie had a houseman?
Habashka was originally from Burma and had been in Ardie’s employ for many years. His role was often nebulous; Ardie’s frequent absences from the city made a full-time houseman something of white elephant (no insult to Habashka intended) so he had also worked at the showroom or in the antique shop.
Habashka’s chief occupation these days was keeping Ardie’s home running like a perfectly timed machine. Ardie didn’t wake early and started his day with coffee, breakfast and the newspapers of the day plus his telephone and daily calendar. Habashka seemed to be a jack-of-all-trades and a master of most of them. He could cook like a trained chef—which in fact he was—and he ran 12B like an army camp. He arranged for and fluffed the flowers, dealt with domestic issues, looked after Ardie’s errands and household tasks and was, in reality, indispensable. He had a suite in 12B but he also had a small house north of the city where he repaired each weekend. His usual attire was a pair of black trousers with a white or navy blue jacket. He always wore a tie and he had a smart collection of aprons to protect his tailored uniforms from dirt and stains. Habashka didn’t say much but when he did his voice was distinct and somewhat inflected with a faint British accent.
It goes without saying that it was Habashka, and not Ardie, who put breakfast together in 12B. He also did the shopping, looked after the domestic establishment and supervised the many social events that Ardie hosted. Habashka was the only person I ever heard call Ardie by his last name—Mr Beebe—and not by his first name only.
“I tell everyone to call me Ardie because Ardwold sounds stuck-up and the world really doesn’t need another Mr Beebe,” said Ardie, upon making a new introduction. His handshake was firm and his eyes were bright and his smile—capped teeth—was wide and suggested fun was forthcoming.
Jane started her day with breakfast chiefly because of Bethany; children can’t be sent to school on an empty stomach and Jane routinely churned out full cooked breakfasts featuring all the goodies from your favourite brunch menu: blueberry pancakes filled with cream cheese (surprisingly delicious, actually) or scrambled eggs with bacon and home-fried potatoes. Jane was the only Goth-inspired Mother in the city to my knowledge who shopped at Whole Foods and regularly purchased organic groceries. (Ardie laughed at this caprice, convinced that organic foods were a scam.)
Candis Mitzvah always ate breakfast and rarely missed any other meal, frankly. She was a “big girl” who didn’t worry outwardly about her weight. It was, she explained, much easier to buy new clothes than slim down to fit an existing wardrobe.
Jack Grade was a new convert to breakfast, the introduction being made by none other than Miss Leesa Mitzvah. Coffee and toast had been replaced with bagels and cream cheese, Tropicana Orange Juice (no pulp), Kona blend coffee and real cream. Scrambled eggs benefited from the addition of either salami (delicious; try it some time) or finely diced and quickly fried onions. Leesa—she was sleeping over now—would prepare breakfast wearing one of Jack’s shirts or perhaps a tee shirt from his closet. Jack—all rumpled hair and morning grumpy—would see his face dissolve into a smile as he heard Leesa quietly bustling about his kitchen.
Leesa had begun to exert more influence over Our Boy Jack. She had re-arranged his kitchen to improve the counter and cupboard space, helped him clean out his closet and had a quiet word with the two hired maids—sent by a service each week—thereby vastly improving the domestic scene at home. Jack was happy and unconcerned; if it made her happy to be a housekeeping goddess he wasn’t going to spoil her fun. Besides, he was prone to be untidy and already he could find things easier in the kitchen.
Leesa had also “suggested” to Jack that he worked too hard and didn’t have enough fun. Soon enough Jack was leaving work by 6:30 or 7:00PM each evening, entertaining friends at home from time to time—Leesa was a perfect hostess, naturally—and enjoying quiet nights at home watching a movie while snuggling on the sofa with Leesa.
Jack was also becoming slowly aware that his friendship with Leesa was starting to take on more importance in his life. Where, he wondered, would it all end up?
No comments:
Post a Comment