Sympathy for the Devil Read Free

And Lily, followed by the nanny, left the room quickly, cooing loving words into her son’s ear.
    During the fracas, Wesley had moved out into the butler’s pantry, a small service room connecting the kitchen to the formal dining room beyond. I joined him.
    â€œThat man.” Wesley was truly angry. It’s less than ideal working conditions when one of the caterers hates the client. If Wes didn’t walk out, it was only to make me happy. “So, you going to defend him? Again?”
    It was complicated. At his worst, Bruno could be a monster. Every nasty thing people said about him was probably true. But he and I had our own odd history, which had to be factored in.
    â€œI owe him,” I remarked. “He gave us our first important job.”
    â€œYeah. Right. You’re probably the finest chef who’s willing to do crew lunches. And for the first few years, what Huntley paid us was a joke. I think, my dear, what you ‘owe him’ is a bill.”
    The door to the butler’s pantry was on a swing-hinge, and our privacy was interrupted by three young women balancing trays with dozens of tiny, lit candles destined for outdoors. The candles would illuminate hundreds of miniature pumpkins along the walkways.
    Right behind them came Bruno.
    â€œThere you are! You guys need anything? Hey, Wesley, how’s it going, guy? Madeline!” His voice, booming in its loud hearty way, was much too big for the small room. “It looks great outside. I love it.” Our efforts had transformed the expansive grounds of his estate into an eerie, haunted landscape.
    â€œYou need anything, just let me know, huh?” He grinned at the kids holding their trays of candles. “Hey, did you gals know I discovered Madeline slaving away at a stove at some hole-in-the-wall bistro seven years ago and made her a star?”
    He stood there, master of the tiny room, beaming. He clearly thought he was charming.
    Bruno turned to me. “Say, what’s up with that fellow of yours—he gonna marry you, or what? You’ve got to nail that son-of-a-bitch down and set the date! You hear? I want to buy you a big, fat wedding present!”
    Bruno grinned at my workers. “Hey! Am I right?”
    They giggled.
    â€œThanks for the romantic advice, Bruno.”
    The thing is, my relationship with Arlo Zar is on the complicated side. Arlo is a writer for that popular sitcom, “Woman’s Work,” the one about a feisty lady lawyer. Writing for prime time means he works sixteen-hour days. What with my nights and weekends schedule, finding time together is a challenge.
    Bruno was having a great old time, probing for a possible sore spot. “Listen to me, girl! You’ve got to hog-tie that runaway dogie and bring him back to the fold. Beautiful girl like you, no husband, that’s alarming! Am I right, Wes?”
    I held my breath at how Wesley might react. Would he kid around with the now playful Bruno? The pause was long.
    â€œI’m alarmed,” Wes said, with no inflection at all.
    We had gotten past a bad spot. I sent Wes a grateful look as I endured more of Bruno’s legendary “wit.”
    â€œWhat are you now? Thirty-three?”
    He was doing this on purpose, deliberately adding a few years.
    â€œNot yet.”
    â€œSee there? She can’t even admit her age in public!” Bruno chuckled and gave me a fond look. This is the way he treats the people he likes. “So what can I do for you? Any problems?”
    â€œWe’re fine, Bruno, thanks,” I said.
    â€œWhat about Holly leaving? Wasn’t she going to be the soothsayer tonight?” asked a cobweb girl. Bruno had wanted a fortune teller at the party and Holly volunteered for the part. Now that she was returning worms, we were short one soothsayer.
    â€œWe’ll be fine,” I said quickly. Too late.
    â€œLeave it to me.” Bruno loved to take charge. “There’s a gal