The previous chapters:
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
And beneath the orange antimacassar is the next chapter.
Otis and Evan: a serialized novel by jabney:
...
A bit of explanation before you decide I'm a total dick. I mean, I've waited tables myself and I've never forgotten what that's like. And snaking somebody's table isn't what you do if you want to be popular among the other waitstaff. But consider: entering the first class dining room, although there had been the normal disguised chaos that underlies any successful service, this crew seemed to take things a lot more seriously than most. White gloved waiters were removing settings from a long table while a white gloved supervisor stood over them glowering. Perhaps because of this, there was some confusion as to who was waiting on our table, so we found our seats on our own. I suppose that was our first mistake. Otis contends that the acts of being young and in a jolly mood were enough to get Alphonse's disapproving attention. I would have added the acts of being good looking and out-of-reach, to Otis's bill of attainder. But Otis usually blushes and deflects at any positive mention of his looks, and, as for being out-of-reach, Otis has written several books on the subject. So no mention to Otis is better odds than trying to score points with him for cleverness.
Who knows, maybe when I'm sufficiently drunk and hostile...but that's one of the things I like about myself. On the very rare occasion that I do get drunk, I don't get hostile. Getting stoned, weeded, baked, whatever you like to call it, is a state I much prefer to being drunk. But I use cannabis to get work done, and smoking doesn't have the abandon-all-care feeling that going on a good old fashioned drunk does. At least not smoking the cortex-friendly strains that I enjoy. The sub-medicinal strains I like tend to have a "We're off to..." effect on me. It's the "...s" that can get you lost, especially a "..." that is too much fun at first. Those ideas often go to /dev/null before you get to jot them down. The theory is that if it's a good enough idea or a good enough line or a good enough chord or a good enough what have you, it will come to you again. My local muse doesn't work that way. My muse seems to turn up when it's a multi-day obsession on a multi-day bake.
Otis likes a good buzz too, but Otis's preferred high comes from numbers. Being able to read, write and think machine code directly isn't a widely sought after talent in the early 1900s. So when Alphonse asked Otis what it was that he was passionate about... But I'm getting ahead of myself.
"Miss Barbara sends apologies and says, "The Countess is dealing with shipboard issues requiring her immediate attention and has asked that I assist her. Therefore I insist that you do not wait for us to begin dinner. I shall trust that Alphonse will look out for our interests until we arrive. Signed, Barbara Merrydew." Alphonse cleared his throat and than said, in a voice that said any question mark was a mere formality, "You gentlemen will no doubt wish to wait?"
I started to say, "Not really," but Otis spoke first: "Food can wait, but please bring us some wine. And pack us a doggie bag of anything we miss."
"A "Doggie what" sir?"
Otis explained doggie bags to Alphonse who seemed, to me at least, to be handling his inner-horror of the concept rather well. So well did he suppress that inner-horror, though clearly it was there, that Otis seemed to feel comfortable loosening-up. "Alphonse, is it?" The tall man standing over us nodded in the affirmative, stiffly. Otis continued, "And the note from Miss Barbara, it is Miss, right?" Again, a stiff nod from Alphonse. Otis went on, "Anyhow, the note from Miss Barbara seemed to suggest that you knew them. Have they sailed with you before?"
"No sir," said Alphonse, "I had the privilege of helping Miss Barbara and the Countess with a matter when I was employed by Major Butt."
"Major Archie Butt?" I said, "Of Theodore Roosevelt's inner staff?"
"Major Archibald has no civilian rank amongst President Roosevelt's staff."
I said, "Yet many civilians defer to his judgement, so I've heard."
"One hears many things," said Alphonse, "Especially aboard a ship."
"What sort of things, Alphonse? Tell us," said Otis.
"Something about a curiously complementary letter and the two unknown gentlemen carrying it, I believe."
I said, "Who have, no doubt, only the best of intentions toward the addressee."
"One would hope," said Otis, "Nevertheless, good craft dictates that an individual feeling an older, more established, loyalty to the addressee should keep a watchful eye on the newcomers, and to not spit in their soup."
"Would a mother spit in any child's soup? Even a naughty child's," said Alphonse as he raised his chin, almost threatening to smile, and went to fetch us some claret.
When Alphonse had left, Otis leaned across the table and said confidentially, "I think Mother will be sailing with us this crossing."
I said, "Maybe more like Auntie. Auntie Alphonse."
"Who just happens to know Major Butt," Otis said. "We read all sorts of speculation about him in the traces of rainbows course in 8th grade."
"We called it, "Dorothy's secret friends,"" I said, "But the idea was probably the same. Thing is, we had a pretty strong cohort of gay kids, so woe be to any textbooks or teachers that tried rainbow-washing someone from the past just because that person met or did not meet certain political or cultural criteria."
"So was Major Butt, America's Lawrence of Arabia?" said Otis as Alphonse emerged, genie-like, at table side.
"Begging your pardons sirs, but I am not aware of any excursion into Arabia by Major Butt. As for friends from America named Lawrence, for I am certain that is what you must have meant, I believe the Major may have had a whist partner by that name," and at this, Alphonse's eyes darted furtively yet piercingly toward a long table with a sensuous-looking old man seated at its head, four women, two on each side, though there had been room for four more, and standing at the foot a calm, business-like eunuch doing calm eunuch-like things. Like keeping an eye on his boss's harem. And the room.
"And who holds the cards at that table, Alphonse?" Otis said gesturing toward the old man's table..
"I am certain I should not be privy to that sort of information sir, but if I were to gamble, my money would be on the seemingly testosterone-challenged man standing at the end of the table. At least while his looks last." I glanced at the table using a napkin to hide my face. The eunuch saw me and Otis,
"Guess he's making a eunuchy note to himself," I said, but Otis was paying attention to the exotic standee.
"I wander if he decided to keep...oh wait, this is pre WW I so it wouldn't have been his choice. Not back then."
"Which is now, dear Otis, and removing only the testicles means less urine splatter, so the smart households let their eunuchs keep their penises. Then. Which is now, I might remind you. So as tempting as it might be to you to host the be-turbaned hunk with the scimitar, you're still too too tempting a target for that lecherous old shiek."
"Evan, I think you're jealous."
"We're brothers Otis, that would be incest. But if I were to be jealous I would be jealous of the whole package. So you make sure and keep yours."
"Package and holes safe and protected by three layers of security protocol. But I'm not the one the Rocky Picture Show lookalike there has eyes for." There were three of us in earshot: Otis, me, and Alphonse. I could tell he wasn't referring to Alphonse.
"Why not," I said, "And if the Major's former helper, Alphonse, here would like to bring the doggie bags to our cabin at a time when our muscular friend will be visiting, we would have no objection to his reporting what he hears to Major Butt,"
Alphonse said, "And what is the sweet little puppy's name?"
"We're having Kelly and she's a cat. No dogs allowed!" I said.
"And a hookah. I think," said Otis, "From some Ottoman Empire upholsterers."
"Is that so, sir?" Alphonse said as he raised his shoulders and walked away seeming almost jaunty.