Dessert is a dark, super rich chocolate mousse cake, obviously laced with some kind of booze. This is interesting. This household appears to be teetotaller, but there is alcohol in the desserts, if the pears poached in Amaretto last night are any indication. Each generous serving of cake is served in an exquisite, white gold rimmed bowl, filled with heavy cream.
"What is the fire water de jour, Mel", says Carl.
"Gran Marnier. Did I overdo it?"
"We are not complaining, darling", purrs Carol.
"Not complaining in the least", Aaron concurs.
"When are you giving us a recital, Carol?" I ask.
She seems so lost in her gourmandizing ecstasy that she appears not to have heard me.
"Um, Carol?" I repeat, looking directly at her, since this time I am seated directly across from her.
"Yes, darling?"
"When are you giving us a concert?"
"Oh, I should imagine next week some time. I haven't practiced in almost a week, and I am feeling very rusty right now."
"Did you know that I heard you perform in London, ten years ago?"
She lights up. "Did you?"
"You were playing Rachmaninov."
"Royal Albert."
"You were nothing short of magnificent."
"Thank you, Christopher. That is very kind. I hope you weren't too disappointed."
"You were incredible. Why would I have been disappointed?"
She pauses between mouthfuls, and is suddenly staring down at her dessert. We are, I think, about to hear more from Carol this evening, I imagine...
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