The Counterfeit Murder in the Museum of Man_ A Norman De Ratour Mystery - Alfred Alcorn [76]
One well-meaning matron came over to bestow smiles and ask if she might pet Alphus. I said he allowed, but didn’t appreciate it. Of course, she said, she understood. A distant relative had a Seeing Eye dog who could practically talk.
Alphus gave her his version of a smile.
The pretense we all agreed upon — the waiter, whose name was Marlen, the other patrons, and ourselves most of all — was that there was nothing extraordinary about an ape, a well-dressed, well-behaved ape, but an ape nonetheless, sitting like an upright Christian at table in an upscale restaurant. I could sense the amused amazement around us when Alphus took the menu from me and perused it with what, for a chimp, was a thoughtful expression. “Cute,” I heard someone remark. “Well trained,” said someone else.
Marlen came back for a recital of the specials. “We have a pan-seared tilapia in a hand-washed mint sauce on a bed of braided, whole wheat capellini cooked in wood-heated water. The chef recommends our second special of the evening. It’s pulled loin of pork cooked au feu nu with a sweet potato rémoulade and wine-soused sautéed chard. But I’m afraid we’re all out of the third special. I’ll give you a few minutes. Would you like to see a wine list?”
“Please,” I said.
Needless to say, I was on tenterhooks the whole time. Several times I had to tell Ridley not to sign. “Remember, you’re blind.” Frankly, I was afraid that someone I knew would see me in this ridiculous situation. Or that someone would come in and make a scene.
The covert glances from the other customers continued, especially when Simon showed up with the wine list and I read off the choices to the other two. I suggested an Argentinean Malbec, which I had heard mentioned favorably at a meeting of the Club’s wine committee. Alphus took the embossed folder and, after studying it, pointed instead to a recent Nuits-St-Georges premier cru.
“Very pricey,” I said.
Ridley nodded okay. Then, on a scrap of paper he scrawled, “My treat. Go for it.”
“Three glasses?” asked Simon, an eyebrow going up. But he shrugged when I said yes.
There were more stares as Alphus took a look at the menu and pointed out to me that he wanted the filet mignon au poivre rare with extra salad. For an appetizer, he picked a double order of pâté de ferme with honey-pickled gherkins.
I read the choices off to Ridley, who nodded twice at the lemon-poached scrod served in a froth of bisque de homard and, for a starter, une tranche de foie gras from un-force-fed geese. I ordered the pork.
Marlen brought the wine. He poured about an inch into my glass. I handed it to Alphus, who held it up to what light was available, nosed it, and then sipped. I could feel the incredulous amazement all around us. He nodded and the wine was poured. We raised our glasses. Salut.
The appetizers arrived not long after and we ate leisurely, sipping wine, breaking off pieces of bread, and carrying on a complicated three-way conversation in which Alphus would sign and I would pretend to interpret it vocally for Ridley, who would covertly sign back.
Our waiter deftly cleared away the plates in preparation for the main course and refilled our glasses before I had a chance to stop him. I did not want to add inebriation to the situation. Ridley indicated he wanted to go to the men’s room. Alphus understood and rose to play his part, dutifully leading the convincingly tap-tapping Ridley toward the reception desk and the men’s room.
I should have gotten up and accompanied them. But I felt that the apparent assistance being rendered to Ridley by Alphus served to justify the presence of the latter among us, especially to the diners who had stayed in our area. The performance made Alphus’s claim seem entirely plausible: If a Seeing Eye dog, then why not a Seeing Eye chimpanzee? And if the chimp had table manners, then …
I dawdled there, thinking that