"Thank you," I said. "Will you be around long?"

She shook her head. "I'm flying back to Chicago tonight. The house is going up for sale Monday. She left her goods to me, but I certainly don't know what to do with them. I'll be back in November to finish things up." She gave me an ingratiating smile. "Your son is just a little darling. And how nice of him to help you with the business."

I nodded and fixed her a plate, then glanced in the direction of Arch, who was talking to John Richard, or rather, being talked to. Arch was nodding, his face full of pain. I could imagine the questions. Did you try out for soccer? Are you going to play football? Have you thought about basketball? Why not? The Jerk had never accepted the fact that his son was not destined for the NFL.

I reassured the moneyed aunt that the catering business was very important to me, as well as to Arch. She gave me a sympathetic look and slid away.

Now I could sense John Richard, hear him, see him shuffling along in what had become a fairly long food line, maybe ten people. With that kind of backup I was now preparing the plates in advance, whether the guests wanted asparagus or not. I heard him again and looked up. He was talking to Fritz. A medical conversation, no doubt. Beside the Jerk was the new girlfriend, a nondescript brunette whom my memory could only vaguely identify as a teacher.

I counted out the plates to John Richard's. Eight. I. drew out the mushroom packet. No sense in making him sick with tomatoes, thus risking more wrath, although the thought made me giggle. I sprinkled the mushroom bits on top of John Richard's asparagus vinaigrette and kept going with plate preparation. I looked back at the line. For heaven's sake. The girlfriend had stepped in front of the Jerk, so now she would get the mushrooms and he would still get tomatoes. I clanked the plates into their proper order, and that was my mistake.

John Richard sidled up to the front of the line and again straightened the bolo as he peered at the dishes. Then he raised a thick wrist to dramatically count the number of people in line.

"Okay, Goldy," he said with a deep sigh, as he picked up the plate with the mushrooms. "What are you trying to feed me?"

"It's not for you. It's for your girlfriend. An aphrodisiac. She may need it."

He said, "Then you won't mind if I send this down to a lab and have it analyzed."

"Don't be so paranoid." I grabbed the edge of the plate. "It's just mushrooms instead of tomatoes, because I didn't want you to get sick."

He pulled the plate toward him. The salmon made a precarious slide toward the silk cowboy shirt.

"Will you stop?" I said through clenched teeth. "Just let me get you a new one."