All That and Then Some

ALICE - Voices Carry

I SNEAK THROUGH THE shiny marble lobby of the King Edward Hotel, mindful of the fact that the last time I was here, I was pounced on by Russian tourists and forced to do embarrassing peace-sign selfies with their teenage daughter. This time, I have thought ahead, donning oversized sunglasses and a floppy sunhat that obscures almost my entire head. Granted, these are odd accoutrements for a December evening but, I tell myself, people will just think I'm a Canadian celebrity hiding from the spotlight — although it's a pretty small spotlight when you're a Canadian celebrity. Unless you're Dan Levy who's having quite a moment these days. But anyway, I would hope not to be mistaken for a man, no matter how adorable and funny he may be. I'd much rather be mistaken for Catherine O'Hara! Yes. I am channelling my inner Catherine O'Hara as I step out of the lobby and into the gilded dining room.

The host doesn't seem at all perturbed by my incognito disguise and pleasantly walks me to my table. Justine, because she is rich and important, is running late of course. The host informs me that Ms. Carvil has ordered a bottle of fine Dom Perignon which will arrive presently.

I nod under my hat and await my champagne.

Even though I remain annoyed at the encroachment on my personal time (especially when I could be creating tiny, fanciful hors d' oeuvres out of puff pastry in preparation for tomorrow's family party), I am — just slightly — looking forward to a slap-up dinner at Carvil Foods' expense. I've already scanned the menu on my phone and decided to order all the most delicious (and expensive) things:

Malpeque Oysters from PEI
Escargots de Bourgogne
Braised wild hen with fresh black truffle shavings, new potatoes and buttery garlic rapini
... and a 'flight of housemade ice creams' that promises a sensation of unusual flavours at the chef's pleasure (!!)

The distinctive Dom label arrives at the table, presented on the arm of a stringy-looking, elderly waiter.

"Madame," he says, deftly uncorking the bottle without taking anyone's eye out or spilling a drop. The straw-coloured liquid bubbles up the sides of the crystal flute in front of me and he gently crunches the bottle into the waiting ice bucket.

"My name is Tortoise and it's my pleasure to serve you this evening."

I peer up at him. Did he really say 'tortoise'? I decide I'd better clarify.

"I'm sorry, your name was...?"

"Curtis, ma'am."

Ah, that makes more sense. My floppy hat must be getting in the way of my hearing. Unfortunately, now that I've thought the word tortoise, I'm going to have a hard time not calling him that in my mind.

"Right. Thanks Curtis." I say carefully.

He nods and shuffles off, leaving me to sip my (delicious!) champagne and take discrete selfies to send to Buddy. He hates to miss out on champagne and will be seething with jealousy that I got invited to this luxe dinner and he didn't. I've got a different sort of treat in mind for him, but he doesn't know about it yet.

I'm on my second glass of Dom, and halfway through a basket of warm, salty breads when Justine finally arrives.

She breaks away from the host and clacks hurriedly over to the table.

"Alice!" she frets, leaning down to pop an unexpectedly familiar kiss on my cheek. "So sorry. So, so sorry. Got caught in one of those dreadful meetings of the board that just goes on and on and—"

"No, I'm sorry!" I reply automatically.

She pauses, amused. "What are you sorry for?"

I think for a moment. "Um. I don't know? The board meeting? It just popped out of my mouth."