The Class Menagerie

reflected the bright lighting; a huge, bleached butcher block workstation was in the center of the room. The most gigantic refrigerator Jane had ever seen dominated the far end of the room and white, glass-fronted cabinets held arrays of china and sparkling crystal. There was a quarry tile floor with colorful rag rugs placed anywhere a person might stand for a few moments.
    “Mr. North, this is the kitchen of my dreams!“ Jane said reverently. “Heaven looks just like this.“
    “Darling, it’s Edgar. Mr . North is my father in Cleveland. And I’m glad you like it. I’m rather pleased myself.“
    “You could store a small northern country in that refrigerator. But this is a bed and breakfast. Surely-“
    “Surely I don’t need this to throw together a bit of eggs and toast?“ Edgar finished for her. “No, but I’m a chef by profession. I’ve worked all over the country. And this is the kitchen I’ve always wanted for myself when it came time to settle down. We’re going to do dinners, as well, you see. Not like a restaurant, just for planned parties. Maybe some catering when we’re better established. Now sit down, my dears, and let me give you some coffee.“
    “Coffee“ turned out to be a divine concoction that -tasted so nutty and rich that Jane didn’t see how she’d ever go back to the ordinary kind. Along -with it Edgar served the tiniest, most delicate cream puffs on earth. Jane and Shelley complimented him effusively between bites. “Aren’t you having any of your own marvelous treats?“ Jane asked, wondering if Shelley would slap her hand if she took a fourth cream puff. She decided to risk it. :
    “No, have to watch my tummy,“ Edgar said, patting his tidy little potbelly.
    “BRBRBROEWW!“ someone said from the next room. A second later an enormous, sleek Siamese cat sauntered into the room
    “What a handsome cat!“ Jane exclaimed.
    Shelley looked at her as if she’d lost a considerable number of brain cells.
    “His name is Hector. The noun and the verb,“ Edgar said. “He’s supposed to be outside mousing to earn his keep, but he hates the rain.“
    Hector came over and rammed his head into Jane’s leg, then flopped down and rolled over as if indicating that this luscious furry expanse of stomach he was exposing just might be available for petting. Jane obliged.
    “Are you ready to take a look around? I’m sorry Gordon isn’t here to help me show off. He’s responsible for all the decorating. I’m just the cook.“
    “The understatement of the year,“ Jane said, licking powdered sugar off her fingertips and realizing too late-there was a bit of cat fur sticking to them as well.
    “Where is Gordon?“ Shelley asked.
    “Still holding down gainful employment. He’s design production coordinator for a greeting card company in Chicago. Dreadful job, of course. All cute little bunny wabbits and cripplingly sweet verse, but it keeps the wolf from the door. We’re hoping that we’ll rake in such pots of cash that he can quit when we get running.“
    The tour of the house left Jane gasping. Each guest bedroom had a name that matched its decor. The sunflower room, the apricot room, the moonlight room, the cornflower room, the tuxedo room, the lime room, the rose room. Bedspreads, curtains, carpet, paintings, lampshades were all exquisitely coordinated. The rose room was a symphony of femininity, all blushing cabbage roses, cherrywood, and quilting, while the moonlight room was as cool, classical, and masculine as Gary Grant. Hector preceded them into each room as if he were personally responsible for the decor. Every now and then he let out a spine-tingling Siamese yowl that made Shelley shudder and Jane giggle. Edgar kept giving the cat indulgent, fatherly looks. . “I want to adopt Gordon,“ Jane said. “Do you two have rooms here or in the carriage house?“
    “We have what we laughingly call a ‘suite’ on the third floor right now,“ Edgar answered. “Nasty place. Meant for stunted midget maids. Gordon’s head is perpetually black-and-blue from crashing into the ceiling where it takes weird dives. We suspect bats, but the lighting is so poor we’re not sure. We’re probably going to live in the carriage house eventually, but right now it’s just for storage. And for mice, which Gordon claims Hector is afraid of.“
    “Then nobody will have a room there. Good,“ Shelley said. At Jane and Edgar’s questioning looks, she added cryptically, “Bad