Chapter Eight
Just outside Norma's Breakfast, West End, New York
April 8th, 2000, 8:30 a.m.
"Well, this is the first one on the list, I guess. Tell me, Scully, why'd you call them this morning?" Mulder wrapped The New York Times underneath his arm and rubbed his hands together. Even though it was spring, the weather this morning was still nippy. A rough North wind cut between them at the moment, and Scully enveloped both of her arms around his left elbow for warmth.
"So that they'd know that they have two food critics coming to review their restaurant," she replied.
"Did you actually speak with Norma?"
"That's not the titleholder's name, actually."
"Then who owns the place?"
"We'll find out. I only spoke with the manager."
"Are we actually eating here this morning or just what was the word you used last night? Sampling?"
"I'll tell you what. So that you can learn more about the art of critiquing, you eat whatever you want this morning, and I'll sample. But please do me two favors since I'm doing you this one."
"What's that, Scully?"
"First off, you'd better start calling me by my undercover name. Don't you worry, I'll do the same. You never know which one I'll use either," she smiled capriciously. "And for the second favor, don't say anything about the food. If the proprietor actually does want to know what you think, just pretend you have your mouth full (unless it already is) and say mmm." Scully mimicked the sound for him and gently hugged his arm a bit closer to her chest.
"What about the other part of our job? May I ask questions about the aliens?"
"Muldron, shh..." her eyes scanned the area for anyone that might have heard him. "Also, when we're in public, please call them Drew and Angela."
"Okay, Scully--err...Scullet." As she winced when she heard her alias, he shrugged his shoulders. "What? Would you rather I call you Valerie?"
"Actually no. And yes, you can be the investigator. I'll let you know when to ease off."
"What's the signal? The famous Scullet eyebrow?"
"One more thing, Muldron, before we enter," she halted the both of them in their tracks before he could open the door. "Do me another favor. Every time we hear our undercover names, I want you to write it down either on paper or your memory."
"Okay. Is that purpose going to be beneficial for us?"
"Each time represents a solid fist to a Lone Gunman face."
"Gotcha," he chortled and opened the door to enter with her. "But I still don't get why the owner's not named Norma."
"I'm sure the person will tell us the entire restaurant's history--whether we want it or not."
"Hello. Just the 2 of you this morning?" a hostess questioned Scully, who nodded.
"Yes. I spoke with your manager earlier this morning. I'm Valerie Scullet, and this is Andy Muldron."
"Oh, yes! How wonderful. Come right this way. We have outside seating as well on our back terrace, but I gather that it's still a bit chilly outside." They followed her to a booth where she presented them with menus and rolled up serviettes. "Can I take your coats?"
"Yes, please," Mulder answered and eased himself out of his navy blue trench coat. He tossed the newspaper onto the table and held his hand out towards Scully.
"I'm fine, actually," she shook her head and sat down. The hostess accepted Mulder's coat and disappeared to hang it up.
"Mr. Rhinehart will be right out, Mr. Muldron and Ms. Scullet," she called from over her shoulder.
"Wow, they certainly have a lot of unique choices. I don't think I've ever heard of serving granola in a restaurant before," Mulder mused as he perused his carte.
"Yeah, sure, whatever. Mulde--uh, Muldron, I spoke with a man named Rhinehart over the phone this morning. He's got to be the manager," Scully observed.
"All right. One second, Ms. Scullet," he held up his index finger and stood slightly to search his back pockets. Finding nothing, he sat back down and started to tap the breast pockets underneath his pullover. "Shit," he mumbled.
"Now what?"
"Think I left my notebook in my coat pocket. Don't worry, I still have the newspaper and a pen."
"Very creative, Muldron. Can't wait to type up those notes for Skinner. I'm going to have to go through Hell and high waters to try to make sense out of it."
"Is that any different from my other notes? Besides, I'll start on the first page."
"That's very reassuring, thank you," she gave him a sharp scowl.
"Welcome to Norma's! You must be Valerie, and this is the infamous Randy Andy. Mr. Smitherman is out of the state, today--unfortunately." Rhinehart presented himself flamboyantly, and there was something to be said about the awful toupe resting atop his head. It honestly looked like something had died on his cranium.
"You said Mr. Smitherman is the owner?" Scully repeated for Mulder's benefit.
"Yes, rather. He's out dealing with one of our suppliers in Montreal. I called him immediately after you said you were coming this morning, and he apologizes profusely for not being here." Rhinehart touched his vested stomach and bowed his head submissively.
"That's quite all right. I wouldn't mind tasting your selection of crepes, to start us off, please. And some French coffee for the both of us," Scully continued.
"Good choice, Valerie. And Randy Andy?" Mulder closed his eyes in frustration and pointed to the list.
"Yeah, I think I'll have the Eggs Benedict with the...whole works you have listed here."
"You're not going to sample anything this morning?"
"Well, when we work together, one of us eats a whole meal while the other does the tasting," Scully explained. "Today's Muldron's turn at breakfast."
"Ah, I see. What a system you two have!" Rhinehart beamed roguishly and slinked away.
"Scullet, my dear, why is it that so many, uh...how do I put this without sounding insulting..."
"Why do so many gay men run restaurants? What's so horrible about that?"
"Nothing. I was just wondering why it's such a popular thing."
"Couldn't tell you. I don't have too many as friends. But there are a few men in my apartment building that make me wonder which way they butter their bread. So yes, straight women can still be puzzled just as easily as straight men."
The manager came back with a silver carafe and two coffee cups. He poured the beverage effortlessly into them and distributed the cups to Mulder and Scully. "How much do you plan on tasting this morning, Valerie?"
"I was just thinking about the crepes. We're due for another appointment this morning for brunch at another place. But I do promise to come back another time and try some more. Breakfast just happens to be my favorite meal of the day." Mulder lifted his head upon hearing her last sentence and scrawled that fact down illegibly in a corner away from his mainstream notes. What a surprise. I thought she wasn't a morning person.
"Oh, that's wonderful. Where are you brunching?"
"In Brooklyn--a place called Chip Shop," Scully responded. "Tell me, Mr. Rhinehart, have you ever heard of a restaurant called Narcissus' Ochroid Patella?"
"Goodness, what person in our city hasn't? It's owned by an enchanting couple named Drew and Angela Robinson. Everyone who's everyone in the taste world knows them."
"We'll be going to that place in a few days. We just would like to know what to expect, if you know."
"World class gourmet served with a cheery smile. You know, we're in competition, of course, but they serve more lunch and dinner items, so I can speak more freely about them. The funny thing is, they are a local attraction, not just because of the food and charm, but because of who they look like."
"Oh? Whom do they look like?"
"Richard Gere and Jodie Foster. Whoops, I'll be right back with your meals." He spun around and waddled off around the corner from the booth.
"Interesting," Mulder nodded, flipped The Times open, and folded it up to begin his observations on the next page. "Look-a-like celebrity aliens."
"Mulder!"
"That's Muldron, Scullet," he chastised her merrily. "And we're not in the open public. I'm not screaming it from table to table."
"Good thing. Some of those punches would then actually be meant for you. Where do we stand, by the way?"
"Thirteen. I counted each time we said them, too. Hope you don't consider that cheating."
"Not at all, Muldron."
"Oh, they are going to get pummeled by the time we solve this case and see them again."
"So, Muldron, what kind of a species would own a restaurant and live on earth undercover as a happily married human being couple?"
"It could be a cross-breed between the two--Reticulans and the bounty hunters. I mean, they're killing people, aren't they?"
"That's a big IF, Muldron--the killing, I mean. I'm not going to rule it out because I'm a scientist and because of all of the extremely strange things I've seen happen with the X-Files."
"Oh, Scullet, you don't know how long I've been waiting to hear those words..."
"But I didn't say that you were right," she hissed and kicked him in the shin.
"Ouch. Well, I'm willing to approach this as logically and rationally as I can, dear Scullet," Mulder simpered and set his hand atop hers. "How long have you been waiting to hear me say that?" he whispered just inches away from her ear.
"Long enough, Randy Andy," she muttered and shoved his face away. "Quit it." However, she left his hand untouched.
"So sorry to have kept you waiting," Rhinehart announced on his way back from the kitchen and had a subservient help him deliver the platters of food. "Here you are, Mr. Muldron. Eggs Benedict with Canadian bacon, pancakes, and grilled asparagus. And Ms. Scullet, your crepes await your attention."
"This looks fabulous. I absolutely love all the different types of garnishes that you use here," Scully enthused. "Do you use a separate kind for each specific dish you serve?"
"We alternate them between the egg dishes and crepes. I'd love to say that we have 25 individual designs, but that's simply not so," Rhinehart stated.
"Would you mind telling us some more about Drew and Angela, please?"
"Well, since Mr. Smitherman's not here, I suppose that I could. Normally, I would entertain you only with the history and establishment of Norma's, but we're all professional. I'll give you a brochure on your way out for your review," he winked and leaned toward Mulder to whisper this.
"Thanks very much," Mulder nodded.
"Let's see...like I said, they're married. Ah, yes. You know how some owners only appear in their restaurants once in a blue moon, right?" He did not wait for a reply. "Well, Drew and Angela actually work in their establishment every day. They don't serve every meal, mind you, unless they're short of staff. But they always come out and ask every guest how much or how little he or she enjoys the food. And by the way, how are you liking yours?"
"I haven't tried the brie and black forest ham yet, but I'm looking forward to it. Everything else is delicious so far," Scully said. As Rhinehart's eyes went to Mulder, he did as he promised Scully and gave a nod with the sound of a full mouth.
"Splendid. Ah, where was I? Oh yes, I remember now. Drew and Angela have been up and running for the past...maybe ten years? I can't remember the exact frame of time. I've only been working here for five years. Their popularity has grown by the exponent since that time, I must say. And back then, they were still pretty successful."
"Oh, I love this melted brie. You know what would be perfect with this? A cup of fruit perhaps. Do you serve them as extra side dishes?" Scully broke in.
"You know, I've been mentioning it to Mr. Smitherman for the past year. And I think my advice, pardon the expression please, goes in one ear and out the other."
"How many people request it?"
"At least three times a day. So to keep them satisfied, I have the chefs put something together just in case it is requested--and at no charge."
"Well, that's unfortunate that he doesn't listen to you. But please do go on."
"I know this is awfully candid of me, Valerie, but how often do you ask about a fellow competitor?"
"All the time. It's a bit unorthodox, I know, but we like to find out what the 'word is out on the street'."
"All right. I'll give you one more piece of information about them. But it's more of a rumor. Other than that, I can't say much more." Mulder stopped eating for a moment and set down his silverware completely.
"Why's that?" He picked up the newspaper and started to write feverishly.
"I don't want to be labeled as Mr. Gossip in your column," Rhinehart replied curtly.
"You won't be mentioned...as their informant, that is," Scully assured him.
"Rumor is that after eating at that restaurant...people sometimes die. And no one knows exactly how or why. I've eaten there myself once. As you can see, I didn't pass away, but...something did not sit well with me after I finished my meal there. Mind you, it was excellent, and I don't understand why I survived, but I tell you this for sure--many people have eaten there and died a couple of hours later."
"Do you suspect poisoning?" Mulder encouraged him.
"I'm not going to say any more, Randy Andy. I'm sorry. I have a question for you, though."
"And that is?"
"Why are you writing on a newspaper?"
"Oh, ah...I left my notebook in my coat pocket. I didn't feel like getting up to get it." Suddenly, Scully's cell phone rang, and she excused herself from the table leaving a very nervous Mulder with Rhinehart.
"So, Randy Andy...you're not attached, are you?" Rhinehart questioned him.
Not really, but I hope to be someday.
"What do you mean?" Mulder asked.
"You're not wearing a wedding ring. And with a name like Randy Andy, well, in the world of food...you know." Mulder's gaze shifted from his company to his companion for a fleeting moment. "Ah, I see how it is."
"Um, I think I hear Scullet calling me."
"Why do you call her by her last name instead of Valerie?"
"She prefers it that way."
"Should I start calling her that?"
"No. Uh, I don't know how to say this, but, uh...I'm straight," he whispered.
"Dearest Andy, I had that figured out five minutes ago when I saw you staring at her ass as she got up to leave from this booth. How long have you two been working together?"
"On and off for the past seven years," Mulder decided to be truthful.
"You're waiting for her approval, aren't you?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Well, it's obvious that you're the one wanting things to move along. I may be gay, dear Andy, but I'm certainly not unobservant to the heterosexual world. Why do you think so many women have gay men as friends?"
You've got a point there. Scully did mention the fact that she doesn't have any. Does that mean that she can already see what's coming? Or is that a green light? Oh--women can be so difficult to figure out!
"Do you...notice and/or comprehend the same things coming from a woman?" Mulder inquired.
"I must say I don't normally make it my business. But if you're asking about her, I'd say to go ahead at the same pace and subtly so. She's waiting for you but doesn't want to be rushed."
Great. At that rate, I'll have to start buying Viagra.
"You noticed all that about us in just a little over an hour?" Mulder checked his watch and gave Rhinehart a perplexed stare.
"Love can be blind. But to the third party, it's rather obvious," Rhinehart grinned. "So, how was everything?"
"Oh, uh..." Mulder picked up his coffee cup and drank it slowly as Scully made her way back over to the booth.
"Sorry about that," she apologized. "Cooking Light's editor was haranguing me about the article due for May's issue. And the deadline's not for another week!" Rhinehart's foot began to tap on the floor. "I'm sorry, were you waiting for me?"
"Just to hear the final verdict," the man's bottom lip twisted.
"Well, all we have to say is wow." Scully tapped Mulder's hand twice, and as his eyes went down to their semi-intimate embrace, she withdrew her hand. "Do you agree, Muldron?"
"Yeah," he nodded submissively and snagged her hand underneath the table. "A-1."
"All of the designs definitely were eye-catchers, and I couldn't enjoy the tastes more. They had just the right amounts of air, correct temperatures, were al dente, and the best part was that I didn't need to constantly down coffee after each bite. The moisture was excellent--nothing was too dry or wet. I always worry about that when I'm consuming crepes. The only suggestion I pose is the very same one that you gave to Mr. Smitherman."
"Maybe he'll listen to a proper food critic this time," Rhinehart huffed. "Well, thank you, Valerie and Randy Andy. I value your opinions very much--you obviously know what you're talking about. Some people we get just rattle anything that first comes to their mind--I hate bullshitters. As I say, Mr. Smitherman was very sorry not to be here, and we'll forget the conversation about Drew and Angela, won't we?"
"Mum's the word," Mulder agreed.