Fic: Fry-Up (Nero Wolfe)

[cirrussundog.livejournal.com]

Title: Fry-Up
Author: cirrussundog 
Fandom: Nero Wolfe
Spoilers: None
Rating: PG.  Barely.
Length:  Like the label says, 1000 words.
Note:  This is the version of Archie's background from Fer-de-lance.  Otherwise, no spoilers.  The image that inspired the story is here.

After some minor effort on her part, she learned that even the stories circulating about Archie Goodwin in New  York cafe society failed to do him justice. But one rumor that did seem to be true was about how Archie never stayed out overnight while in Manhattan, not even with Lily Rowan.

No matter how late they danced, he still returned afterward to the brownstone where he boarded with his employer Nero Wolfe, a portly and prominent private detective she had only met between the pages of the Gazette.  When she asked Archie if this was a requirement of his job, Archie laughed and told her several sardonic stories about Mr. Wolfe's eccentricities.  Only later did she realize he had changed the subject.

With such a background, she felt justified in her small, secret gesture of triumph this morning.  Eggs, bacon, beans, sausages, tomatoes, and fried bread:  a full British breakfast was catnip for a man after a busy night.  Although she might not be a chef, she knew Nanny had taught her well.   So when Archie sat down at the breakfast table, she wondered why he hesitated before he picked up his fork.

"I hoped you wouldn't mind an English fry-up .  Too much?  Too greasy?"

"No.  I've had them before."  Archie  shrugged.  "Gramps was from England, so my mother cooked them sometimes."

She waited for anything else he might say.  Archie never talked about his past except when he was being amusing.  But he seemed to be done.

***

"As we discussed, chervil has been added."

"Indeed."  M. Wolfe examined his breakfast plate.  He took a forkful and considered.  He swallowed.  Then he grunted, a favorable one, before he said, "You were right.  These eggs are superb."

Fritz did not bow gratitude.  M. Wolfe was a man of genius, but Fritz was the true chef.  He was more often right than wrong in matters culinary.  Permitting himself a nod and a smile, he said, "I believe even Archie will notice improvement.  We will see."

M. Wolfe looked up.  Although he was an extraordinary sight at this hour in his bedroom, unshaven in the yellow silk pajamas, his dark eyes lacked none of their usual keenness.  "I doubt Archie will be joining you for breakfast today."  Fritz must have appeared startled, because M. Wolfe added, "You may have forgotten that yesterday was the twenty-third of July."

"Ah?"

"The date his parents died."

It was annoying to misplace something so important, especially in this household of superb memories.  "I had forgotten."

Perhaps some small irritation slipped into Fritz's voice and was misattributed.  Fritz could think of no other reason for M. Wolfe to continue by saying, "Archie needed to remind himself that there will always be replacements for anything else he might lose that he preferred, including his breakfasts."

Fritz did not repeat his error.  He smiled and uncovered the sausages without letting slip his reaction to this unintended revelation, words spoken by one who saw himself in another.

***

She had thought--  She did not know what she had thought.  Or perhaps she did not want to know what she had thought.  In any case, she was wrong.

The rest of the day, Archie was perfect.  He was charming, attentive, and amusing.  He ate everything on his plate at breakfast with brisk pleasure that was better praise than any pretty speeches.  They went out to a ball game, enjoying fine weather and Joe DiMaggio together.  She even caught a hint of envy on the face of the female friend she greeted, along with her husband, en route to their table in Rusterman's.  The day was all she might have hoped for when she first looked up at the Rainbow Room to see  Archie smile as he invited her to join him on the dance floor.

But by eight, it was enough.  "Archie.  Much as I hate to admit it, I have the faintest hint of a headache coming on."

His frown was swift.  "Too bad.  Do you need me to take you home?"

"Please."

Turning away, she barely caught the momentary flash in his eyes that she suspected might be relief.  And his behavior during the taxi ride home could have persuaded her she was wrong if she had preferred lying to herself.  Instead she wondered how someone could sit so close and still be a thousand miles away.

She did not think she would call him again.  She did not bother asking if he would call her.

***

The front door was on the chain.   Archie had to enter through the kitchen garden where Fritz grew herbs.  At least Wolfe was parked where he should be, reading in the office, his fat face calm and thoughtful.

He glanced up when Archie entered.  All these years, and Archie still had problems sneaking up on him.  "I hope your day was pleasant."

"We saw DiMaggio hit another homer."

"A fine performance," Wolfe said, being polite.

"Where's Fritz?"

After marking his page with a piece of paper, Wolfe closed his book and put it down.  Then he leaned back and laced his fingers across his belly.  It meant a lecture was coming, so Archie perched on a corner of the desk  to remind Wolfe that listening was voluntary after hours.

Wolfe understood the gesture, of course.  His lips twitched.  "It's easy for a man of your gifts to forget a merely fine memory might fail."

The words sunk in fast.  "Damn it, I didn't remind Fritz."

"He was soothed by his early departure for his Sunday off."

"I'll apologize on Monday."

"He understands.  You are free  to come and go as you will.  As you must."

"I know.  Thanks."  That last word came out too...something , so Archie grinned and asked, "Then you'll be cooking breakfast tomorrow?  If that's the case, you might try a little beauty called a fry-up.  Start with eggs, and bacon, and--"

In the end, Wolfe's appalled glare was all the comfort Archie really needed.