Wednesday morning, the research committee arranged for a nine-thirty private breakfast meeting at the Forbidden City. Susan introduced Victor to each of the members as they arrived, highlighting the fact that they were engaged, and clutching his arm possessively. Allen sat next to Tiffany facing the dense forest of bamboo stalks that seemed to grow from the floor of the restaurant.

Next to Allen was Melaine, who took extra pains to engage Patty in conversation and include her in the group. When they were all settled, Susan whispered something to Victor, and he pivoted on the spot, slipping away through the bamboo in a surprisingly good impression of a ninja.

"Victor has a special egg dish for us, you'll just love it. He's so talented in the kitchen."

"I prefer my talent in a different room." Tiffany grinned a leer, digging in her purse for her cigarettes.

"Victor doesn't allow smoking in the restaurant, Ti." Susan said apologetically.

"Aw Jesus, Suz. Okay, I guess I'll have to find something else to do with my hands." She slid her eyes toward Allen.

"We'll be eating soon, Ti. I'm sure you can hold off 'till then." Melaine gave her a gracious smile and turned back to Patty. "So, Susan says you're a sculpture... a sculptress. That must be really interesting."

"It's just a hobby really. I've made a few things that have sold, but that's not why I do it. I find it very relaxing; it allows me to clear my mind, when I'm working the clay." She looked down then took a quick sip of water.

"I wish I had a hobby that would clear my mind." Tiffany offered.

"Instead of your pipes, eh, Ti." Patty's mouth dropped as two pink spots bloomed on Tiffany's cheeks, at Melaine's retort.

"Be careful, Mrs. Braithwaite, the last word isn't something you can bank on." It was Melaine's turn to blush, and she did, with good grace.

"I think we should talk about the anniversary." Susan butted in hurriedly. "What form do we- does anyone, think it should take?"

"I thought it was going to be a parade." Melaine said.

"Well yes, but what kind? Are we looking at an... old-fashioned type of thing, like horses and carriages, or—"

"Horses and carriages! Jesus Christ, Susan, what kind of budget do you think we have?" Allen barked.

"Relax Allen," Ti soothed, finding his knee under the table and kneading it with her long nails.

"I was going to say, or, maybe just convertibles."

"We might be able to do something like that through Donald." Melaine suggested, explaining to Patty that their neighbour, Donald Gregg, had an automobile dealership in town.

"I kinda lean toward the horse and carriage bit myself," Tiffany offered.

"Me too," Susan enthused, "it's sort of- of... historical."

"Jesus, trust a Chin—" The blood drained from his face as the nails nearly met through the flesh of his thigh.

"It does have an appealing image." Melaine suggested, drowning Allen's painful whimper.

"Sure, why not? There must be any number of people outside town that have buggies or wagons, or something we can decorate."

"I know there's a small farm just north of us that has horses," Patty offered in support.

"See!" Susan said, becoming animated. "And there's McGinty's Riding Stables over by Elmwood. Great! This is great, let me get these names down." Susan scribbled rapidly in her notebook, listing names alongside possible contributions.

"What about you, Allen, do you have any secret talents we could employ?" Melaine sipped her water, keeping the glass up to hide her smirk.

"Plenty! But none he performs in public, eh Allen." Tiffany's guffaw brought several waiters to the edge of the forest looking panicky.

"Give it a rest Ti," he said grumpily.

Victor interrupted the exchange, barging through the bamboo with a large trolley loaded with covered plates. Reaching around the table, he placed linen napkins on each lap, hesitating until Tiffany removed her hand, then dropping the last one disdainfully on Allen's leg. Next, he carefully placed a large dish in the centre of the table, whipping away the lid with a flourish. Susan beamed, while the others looked on with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"What are tho—?" Allen began, his face screwing into a frown.

"These are Victor's specialty... Ya Ming Tao pearls." Susan broke in. "They're shelled, whole, soft-boiled duck eggs."

"Soft-boiled?" Melaine said, leaning closer with genuine interest. "How did he shell a soft-boiled egg that size without breaking it?"

"Old Chinese secret," Victor smiled menacingly, placing small bowls in front of each guest. "Not for give away."

"I didn't know pearls were green," Allen cleared his throat and sat back.

"Pearls not green," Victor snapped, "word pearls means presentation!" He dropped Allen's bowl with a clatter.

"It's because they're laid out like a string of pearls." Patty said.

"Aah! Pretty lady very astute. Very appreciative." Patty blushed and awkwardly opened her napkin. "You try first," Victor said, gently lifting one of the eggs and setting it in her bowl.

"You have to add these first." Susan passed a dish with tiny seasoned dumplings, nestled on a bed of crushed, crisp pork fat.

They all watched as Victor conducted her moves; sharp hand chops to indicate enough, and smooth waves encouraging more of the next component. From the folds of his white jacket, he produced a small vial with a silver lid, and opening it, he poured several drops onto the egg.

"Now you eat." He commanded politely.

"How do I...?"

"Just use your fork and dig in. The ritual part is over." Susan handed the special ladle to Melaine, gesturing to her to help herself.

"Mmmm, my God! This is fantastic!" Patty looked up at the ear-to-ear grin of her host, wiggling her fork in mimed praise. The white is still firm, and the yolk is- is... how did you do it?"

He waggled a finger. "Chef no tell. Is enough honourable ancestors see you all enjoy." He made a humble bow and disappeared with the trolley.

The breakfast continued with much ooohing and aaahing, only Allen seemed not to enjoy the meal, finding it too sloppy, as evidenced by the spills on his napkin. They tossed ideas back and forth; each warming increasingly to the idea of what was becoming a full-blown pageant that would include all the performers from past productions.

"Well then, I guess we can tackle Nigel again Ti, now that we have a more definite direction."

"We'll sack 'im on the goal line, Suz." Allen dropped his fork and the contents of his bowl splashed the front of his shirt.

"What about making the whole affair a sort of period piece?" Melaine asked with sudden inspiration. "We could have everybody come dressed as they did twenty-five years ago."

"What, now we're all gonna dress like the Beatles?" Allen whined, busily dabbing water on his egg-mottled shirt.

"Eeeeeeeew! What a super idea!" Susan bounced in her seat. "That would be the perfect touch, Melaine. Good thinking! And I don't think it's necessary for you to put down every suggestion we make, Allen."

Mumble.

"Oh, I know!" Susan became more excited. "We did the disco play and I bet there's lots of costumes still in storage!"

"We'd better be careful here," Tiffany warned, "we're talking about people like Arthur Paisley, and those critics from Toronto. They might not all look kindly on big hair and polyester."

"Oh I think it will be fun! They'll love it!" Susan was on a roll. "I'll draft a letter explaining everything and send it with the invitations."

"Maybe we should advertise for uhm, transportation." Patty suggested.

"What a wonderful idea!" Susan beamed, adding to her notes. "We could get flyers made up and distribute them around town."

"I think you'd better float this past the council first," Melaine said, "flyers and costumes and wagons cost money,"

"Spot on, darling. I don't think your husband would appreciate an end run." Tiffany patted her arm sympathetically.

Susan nodded and made some further notes. "Fair enough. We'll bring it up at the next meeting. Meanwhile let's go with what we have."

The breakfast meeting ended with a round of thanks and compliments for Victor, and the group left the restaurant imbued with the exhilarating challenge of their mission.