In the Age of Love and Chocolate Read Online Free PDF Page B

“She—” He coughed again, but this time he expectorated an enormous clot of bloody sputum that bounced across my desk like a rubber ball.
    “Mickey, you’re not well,” I said, though that was more than evident. “Would you like a drink of water?”
    Mickey did not, or I should say could not , reply. His eyes rolled toward the back of his head, and his body convulsed.
    Jones looked at me without emotion. “Take him to the hospital, Ms. Balanchine?”
    “I don’t see what choice we have.” I had no particular love for my cousin, but I did not want him to die in my office either.
    *   *   *
    Three days later, Mickey Balanchine was dead. He had outlived his father by less than a year. The official cause of death was an incredibly rare strain of malaria, but official causes of death are wrong all the time.
    (NB: For many reasons, I suspect poison.)

 
    III
    I ENLIST THE HELP OF AN OLD FRIEND; INDULGE IN A MOMENT OF DOUBT; GRAPPLE WITH THE CONCEPT OF DANCING; KISS A HANDSOME STRANGER
    “ T HE DOCTORS’ CREDO IS DO NO HARM,” Dr. Param said. “Well, a bit of chocolate never hurt a soul, and I’ll sign my name to that on as many prescriptions as you want.” He was sixty-two years old and losing his eyesight, which left him unable to perform surgery and thus willing to accept a position at the Dark Room. The seven other doctors I had hired had their reasons for working at my club, too—the most important reason and the one that they collectively shared was that they needed the money. Cacao could be used to treat everything from fatigue to headaches, from anxiety to dull skin. However, the unofficial policy of our club was to give prescriptions to everyone who was over eighteen and wanted one. For this service, we paid our doctors well and expected them not to scruple very much. I told Dr. Param he was hired. “This is a baffling world we live in, Miss Balanchine.” He shook his head. “I remember when chocolate became illegal—”
    “I’m sorry, Dr. Param. I’d be superinterested in discussing this with you some other time.” The club was opening tomorrow and I had so much to do before then. I stood and shook his hand. “Please give your uniform size to Noriko.”
    I went down to the newly constructed bar and then passed through it to the immaculate kitchen. I had never seen such a resplendent kitchen anywhere in Manhattan. It was like a place out of an early twenty-first-century advertisement. Lucy, the mixologist, and Brita, the Parisian chocolatier I had hired, were frowning over a bubbling pot. “Anya, taste this,” Lucy said.
    I licked her spoon. “Still too bitter,” I said.
    Lucy swore and emptied the contents of the pot into the double sink. They were working on our signature drink. We had mostly finished the menu, but I felt we should have a house beverage. I hoped it would be as distinctive as the drinks I’d had in Mexico. “Keep trying. You’re getting closer, I think.”
    Behind them, I could see into the pantry where the shelves were stocked with weeks’ worth of supply from Granja Mañana, the cacao farm where I had spent the previous winter. In retrospect, I probably should have had the abuelas or at least Theo come out to teach my chefs how this was done.
    I went back to the bar, where Mr. Delacroix waited for me. “Would you like to read the interview in the Daily Interrogator ?” he asked.
    “Not particularly.” Mr. Delacroix had insisted that we hire a publicist and a media strategist. I had given endless interviews over the past two weeks, and in that time I’d learned that Argon the Unaffected was not suited to talking about herself. “Is it bad?”
    “Listen, it takes a while to be good at giving interviews.”
    “You should have done all of them,” I said. He had given his share, but he had insisted that I be the face of the business. “I feel dumb talking about myself.”
    “You can’t think of it that way. You aren’t talking about yourself. You’re