Full Frontal: To Make a Long Story Short by Tom Baker Page B

catering business. Unlike most people, Mr. Farquharson took note of what he did best and devoted all his time and energies to making money with that one talent. He began by catering cocktail parties. Instead of hiring pretty young ladies or would-be actors like the other catering services, Mr. Farquharson would employ two or three middle-aged ladies, depending on the size of the event, to serve the hors d’oeuvres, which he made in his kitchen at home. While the ladies passed the trays, he personally tended bar. As with everything he did, the drinks he poured were excessive. The net result was that his parties were always considered a success by hosts, since after eating well and imbibing generously, the guests left gushing with compliments.
    The people who solicited Mr. Farquharson’s services were wealthy. His reputation grew by word of mouth in the Philadelphia social circuit. He shrewdly chose his clients, and he was quick to turn down a job from someone he did not know or who had not been referred by a current client. Again, unlike many people, Mr. Farquharson knew his market, and he aggressively pursued it. His fees were high, which made him all the more desirable.
    A little more than a year into the catering business, his popularity among the society set had grown to such an extent that no one who mattered would think of having an affair for more than twenty people without engaging Mr. Farquharson’s services. His aloofness and put-on sense of grandeur—convincing himself that he was actually part of well-heeled society—blended well with the people he catered to. Indeed, in some ways Mr. Farquharson was part of the social set, if not financially, then at least by charm and style.
    It was at a large New Year’s Eve party for over a hundred people that Mr. Farquharson met Tim.
    “What would you like?” Mr. Farquharson asked.
    “Dewar’s and soda,” Tim responded, “if that’s all right.”
    “Anything for you, kid,” Mr. Farquharson said, pressing the drink into Tim’s hand. “I haven’t seen you before. New in Philadelphia?”
    “I’m down for the weekend and the parade,” Tim explained as he took the drink. “I live in New York, and friends asked me down for the weekend. They said that the Mummers Parade was something I had to see.” Tim smiled. “Thanks for the drink.”
    “It gets pretty wild around here at this time of year,” Mr. Farquharson offered. “So where’s your date for New Year’s Eve?”
    “I had a friend staying with me for Christmas, but he had to go back yesterday,” Tim started.
    “Back?” Mr. Farquharson probed.
    “California. He lives in California.”
    “A long-distance romance?”
    “Not really.” Tim shrugged. “At least not yet. Too many complications.”
    “Seems the complication is leaving a honey like you alone on New Year’s Eve,” Mr. Farquharson said pointedly.
    “He had to get back for business.”
    “Sure?” Mr. Farquharson questioned suspiciously.
    “Sure,” Tim shot back flatly. Then, changing the subject, he added, “I don’t know anyone here except for the two friends who invited me, and they’ve gone off somewhere. I didn’t bring a tux and black tie, so I feel kind of out of place.”
    “Not to worry, kid,” Mr. Farquharson said. “You could fit in anywhere, handsome as you are.”
    “Thanks.” Tim blushed.
    “What do you do?” Mr. Farquharson asked. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
    “I’m unemployed at the moment,” Tim confessed. “I lost my job at a big advertising agency just before Thanksgiving. I’m just bartending in Greenwich Village part-time, so I guess I’m not totally unemployed until I get a real job.”
    “You’re young and handsome and obviously smart. You’ll get another job. I’d hire you in a heartbeat if you wanted to work parties for me.”
    “Thanks,” Tim said. “But I hope my bartending stint will hold me over until I get another advertising job.”
    “I understand. But just in case,