Mousse

As in:

Beatrix’s proclamation that “we” should litigate against Reneé Bollister was something that Ramon tossed aside. He picked at his ahi cakes and drank a couple glasses of Pinot Gris and then tried to excuse himself.

“That’s not going to work for me,” Page told him. “I’m going to order something disastrously chocolate for dessert and you have to share it me.”

He was well enough versed in Beatrix’s deeply profane adage about the absurdity of sharing dessert to not even try to suggest that Page share a dessert with Beatrix. So, he stayed on, ordered a black coffee and dipped his little spoon into half a mousse.

Beatrix ordered two desserts, bread pudding and an apricot cheesecake.

“I don’t know how she does that and keeps her figure,” Page said. “You’re not purging on me, are you B?”

“No dear,” she replied. “You know I’m wholesomely integrated and organic.”

“Yes,” Page said. “And I’m robotic.”

“I’m serious,” Beatrix said to Ramon.

“About what?” he asked.

“Suing.”

“And what would that accomplish?” he asked.

She thought for a while, which was unlike her, especially at dinner.

“I guess I’ve always imagined myself in a courtroom drama. I have the perfect outfit for it.”