Nigel Bennett has confessed publicly to FoDly tendencies...   ;-)
 
In an alternate universe, where Natalie Lambert is a FoD, too,
it might all have ended on Valentine's Day, thusly....
 
 
       Valentine from Another Planet (A "Forever Not" Story from
          an Alternate, Better, and More FoDly Universe)
                by the A-neg FoD, Pamela Rush
 
 
     Lambert's pulse quickened in anticipation as she was conducted
solemnly through the strangely empty vistas of the Azure.  The
mystery...the romance...the *cuisine*!  This was one of the best
known and most expensive restaurants in Toronto and she had, with
great fortitude, refrained from eating nearly all day (except for
breakfast, of course; and a little lunch; and a light snack while
she was drying her nails...) in preparation.
 
     Although preoccupied with deciding whether to start with the
legendary "Escargot aux Anges" -- snails sauteed in garlic butter
in a nest of angel-hair pasta -- or the fabled lobster timbales
with Baltic caviar garnish, Natalie still wondered at the empty
tables and silent rooms as the maitre de maison led her all the way
to the glass covered conservatory at the back of the lavishly
decorated eatery.  She was even more taken aback to find herself
facing a total stranger across the only occupied table in the
restaurant:
 
     "I'm honored that you could accept my invitation, Ms. Lambert."
 
     "Sorry," she shrugged, "but I have no idea who you are...?"
 
     "I invited you to dinner?"
 
     "Well, that's alright then," she smiled, seating herself with
the grace, sweetness and lightness of a really good apricot
souffle.  "Are we dining alone?"
 
     "Ah, yes, I hope you don't mind?"
 
     "No, no.  Means more for *us*, doesn't it?" she responded,
opening the oversize menu with reverence.
 
     Realization dawned quickly that she was much more interested
in the 'specialites de la maison' than in his identity.  "I'm
Lucien LaCroix."
 
     "Oh, yes, of course," she did look up then, with another
polite smile.  "Nick's friend.  So nice to meet you, at last."
She made a point of never neglecting the civilities unless food was
actually on the table already.  "Do you see the waiter any where?"
 
     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
 
     Meanwhile, back at the ranch dressing for dinner was always a
problem for Knight.  He simply could not decide between his off-
white shirt and his red shirt with the black vest, and kept
changing back and forth between them (sometimes between one frame
and the next) trying to decide which was more becoming.  And, of
course, his black shirt with the grey vest was his lucky flying
shirt, so perhaps he ought to take that along, too...?
 
     Good thing Natalie had left a message on his answering machine
reminding him to meet her at the Azure; of course, she *never*
forgot to confirm dinner plans.  But now he had delayed so long
trying on different clothes that he was a little late....
 
     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
 
     Natalie had begun to feel a trifle faint for a few seconds,
but the waiter had finally returned with breadsticks and a tiny
portion of pheasant pate in aspic with caper sauce and she
recovered her usual equanimity immediately after the first
spoonful.  It gave her strength to order the first three courses
while LaCroix looked over the wine list.
 
     "They say the food here is sublime...," LaCroix said,
somewhat later, enviously eyeing the empty serving plates that had
held her galantine of lamb with mango chutney and poached leeks
with tarragon vinaigrette.
 
     "Must be frustrating for you --your intolerance for food--?"
she sympathized, politely swallowing a mouthful of duck livers
braised with pine nuts first.
 
     "There are many mortal pleasures that we cannot experience..."
he sighed sadly.
 
     "Well, there are *pleasures*, sure, but *this*-- " she
indicated her laden plate, "is more like one of the absolute
*musts*!  You know what they say:   it's not really eternal life
without tiramisu, it just *seems* like it!"
 
     "It is seldom that I find myself in agreement with mere mortal
philosophies, but you are very persuasive, Ms. Lambert," he
responded, inhaling the aroma of the morels in madiera sauce that
the waiter produced with a flourish for Natalie.  "There is an
old.. legend...no doubt a foolish story...but, almost, I am tempted...."
 
     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *
 
     Having flown all the way and still a little confused by his
attempt at color coordination, Knight accidently dropped through
the skylight instead of the door, as though the heavens had
delivered a particularly ungainly harbinger of the salad course.
 
     He was appalled to find out that Natalie had started without
him.
 
     "Nick!" she cried, so surprised that she spoke with her mouth
still full of succulently braised mushrooms.  "You're just in time
for the endive avec haricots verts!"
 
     But Knight's attention was riveted on his old master in
surprise and astonishment, for LaCroix was finishing off a
platterful of sweetbreads in garlic cream sauce with every sign
of immense satisfaction and no sign whatsoever of illness.
 
     "Wha--?"
 
     "Oh, Nick, guess what?"  Natalie cried brightly.
 
     "Wha--?"
 
     "You already said that.  Of course, you always do....  Anyway,
it turns out that....Lucien..." she smiled coyly, "already *knew*
the cure!  In fact, I guess it's pretty well known amongst, er, you
know--" her gesture included Knight and LaCroix.
 
     Knight's eyes swiveled back to LaCroix and he took one
mesmerized step and then another towards his master, who was calmly
sipping a Puligny-Montrachat Premier Cru burgandy, which probably
was not quite as appropriate an accompaniment to sweetbreads as,
say, a Chateauneuf-du-Pape Grand Cru bordeaux, but when you haven't
had braised calf glands for 2000 years, you can afford to be a
little eccentric.
 
     "LaCroix!" he croaked out.  "Is this....true?  How could you
deceive me all these centuries....?"
 
     "Very easily, unfortunately.  You never pay any attention--"
 
     "Look, Nick--," Natalie exclaimed, forcing a napkin
marked with several chemical notations to his attention.  It said:
 
               C6-H5- (CH2) 2N-NH2
 
               C12-H22-O11
 
               2-caprioc acid
 
     "--Lucien knew the old vampire legend that detailed the
ingredients; apparently the mixture was discovered long ago, but--"
 
     "--I wasn't certain of the *proportions* of the ingredients,"
continued the Master Vampire.  "That part of the formula has been
lost since the sixth century.  But Natalie is so...so *scientific*!
She was determined to try all the possible combinations, no matter
how long it might take!"
 
     Knight stared from one to the other and then back to the list
of formulae in consternation.  "But...what *is* it?" he asked.
 
     "Oh, pretty common stuff, actually," responded Natalie.  "2-
caprioc acid is found in animal fats like, uh, buttercream, for
instance; C12-H22-O11 is cane sugar, of course; and then, most
important, C6-H5- (CH2) 2N-NH2 is the chemical compound of baker's
chocolate.  The proportions were the tricky part; it took five
tries before we found the correct menu selection!"
 
     "Menu...?"  Knight queried dazedly.
 
     "Uh-huh.  We just tried *all* the chocolate menu items in
turn; 'Gateau Chocolat de la Reine de la Nuit' did the trick."
 
     "And now, young Nicholas, perhaps we should talk a little...
about...chocolate...," added LaCroix with a hard look at his protege.
 
     Knight started to back away from the table, hands raised in
horror.  Lambert's gaze followed his retreat with some
astonishment.
 
     "No, no!" he cried.  "True chocolate is like morphine....  One
taste and you're enslaved!  I've seen what it does to people...to
my friends...to Schanke and Natalie!  I cannot trade one servitude
for another....  Do not ask it of me!"  With which he fled upwards
into the black heavens once again.
 
     "Alas," sighed LaCroix, "his heart is still untouched by
nougat, caramel, praline or confectionary of any sort."
 
     "Oh, let him go.  I'm tired of brunch dates with no bacon,
picnics with no fried chicken and movies with no Raisinettes.
Listen, you wanna go to an all night poker game?  I know where
there's gonna be a terrific one in Honolulu; guaranteed great
refreshments!"
 
 
                        END
==============================================================
Fulsome praise modestly accepted and criticism cheerfully ignored
if addressed to Pamela Rush at pkrush01@ukcc.uky.edu