Lauren
Seven
Who ever picked the spot for the Firm's picnic was a genius; a large grassy area with plenty of tables, shaded from the late summer sun by large trees yet open to breezes off the bay.
Parking was at a premium and we ended up walking hundreds of yards to the gathering. With staff, family, and friends there must have been several hundred people milling about. We mingled through the crowd, Lauren making sure our arms remained linked.
Maybe she feared I'd be snagged by one of the good looking interns. Not to worry, I was quite happy with current company.
I do have to say Essex and Whitehouse did the whole picnic thing quite well; this wasn't a pot luck affair. Grills were professionally manned and there were choices of dogs, burgers, or chicken. Then there were the sides; a constant flow of fresh fries, tubs of potato salad or cole slaw, and one lady churning out huge corn cobs - diet seemed to be a dirty word here.
Every now and then we ran into someone Lauren knew and I was introduced, always with a note of pride in her voice. Not that I minded, if I'd met someone I knew I would be just as proud in presenting her.
Eventually we joined a line passing the grills, plates in hand. I had thought of just going for a burger, when the smell of barbecues hit. I knew instantly who was responsible for that! Jonah Williams, BBQ Master.
"Mr. Teasdale! What a pleasure seeing you here. What can I get you?"
"Jonah, I'll take anything you offer and be happy to take it. But you knew that. Listen, I'd like you to meet Lauren Wilcox. Lauren, Noah here is the best barbecue cook in the northwest. And that's not just me talking, he was voted best five, no six times in a row."
"How do you do Mr. Williams." Lauren said as she offered a hand.
"No ma'am, you call me Jonah, just like Mr. Teasdale."
"Then why don't you call him John?"
"Wouldn't be proper, after all he's done for me and my family."
At this point I just knew I was in for more questions than I wanted to answer, at least while we held up the line. "Jonah, if you can, come join us for a while. But if not, I'll come by the shop next week."
We found a table and dug in. Lauren didn't hold back she went after the chicken with gusto. No one can eat BBQ chicken and keep clean hands, and Jonah's chicken just can not be put down. Maybe you free one hand for fries or pop, but the other is locked on.
After working her way through half a bird, fries, 'slaw, and pop Lauren looked up at me. "God, you must think I have no manners ..."
"Nope, that's Jonah's cooking. I've never seen anyone use 'manners' on his cooking. Wait 'til you have his ribs."
"Speaking of Jonah ..."
"Lauren! There you are!"
Saved by the bell.
It was Lauren's friend Maggie. I wouldn't say she was obese, but she was big. Like the prototypical Hausfrau you see in ads and such. She stood at least six feet and probably dressed out at two twenty. I would not argue anything she told me. Seriously.
Beside her stood a gray haired gentleman of about five foot six, with shoulders at least as broad. He had a big grin and twinkling eyes. He stuck a huge paw out and introduced himself; "Sean's me name, Margaret's husband."
Fearing the worst I shook his hand. He knew exactly how much pressure to use. "John, John Teasdale. I'm here with Lauren."
"Ah, so this be Lauren. Herself tells me our little prank worked fine. How you be now?"
"Sean, cut out that BS accent, the only Irish about you is your name. And I think you lied about that."
"Ahhh Maggie, I'm just havin' fun."
She looked over at me, maybe I should say she looked me over. "So, you're the fella I've been hearing about. Well at least you dress nicer than the last one."
"Maggie! Stop that. You'll scare him off before I can get my hooks in him!"
