"And we are not opening a goddamn Grubs. Maybe a French name will take the sting out of the concept."
"Sting. Good choice of words. What's French for 'grubs'?"
"Give me a sec, will you, please?"
Heather flipped though the pocket dictionary with peach-nailed fingers. "Damn. I mean maudit."
"What?"
"A grub in French is larve. Too close to 'larva.'"
Perry brightened. "I like it."
"You would." She turned her back on his curious face.
"Try 'bugs,'" Perry prompted.
"I am."
"Well?"
"'Bug' in French is insecte. Wait, there are synonyms galore."
"I didn't known the French had synonyms."
"Shh. Bacille. No, sounds too much like 'bacilli.' Oh, here's something interesting."
Perry got in front of her and tried to read the page upside down. He got an immediate headache.
"There's a French phrase for 'big bug.' La grosse legume."
"I like the 'gross' part."
"La grosse legume. It sounds like that stuff the French are forever putting in their consomme, legumes."
"Are those bugs?"
"No, beans."
"Let me see that." He scanned the page. "Hey, here's a perfectly good word. Punaise. What do you think?"
"Well, it rhymes with 'mayonnaise'.
Perry Noto shifted his gaze to an imaginary spot on the ceiling. "I can see it now. La Maison Punaise..."
"House of Bugs! Are you crazy?"
"Hey, who's going to know?"
"Everyone, once the menu falls open and they see poached dung beetle," Heather said archly.
"La Maison Punaise. That's what we'll call it."
"I like La Grosse Legume much better."
"If La Maison Punaise bites the big one, that will be our fallback name when we relocate."
"If this thing fails, we're not relocating. We're reconcepting. Retro concepting."
"If La Maison Punaise doesn't go over, we're maggot meat."
"That better not be on the menu."
Perry Noto smiled. "I'm crazy, but I'm not that crazy."
LA MAISON PUNAISE OPENED to an A-list crowd of invitees only. The press was there. The stars were there. Most important of all, the food was going down their throats without coming back up again.
"How are the chocolate-covered ants, Arnold?" Heather asked.
A Germanic voice rumbled, "Scrumptious. I can hardly taste the ants."
"What are these?" a famous actress asked Perry, holding up a toothpick on which was speared a blackened morsel.
"That? Let me see, I think it's Japanese beetle, Cajun style."
"I love Japanese food."
"How does it taste?"
"Crunchy."
A ditzy blonde sauntered up and, with a serious face, asked, "I'm a strict vegan except for seafood. What can I eat?"
"Seafood. Seafood," Perry repeated, his success-dazzled gaze wandering the room.
"Silverfish cakes are coming up in a minute," Heather called over.
"Oh, thanks so much."
"Bon appetit, " said Heather, steering Perry aside. "I take back every bad thing I said," she whispered.
"How's the kitchen?"
"Busy as a beehive."
"We're golden."