A Silver Cloche

I sprinted across the checkered tiles of the empty dining room, keeping my grape balanced under one arm. A massive wooden banquet table stretched ahead. Using a dropped linen napkin, I hauled myself onto the polished mahogany surface. Near the center sat a polished silver dome cloche. I darted forward, gripped the heavy round handle with both hands, and tilted it back. Beneath rested a clean porcelain plate holding a small glass bowl filled with chilled water. Perfect. I dropped my purple grape into the bowl and watched tiny air bubbles cling to its skin.