Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre (10 page)

“Yip.”

Later, I pulled out of the parking lot accompanied by Judy Garland and “Merry Little Christmas”. I looked to see Chef in the kitchen doorway, waving good-bye.

I beeped back.

At home, Vinnie sat waiting by the door for me, insisting that he have a second dinner. “Not at ten o’clock you don’t, buddy.”

“Mwow! M
wow!”

“Okay, we’ll compromise.”
I entered the kitchen and tossed a few Kitty Cookies in his bowl. Vinnie came running in with a clatter, his name tag jingling all the way.

That’s when I saw Vito’s note.
And his latest experiment: Choucroute Garnie. Poor Julia.

A large size Fiesta
ware dinner plate lay ominously on the counter, covered in foil. A note taped to the top read, “Microwave me - 2 minutes.”

I considered it,
mostly because I had never destroyed a microwave before and always wondered what the fireworks would look like. Since I was not in a position to contribute to the small appliance industry’s profit margin, I nixed it. I wasn’t quite adventurous enough yet, to peek beneath the lid. A large slice of kielbasa stared back at me swimming in an ocean of sauerkraut, along with something green. I put it in the fridge, and poured myself a Mug o’Merlot to ease the transition - and my inhibitions - and opted to keep the sofa company for awhile.

The phone rang
off the hook. I woke up underneath dead weight, surfacing from a dream a lot like
Sharknado
but with chorizo. Vinnie yawned and the “no signal” sound blared forth from the TV. Ah, yes. Chateau Kitchen.

“Hello?”

“Are you up?” It was Trixie.

I blinked at the time on the television.
It was six-ten. “I am now.”

“He dumped me.”
She stifled a sob.

“Who?”

“Mike!”

“
Mike?
”

“Yes!”

Well, this was significant. Trixie never gets dumped. Except for the one time when she was the other gal. Which we agreed technically didn’t count. Generally speaking, Trixie is always the dumper, never the dumpee.

“What happened?”

I heard Trixie exhale strongly. “He said I had to quit smoking.”

“And?”

“I did. Four times.”

“That’s pretty rough.”

“Tell me about it. I know it’s not good for me. I’m a nurse, for crissakes.”

“Of course.”

She exhaled again. “And I’m gonna get fired.”

“H
uh?”

“New rules
, new supervisor. Complete no-smoking facility, including the staff.”

“Look - I’m not going to stand up for smoking.
But so long as you don’t smoke at work, none of their beeswax, right?”

Trixie exhaled again.
I could only assume she was blowing huge smoke rings at this point and poking at them vehemently with her middle finger. “Same kinda deal as off-duty recreational drugs and alcohol. It’s a whole new ballgame. Matter of fact, before my last promotion, they ran my credit rating.”

WTF?

“Turns out, thanks to the last loser, since I’m still bailing myself out of his running up my VISA, I didn’t qualify for a pay raise.”

“But you work like
, sixty hours a week!”

Another exhale.
“Actually, sixty-eight.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Yep. Can you spell me a breakfast? I can’t wander around this apartment by myself anymore. I don’t have pets, like you do. And my houseplant died.” She blew her nose loudly.

“But K. told you you’re not allowed to have another houseplant until…”

“I know, I know - spare me the lecture. Mike gave it to me. Now I think it’s symbolism. Are you scrambling me some eggs or what?”

“C’mon over.”

“Can I come in my jammies?”

“Sure. You can hang as long as you like.
But I’ll have to duck out on you for a bit.”

Trixie heaved another sigh which I
imagined was full of nicotine. “James?”

“Squirrel Run.
Helping with dishes from last night.”

“Sounds major.”

“Do you want breakfast or not?”

Trixie arrived on my doorstep looking bereft,
clinging to the remains of a rubber plant. “Are you sure we can’t save it?”

I peered at it, then at Trixie.
“Would you like me to keep it in my garage?”

She brightened.
“Why, sure! Maybe it’s just gone dormant for the winter!”

I placed the dead plant on the steps, wondering if there weren’t also dormant waterfalls in the
Sahara.

Trixie tossed her coat on the
newel post, while I tossed some eggs into a pan, alongside some sausage I’d started after we hung up.

“So, the thing is, he’s a total hypocrite.”

“Right.”

“I mean, I have one lousy habit.”

“Right.” I stirred the eggs.

“And he’s got like a thousand
of them!”

I nodded.
I knew the drill. I figured ranting was a time-honored code for beer and sympathy and not much else.

“Is there one G-D good reason he can’t put his underwear inside the laundry hamper?
It lands, without fail, just four inches next to the G-D basket!”

I looked at her.

“I measured!”

I stirred the eggs and
put some bread in the toaster.

“And the nail clipping!”

“It’s necessary sometimes, I guess.”

“Of course it is!
But you trim you nails over the sink, right?”

“Yeah?”

“He doesn’t.”

“You mean…”

“In the living room. In the kitchen. In the car, for godssakes.”

“But not over a sink?”

She shook her head vehemently.

I felt a little squeamish.

“And you know what else? He poots!”

“Poots?”

“
Poots!
”

“Oh.”
The rant was threatening to lurch well beyond TMI. “Maybe it’s the fast food he has to eat, while on stakeout and all.”

Trixie snorted.
“Probably all the
coffee
. I’ve never seen anything like it. He drinks it by the gallon. He can’t be at home without a mug in his hand. I’m amazed he’s able to sleep at all.”

“Hazards of the profession?”

Trixie shook her head. “I know nurses with less caffeine addiction.”

I buttered the toast, and scooped the eggs and sausages out onto our plates.
“Voila!”

Trixie cried.

I hugged her. “There, there. Sounds like he was just a stinky, messy bastard anyway.”

She nodded and
sniffled a bit more.

“C’mon.
You came for breakfast, and breakfast you shall have. Come and eat your strangled eggs.”

“Strangled eggs?”

“Yeah. The kind of eggs you make when you want to strangle someone.”

She
blew her nose and picked up her fork.

“Coffee?”

“I’m off my last shift and have the rest of today and tomorrow off. I wish you had real beer. And Bauser’s leftover Krumpthfs doesn’t count, sorry.”

“Hey!”
I dashed to the fridge and pulled out the sole bottle of the artisanal ale – thank you K.

“Wow.
Fancy!”

I explained
as I uncapped it. “Look, I’ve got to get washed and dressed for work. Sorry to run out on you.”

She waved me off.
“I barged in on you.”

“You didn’t barge,” I fibbed, dashing upstairs and over Vinnie.

Crap.
I’d forgotten about Vinnie’s breakfast. Again.

“BEE-YOU!!!!”

And I’d also apparently forgotten poor Marie, too. Double crap.

“You need help feeding your pets? So you can get going? I can help!”

I considered it. How bad could she do? Baby steps, right?

“Vinnie gets
three scoops of Kitty Cookies in his bowl. Marie gets her seed cup refilled with Cockatiel Clusters.”

“Got it!
Now you hit the shower and I’m on it!”

I showered and dressed in
to clean service gear and flew back down the stairs before her eggs got cold.

“Wow, you look crisp!”

I stared down at my usual uniform. “Well, I’m not covered in Vinnie or Marie fluff, anyway. Or food. Yet.”

Trixie began a smile, then her lip quivered.
“Okay, so you get a little fluffed. But at least you have someone who loves you, waiting for you to come home, right?” She dissolved into a puddle of tears.

“There, there.
You have people who love you.”

“But they don’t live with me.”

“You don’t really want to live with your mother again, do you?”

She
shot me a baleful look.

“See?
Things could be worse.”

“I know.
I’m just feeling sorry for myself. I almost never have a day off, and now I have practically two whole days staring me in the face. I don’t know what I’m going to do with myself.”

“Laundry?”

“Ha, ha.”

“Look, I promise I’ll call you the moment I get home.
And if the rest of the decks are cleared for the day, we’ll do something.”

“Actually, I probably should focus on laundry.”

“I was just kidding!”

“No, it makes good sense.
I’ve got mountains of it. And I never have time to do it. I’m forever buying new clothes because my uniforms are in the hamper.”

I looked at her.
“That can’t really help your credit card, can it?”

She sighed.
“Tell me about it. Work a gazillion hours, no time for the wash so you buy new. Don’t work a gazillion hours and have time to do the laundry, but not enough cash to make a decent dent in the charge card balance. It’s a vicious cycle.”

I patted her on the shoulder.
“Why don’t you bring your laundry here?”

“Really? That would be fabulous!
Thank you! I hate the laundromat.”

“Who doesn’t?”

After promising Trixie – again – that I’d call her soon as I got home, I shooed her away under the valid pretense that I couldn’t back down the driveway while her Jeep was parked in the middle of it.

As soon as she was out the door, I tossed the bird seed out of the cat bowl and the Kitty Cookies from Marie’s seed dish.
They both looked at me oddly until I replaced their feed with the proper stuff. “Don’t worry. Aunt Trixie won’t be babysitting again anytime soon.”

Vinnie muttered a snarky feline critique, just after I left Marie munching in time to, “Top Hat.”
It’s her favorite musical and I thought it only fair to give her a morning matinee to compensate for the cuisine confusion.

I hot
-footed out the door and into the van. Soon I barreled toward Squirrel Run Acres and through the kitchen door. The lights were on but it looked like no one was home. “Hello?”

Hilda trundled forth into the kitchen from her office.
“What are you doing here?”

I explained about the dishwashing.

Hilda eyed the dozen or so hotel pans, pots and the like on drying racks next to the sink. Everything was spotless.

Chef
ran in, sliding on the floor and looking from Hilda to me. I glanced over my shoulder at the spotless pans on the counter.

“Wow, Hilda, did you do all these?
I thought you had off today?” Chef asked. He seemed surprised and flushed. Very flushed. Or was he blushing?

Hilda rested her hands on her hips to consider the lunatics before her.
“Arnold washed them. Like he always does after off-premise parties. What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be off.”

After some clarifications
where Chef explained he thought he was leaving a mess and Hilda reminded him he had a full-time dishwasher who wasn’t me; we buttoned our coats back up and headed out the door.

“By the way,” Hilda added, “today
is
my day off.”

Chef stopped dead in his tracks.
“What are you prepping? Can I help you?”

She shook her head.
“I just came in to finish some bills. But I would like to get them into the mail. Would you mind taking these to the post office, and getting stamps for them? I’ll give you petty cash.”

Chef shrugged.
“Sure.”

I
spun around. “No, wait! You don’t need to make a special trip. I’ve got stamps!”

Hilda took the stamps, and handed me some change.
“Thanks. You’re a real life saver.”

“No problem.”
I couldn’t help but ask, “But how come you don’t pay your bills online?”

“Hector.
He’s two years older than me, but acts older than my grandpa. Doesn’t trust internet technology with finances.”

Wow.
So I’m not the world’s most looney Luddite – I have competition.

“So now that these have stamps, would either of you mind throwing the
m into the mail box? They need to get picked up today and the mailman usually comes about this time.”

“Got it,” Chef said.
“Team effort.” He smiled warmly at me. My feet tingled. I felt myself begin to blush and got embarrassed.

Which was probably why I bumped into a steel cart and launched a hundred muffin tins clattering to the ground.
Chef rescued the tins then cleared the obstacle course I’d invented for myself. He held the back door open for me. I wasn’t sure if he was being polite or giving me a nice shove out of harm’s way. We stood awkwardly in the parking lot, looking down at our shoes.

“Sorry I made you come all the way out here for nothing.
I didn’t think Arnie was scheduled to clean today.”