Off the Menu

by Stacey Ballis

  Detective Ryan looks at me, and then at Patrick. “You his girlfriend?”

  “I’m his assistant. I’m way too smart and have too much taste and self-esteem to be his girlfriend.”

  “Good girl. What does he do to have a girl like you this much on his side?”

  “He pays me enough that I can support myself and still have enough left to give money to my folks.”

  “But you are somebody’s girlfriend.”

  I smile. “Yes, yes I am. And he is at my house right now hosting the party that was going on when this idiot decided to play city vigilante. My best friend is in from New York, and all my friends are at my place hanging with her and meeting my boyfriend, and I would dearly love to get back to them.”

  “Pity. If he ever lets you down, this boyfriend, I hope you’ll call me.” I’m getting a lot of that tonight. He hands me his card, and I wink at him. “Okay,” he faces us both. “I like your deal. And you’re right. He blew under the limit, so no DUI. And yes, I saw the damage to the back of his car, so I believe he was rear-ended. And you’re doubly right; we’ll get far more mileage out of using his fame to our advantage than going ahead with bringing charges. So, Mr. Andretti. We’re going to do some paperwork and you’re going to write and sign a complete statement, and once I’m satisfied, I’m going to lose that paperwork in my desk for exactly twenty-four hours. I’m going to release you into the custody of this lovely young lady, and she is going to ensure that I get a call about your new job as public spokesperson for the department, or I am going to file that paperwork and do everything in my power to see that they throw the book at you. And if you ever do anything this stupid again, I’m going to personally see that you regret it. Deal?”

  Patrick looks up, contrite as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Deal. Thank you, Detective, and I’m really sorry about the profanity. I was very upset.”

  “You swear like a ten-year-old girl. It didn’t exactly make me blush.”

  “Thank you, Ryan. Really. Do you like zucchini bread? Or carrot?” I pull the loaves out of my purse and proffer them.

  “I’ll put them out in the break room, thanks; the team will really appreciate that.” He hands Patrick a legal pad and a pen. “Write what happened, exactly, all of it, and sign and date it. I’ll do the rest of the paperwork and see if we can get you out of here. Alana, would you like a coffee or a pop or something?”

  “Water?”

  “I’ll bring you a bottle.”

  “Thanks so much.”

  “Hey, how about me?” Patrick looks up.

  “Don’t push it,” Ryan says, and walks away.

  “What a tool,” Patrick says when the detective is out of earshot.

  “Don’t. Don’t you speak to me right now. Just write your damned statement and do not say ONE WORD to me. I am so mad at you I could just spit. So don’t be cute, don’t try to play this off, just write the fucking statement and make it good so we can get the hell out of here. I’m going to call RJ and let him know what is going on, and see how the party is doing.”

  I leave him there, and run into Ryan in the hall. He hands me a bottle of water and points me to a side room where I can make some calls in peace.

  I call RJ’s phone, no answer. Ditto, Bennie. Finally I just call my house phone, and Bennie answers. “Alana’s love castle.”

  “Hey there.”

  “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Patrick isn’t arrested, but there is still some paperwork to do. And then I have to take him home. I’m at least an hour out, probably closer to an hour and a half. How is everything there?”

  “Great, actually. Maria did come after all, so she has RJ cornered, getting his complete life story. Your brothers left right after you did to take their wives to dinner and your sister and Jeff stopped by for a little while, but they just left as well. Denise and her charming John just got here a little while ago; she says to tell you that you did a perfect job with her cheese dip, and he brought a plate of the best bruschetta I’ve ever tasted. There will not be leftovers for you, I’m afraid; these locusts have decimated it already. And Barry and the girls are still here, but they are starting to talk about heading out, since it is a school night.”

  “How is RJ doing? I feel like such an ass for leaving.”

  “Don’t. He’s worried about you, but I think you could set him on fire and he would find it charming. He really loves you. And I think he feels really good that you were willing to leave him here with all of us. Like a mark of trust. Want to talk to him?”

  “Please. And Ben, I’m so sorry your party got ruined.”

  “It only got ruined for you, honey, the rest of us are having a helluva time. Pity you’re missing it. Hold on, I’ll get RJ.”

  “Hey, baby, is everything okay?”

  “It will be. He isn’t arrested, so that is good.”

  “Why do I get the sense he isn’t arrested because you are there?”

  “Because you are a very smart man. I am so so sorry for abandoning you. I feel like a complete ass.”

  “You are a good friend and colleague, and all you’ve done is be the miraculous woman you are. As for abandoning me, you left me in your lovely home, with loads of good food and good drink and really fun people, all of whom have been very nice to me and fun to be with. I’m having a great time in spite of missing you.”

  “You are amazing. Any other guy would be pissed, or would have gone home.”

  “Well, whoever that other guy is, I hope I’m pulling solidly ahead in the running.” He loves to tease me about my “other boyfriends,” and I always play coy.

  “You are leaving him in the dust.”

  “I liked being introduced as your boyfriend.”

  “Oh, you noticed that, huh?”

  “I did. And even though I have always thought it was a ridiculous word, and I’m almost fifty, it sounds a little strange, but I like the sentiment very much.”

  “I liked saying it. I hope I’ll be back in an hour or so, maybe a teensy bit longer, and I know it is a school night, so don’t feel like you have to stay.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving here till I know you are home safe.”

  “In that case, feel free to plan on staying over if you like.”

  “That I like very much. Get home as soon as you can, my darling girl.”

  “I will.”

  It takes another hour to get everything settled at the station. I drive Patrick home in uncomfortable silence. When we pull up to his building, he turns to me. “I’m really sorry, Alana. I didn’t mean to ruin your party, I really didn’t. And I really did want to meet your fella. I know I’m a shithead sometimes, but it isn’t intentional. And I really, really, really appreciate what you did for me tonight.”

  Sigh. I’m officially too tired to stay angry. “Patrick, you’re nearly forty-two years old. You can’t behave like a lightly damaged teenager forever. Trust me; your life will actually be more pleasant if you would just grow up a little bit.”

  “Yeah, I know, you’re probably right. See you tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Okay, then. Thank you, Alana. I really am very, very grateful.”

  “No problem. And Patrick? Not one complaint about anything the police ask of you for the next year. No whining, no trying to weasel out of anything. You will be gracious and warm and you will do every single thing they ask of you with a smile on your face, is that clear?”

  “Yes, Mama Bear.”

  “I sent an e-mail to your PR team telling them about your new commitment to the Chicago Police as a personal cause, and let them know that they should be in contact with the media person there ASAP.”

  “Great, thanks. I promise, I’ll follow up tomorrow.”

  “Yeah, you will, in front of me.”

  “Good night, Alana. See you in the morning.”

  “Good night, Patrick. And I’m glad you’re not hurt. Please don’t be so reckless with your driving; you’re no goo
d to me dead.”

  He laughs. “You’re my sole beneficiary, Alana; I’m worth much more to you dead than alive.” He gets out of the car and heads into his building.

  I’m going to just presume that he was kidding. Especially because on a day like today, that little extra incentive might actually turn me into a Law & Order episode in the making.

  By the time I get home it is nearly midnight, and everything is quiet. I open my door and walk inside. My house is pristine. I would never have known anything had happened here tonight. The furniture is back where it belongs, the kitchen and dining room spotless. I wander into the living room and see a sight that melts my heart. RJ is lying full-out on the couch, Dumpling splayed on his chest, both of them snoring deeply, in something that sounds almost like harmony. I walk over and kneel beside the couch, placing a hand on Dumpling’s head, and kissing RJ’s lips.

  “Mmmm. You’re back.” He squints his eyes at me, and then smiles.

  “Yes I am. And some magical fairies appear to have come to my house.”

  “Bennie and Maria helped me figure out where everything went. We just thought that you deserved to come home to a clean place.”

  “Maria? MARIA cleaned?”

  “Well, sure, she helped. She helped pack up food, and then I washed and Maria dried and Bennie put stuff away.”

  “Maria doesn’t clean. EVER. For anyone. You must have charmed her to bits.”

  “Well, I did try.”

  “And you appear to have charmed someone else here.” I look down at Dumpling, who is semi-awake, and receiving rubs from both of us.

  “Him is a good boy. We had a walk, we had some treats, Maria and Bennie gave him some snuggles, and then he and I had a good heart-to-heart talk. He peed on everything on the planet, but no poop. I figure you’re supposed to know such things.”

  “Weird, he usually does have a nighttime dump. Probably just all discombobulated with the party and stuff. Speaking of which, should we go to bed?”

  “Yes, please.” I slide Dumpling off RJ’s lap and onto the couch. Then I take his hand and we go to the bedroom, where I close the door.

  We are kissing and undressing each other when suddenly RJ says, “Hey, I knew I won the lottery when I found you, but now there are cash prizes!”

  Oops. Totally forgot about the five grand in my bra.

  “Sorry, forgot that was there.”

  “Bail money in the bra. Classic.” He laughs and hands the money over to me. I put it back in its hidey-hole, not even thinking twice about RJ watching, and turn back to him.

  “Now, where were we?”

  A while later, cuddled close in the dark, I tell RJ everything that happened, while he strokes my hair.

  “What on earth would he do without you?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “But you love it?”

  I have to think about that for a minute. “I love a lot about it. Do I love that he calls me in the middle of my life and drags me into some insanity? No. But the normal parts of my job are pretty fantastic. And the money is very compelling.”

  “What if the money weren’t an issue?”

  “Money is always an issue. I’ve got a mortgage here, a mortgage on the Wisconsin house. And I give my folks money every month.”

  “Wow, how much do they need help from you?”

  “Well, their house is paid off, but there are still taxes and upkeep. My dad’s pension covers the basics, and they are both on Medicare. But they have eight grandchildren with birthdays and Chanukah and graduations. And they try to go somewhere warm for at least a couple of weeks in the winter. I bought them their car, and I pay the insurance on that. And when something goes wrong in the house, I send someone over and cover the bill. My brother Alexei manages their money, their savings and such, so I just give him a small check every month and he deposits it into their account. They don’t know how much I give them; they think it is just interest and stuff. And anytime they need to take money out for something, they ask Alexei if they can afford it and he says yes, and if it taps into principle, I just write a check.”

  “Alana, that is so extraordinary. Why don’t you want them to know?”

  “They’d never take it. They’re too proud.”

  “And your siblings, do they all participate?”

  “No, they can’t. They all have decent jobs, but not insane income. And they also have all those kids with their lessons and clubs and new shoes every minute and college to save for and their own mortgages and stuff. Lucky for me, Dumpling doesn’t need much.”

  RJ squeezes me tight. “You’re just magical.”

  “Well, you’re awful nice to come home to.”

  “Well, you feel like coming home to me.”

  I roll over and we kiss. “You feel a lot like coming home too.”

  And finally, after what feels like a forty-seven-hour day, there is sweet, sweet sleep.

  When I get up, RJ is gone. I was so dead to the world; I hadn’t even felt him leave. There is a little note on the kitchen counter.

  Alana—

  Thank you for:

  Being you.

  Finding me.

  Having great friends.

  Being a great friend.

  Being in my life.

  Letting me sleep over.

  Having those eyes.

  Calling me your boyfriend.

  I’m a lucky lucky boy.

  RJ

  I jump in the shower and throw on my work clothes. I grab my coat and bag. “C’mon, Dumpling, time to go to Best Friends.” In the car, I call RJ.

  “You are quiet as a mouse; I didn’t hear you leave at all.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to disturb you; you had such a rough night.”

  “Thank you, sweetie, that is so wonderful. And I’m so glad that you had some bonding time with Dumpling, I think you guys have turned a corner. It was so nice to come home to see my two boys napping together.”

  “Yeah, about that, we might not be completely around the corner quite yet.”

  “Oh no, what did he do now?”

  “Remember how weird it was that he didn’t poop last night the way he usually does?”

  Uh-oh. “Where?”

  “My shoes.”

  “He pooped on your shoes?”

  “He pooped in my shoes.”

  “In your shoe?”

  “Shoes plural.”

  “BOTH of them?”

  “Yeah, it was actually pretty impressive. Two little curls perfectly placed right in the center of the opening in both shoes. Pretty fancy shooting, Sheriff.”

  “Please tell me you noticed before you put your feet in there …”

  “I did indeed. And he must have done it early enough that by the time I discovered it, it had dried out a bit and I could just shake the poop out. They’re going to need a little disinfecting and deodorizing though.”

  “I will buy you new shoes.”

  “No need. It was pretty funny actually. And the stories are getting me good mileage with my clients. A lot of them are dog people, and they have come to love a good Dumpling story.”

  “You have the patience of a saint.”

  “Nope, just have the sense to know when I have a great thing.”

  “Thank you, honey. I’m pulling into the doggie day care now. I’ll call you later?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  I turn to look at Dumpling, sitting on the seat beside me. “Seriously? IN his shoes? BOTH OF THEM????” Dumpling smiles at me, and I can’t help it, I start to laugh.

  16

  I check and double check my mise en place. It’s been a long time since I’ve been through something so basic, and I’ve never cooked with teenagers before. Luckily the demo kitchen here at the Cooking and Hospitality Institute is well-equipped, and today is going to be mostly about getting to know one another a bit. Maria has arranged for a van to pick the students up at their high school, and then take them all home after class. They arrive precisely o
n time.

  I ask them all to take their seats, which I have assigned by placing a small paper tent at each of their places, names facing out so I don’t mix them up. They file in, looking as nervous as I feel.

  “Welcome. My name is Alana Ostermann. I am going to be one of your teachers this semester. In the kitchen, the title Chef is a mark of respect, and acknowledgment. I know that respect is important to all of us, so in this class we are all Chef. You will call me Chef or Chef Alana, and I will call you Chef in return. Today we are going to get to know one another a little bit, and introduce you to your equipment kits, and then do a little work. How does that sound?”

  “Good,” they all say in semi-unison.

  “You can do better, please say, ‘Good, Chef.’”

  “Good, Chef.” A little stronger, a little sassier this time.

  “Excellent. Now I want to know a little something about you. So please introduce yourself with your name, and what you think about cooking, and what you hope to do with the experience you are going to get here. Let’s start with you.” I point at the slight young man on the far left.

  He is short, wiry, with slicked-back black hair and thin fuzz on his upper lip. He looks down at the table as he speaks. “My name is Renaldo. I’m the oldest of nine kids, and both my parents work two jobs, so I’m always cooking for my little brothers and sisters and I really like it most of the time. I have dyslexia, but we didn’t know till last year, so my grades aren’t good. But I never really thought of college anyway. My dad can bring me into his business, but I like cooking. So I thought this would be another thing to do.”

  “Thank you Chef Renaldo. Next.”

  A heavyset Latina who has a truly staggering amount of makeup on her round face and long corkscrew curls in an unnatural shade of orange says, “My name is Clara. As you can see, I love food.” Her compatriots laugh, but clearly with her, not at her, so I let it go. “I love to cook at home, and I think I would love to cook for a living someday.”