Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (17 page)

While
these thoughts oozed along, Bauser’s dog Jim decided to nurse my face back to
health while Hansel and Gretel fought over which of my sandals to gnaw. In the
midst of all this, I lay writhing like a tortured bug in my driveway.

I
shooed Jim away from my face and made it to a sitting position.  I patted Jim
on the head, said, “Good doggie” and then shouted, “Look, Jim, RATS!” and
pointed at Hansel and Gretel.   Jim gave out a, “WOOF!” and went after the
Yorkies.  Or the Ratties, as I call them.  They took off in a pack down the front
yard and circled back, onto my front porch then over to Vito’s in a collective
bounding leap.  Well, at least Jim and Gretel did.  Hansel got stuck in between
the porch railings.  Apparently he’d been consuming too many doggie Gingerbread
Houses.

 “OH,
SWEETIEEE!! HOW ARE YOU??” K. screamed.

“I’M
NOT DEAF YET,” I screamed back.

“Oh,
sorry,” K. said. But he didn’t look at me: his eyes focused on Green the whole
time.  Which, to my thinking, made Green look green.  Maybe Trixie was right? 
But why?

Then
Norman trudged over and held out his towel to me to help me up.  What a bud. 
“Do you think you should go get an x-ray?” he asked.

Trixie
shook her head.  “I don’t think she’s concussed. She was strapped in, for
Pete’s sake.”

“It’s
not like I was wearing a helmet, you know,” I answered.

“Here,
wait a minute.”  She raced to her Jeep and rummaged in the glove compartment. 
When she came back she was brandishing a pen-size flashlight.  “Look up here.” 
Then she shone a light into my left eye.  “You’re eyes aren’t dilated. You’re
fine,” she said, shutting off the pen light and clipping it into her cleavage. 
I sighed. I wondered how Trixie’s ER patients fared. I made a mental note to
avoid needing emergency medical services during one of Trixie’s shifts.

I
got hauled inside by the tribe, minus Vito, Red and Green.  I hugged Ethel and
Ike.  “Sorry, I forgot all about your visit, and Ma’s,” I said.

Ethel
shrugged.  “We’re just passing through for a few days.  We thought it would be
fun to catch up with you and Ma together, before we visit Ike’s family in Connecticut,” she said.

I
looked out the door and saw Gretel pulling at Hansel’s tail while he lay stuck
between the spindles.  “We better get your fatties inside,” I said.

Ethel
mumbled, “Only Hansel’s fat.  He’s on a diet.  He can’t help it.  He eats
Gretel’s cookies.”

I
got washed and realigned on my sofa in a clean T-shirt and shorts, complete
with a shiny red and purple face.  Meanwhile, Vinnie ate pepperoni slices from
Aunt Muriel, along with Jim and Hansel and Gretel.  Which made me pretty
relieved that Bauser would eventually be taking Jim home.  I wasn’t sure where
my sister and Ike were sleeping that night, but I was glad there was no room in
my house for multiple pet pepperoni poots.  Pew.

Ma
came back from upstairs. “She must get lonesome being upstairs alone all day,
so I installed a small TV and DVD player for her,” she said.  I reminded her
that normally Marie’s in the kitchen until lunchtime, while Vinnie lounges in
the basement.  “The basement? Oh no; not for our dear boy,” Ma and Aunt Muriel
cooed in tandem.  Vinnie looked up while Ma stroked his head.  He grinned
conspiratorially, bestowing a smile full of pearly white corn teeth, studded
with pepperoni bits.  I furrowed.

“Well,
just so long as Marie doesn’t have any more eggs,” I said.

“You
mean she’s had eggs?” Aunt Muriel asked.

“Yup.”

“But
where are all the babies?” she asked.

We
all kind of looked away.  Especially Bauser.  “She had eggs by herself, Aunt
Muriel,” I said. “There was no, umm… Mr. Marie.”

“But
if she already had the eggs…”

I
shook my head.  Apparently, biology – other than your own - wasn’t exactly a
school requisite back in the day.

Norman
cleared his throat.  “It’s like,
umm… ya know… chicken eggs.  If there’s no rooster to, um… ya know… then,
um… they’re just eggs. Like you buy in the store.”

“Oh,”
said Aunt Muriel.  “Can we eat them?”

We
all cringed. Thankfully, Ma dove in.  “Anyway, it doesn’t matter.  Marie’s
perfectly fine up there, and Vinnie’s much happier not being locked in the
basement,” she said, snuggling her forehead up against Vinnie’s.  Vinnie
responded by purring louder and schlurping Ma’s nose.  “Besides, she seems to
really like musicals; especially Fred Astaire,” she went on.  We all looked  at
each other blankly and shrugged. Who knew?

After
some altercations about going to the hospital vs. ordering pizza, we settled
down with a cool drink and some hot debriefing.  And a very, very cold ice pack
on my head.  I gave some not so Lancaster-polite snippets about How-weird,
flaming feces, opportunistic muggers and incompetent fire police.

“But
I don’t understand about Red and Green,” Trixie whined.  “What were U.S. Marshals doing at EEJIT?”

“Something
about Red being from around here, and seeing the flaming feces trouble with
EEJIT and Buy-A-Lots, yada yada,” I said.  “Has anyone actually ordered a
pizza?  Or something for a cluster headache?”

“But
why did you think Green was a dry cleaning salesman?” Bauser asked.

“I
told you.  Red was subbing for Mrs. Phang because she said Mrs. Phang was out
on a vacation day,” I began.  “So when Green and Red showed up at EEJIT, right
after the fire, I figured they were selling some kind of fire and smoke dry
cleaning package.”

“Wait
a minute, wait a minute,” Aunt Muriel chanted. “You mean to tell me that when
you come back with Vito’s dry cleaning, that Red was subbing for Mrs. Phang?”

“Uh,
well, um, yeah. So what?”

Ma
and Aunt Muriel clapped hands to their foreheads.  “Oh boy,” Aunt Muriel said,
and headed for the kitchen and the Wodka.

We
all took the hint and indulged in a makeshift happy hour.  Then we chatted
about my Girl Scout good deeds re: Vito and his dry cleaning fetish and the
burning Buy-A-Lots.

“There’s
more,” said Bauser.  Norman nodded, and draped his towel around his shoulders. 
Then the doorbell rang; the pizza man cometh.

I
knew that K. placed the pizza order when it came from Frederique’s instead of
PizzaNow!, and cost three times more.  We all attempted to pay for the pizza,
but Ma and Aunt Muriel won the stand-off while the delivery kid grew a beard. 
Aunt Muriel pulled out a credit card and handed it to the kid, trumping Ma’s
cash.  “Not your credit card!” Ma shrieked.

 “It’s
alright.  It’s Max’s.” Aunt Muriel smiled.  “Part of our agreement.  Emergency
funds,” she said.  Ma shrugged.  I nodded.  It smelt like emergency pizza to
me.

The
delivery kid left with a big smile and a huge tip, thanks to Uncle Max.  K.
served up our pizza buffet amongst draped clean linens, bottles of red and
white wine, individual bottles of sparkling water, candles, Mediterranean
olives and a multitude of nice glasses I knew I didn’t own.

Answering
my quizzical expression, K. said, “Your mom called and said you were having a
crowd.”

I
looked at Ma.  She sucked on an olive.

“Well,
I know how busy you’d be, ordinarily,” K. offered.  “And after all this – pew!”
he said, waving his hand and lighting a match.

Pew
was right.  But this time at least it wasn’t me.  Jim lay sprawled in the
middle of the dining room floor, gazing lovingly up at the largesse, and
pooting pepperoni.

After
opening up the screen doors, turning up the AC, and lecturing Aunt Muriel about
the vices of pepperoni and pets, we figured we were defumagated enough to eat. 
We divvied ourselves up amongst the meal when the front door opened.  It was
Vito.

“Sorry,
sorry, sorry, Toots,” he said, apologetically holding palms toward us.  “I
don’t mean to interrupt your plans here. I just wanted to see how yous was
doing.”

“I’m
okay.”

“Well
just so longs as you’re not knocked out no more.”

Aunt
Muriel leaped into the foyer.  “Oh, Vito, we’re so glad you’re here!”

Vito
flinched backward an inch at her brightness.  “Huh? You are?”

“Why
yes, aren’t we, Louise?”

Ma
brought up the flanks.  “Yes, of course. Please come in, Vito,” Ma said, and
closed and locked the door behind him.  And stood in front of it.

“Oh,
well, if you ladies insist.” Vito looked around, not sure what he’d stumbled
into.  He looked at me.  I shrugged.  Damned if I knew.

“Certainly,
Vito,” Aunt Muriel said.  “Please, come in and do help yourself.”

Vito
stared at the gourmet pizza meal.  “Hey, well now, don’t mind if I dos.” He
smiled and waddled the rest of the way in.

We
grazed the buffet, fed and coddled pets, and sipped.  It was quite a spread: 
white pizza with ricotta and spinach; pink pizza with buffalo mozzarella,
portabella mushrooms, sundried tomatoes and shrimp; summer pizza with
artichokes, zucchini, tomatoes, green onions and fresh basil; a bow tie pasta
salad with grape tomatoes, yellow tomatoes and tomatillos, au vinaigrette; an
antipasto platter with prosciutto, salami, roast beef, smoked turkey, parmesan
chunks and seafood salad; and a large tossed Mediterranean salad.  And, for
dessert, what appeared to be individual cheesecakes, along with some kind of raspberry
brownie sandwiches.  Only Trixie longed for pretzels.  “What’s a party without
pretzels?”  she whined.  K. hung his head while I waved off Ma and Aunt
Muriel.  They would never understand the fetish thingy most of Lancaster – hell, most of PA – has for pretzels.  Even I don’t get it, and I live here. 
But I learned long ago not to refute it.  The path of least resistance is best
met by serving pretzels.

K.
gave Trixie a breadstick and a salt shaker and told her it was an artisan
pretzel.    Trixie furrowed but dutifully dipped her breadstick in her beer and
salted it.  We finished the bountiful repast and sighed in blissful waist
expanded stupors.

Norman
cleared his throat.  “Listen,
I’ve got to get going.  Janice is going to kill me.  Unless she thinks I’m
working,” he said.  Bauser patted him on the back of his towel.  “But listen,
the thing is, I really need to get online to check my runs,” he said.  
“Actually, I need to check who’s checking my runs.”

“No
problem, dude. I’ve got packet sniffers out,” Bauser said.

Norman
almost smiled.  “Really? Wow,
that’s great!”

We
stared at Norman and Bauser much the same way someone stares at their first
plate of seaweed salad. “In that case, I guess I can have a beer after all,” Norman sighed.  Then frowned.  “Someone’s got breath mints, right?  It would be a long
story for me if she smelt beer on me.”

“Who
could tell with all this garlic?” Vito asked.  K. shot Vito a look that
screamed ‘Puh-lease’.

K.
brought Norman a bottle of beer and a glass and set them down before him.  Norman tried to unscrew the twist top – except he failed, because it wasn’t a twist top. 
Then Norman not only needed a bottle opener but some Band-Aids and a
tourniquet.  Ma got some Band-Aids and a supply of dish towels while Vito opened
Norman’s beer bottle with his teeth.  We all winced.

Norman
raised his bottle to Vito in
thanks, and took a swig.  He choked a little, but after another swig he seemed
almost not unhappy.  Then he began.

“Awhile
ago, before all the news coverage, I was wondering about the coincidence of the
Buy-A-Lots’ fires. You see, not all the other fires made national press
coverage like the coincidence of Buy-A-Lots’ Lancaster location with EEJIT’s Lancaster location, which any idiot could have seen.  I mean, I recognized others before.”

“Huh?”
I asked.

“There
seems to be a pattern of burning Buy-A-Lots’ with new store openings.”

“How’d
you notice that?” I asked.  Everyone leaned in.

“Well,
because I had a discussion about the data that How-weird used to sell Buy-A-Lots
on renewing.  And convincing them to open up an umpteenth new store in Lancaster County.”

“You
had words with How-weird?”

“Because
he’d hawked sample data.  It was bogus.  And he knew it,” Norman said, and he
took another swig – bigger this time – of his beer.  And coughed.  He got
attacked by a group of well meaning slaps on the back from Vito.

“Data,
schmata. I don’t get it,” K. whined.

“Garbage
in, garbage out,” Ma said, and chewed another olive.

Norman
continued.  “The data that’s
used to test new algorithms is a fairly steady, representative sample.  No
outliers, no data surprises.  That way we can see how the algorithm is working
without having data quality issues to muddy up the works.”

“Algorithm?”
Aunt Muriel and Vito asked.  They looked at each other.  Vito beamed.  Muriel
scowled.

“An
algorithm is a mathematical equation that provides the statistics we’re looking
for,” said Norman, coddling his new friend between his hands.  “EEJIT’s
applications use various algorithms to determine various outcomes, using
various sets of data.  The data is varied – always contains some kind of minor
flaws – because it’s refreshed periodically, and from various sources.  So we
need to ensure the algorithm’s stability before using it against actual data.”