Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (21 page)

A
guy who looked an awful lot like he might be a reporter got out.  Vito shook
his head.  Then a WLOL-TV van pulled up, and double-parked next to the
reporter’s Hyundai.  Then came another, which parked on the opposite side of
the traffic island, and got immediately flanked by two WLOL-TV SUVs.  The
cul-de-sac was starting to look like a matchbox car line up made by a media
happy 4-year-old.

Before
we knew it, lights from a TV camera were blinding us, and a bleach blonde anchorwoman
was saying something she obviously thought was profound whilst occupying most
of Vito’s and my conjoined driveways.  I looked over at Vito.  Or, rather,
where Vito had been: he was gone.

“Vito?”
I whispered.  Trixie poked me, and I looked over at Vito’s front door, where
two firemen and a policeman were being helped out of Vito’s house by Vito’s
very own paws.

“Thanks
lots, fellas.  I’ll sure remember yous all when you’re selling barbecue sauces
next fall, ha ha,” he said, and closed and locked the door behind him.

The
blinding light got hotter and more intense, as the WLOL anchor woman invited
herself up to my porch and thrust herself and her microphone in our faces. 
“And these – these must be the neighbors of, ummm…”

“Vito!”
cried K. happily, only too glad to be the center of attention.  Trixie pinched
him.

“Tell
me, did your neighbor’s porch also get set on fire by a flaming bag of feces?”
the anchor woman asked with therapist-like intensity, shoving the microphone at
me.  My head hurt.

“Umm,
well, you know, I don’t know.  He likes kielbasa…”

After
a few more non-sequitors, the anchor woman groaned and drew an invisible line
across her throat to the cameraman.  “What’s going on here?  Don’t you people
even know that your neighbor’s house was on fire?”

“Ummm…”

“And
who’s this?  A slumber party reject?” she asked, pointing toward Appletree.

Appletree
puffed up and readjusted his cap.  “There’s a fine for double-parking in this
neighborhood,” he said simply, and started walking toward the squadron of TV
vehicles.

“Hey!”
the anchorwoman called, trailing after him with her cameraman trotting behind.

I
yawned.  Ethel and K. and Trixie yawned back.  “C’mon, K.,” Trixie said. 
“Let’s go back to the big city.”  K. nodded and looked wistfully after the TV
van driving away from my neighborhood – taking with it his 15 minutes of fame –
and made his way to his curbside car.  Ethel and I shrugged, and went inside
for what we hoped would feel a lot longer than a midsummer night’s nap.

I
closed and locked the doors.  I turned up the AC and hoped it would take some
of the smoked dog poop smells out of the house.

The
phone rang. “Sorry I had to run out on yous, Toots,” Vito’s voice apologized. 
“I had some other, uh… priorities what come up.”

“Sure,”
I yawned back.

“And
don’t worry about the stuff in the basement. I’ll get that off your hands real
soon.”

“Uh
huh.  Okay.”

I
hung up and yawned again.  I looked in the living room.  Ike and the Ratties
had slept through it all, the bums.  So had Vinnie, who lay splayed out on his
back in the middle of the living room floor, his legs sprawled wide open and
his belly rising softly up and down in the AC breeze, his right paw hooked over
his nose.

I
heard water running upstairs and figured Ethel had found some jammies and a
spare toothbrush.  I went into the kitchen for a glass of water, looked at the
clock and winced: it was 3:00 a.m.  I looked at the basement stairs and sighed:
Vinnie’s litter box. I wanted to put it off – but realized I hadn’t cleaned it
since early that morning.  And I really didn’t want him exploring alternative
options.  So I down to the basement I trudged.

I
got halfway downstairs and stopped. The room was stacked from floor to ceiling
with boxes.  Great columns and piles of medical sample boxes lined the entire
room.  I sighed, weaved through the maze in search of Vinnie’s litter pan,
cleaned it, and repositioned it to the bottom of the stairs.  I figured at
least this way he wouldn’t get clobbered by an avalanche of boxes during a
private moment.

When
I finally got back upstairs, Ethel was in my bed laying on my side.  I got in
my jammies, washed up, and poked her.  “Slide, Clyde,” I ordered in a loving
sisterly fashion.  Ethel mumbled something I was pretty sure I didn’t want to
hear and moved over.  “I need the side near the alarm clock. I still have to go
to work tomorrow morning.  I mean this morning,” I explained.

“I
wanted the side nearest the bathroom.  I don’t feel so good,” she sniffed back.
We looked at each other and switched sides again.  “Do you think you have
anything for a rumbly tumbly?” Ethel asked quietly.

I
thought about the pharmaceutical factory in my basement.  “It’s a possibility,”
I said.

“Good,”
she said as she got out of bed and went into the bathroom and whoopsed.  So
much for gourmet pizza dessert buffets.  Or sleep.

After
Ethel whoopsed again I investigated my own medicinal arsenal, because I was
afraid of the stockpile falling on me in the basement.  “Okay, we’ve got
Tagament, Pepto-Bismol, Rolaids, Mylanta, Maalox, ummm… some Zantac and
something that looks like a mini Tums,” I said, holding out the tummy wares to
my pukish sister.  Ethel peered at the stash I’d put on the bed next to her. 
She picked up the mini Tums.

“This
isn’t a mini Tums.  It’s a button.”

“Well,
suck on it.”

“Sure.
You try.”

“I’m
not nauseous.”

“It’s
your button.  You suck on it.”

“Okay,
I’ll suck on the damn button if you just take something and stop puking!” I
half-shouted.

Ethel
glared at me, grabbed the bottle of Maalox and took a swig.  I sucked my button
but forgot and swallowed.  Ethel fumped back down on the pillows.  Then she put
a leg outside the bed and onto the floor.

“Whirly
beds?” I asked.

“I
think I have a fever.  I’m burning up.  Is your air conditioning on?  And
working?”

I
sighed and padded back downstairs and checked.  It was a cool crisp 70 degrees
on a balmy 101 degree night.

“Can
you turn the air conditioning up a bit?” Ethel called down.  I sighed and
lowered the temperature setting to 65, then went back upstairs and covered Marie’s
cage and shut the vent in her room.  I found my winter bathrobe and my heavy
socks and lay back down in bed next to Ethel in the dark.  I was going to ask
her if she felt any better when I heard her snoring.  I sighed one last time
and closed my eyes for what I hoped would be an almost whole two and a half
hours sleep.

CHAPTER 7

(Wednesday morning)

I
hate it
that I
dream in smells. Most people dream in color – but not me.  My dreams are like
smell-a-vision.  A turkey fryer fried turkeys feverishly in my garage (try
saying that fast!).  I kept running up and down Mt. Driveway carrying trays and
trays and trays of food.  The more full trays I carried down the driveway the
more empty trays I returned into the envelope slot in the door at the back of
my garage.  Sort of a pet door for hors d’oeuvres trays.  This apparently had
some kind of exponential effect.  It was a lot like the Sorcerer’s Apprentice
but with canapés.  Every time I thought I had delivered enough full trays to
the waiting vans below, more drove up and honked horns.  At the same time, I
was taking one turkey out of the fryer and immediately replacing it with
another.

That
was when I smelt burning kielbasa.  I turned and saw Ma and Aunt Muriel and K.
applauding my efforts on Vito’s front lawn. Another van drove up.  This one was
Ike and the Ratties.  But he didn’t have the Ratties exactly.  Ike had stuck
them in the middle of a deli tray each as garnish centerpieces.  The trays were
the size of sleds.  The Ratties were bound with grape vines and gagged with
plum tomatoes in their mouths.

A
taxi drove up and Ethel got tossed out on the curb.  She looked like she was
pregnant with a baby elephant.  But she kept yelling at me to get her Ratties
away from ‘That Man’.  That was when Ike tossed the antipasto Ratties onto the
lawn while Ma, Auntie and K. applauded in lunatic unison.

I
awoke to Ethel tossing her cookies.  Again.

“Do
you remember Dad’s aftershave?” she asked after she’d rinsed her mouth for the
73
^rd
time with a forgotten bottle of Lavoris I kept under the sink
for special cookie tossing occasions.

“Umm,
no…”

Ethel
took another swig of Lavoris and spit.  “I think it was something called, ‘That
Man’.”

“Mmmphfmph.”

“You
know what?”

“Mmmphfmph?”

“I
remember really disliking that cologne.”

“Mmmphfmph…”

“And
the name.”

“Mmmphfmph.”

“You
know what else?”

“Mmmphfmph?”

“I
think I’m a little pregnant.”

I
sat bolt upright and pinched myself.  Ow.  Yup, definitely awake.  “Are you
sure?  And what do you mean ‘a little’?” 

“I
don’t know,” Ethel sniffed.  “I kind of lost count.  I think a missed a few
periods.”

“How
few?”

“Maybe
like four?”

I
mentally smacked Ethel on her forehead.  “So, what do you think it is,” I
sighed, “a Hansel or a Gretel?”

Ethel
sniffed a little.  “I don’t know.  And I’m not having Ratties.  I mean
Yorkies.  But if I have them – it – Ike will make me give up the Ratties.  I
mean the Yorkies.  I mean Hansel and Gretel.” She was well on the road to
wailing now.

“Huh?”
I asked.

“Ike
said we could get Hansel and Gretel when it looked like we couldn’t have kids,”
Ethel sniffed.  Ike said we could?  Apparently my sister’s relationship with
Baron von Trapp was a lot less Sound of Music-like than I’d imagined. “Ike
doesn’t approve of the dogs and kids together thing,” she explained weepily.

I
thought of a zillion Kodak commercials with kids and puppies and thought
another zillion unprintable thoughts about Ike.

“Well,
why don’t we find out if you’re really pregnant before we really worry about
it?” I volunteered helpfully.  “After all, you could have a medical problem
that’s making you miss your period.  And be nauseous. Hey, maybe you have a
tumor!” I said brightly.

“Hey,
yeah, you’re right!” Ethel smiled.

After
some logistic discussions about buying pregnancy test kits – my suggesting
Ethel buy her own kits, her suggesting I buy them because she didn’t think she
could buy them without Ike since he insisted on driving her everywhere in ‘his
baby’, my suggesting she buy them because I didn’t want to run into anyone I
knew who might actually think that I might be the Pregnant One, her asking what
was wrong with that, my pointing out the obvious, etc. – I got stuck agreeing
to buy her stupid pregnancy kits.  I finally got myself washed and dressed.  I
waved good morning to Ike on the sofa.  I got Vinnie, Marie and the Ratties
fed.  And sneaked Ethel some saltines and tea while Ike washed up.  Then I
nuked a gallon of last night’s leftover coffee for the morning’s shift of
unannounced visitors.  Vito would probably be over any minute now with some
other house’s jelly donuts.  And he was.

“Sorry,
sorry, sorry, Toots,” Vito said, letting himself in and holding a large white
paper bag.  “I got a little side tracked with some… ummm… errands this
morning.  But I got yous some jelly donuts and stuff.  I figured after last
night yous all could use them.”  Truer words were never spoke.

“Jelly
donuts?” Ethel called wanly from upstairs.

“Not
for you,” I shouted back kindly.

“But
I love jelly donuts,” Ethel sniffled.  Yeeshkabiddle.

“Why
can’t Ethel have a jelly donut?” Ike asked.  He looked at me.  I looked at
Vito. Vito looked at me.  So did Vinnie. And the Ratties.

“She,
uh, had… too much party last night.  Yeah, that’s it.  Too much party last
night,” I lied.

“BUT
I’M FINE NOW,” Ethel yelled down pointedly.

“Okay,”
I said. “If you’re really feeling up to it, then you come down and get it.”  I
was definitely not going to deal with anymore tossed cookies, much less tossed
donuts.  If Ethel could pass the staircase vertigo test, then she was cleared
for donuts.

“Ikey,
could you bring me up a jelly belly?”

Ike
got caught with his arm halfway inside the bakery bag.  Ike laughed nervously. 
“Of course.  That’s just what I was just doing,” he said. He placed what looked
like a jelly injected powdered pillow on a Dippin’ Donuts napkin and went
upstairs.  Vito and I grimaced.  Hansel and Gretel and Vinnie immediately
gathered around the open bag vying for sniffing privileges.

After
wrestling the bag away from the pets, I put the goods on the kitchen counter
out of reach of the Ratties and Vinnie.  Vito had actually sprung – instead of
his usual scrounging various neighbors’ houses – for freshly baked goods: jelly
donuts, Bavarian cream donuts, apple fritters, honey buns, crullers and crumb
buns aplenty.  I was impressed.  I hadn’t seen a legitimate crumb bun since
moving to Lancaster.

“Where’d
you find crumb buns?” I asked.

“I
got connections.  Besides, I figured I owe you some storage rent,” Vito said
with a gaping smile.  On account of because he hadn’t put his bridge in yet. 
But the day was young.  It was only a little after seven.

“Huh?”
I asked around a mouthful of apple fritter, while I poured coffee.

“For
the, err… storage space in your basement,” Vito explained.

“Your
house was on fire, Vito.  One night isn’t a big deal.”

“Actually,
it kind of might be more than one night.”

“Like,
how many?”

Vito
shrugged.  “Until I can convince Mike I’m in the clear, and all is safe amongst
us Amish.”

“A
– we’re not Amish.”

“I
know.  But after I moved here, I found out that’s all people outside of here
think about us.  That we’re all Amish.”

“But
you’re not Amish.”

“I
know.  But I’m Polish.  And I’m Jewish.  That’s some ish-es.  And sometimes I’m
a little kosher-ish, too.”

Oy
vey.

Ike
ran downstairs and into the kitchen, grabbed my fritter from my fingers and
flung it in the sink.

“What
gives?” I cried.

“THE
DONUTS ARE BAD!  ETHEL’S PUKING!”

I
squinted.  “Who said the donuts are bad?”

“Ethel,”
Ike said.

“There’s
nothing wrong with the donuts.” I retrieved my flung fritter and blotted it
with a paper towel.  I figured the 5-second rule applied.  “I told you:  Ethel
had too much party.”

“Oh. 
Great!” he said, and reached for a crumb bun.

Vito
caught his hand in mid-help-yourself.  “I think maybe’s you owes Mina a apology. 
What for flinging her fritter and all.”

“I’m
not going to apologize to Mina for – OUCH!”    I looked at Vito with newfound
appreciation.  “Uh… YEAH… uh… sorry for the misunderstanding, Mina,” Ike
winced.  Vito let go.

“There,
that’s better,” he said, and helped himself to the crumb bun Ike released with
his sprained hand.

“Vito,
I have to ask you for a favor,” I said.

“Sure,
sure, sure, Toots.  Go ahead.  Name it,” he said, brushing his crumb bun crumbs
off his tummy and down to the appreciative audience of Hansel and Gretel.  And
Vinnie.  Who knew?

“Umm…
I’m pretty sure I need a ride to work.”

“Your
car broke?”

“It’s
still at the garage at work.  From yesterday. Trixie couldn’t find my
pocketbook, remember?”

Vito
nodded.  “Sure, no problemo.  I mean problem.  Hey, how’s your head…” He fell
short once he actually looked at my noggin.  On top of my usual Technicolor
nightmare, I was complete with a melon on top.  Any more colors or bumps and
I’d look like I’d escaped from a Star Trek convention.

I
stared at Vito.  He shrugged.  Ike chewed.  I poured some more coffee and the
three of us clinked mugs absentmindedly.  The upstairs toilet flushed again and
we heard water running.  I turned to Baron von Useless.  “I have to go to
work.  It’s Wednesday,” I explained.  Ike looked at me blankly.  “It’s a school
day.  I have to work.  I’m not on vacation,” I tried.

“Oh,”
he said and munched on what looked like a life size replica of a chocolate
covered tire.  What kind of bakery did Vito go to?  The Flintstones?

“Vito’s
gonna drive me.  I’m gonna leave,” I explained to my insulin challenged
brother-in-law.

“Uh
huh.”

“Ethel’s
gonna need some things.  Like Pepto-Bismol, and Maalox and stuff.”

“Uh
huh.”

“She
will probably need to eat something later.”

“Uh
huh.”

“Like
chicken soup.  And saltines.”

“Uh
huh.”

“And
I wouldn’t give her any more jelly donuts, if I were you.”

Ike
shivered and swallowed some coffee.  “I still don’t see how she could get that
sick from last night’s party.  I’m fine,” he said, and reached for another
crumb bun.  Vito slitted his eyes.  Ike opted for a Bavarian Cream.

I
shrugged and said, “It’s a mystery.”

I
sipped my coffee. I could practically feel the caffeine zinging through my
veins.  Even though science has disproved it, there are real-life
honest-to-traffic-jam commuters who know for a fact that huge amounts of sugar
and caffeine directly compensate for miniscule amounts of sleep.  Especially if
it’s double-strength black coffee and a humungous apple fritter.  Even if it
was a little soggy.

I
went upstairs and checked on Ethel.  She was lying in bed, at rest and
perfectly green.

“Don’t
puke in my bed, okay?” I asked.  She nodded.

I
emptied the bathroom wastebasket into an old grocery bag, tied a knot and made
ready for La Garbage.  I put the empty wastebasket next to my greenish sister. 
“Just in case,” I said.

“Okay,”
she said back.

“Do
you want anything?”

“Just
a few dozen pregnancy test kits.”

I
sighed and nodded and took the trash downstairs. 

Vito
was sitting on the sofa, holding the Peaceable Kingdom at bay by feeding the
Ratties and Vinnie individual crumb bun crumbs.  Ike sat in the club chair,
clutching the remains of what looked like a white icing covered raft, staring
off into space.

“Okay,
Vito, I gotta roll,” I said. I dodged into the garage, deposited the trash in
the garbage pail and came back in through the hallway. Vito was still doling
out onesy-twosies crumbsies, and Ike’s eyes drooped while the raft o’icing
leaned precariously toward the floor.  I took the vanilla icing donut from Ike
into the kitchen and signaled for Vito to dismiss his subjects.  I
automatically went to the newel post for my pocketbook.  Then I remembered it
got lost.  I wondered how I was going to buy Ethel’s pregnancy test kits.  Or
get into EEJIT.  Or drive my car. Or get back into my home.  Well, at least I
had company to let me in.

Vito
and I walked across our driveways and got into his car.  That is, I got into
his car after we moved a medium sized dog bed, leash, collar and bags of
kibble, wet food, treats, toys and a ‘How to Teach Your Dog Smart Tricks’ book
to the back seat.  Then I got in. I looked at Vito.  He shrugged.  “For Stanley,” he said simply.  I took a deep breath and buckled my seat belt.  I hoped that Stanley, or a really good Stanley lookalike, would be available for adoption in less than
72 hours.