Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (45 page)

The
front door knocked.  It was James.

“Good
morning,” he said nicely.

“Morning,”
I mumbled back, letting him into Auntie’s foyer.

“How
are you feeling?” he asked.

“Great,
thanks,” I said.

“Do
you mind if I just…” He nodded toward his table.

“Oh,
no, really, help yourself.  It’s all just where you left it.  Except for me, of
course, ha ha,” I said, forcing a laugh.

James
nodded at me and went toward the massage table and started picking up sheets
and whatnot.  As he started dismantling the table, I realized that this was a
very transportable structure.  And that James had incredible shoulders and back
muscles.  And a cute butt.  And that he would shortly be leaving again. Very
shortly.

“So,
uh… sorry about falling asleep on you yesterday.  It wasn’t a criticism,” I
started.

“Actually,
I took it as more of a compliment,” he said.  Huh.

“So,
uh, what interested you to become a massage guy, anyway – I mean, masseuse,” I
asked.

“Massage
therapist, actually” he answered.  Then he stood up and smiled at me.  Huh. 
James also had an amazingly brilliant smile. 
Oh-please-oh-please-oh-please-don’t-be-wearing-a-bridge, I hoped.  And
please-oh-please-oh-please for my ego’s sake don’t be gay.  I mean, it’s
perfectly alright to be gay.  Except that my illusionary love interests are
starting to show a distressing inclination toward exceedingly unavailable men.

“You
know, if I had a nickel for every time someone asked me that, I could probably
retire,” he answered.

“Why?”
I asked.

“Because
the people who knew me in my past lifetime ask me that a lot,” he said.

Past
lifetime?  Oh crap.  Why was I alone with this nut?

“Oh,”
I said, nodding, hoping to end the conversation.

“You
see, up until a couple years ago, I was a capital investments broker.”

Oh. 
Investments.  Okay, well that’s pretty normal.  “Pretty stressful, huh?”

“Not
too bad,” he answered truthfully.  “Actually, the massage thing began as a
hobby.”

“Really?”
I asked, hoping to continue the conversation until he asked me out.

“My
girlfriend was getting kind of stressed out,” he answered.

Girlfriend? 
I smiled brightly and was completely crestfallen.  On the upside, I’d broken my
tendency toward being attracted to gay men.  On the downside, I’m apparently
still attracted to unavailable men.  Rats.

“Oh,
really?” I smiled politely. I disengaged and put myself on autopilot.

“Yeah.
She was a Victoria’s Secret lingerie model.” Lingerie model!? “It’s pretty
stressful.  Mostly because she traveled a lot.  You see, she’s got a real fear
of flying.  So the only thing I could do to help her relax was massage,” he
said.

“Right,
of course.  Well, it’s not like she can have an ice cream sundae to take the
edge off,” I answered smartly.

“Exactly,”
he answered.  Well then.  “And then the market got shaky about the same time as
she was setting me up with her model buddies for massages.  Then my investment
buddies got word, and of course they trusted me with their families and
partners, knowing that I’m not some kind of a nut,” he said.

“Right,”
I replied, and regretted thinking him a nut.

“So
I kind of started with a built-in niche,” he finished.  “It’s not the income I
had as an investment broker.   But I sure sleep better at night.” Huh.  After
massaging his girlfriend and her lingerie modeling buddies, I felt sure he did.

James
left a few minutes later, and I sat in the middle of Auntie’s living room
deflated and at odds with myself.  On the one hand, there was something about
him that made me feel defensive.  On the other hand, I was starting a new trend
toward being attracted to straight guys.  Okay, maybe things were getting
better.

The
grandfather clock in the hall bonged.  Crap.  I had to get moving so I could
get dressed up and pick up K. and crew.  Double crap.  Because that’s what the
Doo-doo smelled like.  Transporting humans for several hours in a van with no
air-conditioning to New York City in the summer was looking like a bad plan. 
The dinner, ride and the Doo-doo were now a trifecta of crap.

I
locked up Auntie’s florist shop home, and got back in the Doo-doo and held my
nose.  I wound my way back across town singlehandedly, acutely aware that not
only did Auntie’s side of town look more upscale than mine, it smelled better
too.

I
pulled up Mt. Driveway and jumped out of the Doo-doo panting, having held my
breath for the last mile.  Clearly there was no way I could transport anyone
across town, much less across state lines.  I wondered if there was an
environmental law I’d get arrested for, like transporting stench without a
license?

“Hey,
Toots, how ya doin’?” Vito asked from his charred front porch.  He had the
newspaper in front of him and Stanley by his side, gnawing peacefully on a
burnt porch spindle.  I shrugged.  Vito raised his eyebrows in return.  “Hey,
aren’t you happy to be getting ready to go on your big night out and all?” he
asked.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,
I ran into K. at Madam Phang’s, ‘cause he was picking up his fancy dry cleaning
and all for your Supper Club party tonight.  He couldn’t stop talking about
it.  Seems like you kids are in for a good time.” Vito smiled.  Complete with
bridge.

I
gulped.   “Well,” I started, and began to rehearse my explanation about the
Doo-doo to Vito, and being sorry to let my friends down and all, but these
things happen, etc., etc., etc.

Vito
folded up his paper and came across to my side of the driveway, with Stanley snarling affectionately and hanging onto a new trouser cuff.  I looked at Vito. 
“He has separation anxiety,” he answered.

Vito
came toward the Doo-doo and did a repeat action of the wasp at Auntie’s.  “Wow,
twad’s pweddy baaayd,” he said, holding his nose.

Stanley
hopped right inside and jumped
in the way back, digging at the wheel well.

“What
the?” Vito and I asked together.

I
opened the doors to the back, and Stanley’s attempts to dig toward China via my spare wheel storage.  Vito said something in Polish and held his nose.  He dug
out a doggie treat from his front pocket.  Stanley looked from the wheel well
to the treat and back again.  Clearly, this was a decision.  Finally, as Stanley realized the doggie treat might be more appetizing than the vapors from the wheel
well, he yapped and jumped down, taking the treat and crunching happily on the
lawn.

Vito
and I looked at the wheel well.  And the almost visible cloud of noxious gases
hovering over it.

“Didn’t
they fingerprint this at all?” Vito asked.

“Yes,”
I said.  “They thed they dwid,” I added, holding my nose.

“Amateurs,”
Vito said, shaking his head.  “Scuse me, Toots.” He crossed in front of me
toward the back of the open van.

“Hey,
Vito, you don’t have to,” I began, but it was too late.  Vito was opening the
wheel well.

He
unscrewed the cover and took off the cap and we almost fell backward.  “What
the!?” he asked.

Curiosity
got the better of us.  We held our hands to our faces to check out the
contents.  Apparently, my spare wheel was missing.  Dumped in its place was a
huge stash of loosely bagged doody.

“Yeesth,
no whanda your car thmelled,” Vito said, holding his nose.

“Ugh-huh,”
I replied, holding my nose and hoping my eyelashes weren’t melting.

Vito
closed the back of the van.  A fly came in through the back open window. 
Several zillion followed.  I sighed.

Vito
led me by the elbow back to his front porch.  “Hey, Toots, I don’t want to butt
in or nothin’, but I think I can help yous out here,” he said.  Visions of the
Doo-doo going up in flames ‘mysteriously’ raced through my mind.

“NO!
You are not going to torch the Doo-doo!” I yelled.

“Yeesh. 
You really have an overactive imagination, you know?” he said.  I sighed.  “No,
seriously, I’ve got a buddy who does car detailing for rental car companies. 
You should hear what he’s told me he’s had to clean up.  This kinda crap won’t
be nothing to him, literally.” I looked at him.  “Sorry, Toots, I wasn’t trying
to talk off color or nothin’.  But we are talking about a lotta crap.”

“Agreed,”
I said.

“Well,
yeah.”

“But
I still have to let K. know I can’t pick him up this afternoon.”

Vito
smiled.  “No you don’t, Toots; I’m not going anywhere, so why don’t you just
drive my car?” Vito asked.

The
Towncar?  Air conditioning? Wow.  Things might not be so bad after all.

“Are
you sure?”

“Sure
I’m sure,” Vito said and handed me his keys.  “Besides, this ways I got an
excuse for not showing up at Miriam’s tonight,” he said quickly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,
she’s having one of those Majong things.  I’m not too up on it.” I shrugged. 
“Besides, she’s getting a little territorial,” he added, and blushed.

“How
do you mean?” I asked.

Vito
sighed.  “She came over with an outfit for Stanley.”

“An
outfit?”

“Yeah,
you know.  She bought him doggie vest and bowtie.  She made him wear it.  He
looked like a used car salesman,” he said.

“Yeeshkabiddle,”
I said.

“Times
two,” Vito added.

I
called K..  “Okay, I have good news and bad news; which first?” I asked.

“Oh
no, please do not tell me you are without transportation this afternoon!!” he
cried.

“Well,
yes and no,” I replied.

“Alright,
alright… give me the news.”

So
I told him the bad news was we couldn’t go in the Doo-doo.  Which was actually
the good news, since Vito was loaning the non-doo-doo smelling Towncar complete
with air conditioning.

“Oh,
this is wonderful!” K. bubbled.  “Oh-my-gosh– you better hurry, girlfriend!”

“Huh?”

“You’re
supposed to pick me up in forty-five minutes, dearie!” he said and hung up
briskly.  I looked at the clock and rubbed my butt. Well.

After
arranging an impromptu pet feeding schedule with Vito, I ran upstairs and made
every attempt to look clean, upbeat and in style.  I knew this meant a lot to
K. Because we were going to New York, I made sure I wore all black and was
slightly rumpled, to make sure I’d fit in.

I
picked K. up at his Craftsman home, parking along the very tree lined and very
reputable State Street.  K. literally bounced out of his house as he opened his
front door.  I hadn’t seen him this excited since his favorite big-box store
opened a new branch on Lincoln Highway East.    

K.
had also costumed himself as a Native New Yorker: he wore a white shirt, black
hip-hugging slacks and Ray-Ban sunglasses.  I exited the Towncar and greeted K.
tottering on my 3-inch strappy sandals.  They elevated me to almost 6-feet
tall, which was okay since this was definitely not a date.  If ever a venue
existed for me in which to display ‘forbidden footwear’, this was it.

We
stood together for a moment on the walkway to K.‘s front door.  Together we
resembled the ex-patriated wait staff of ‘Tavern on the Green’.

K.
gasped and sang, “Look at you, NEW YORK!! NE-EEW YORK!!”

I
smiled gratefully and began to totter toward Vito’s Towncar. Already my right
pinky toe had started to protest. I wondered how long it would take for the
rest of me to do the same.

“OMG! 
We have pimped our RIDE!! OMG!” K. squealed in delight.  I hung my head.  “Oh,
it’s alright,” K. soothed.  “Everyone will just think it’s our ride, which is
the same thing!” he bobbled.  I nodded.

K.
leapt into the Towncar swinging a clipboard, directions, maps, bottled water
and a Tony Bennett CD.  Figuring out how to play the CD wasn’t too successful;
I ended up spraying car washing fluid.  But we finally managed and Tony was
crooning just before we picked up Ida Rose.

Ida
Rose lives with her very old and very rich Aunt Gladys in the very huge and
very impressive Watt & Shand mansion on the corner of Marietta and
President Avenues.  That is to say, Ida Rose lives in a servanted mansion, as
well as a genuine historic landmark.  K. and I once visited for a poker game
last winter.  At some point during our poker tea (Ida’s Aunt Gladys does not
serve alcoholic beverages) I went to the powder room and got lost.  By the time
I found my way back, everyone had left.  This was unfortunate as I have not
been invited again by Ida’s Aunt Gladys.  I found out later that Aunt Gladys
thought I had cheated at poker, because I was winning, and my being lost was
interpreted as ‘casing the joint’ thanks to a female detective novel she was
reading at the time.

So
K. and I pulled into the U-shaped turn-around drive to the mansion.  I looked
at K. to get out and ring the bell for Ida.  K. looked at me likewise, then
returned to reading his map. I shut off the ignition and waited.  It got hot. 
K. sighed, folded up his map and hopped out.  I clambered out muttering under
my breath at my toes to stop complaining or I wouldn’t buy them fancy new
attire ever again.