Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (34 page)

I
opened the freezer and pulled out some boxes.  “Frozen pizzas,” I said.

“I
hope they’re not gourmet or anything fancy,” he said and turned on the oven.

We
got the pizzas ready.  I found a beer for Bauser.  He retreated into the living
room; half a minute later the sound of a ball game entered my ears.  I took out
one of the roast beefs and washed and seasoned it, getting it in line after the
pizzas came out.  I washed and peeled and chopped the cucumbers and celery and
carrots and all the other crudités veggies.  The kitchen was alive with garlic
and pizza and fresh veggie smells.  Life was good.

Bauser
found a ‘Doom ‘n’ Gloom’ sci-fi re-run and I went back happily to putting the
roast in the oven and moving on to making canapés and other goodies for the
Freudian Tapas I’d been concocting.  I was almost finished when a knock came
from the door.  I washed my hands and went through the hallway. Bauser peered
out from behind the living room curtains.

“It’s
Vito,” he hissed.  This was unusual.  Why hadn’t he just used his key?  “And
he’s got Helena.”

I
held my breath and opened the door.

“Hey,
Toots, how you doing?” Vito said shyly.

Helena
looked small and red-eyed and
red-nosed and clutched a new box of brand name tissues in her hands.

“Come
on in, Vito,” I said.

Vito
motioned for Helena to enter first, and he followed.  Vinnie sauntered up the
hallway, took one look at Helena and sat pretty and trilled for her.

“Oh,
what a sweet – uh – lion cub,” Helena said and rubbed Vinnie’s head.  Vinnie
grabbed her hand with both paws and showered her with kitty kisses.  Either she
had just trussed a chicken, or Vinnie had Jim’s hankerings for blondes, too. 
The bums.

“We
was just headed out for a bite,” Vito said.  “But I thought we should check in
on you, to make sure yous was okay.”

“Except
for getting canned, we’re great,” Bauser said, looking brightly at Helena.

“Yeah,
I heard about that.  That’s too bad,” Vito said.

“You
heard about that?” I asked.

“Sure.
Trixie called here after you guys left.” Great.  Scooped by both my sister and
my best friend.  Everyone was a step ahead of my life, except for me.  I was
going to have to speak to the author about this.

“Hey,
instead of going out, why don’t you dig into what Mina’s been cooking?” Bauser
asked hopefully, looking at Helena.

Vito
looked at me.  I stared back at him.

“Look,
I’ve got a lot of company here this week.  I got a little nervous,” I said.

“Okay
by me,” Vito said, and wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. 
He let out a long, soft whistle.  Then he looked around at the 5 platters of
cold hors d’oeuvres lining the counters.  He whistled again.  “Mina, you sure
knocked yourself out.  You want we should save this for your Aunt and your Ma?”
he asked.

“No,
go ahead.  I’m planning on making some salmon mousse and liver pate for them in
a few minutes,” I answered.

“Gee,
that’s great.  Come here, Helena. Look at all this!” Helena started to sniff. 
“Now what are you crying about?” Vito cried.  Clearly Helena’s waterworks were
getting to him, too.  Either that or he was running out of tissues.  Which
could happen – and it wouldn’t take very long to happen, either.

“I’m
a terrible cook.  I can’t cook anything,” Helena wailed.

I
rushed over, held up a platter and poked a canapé at her.  “These are not
cooking.  These are canapés.  You don’t cook anything.  You just assemble. 
It’s like a kit,” I said. I held a shrimp and guacamole and roast pepper canapé
at her lips.  Helena dutifully opened her mouth and I shoved it in.  She
chewed.  Then she started crying again.

“I
could never arrange all these flavors together.  They’re won-der-ful…”

Vito
rolled his eyes, walked over to my sink and grabbed a few yards of paper towels
and shoved them at her.  I sighed.  I wish I had invested my 401K in paper
products.

“Sure
you could,” I said.  “It’s just a matter of trial and error.  When you make a
mistake, you just don’t do it again.”

Helena
blinked more tears and chewed. 
“That’s very philosophical.” She chewed some more, then added shyly, “Thanks,
these are really good.”

“No
biggie,” I said.  “It kind of helps me out to cater like this sometimes.”

“How
so?”

“I
like to make food stuff when I’m a little nervous.  After today, I felt a
little, uh, worried about losing my job and all.”

“Oh. 
I’ve never had a job. What’s it like?”

Vito
hung his head.  Helena looked at him.  “Lint,” he lied, pretending to wipe
invisible fluff from his trousers.

“Oh.”

We
all herded into the living room, along with more trays of canapés and several
Mugs O’Merlot. For a while we flipped through the channels, before finally settling
on the local news.

Bauser
turned to Helena and asked, “So, uh, how are you liking Lancaster?”

“It’s
very nice.  Even the police were nice to me,” Helena said and reached for a
paper towel.  Vito ripped one off for her.  “I’m sorry, Uncle Vlad – I didn’t
understand,” she wailed.

Vito
sighed.  “There, there, my moja mała mysz, no harm done…”

“So
I guess you two had a lot to talk about?” I asked carefully.

Helena
nodded.  “Oh yes. Uncle Vlad
told me all about what happened between him and Mickey,” she added.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,
I figured Mickey was fibbing about the traffic tickets and all.  But I didn’t
think it was this thick,” she said.  “You see, what Uncle Vlad didn’t know was
that Mickey was set up.  He didn’t know he was running drugs.  He thought he
was scamming bogus Dooney & Bourke bags.” She blew her nose.  Vito ripped
off another paper towel and held it out to Helena.

“There,
there,” Vito said patting Helena’s head.  “I told Mickey he should stay away
from that crowd, if he knew what I meant.  But he didn’t,” he grunted.  “He thought
he was gonna make big points by acting like a hot shot. And after all that,
alls he was was a mule.”

Helena
nodded.  “Mickey thought he was
just passing off fake Dooneys as real ones, and getting a percentage of the
difference,” she said.

“Percentage?”
Bauser asked.

“Why
sure, they promised him a piece of the action,” she said.

“Yeah,
he got a piece of the action.  Right inside prison,” Vito answered.  Helena responded with a sob.  Vito handed her the last paper towel.  Bauser sighed and got
up and came back with a new roll of paper towels for later.

“He
was going to make this a one time thing.  Ladies’ accessories aren’t really his
schtick.  He just wanted to get some cash under him, to impress my dad.  And
then, he was going to take some classes,” she sniffed.

“Classes?”
Vito asked.

“Real
estate!” Bauser and I exchanged glances.  “Uncle Vlad knew about the New York family’s drug activities, so he figured Mickey was into something bad. But there’s
no talking to Mickey once he gets an idea in his head.  Even when told me he
didn’t understand what a bunch of thugs wanted buying ladies’ purses for top
dollar, at the pier,” she said.

Vito
shook his head.  “Those bums had PixieDust sewed in the lining of every other
bag in a shipment,” he said.

Helena
nodded.  “It’s true.  If Mickey
had any idea it was drugs and not Dooney’s he was dealing, he’d never have
gotten involved. That’s why he wanted me to find Uncle Vlad and explain.  See,
if Uncle Vlad forgives him, Pop will too, and let us get married.” She let loose
another sob.

“But
moja mała mysz, the guy needs a job.  Where would you both live until he
got settled?” Vito asked.

“With
Ma and Pop!” Helena sang out happily.  “After I moved back, Pop had the
basement converted into an apartment.  It’s worked out great.”

Vito
sighed and rubbed his head with his hand – vigorously.  Which turned his
fingers orange.

“Oh,
hey, that’s great,” Bauser lied.  “But what’s Vito going to do?  Now that your
cover’s blown, I mean.”

Good
point.

“Only
if I want it to be blown,” Vito said.  “And from what Helena tells me, even
though Mickey might be getting out sooner than later, those other mugs aren’t. 
I’ll be pushing daisies before I have to worry about them.”

“So
long as you’re not pushing daisies because of them,” Bauser said.

Helena
sniffed.  “I’m sorry, Uncle
Vlad.  I didn’t know.  I thought if Mickey knew where you were, especially with
his being in prison and all, it was common knowledge.”

“It
probably is,” Vito – Vlad – said.  Helena blew her nose.  Vito rolled his eyes.
 “Hey, the worst that happens is I get taken off the protection list.  I don’t
get babysitting visits from Green or Annie no more, and that would be a good
thing, right?  They’re not exactly subtle.” He grimaced.

“So
who would you be?” I asked.

Vito
picked up a cucumber and smoked salmon and sour cream with capers canapé. 
“Everybody around here knows me as Vito.  So I’ll stay Vito.  No point in
changing tradition.”

The
doorbell rang; I got up to answer it.  It was Annie.  “Hi there, Mina. It’s
Annie, Vito’s niece.” I looked over at Vito.

“Hey,
Annie, c’mon in.  I’d like you to meet Helena, my real niece,” he said.

CHAPTER 11

(Wednesday afternoon)

After
a few
awkward
introductions, we got Annie settled down with a mug of wine and her own platter
of canapés.  She sat and sniffled.  Helena held out one of the new box of
tissues that Vito brought back from his house, since my supply was leaning
toward extinct.

“So
you see, if you’re not in the protection program, I’m going to get kicked back
to desk work or worse – filing…” Annie trailed off in tears.  Helena patted her on the shoulder and offered her another tissue.

“Hey,
it’s not your fault, Annie,” Vito reasoned.  “Green told me from the get-go
that it’s my call about staying a protected witness.  If I change my mind, I
don’t get no protection, that’s all.  Now it looks like I’m okay to take my
chances, just like any other Joe.”

“No
you’re not,” Annie said.  “The New York family is mad their kids got busted.”

Vito
shook his head.  “No they’re not.  They’re just saying they are to keep their
kids’ tempers in line.  They’re actually glad I’m the fall guy on this, and not
them,” he said.

“How
do you know that?” Annie asked.

Vito
looked at her and tapped the side of his nose.  “I have it on good authority. 
Believe you me: I’m protected.”

We
each looked at each other and shivered.  I wasn’t so sure about the nature of
Vito’s protection.  But for the time being at least, Vito was convinced it
wouldn’t let him get whacked. Or fed poisoned pierogies.

We
heard a car pull up.  Bauser looked out the window.

“It’s
Ethel and Ike,” he said.

“Is
Ethel crying?” I asked.

“Probably.”

I
opened the front door carefully as Ethel and Ike walked up.  Both Ratties lay
prone and stiff in Ike’s arms.  I gasped.

“Sorry,”
Ethel said, eyes moist.

“Yeah,
it’s not like we planned to do this,” Ike said.

The
Ratties lay still.  “Murderer!” I screamed and slapped Ike upside his head.

“Ouch!”
he yelped.

Hansel
opened his eyes and nipped Gretel’s ear.  Gretel responded by leaping out of Ike’s
arms and chasing Hansel.

“They’re
alive!” I cried.

That
was when everyone kind of looked at me funny.  Hey, Ethel was afraid for the
Ratties because of the whole preggers thing, right?  So it stood to some kind
of reason to think Ike had taken some things into someone else’s hands.  To me,
at least.

Ethel
walked over to me and slapped me up the head sisterly-like.   “Never take a
pregnant hormonal mommy-to-be seriously.” She exchanged a smile with Ike and
the yapping Ratties.  “After we ate at the Canine Cafe, we went to the doggie
park and let Hansel and Gretel run around.  And that’s when, and where, I told
Ikey,” she said happily.  “We had a long, long talk.  And a long, long walk. 
Hansel and Gretel got worn out and fell asleep so soundly in the backseat on
the way home, we didn’t have the heart to wake them up.”

“Yeah,
that’s it,” Ike said, rubbing his head.

“Oh. 
Sorry,” I said.  Ike shrugged.  Ethel gave me a hug.

“If
he’d really done that do you think I would have brought him back with a pulse?”
she asked.  I looked at Ike.  Ike blanched.  Clearly, Ethel was spending way
too much time with Vito.

“What’s
going on, Cookie?” Vito asked.

Ethel
hugged Ike, and he hugged her back.  “We’re going to have a baby,” she
announced.

Helena
sniffed, “Oh, that’s wonderful!
You’re so lucky to be married to the baby’s father.  Especially since he isn’t
in the slammer.” Vito shook his head and gulped his Mug o’Merlot.

“Hey,
what this heres calls for is a celebration.  I got just the ticket,” he said,
and hurried out the door and back to his house.  I saw Bauser and Annie
exchange glances, and watched as they followed Vito.

I
led Ethel over to the sofa so she could sit and cry with Annie and Helena. 
Ethel looked at the platters and smiled.  “I was wondering when you’d start
acting like you again,” she smiled.

“What
do you mean?”

“You
like catering.  You like cooking. That’s a part of you,” she said.

“I
know.  But I can’t get it right for less than a hundred,” I complained.

“So?”

“So
what?”

“Sew
buttons,” she answered.  “Okay, so maybe you have some volume issues.  Big
deal.  Who doesn’t?”

She
got up and gave me a big hug, and I noticed we were a little farther apart then
usual.  We looked down at her belly.  “Well, maybe it was more than four missed
periods,” she said.

“Listen,
Ikey’s kind of mad about that. Preggo vitamins and that kind of thing.  So he
wants us to get back home tomorrow and to the obstetrician pronto,” she said.

“You
have an obstetrician already?” I asked.

“Sure.
Ike was on the phone the moment I told him,” she answered happily.  “We have an
appointment for Friday morning.”

“What
you need is a good nosh,” Helena said.  “C’mon, look here. Look what’s in
Mina’s kitchen.”  She led the way into the kitchen where we all stepped
carefully over Jim and Vinnie, who lay snoozing.

Helena
opened the refrigerator door,
and she and Ethel gazed at the three remaining canapé platters like they’d
found the Holy Grail.  “Oh, you made my favorite!” Ethel squealed and grabbed a
platter from the bottom shelf. “Look, you have to have one of these,” she said,
and handed a fully loaded toothpick to Helena, while munching on one herself. 
“Simple, robust, delightful: a full complement to an adult cocktail with a
reminiscent nod toward childhood play.”

“What’d
ya have?” I asked her.

“Bologna pie.”

I
nodded. “But with a twist,” I explained.  “I used layers of Mort Della, spread
with chived cream cheese mixed with some plain low fat yogurt, and added some
mini capers and olive tapenade.”

“It’s
wonderful, very upscale,” my sister said.  “But actually, I prefer plain old
bologna pie. No offense,” she added, helping herself to another.

Bologna
Pie was the hors d’œuvre of choice Dad’s folks entertained with in the Bronx back in the day, with a full complement of bathtub gin on the side.  Bologna Pie
consists of spreading cream cheese on top of thick slices of baloney, layering
them, and then putting the pie into the icebox to chill.  When company comes,
you cut the pie into small wedges.  When Gramma wanted to be fancy, she served
them with cellophane fringed toothpicks.  Gramma said everyone thought she was
very clever.  As kids, Ethel and I thought so too, although that line of
thought wasn’t about toothpicks.

The
Ratties stumbled in hungrily and inspected Vinnie and Jim’s bowls.  Boopkas. 
They looked up at Ethel and yipped melodramatically.

“I
know-ums you-ums want-ums grown-uppy food,” Ethel said sappily, “but this would
make-ums my Hansel-pudding and Gretel-pie sickey-wickey.”

I
rolled my eyes and wished for a really strong drinky winky.  I was going to be
sickey-wicky with all this goo-goo speak and mug-in-a-box wasn’t going to cut
it.  Then I realized how much worse Ethel and Ike’s baby-speak would get once
Junior stumbled onto the scene.  I cringed.

Helena
spotted Jim’s Whoof-Os on the
counter.  “Can’t they have some of Jim’s cereal?” she asked.

Ethel
read the box and furrowed.  “Well, it’s dog food.  Sort of,” she said, and
poured some out into two soup bowls for Hansel and Gretel.  “Honestly, what’s
the matter with Bauser?  This is about as bad as feeding your kids cheese
doodles for dinner.”  Ethel put the bowls down for the dogs.  They yipped and
twirled thanks, tucked their heads in and crunched happily.  Which woke up Jim
and Vinnie.  So Jim got some more Whoof-Os.  Which was why Vinnie stood up and
pounded his mitts on the top of the kitchen counter bar-keep style.  Ethel and
Helena stopped and stared at Vinnie.

“Yeesh,
he really is a big cat,” Ethel said.

“Actually,
I think he’s kind of small for a cougar,” Helena answered.

I
sighed and gave Vinnie some more Kitty Cookies, after Ethel insisted on vetting
the ingredients on his bag, too.

The
front door opened and Vito and Annie and Bauser shuffled in.  Vito held a large
tray of grown-up looking glasses and a pitcher of something that might have
been Amish Cosmos, because of the leaves and twigs and stuff in it. My
grown-uppy drink prayer might have been answered – sort of – after all.

As
soon as Vito put his tray down, the doorbell rang.  I opened the front door to
find Ma and Aunt Mu.  They did not look happy.  They stood there clutching
bottles of Grey Goose and Absolut.  Huh.  Maybe God gets a little delayed with
His responses.  But it was starting to look like he was making up for lost
time.

“Well,
you’re not the only one who’s been severely disappointed today,” Aunt Muriel
sighed as she entered the hallway.

Ma
shrugged.  “That jerk wouldn’t know a White Burgundy from a Beaujolais,” she
said.

“I
guess you didn’t get into Grazings?” I asked simply.

“Oh,
we got in alright.  We got to pay the $75 prefix, got shuffled to the back,
then finally got approval from Chef Obnoxious to sit at the bar,” Ma said, with
a big emphasis on the ‘aw’ in bar.

“We
were all settled in, talking cheerfully with everyone around us,” Auntie said.

“We
were even nice to the people behind us, even though they weren’t nice to us
when we were behind them,” Ma said, as she rummaged around my freezer for some
ice cubes.

“Suddenly,
just as we were served our ‘Primo’ tasting of spam stuffed mushrooms, the
bartender complained to Chef about us!” Auntie finished.

 “Spam?”
I asked.

“It’s
very ‘in’ now,” Aunt Muriel said.  Ma shrugged.

“Chef
served Medallions of Salmon ala Stroganoff, which he felt should only be
accompanied with a Pinot Noir,” Auntie explained.

“And
we did bring a Pinot Noir.  But a white one,” she said.  “Well, for heaven’s
sake, it was in a blue bottle,” she continued.  “Anyone with any sense knows
red wine never comes in a blue bottle.” She sniffed.  Helena and Ethel held
some tissues out for her.  Auntie took them and blew.

Ma
rubbed at the crick in her neck.  “What a complete waste of a perfectly good
massage,” she muttered.

“How’d
you like the salon?” I asked, noticing my godmom’s new doo.

“Do
you like my new haircut?” Auntie asked.  I nodded.

“Oh,
it was very posh!” Ma sighed.

“Did
you get a complimentary beverage?”

“Oh,
yes.  Tina phoned ahead for us.  They gave us very nice Manginis.”

“Manginis?”
I asked.

“Yes. 
It’s new.  It’s like a Balini but with mango juice, rum and champagne,” Ma
explained.  She rubbed at her neck some more.  “If I’d known I was going to get
that aggravated, I would have asked Mu to schedule James for tomorrow.  What a
bunch of fluff.” She winced.

“I’ve
never felt so humiliated,” Aunt Muriel added.

Wait,
I thought.  You’re in my house.  And the night is young.

“Well
here’s a little something for what ails you, Muriel,” Vito said shyly, holding
out a martini glass with foamy pink liquid in it.  Aunt Muriel sighed, said
thank you and looked grateful.

Vito
nodded and handed out glasses to everyone – except for Ethel, who got sparkling
cider.  We toasted.  We sipped.  Then we all stared at our drinks.

“Uh,
what are we drinking, Vito?” I asked.

 “My
own invention!” Vito grinned.  “I mixed some Galliano, frozen strawberry
daiquiri mix, tequila, orange juice, Chambord and banana schnapps.  And then I
added some prune juice for oomph!” he said.

Great,
I thought.  Somewhere behind the rainbows of the Pink Squirrel and the Rusty
Nail, Vito had slipped us Rusty Squirrels.  Vito smiled, and together he and
Bauser shuffled off into the living room to offer the other victims their own
colon cleansing cocktails.  As soon as they were out of sight, Ma and Mu and I
quietly poured our drinks down the sink.  I got out the cranberry juice and a lime
and Muriel and Ma mixed it all up pronto with their own vodkas.  Aunt Muriel
genuflected and added several drops of my left-over coffee to each glass, so
our drinks would sort of match the color of the poison ones Vito made.  No one
was the wiser.

We
shuffled into the living room with a new platter of canapés from the fridge. 
“Well I’m glad you had some company tonight, especially after today,” Aunt
Muriel said, looking around at the usual crowd.

Vito
waved her off.  “This here’s not company. It’s all family.  By the way, this
here is my real niece, Helena.  And you remember my fake niece, Annie, right?”
Vito asked.