Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 02 - Christmas Bizarre (9 page)

“Nope.”

“That’s too bad.
Who’re you screening?”

“Bill collectors.”

“Yikes!”

“Wazzup?”

“Mike’s taking me to dinner at that cute new place by the movies. He was thinking of inviting his co-worker. Do you want to come along?”

“You’re setting me up on a date?”

“That was the general idea.”

“Sorry.
More work plans.”

“Oh for crissakes, you’re not being Santa’s Sidekick
at night, are you? Those little monsters will bust your kneecaps.”

“
Agreed. Happy to report it’s not that. I picked up an extra shift for a dinner party.”

“Oh
. Well at least it’s the kind of part-time job you like. Even if it is at night.”

“Thanks. Sorry.”

“No biggie. Actually, I was kind of hoping to not double-date tonight. Mike’s schedule has been at polar opposites with mine for weeks.”

“You have a schedule?”

“Ha, ha.”

I heard Trixie exhale.
“Hey, you’re not smoking again, are you?”

A cacophony of coughing responded across the wire.
“Whoops! Sorry, gotta go. Catch you later.”

Trixie had quit smoking.
Several times. I had a suspicion Mike was behind it, which bore the hallmarks of a serious relationship. Trixie and Mike. Vito and Miriam. Gosh.

Well, at least I have Vinnie and Marie.

I checked the time and realized I’d better get moving and changed into service wear. Which meant I didn’t have to worry about Vinnie attacking my costume – he was cool with the orange crocs.

I dressed and hustled downstairs, and held up two cans of Finicky Fare to him.
He stared at me, and pointedly meowed at the kitchen clock: it was only a quarter past four.

“I know, I know.
But I have to leave in fifteen minutes. Do you want to eat now, or at ten o’clock?”

Vinnie muttered something about being ill considered, comparing himself with some fluffy faced cat he’d seen in a television commercial, who at least had staff
, and wasn’t he clearly the more intelligent, given his recently demonstrated financial prowess?

“Of course you’re smarter than that brat cat.
But I gotta go. What’ll ya have?”

He turned his back to me and knocked one can from the counter onto the floor with his tail.

“Beefy Bottoms it is.”

He settled down to eat, while I pulled on my jacket. “Now be good, and no shenanigans, okay?”

He looked at me,
winked, and returned to his feast.

I slalomed across town toward my last job for the day.
I headed up 741 toward Route 30, realizing I’d better mail my bills – pronto – before tomorrow. Luckily, 741 crosses Harrisburg Pike, where the main post office has late hours. I pulled in, tossed the bills in the mailbox, and wished for nano-second delivery to avoid any further late notice nasties.

By the time I reached Squirrel Run Acres, Chef was almost finished loading the van.
Crap.

“Do you need any help?” I asked.

“There are two hotel pans on the counter; can you get them?”

I nodded and hurried away, while Chef re-arranged the cambros.

I spotted Hector in the kitchen on my way out with the pans.

“Still here? You late! Hurry!”

“Okay! Sorry!”

Hector waved me off and walked away shaking his head, muttering something about vans and lost advertising opportunities.
I ignored the leap in logic and hustled out the door.

“Here you go!”

Chef responded by whacking his head on the van’s roof.

“Oh-my-gosh
! Are you all-right?” I put the hotel pans down on the floor of the van and rubbed his forehead without thinking.

Chef looked at me funny.
Well, who wouldn’t when someone starts feeling up your forehead?

I quickly shoved my hands in my pockets.
“Right! Sorry! Hey, isn’t there ice in one of the cambros?”

“It’s okay.
It just sounded bad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” He took the hotel pans, and stacked them along with the others. “You ready?”

“Sure.
Just give me a minute to start the van. Do you have the address, in case I lose you?”

He shook his head.
“You get to ride gun. The dinner’s in Ephrata.”

“Oh, okay thanks.
You sure?”

Chef nodded toward the Doo-doo.
“I want to make sure you get there, in case your radio loses its signal.”

Ha, ha.

I went to hop in, and noticed some snow still on the van’s roof. I grabbed some and bunched it into a ball. “Here.”

He looked at me funny.

“For your forehead – you don’t want to have a lump, do you?”

“I don’t need a stupid snowball.”

“It’s not a snowball. It’s an ice pack. Here.”

“I don’t need it.”
He rubbed his head.

“Oh for Pete’s sakes!” I held the snow lump to his forehead, while it melted down my arm.
“Could you please hold this on your own forehead?” I shook my arm free of water.

He held the snow lump, and looked at me.
“Thanks. It actually does feel better.”

“See?”

“I’m beginning to.” He gave me a sidelong smile, and started the van, and off we went.

The trip from Squirrel Run Acres to Ephrata was about half an hour.
Which was good – it gave us time for Chef to fill me in on the party set-up, menu and details.

We pulled into a reserved parking space on Main Street, in front of a humungous Victorian that had long ago been converted into offices.
Now it appeared to house a financial consultant, a tax attorney and a coffee shop.

“Wow, this must have been something back in the day,” I mused.

“You like old buildings?”

“Almost bought one downtown.”

“Really? Ever been to Cape May?”

“It’s my favorite place!”

We finished our chatter just as we reached the front door. Chef rang the bell. “I need to find out where they want us to unload, and see if they have a kitchen entrance.”

I nodded.
Funny - I had Chef pegged for a chrome and steel guy. Victorian Cape May – who knew?

A matronly middle-aged
faux blonde, wearing lots of velvety sparkle and earring bling answered the door. We were quickly given directions to a side entrance.

I picked up a couple of
half hotel pans. Chef carried in four whole ones.

He set them down with a thump on the counter.
“Look, you set these up. I’ll get the rest.”

“I can help you carry the rest.”
I turned around and he was gone.

Well.
I commenced with my non-marching orders.

We quickly had things heating and warming, and soon set
out a buffet in a room that served as a conference room, but must have once been a showcase dining room.

The guests arrived
and everyone was fed hors d’oeuvres and cocktails. Before long, we met Tipsy Town Gal.

“Tell you what I’m gonna do,” she slurred at a poor newbie accountant type.
“I’m gonna fix you up with my sister.”

The object of her affliction gave rapid glances toward another man leaning in the doorway, smiling and shaking his head.

“My kid sister’s great! You’re gonna love her!”

The man glanced back at doorway man, who was determined to hide his laughter behind some fake coughing. A woman’s face appeared next to him.

“Julie! There you are! Hey, can you help me find some coffee?”

“Coffee? This is a party.”

The woman smiled and escorted Julie back toward the party.
“Precisely.”

The accountant fled to the man in the doorway.

“Really! You could have said something!”

“Oh no, not me.
Come on, let’s find you a beverage.”

“Please!”

I was just finished replenishing platters when the coffee gal came back in, picking up a buffet plate. A chorus of laughter came from the other room.

“Great party,” I said.

She looked at me. “Hey, I know you!”

I looked blank.

She snapped her fingers. “The elevator - the old Armstrong building on Chestnut?”

The light went on.
“Of course! I guess you got a new job?”

She nodded.
“Almost a year now.”

“That’s great.”

She shrugged. “It’s great until the Holiday party.”

“It seems like a nice party.”

“It is - until they get to the Kringle game.”

“Oh, you mean where everyone trades presents
and you all open them at the end?”

“Kind of.
But with this company, we open the presents first - then we trade them.”

“You mean, if you bought something you thought was nice, it gets traded?”

She nodded. “Traded up.”

“Are they all white elephant gifts? Like gag gifts?”

She shook her head. “No, that’s what makes it awful. And we all have to spend at least fifty bucks, too.”

Yikes.
Talk about insult to financial injury.

Julie came back in, looking for my elevator buddy.
“C’mon - you’re going to miss it! Hal got your espresso maker - he’s going to Kringle it!”

“Can’t wait.”
She followed in Julie’s wake, rolling her eyes back at me.

Of course, I sympathized.
And once again, was glad my EEJIT days were in the rearview mirror.

Chef stared at me from the doorway.
I quickly busied myself by cleaning and replenishing the repast.

Later, we deconstructed the party and cleaned up.

“You were a lot of help tonight, Mina.
How’d you like off premise work?”

“It was fun.
And it was a lot of work. It’s funny being in someone else’s kitchen, and not knowing where things are.”

Chef nodded.
“That’s why we always carry some back up.”

“You mean more food?”
Maybe my catering crazies were a requirement, after all.

He smiled.
“No, I mean you always take some extra linens, serving utensils, sterno - things to serve with.”

“Gotcha.”

“Who was that gal you were talking to in the dining room? An old office buddy?”

“Elevator buddy.”

“Maybe she has a job lead for you?”

I sighed.
“I hadn’t thought about that. But probably because I’m thinking I don’t want to go back to office work again.”

“Really?”

Soon we were headed back down Main Street, toward Route 30. We waited for a traffic light.

“Hey, before I forget, here you go.”
Chef handed me eighty dollars - cash.

“What for?”

“Your share of the tip from tonight.”

“Oh wow - thanks! Maybe I can watch TV next month, after all!”

Chef looked at me. I turned red. The light turned green. The beeping car behind us confirmed that fact.

Chef turned on the radio.
Some vintage jazz played softly.

“You like jazz?”

“I like anything that doesn’t sound like a hymn.”

He laughed.
“The Doo-doo’s selections are getting pretty old, huh? Well, at least Christmas carols aren’t so bad.”

“Bah
, humbug.”

Back in the parking lot of Squirrel Run Acres, we
hurried to get the van unloaded in the cold. What trays and platters we couldn’t wash right away, we set to soak.

“You need help washing these tomorrow morning?” I asked.

“Would you mind?”

I shook my head.
“I don’t have anything else planned.”

“No Side Kick action?”

I explained about the power outage.

“That’s tough.”

“Yes and no. My shins could use a break. And, I had to have my Sparkle dry cleaned.”

“Sparkle?”

“It’s complicated.” I stifled a yawn as I put the last pan in the sink to soak. I turned around and found Chef beside me, his arm resting casually on the shelf above my shoulder. He stood close enough to embrace me. Heck, he was close enough to smell his breath mints. He held my gaze for a moment. My feet tingled. I stomped them.

He
looked back at the clock. “Okay. Fill me in tomorrow morning. Nine okay?”