Off the Menu (23 page)

“Thanks, guys, that means a lot. Especially since he is coming to Shabbat next week. I’m glad you’re getting a chance to meet him now, so he’ll have a few friendly faces.”

“Whose faces are friendly?” Jenny asks, sidling up to us, a little plate filled with food. Sasha immediately starts picking at the treats she has fetched. Sara is with her, carrying four glasses of champagne like a pro. I help her distribute them to the crowd.

“Hopefully all of yours, next week at Shabbat. If this is running the gauntlet, next week is the running of the bulls. I just want RJ to be comfortable.”

“Look at him,” Sara says, sipping her drink thoughtfully, and waving away Jenny’s proffered plate. “He looks entirely at home.”

Just at that moment RJ looks over and smiles and raises his eyebrow at us.

“He looks happy,” Jenny says around a mouthful of prosciutto and fig. “And so do you.”

“I am.”

I kiss them all and flit away again, checking in on Bob and Gloria, who have no idea where Patrick could be, since he told them he would see them here. Gloria asks for the recipe for my salad dressing, and suggests that we talk to Patrick about doing a cocktail party episode. I wander over to check in on RJ, but the girls have him surrounded.

“Are you all behaving yourselves?”

“They are sharing some interesting stories with me,” RJ says with a grin.

“Oh, no, you guys
promised
.” High school stories, the worst.

“Hey, we promised not to bring PICTURES. And we didn’t,” Mina says.

“Yeah, never said anything about sharing stories,” Emily adds.

“You’re going to have to just leave us alone with him and
let the education continue.” Lacey waves her hand at me like I’m some annoying fly.

“Do you need anything?” I ask him.

“Not a thing, sweetheart. All is well.” I lean over and kiss him, and all three of the girls sigh loudly.

“Aw, shuddup. I’m allowed to kiss my boyfriend if I want.”

Silence drops over them as if a record has been scratched. And then they all start saying “boyyyfriend,” dripping with sappiness and innuendo. RJ puts his arm around me, and whispers in my ear. “I like the sound of that, girlfriend.”

I wink at him and give him another kiss, and wander over to where Bennie and Barry are hanging out.

“He. Is. Dreamy.” Barry sighs. “Do they make that model in gay?”

“He really is lovely, Alana,” Bennie says. “You have not exaggerated in the least. And I frankly
love
the way he watches you when you can’t see him. He has been hanging out with all your pals, but he knows at every moment exactly where you are.”

“I’m a lucky girl.”

And I am.

So very lucky.

Right up until the moment the phone rings.

“Come get me.” Patrick sounds weird, and it is very noisy wherever he is.

“What? I can’t come get you; I’m hosting a party for chrissakes. Take a cab, you big baby.”

“Alana, listen closely. I’m at Larrabee and Division. And I’m not at the firehouse.”

The only other thing at that location is a police station.

“Shit, Patrick. Have they booked you?”

“Not yet, but if you don’t come here and help, they will for sure.”

That fucking insane crapmonkey. I don’t know what he has done, or to whom, and frankly I don’t care. But I can’t leave him swinging in the wind. “I’m on my way.”

I pull RJ and Bennie aside and explain a bit. They offer to hold down the fort. I go to my secret cash stash under my bed and grab all five grand, hoping that I don’t need it, but feeling better to have it with me. Then I think about going to a police station, and tuck it in my bra. Gotta be at least one benefit to schlepping around a pair of 38 DDDs—I can stash a country ham in here if I need to. I go to the freezer and take out a couple of the quick breads I was working on this week, a zucchini-walnut, and a carrot-apple, figuring that if he hasn’t been booked, maybe I can make nice.

I whiz around the party claiming that the alarm has gone off at the studio and I’m on call, grateful that Bob and Gloria have already left and aren’t there for the lie, and say I’ll be back soon. RJ offers to come with me, but I don’t want to drag him into this.

I fly down the expressway with anger seeping out of my pores. Why? Why tonight? I just don’t understand him.

When I get to the station, I ask for the arresting officer of the stupid television asshole, and am met with a laugh, and a uniformed officer escorts me to a back room. Patrick is sitting in a chair next to a metal desk, looking ragged. There is a small bruise coming up under his left eye, and his hair is a mess.

“Hey,” he says when he sees me.

“Hey yourself. What the fuck happened? Why are you here?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Bullet point it for me.”

“I went home after work to change. I had a beer. I started to come over. I was sitting at a stoplight, and some prick in a BMW rear-ends me, then pulls around me and takes off, hit-and-run. So I take off after him. I chase him for a minute and then he goes to make that turn at Clybourn, and the Hummer and I don’t corner so well, so I run up the curb and into the light pole. Where I discover that an officer has been following us. I really didn’t hear the siren, I had the radio up loud. And instead of going after the schmuck who ran into me, he stopped, and decided to bring me in on suspicion of DUI, and reckless driving and who knows what else.”

“Hi, you must be Alana,” a voice behind me says. I turn around and see a short bulldog of a man, head shaved, three-day stubble, neck like an iceberg.

“I am. Has he been a terrible pain?” I’m dressed up, as cute as I get, and I’m not above using cleavage if it helps get Patrick out of a jam.

“Well, let’s see. He left the scene of an accident, embarked on a dangerous high-speed chase through Lincoln Park, took down a light pole, and insulted an officer who was trying to help him. When we finally got him trying to explain his behavior, the officer smelled beer on his breath, which obviously complicates the matter again.”

Good lord. We’re in trouble. “Officer …”

“Detective. But you can call me Ryan.”

“Detective Ryan …”

“Just Ryan.”

“Okay, Ryan, are you going to book him? Not that I would blame you, it sounds like he has been a complete idiot, which isn’t unusual as you can imagine, and I would know, I work
with him all the time. But I will say that as big a putz as he is, he isn’t a liar. So when he tells me that he had one beer, I believe him and I’m sure he blew under the limit.” I’m pulling out every bit of everything I’ve ever learned from endless watching of police procedurals.

“We haven’t decided whether to book him yet.”

“Okay, good. So, I know the traffic camera at the intersection where he was hit will confirm that the other guy started it, not that it is an excuse, but even a public defender will claim that he was just trying to chase down the other guy so that he didn’t cause more damage. And you know who he is, you know he can afford a big-time attorney, who’s going to put on a show in court and make it seem like he is second only to Superman in protecting the public interest with no regard for his own safety, and that he had every intention of making a spectacular citizen’s arrest. The media will eat the whole thing up, and trust me, the CPD won’t come off as the good guys. So since you haven’t booked him, and he isn’t in the system yet, let me propose this. Leaving the scene of an accident is a misdemeanor. Even if you proved guilt, what could he get? A fine? Maybe a year probation if some judge wanted to make an example of him?”

Patrick starts to say something, and I put my hand up and give him a look that says he had better just stay the hell quiet. His open mouth snaps shut. I keep going. “And while both Patrick and I understand that there was the possibility of other people getting hurt, luckily for us all, that wasn’t the case. How about this? You fill out the relevant paperwork and put it in your desk, including a complete statement from Patrick that he will sign, but don’t enter it in the computer. Patrick is going to apologize to you, and to the other officer. Sincerely. And tomorrow he is going to call the media
liaison for the police department, and offer his services for a pro-CPD campaign. For the next year, Patrick is your PR bitch. Want someone to film a video for you to use in schools explaining how important it is to work with the police? Part of that ‘See something, tell something’ thing you have going on? We’ll film it in our studio. Need a place to hold a fund-raiser? Just pick any of his restaurants and he’ll donate the space and the food. Need a stack of autographed cookbooks to give to everyone’s wife in the precinct when there’s been too much overtime? Done. I promise, if you don’t get a call from your people tomorrow thanking you for being the genius who convinced a local celeb to get involved, you have my permission to file the paperwork and I personally will testify for the prosecution.”

Detective Ryan looks at me, and then at Patrick. “You his girlfriend?”

“I’m his assistant. I’m way too smart and have too much taste and self-esteem to be his girlfriend.”

“Good girl. What does he do to have a girl like you this much on his side?”

“He pays me enough that I can support myself and still have enough left to give money to my folks.”

“But you are somebody’s girlfriend.”

I smile. “Yes, yes I am. And he is at my house right now hosting the party that was going on when this idiot decided to play city vigilante. My best friend is in from New York, and all my friends are at my place hanging with her and meeting my boyfriend, and I would dearly love to get back to them.”

“Pity. If he ever lets you down, this boyfriend, I hope you’ll call me.” I’m getting a lot of that tonight. He hands me his card, and I wink at him. “Okay,” he faces us both. “I like your
deal. And you’re right. He blew under the limit, so no DUI. And yes, I saw the damage to the back of his car, so I believe he was rear-ended. And you’re doubly right; we’ll get far more mileage out of using his fame to our advantage than going ahead with bringing charges. So, Mr. Andretti. We’re going to do some paperwork and you’re going to write and sign a complete statement, and once I’m satisfied, I’m going to lose that paperwork in my desk for exactly twenty-four hours. I’m going to release you into the custody of this lovely young lady, and she is going to ensure that I get a call about your new job as public spokesperson for the department, or I am going to file that paperwork and do everything in my power to see that they throw the book at you. And if you ever do anything this stupid again, I’m going to personally see that you regret it. Deal?”

Patrick looks up, contrite as a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Deal. Thank you, Detective, and I’m really sorry about the profanity. I was very upset.”

“You swear like a ten-year-old girl. It didn’t exactly make me blush.”

“Thank you, Ryan. Really. Do you like zucchini bread? Or carrot?” I pull the loaves out of my purse and proffer them.

“I’ll put them out in the break room, thanks; the team will really appreciate that.” He hands Patrick a legal pad and a pen. “Write what happened, exactly, all of it, and sign and date it. I’ll do the rest of the paperwork and see if we can get you out of here. Alana, would you like a coffee or a pop or something?”

“Water?”

“I’ll bring you a bottle.”

“Thanks so much.”

“Hey, how about me?” Patrick looks up.

“Don’t push it,” Ryan says, and walks away.

“What a tool,” Patrick says when the detective is out of earshot.

“Don’t. Don’t you speak to me right now. Just write your damned statement and do not say ONE WORD to me. I am so mad at you I could just spit. So don’t be cute, don’t try to play this off, just write the fucking statement and make it good so we can get the hell out of here. I’m going to call RJ and let him know what is going on, and see how the party is doing.”

I leave him there, and run into Ryan in the hall. He hands me a bottle of water and points me to a side room where I can make some calls in peace.

I call RJ’s phone, no answer. Ditto, Bennie. Finally I just call my house phone, and Bennie answers. “Alana’s love castle.”

“Hey there.”

“Hey, what’s going on?”

“Patrick isn’t arrested, but there is still some paperwork to do. And then I have to take him home. I’m at least an hour out, probably closer to an hour and a half. How is everything there?”

“Great, actually. Maria did come after all, so she has RJ cornered, getting his complete life story. Your brothers left right after you did to take their wives to dinner and your sister and Jeff stopped by for a little while, but they just left as well. Denise and her charming John just got here a little while ago; she says to tell you that you did a perfect job with her cheese dip, and he brought a plate of the best bruschetta I’ve ever tasted. There will not be leftovers for you, I’m afraid; these locusts have decimated it already. And Barry and the
girls are still here, but they are starting to talk about heading out, since it is a school night.”

“How is RJ doing? I feel like such an ass for leaving.”

“Don’t. He’s worried about you, but I think you could set him on fire and he would find it charming. He really loves you. And I think he feels really good that you were willing to leave him here with all of us. Like a mark of trust. Want to talk to him?”

“Please. And Ben, I’m so sorry your party got ruined.”

“It only got ruined for you, honey, the rest of us are having a helluva time. Pity you’re missing it. Hold on, I’ll get RJ.”

“Hey, baby, is everything okay?”

“It will be. He isn’t arrested, so that is good.”

“Why do I get the sense he isn’t arrested because you are there?”

“Because you are a very smart man. I am so so sorry for abandoning you. I feel like a complete ass.”

“You are a good friend and colleague, and all you’ve done is be the miraculous woman you are. As for abandoning me, you left me in your lovely home, with loads of good food and good drink and really fun people, all of whom have been very nice to me and fun to be with. I’m having a great time in spite of missing you.”