Off the Menu (24 page)

“You are amazing. Any other guy would be pissed, or would have gone home.”

“Well, whoever that other guy is, I hope I’m pulling solidly ahead in the running.” He loves to tease me about my “other boyfriends,” and I always play coy.

“You are leaving him in the dust.”

“I liked being introduced as your boyfriend.”

“Oh, you noticed that, huh?”

“I did. And even though I have always thought it was a ridiculous word, and I’m almost fifty, it sounds a little strange, but I like the sentiment very much.”

“I liked saying it. I hope I’ll be back in an hour or so, maybe a teensy bit longer, and I know it is a school night, so don’t feel like you have to stay.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving here till I know you are home safe.”

“In that case, feel free to plan on staying over if you like.”

“That I like very much. Get home as soon as you can, my darling girl.”

“I will.”

It takes another hour to get everything settled at the station. I drive Patrick home in uncomfortable silence. When we pull up to his building, he turns to me. “I’m really sorry, Alana. I didn’t mean to ruin your party, I really didn’t. And I really did want to meet your fella. I know I’m a shithead sometimes, but it isn’t intentional. And I really, really,
really
appreciate what you did for me tonight.”

Sigh. I’m officially too tired to stay angry. “Patrick, you’re nearly forty-two years old. You can’t behave like a lightly damaged teenager forever. Trust me; your life will actually be more pleasant if you would just grow up a little bit.”

“Yeah, I know, you’re probably right. See you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

“Okay, then. Thank you, Alana. I really am very, very grateful.”

“No problem. And Patrick? Not one complaint about anything the police ask of you for the next year. No whining, no trying to weasel out of anything. You will be gracious and warm and you will do every single thing they ask of you with a smile on your face, is that clear?”

“Yes, Mama Bear.”

“I sent an e-mail to your PR team telling them about your new commitment to the Chicago Police as a personal cause, and let them know that they should be in contact with the media person there ASAP.”

“Great, thanks. I promise, I’ll follow up tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you will, in front of me.”

“Good night, Alana. See you in the morning.”

“Good night, Patrick. And I’m glad you’re not hurt. Please don’t be so reckless with your driving; you’re no good to me dead.”

He laughs. “You’re my sole beneficiary, Alana; I’m worth much more to you dead than alive.” He gets out of the car and heads into his building.

I’m going to just presume that he was kidding. Especially because on a day like today, that little extra incentive might actually turn me into a
Law & Order
episode in the making.

By the time I get home it is nearly midnight, and everything is quiet. I open my door and walk inside. My house is pristine. I would never have known anything had happened here tonight. The furniture is back where it belongs, the kitchen and dining room spotless. I wander into the living room and see a sight that melts my heart. RJ is lying full-out on the couch, Dumpling splayed on his chest, both of them snoring deeply, in something that sounds almost like harmony. I walk over and kneel beside the couch, placing a hand on Dumpling’s head, and kissing RJ’s lips.

“Mmmm. You’re back.” He squints his eyes at me, and then smiles.

“Yes I am. And some magical fairies appear to have come to my house.”

“Bennie and Maria helped me figure out where everything went. We just thought that you deserved to come home to a clean place.”

“Maria? MARIA cleaned?”

“Well, sure, she helped. She helped pack up food, and then I washed and Maria dried and Bennie put stuff away.”

“Maria doesn’t clean. EVER. For anyone. You must have charmed her to bits.”

“Well, I did try.”

“And you appear to have charmed someone else here.” I look down at Dumpling, who is semi-awake, and receiving rubs from both of us.

“Him is a good boy. We had a walk, we had some treats, Maria and Bennie gave him some snuggles, and then he and I had a good heart-to-heart talk. He peed on everything on the planet, but no poop. I figure you’re supposed to know such things.”

“Weird, he usually does have a nighttime dump. Probably just all discombobulated with the party and stuff. Speaking of which, should we go to bed?”

“Yes, please.” I slide Dumpling off RJ’s lap and onto the couch. Then I take his hand and we go to the bedroom, where I close the door.

We are kissing and undressing each other when suddenly RJ says, “Hey, I knew I won the lottery when I found you, but now there are cash prizes!”

Oops. Totally forgot about the five grand in my bra.

“Sorry, forgot that was there.”

“Bail money in the bra. Classic.” He laughs and hands the money over to me. I put it back in its hidey-hole, not even thinking twice about RJ watching, and turn back to him.

“Now, where were we?”

A while later, cuddled close in the dark, I tell RJ everything that happened, while he strokes my hair.

“What on earth would he do without you?”

“I have no idea.”

“But you love it?”

I have to think about that for a minute. “I love a lot about it. Do I love that he calls me in the middle of my life and drags me into some insanity? No. But the normal parts of my job are pretty fantastic. And the money is very compelling.”

“What if the money weren’t an issue?”

“Money is always an issue. I’ve got a mortgage here, a mortgage on the Wisconsin house. And I give my folks money every month.”

“Wow, how much do they need help from you?”

“Well, their house is paid off, but there are still taxes and upkeep. My dad’s pension covers the basics, and they are both on Medicare. But they have eight grandchildren with birthdays and Chanukah and graduations. And they try to go somewhere warm for at least a couple of weeks in the winter. I bought them their car, and I pay the insurance on that. And when something goes wrong in the house, I send someone over and cover the bill. My brother Alexei manages their money, their savings and such, so I just give him a small check every month and he deposits it into their account. They don’t know how much I give them; they think it is just interest and stuff. And anytime they need to take money out for something, they ask Alexei if they can afford it and he says yes, and if it taps into principle, I just write a check.”

“Alana, that is so extraordinary. Why don’t you want them to know?”

“They’d never take it. They’re too proud.”

“And your siblings, do they all participate?”

“No, they can’t. They all have decent jobs, but not insane income. And they also have all those kids with their lessons and clubs and new shoes every minute and college to save for and their own mortgages and stuff. Lucky for me, Dumpling doesn’t need much.”

RJ squeezes me tight. “You’re just magical.”

“Well, you’re awful nice to come home to.”

“Well, you feel like coming home to me.”

I roll over and we kiss. “You feel a lot like coming home too.”

And finally, after what feels like a forty-seven-hour day, there is sweet, sweet sleep.

W
hen I get up, RJ is gone. I was so dead to the world; I hadn’t even felt him leave. There is a little note on the kitchen counter.

I jump in the shower and throw on my work clothes. I grab my coat and bag. “C’mon, Dumpling, time to go to Best Friends.” In the car, I call RJ.

“You are quiet as a mouse; I didn’t hear you leave at all.”

“Well, I didn’t want to disturb you; you had such a rough night.”

“Thank you, sweetie, that is so wonderful. And I’m so glad that you had some bonding time with Dumpling, I think you guys have turned a corner. It was so nice to come home to see my two boys napping together.”

“Yeah, about that, we might not be completely around the corner quite yet.”

“Oh no, what did he do now?”

“Remember how weird it was that he didn’t poop last night the way he usually does?”

Uh-oh. “Where?”

“My shoes.”

“He pooped on your shoes?”

“He pooped
in
my shoes.”

“
In
your shoe?”

“Shoes plural.”

“BOTH of them?”

“Yeah, it was actually pretty impressive. Two little curls perfectly placed right in the center of the opening in both shoes. Pretty fancy shooting, Sheriff.”

“Please tell me you noticed before you put your feet in there …”

“I did indeed. And he must have done it early enough that by the time I discovered it, it had dried out a bit and I could just shake the poop out. They’re going to need a little disinfecting and deodorizing though.”

“I will buy you new shoes.”

“No need. It was pretty funny actually. And the stories are getting me good mileage with my clients. A lot of them are dog people, and they have come to love a good Dumpling story.”

“You have the patience of a saint.”

“Nope, just have the sense to know when I have a great thing.”

“Thank you, honey. I’m pulling into the doggie day care now. I’ll call you later?”

“I certainly hope so.”

I turn to look at Dumpling, sitting on the seat beside me. “Seriously? IN his shoes? BOTH OF THEM????” Dumpling smiles at me, and I can’t help it, I start to laugh.

I
check and double check my mise en place. It’s been a long time since I’ve been through something so basic, and I’ve never cooked with teenagers before. Luckily the demo kitchen here at the Cooking and Hospitality Institute is well-equipped, and today is going to be mostly about getting to know one another a bit. Maria has arranged for a van to pick the students up at their high school, and then take them all home after class. They arrive precisely on time.

I ask them all to take their seats, which I have assigned by placing a small paper tent at each of their places, names facing out so I don’t mix them up. They file in, looking as nervous as I feel.

“Welcome. My name is Alana Ostermann. I am going to be one of your teachers this semester. In the kitchen, the title
Chef
is a mark of respect, and acknowledgment. I know that respect is important to all of us, so in this class we are all Chef. You will call me Chef or Chef Alana, and I will call you Chef in return. Today we are going to get to know one another a little bit, and introduce you to your equipment kits, and then do a little work. How does that sound?”

“Good,” they all say in semi-unison.

“You can do better, please say, ‘Good, Chef.’”

“Good, Chef.” A little stronger, a little sassier this time.

“Excellent. Now I want to know a little something about
you. So please introduce yourself with your name, and what you think about cooking, and what you hope to do with the experience you are going to get here. Let’s start with you.” I point at the slight young man on the far left.

He is short, wiry, with slicked-back black hair and thin fuzz on his upper lip. He looks down at the table as he speaks. “My name is Renaldo. I’m the oldest of nine kids, and both my parents work two jobs, so I’m always cooking for my little brothers and sisters and I really like it most of the time. I have dyslexia, but we didn’t know till last year, so my grades aren’t good. But I never really thought of college anyway. My dad can bring me into his business, but I like cooking. So I thought this would be another thing to do.”

“Thank you Chef Renaldo. Next.”

A heavyset Latina who has a truly staggering amount of makeup on her round face and long corkscrew curls in an unnatural shade of orange says, “My name is Clara. As you can see, I love food.” Her compatriots laugh, but clearly with her, not at her, so I let it go. “I love to cook at home, and I think I would love to cook for a living someday.”

“Good, Chef Clara. Thank you. Next.”

One by one we go down the line. Juan, an extremely tall, gangly boy in a walking cast, a former basketball star who had blown out his knee and had no way into college without sports. Mari, a teeny tiny firecracker of a girl with a long black braid, who admits to an obsession with food magazines, her own blog about cooking, and a desire to become a food stylist and writer. Helena, a spectacularly beautiful Indian girl who admits tearfully that her mother is very sick, and she started cooking for the family to help take the pressure off, and while she isn’t entirely sure she wants a career in food, she does want to know more about what she is doing in
the kitchen. Joseph, a handsome young African American kid with a puffed-up chest, who works part-time at his uncle’s south-side diner, and who hopes to take over that business someday. He delivers his entire speech directly to Helena, who blushes, and I can tell this is either going to be a huge problem, or an adorable young love affair. Probably both, when I think of it.