506Chapter Two - Dinner Time
"What do you mean, Joe has high cholesterol?" Lula said.
I was sitting on the couch in the office. I shrugged. "He called me last night to tell me." I finished off the Boston Cream doughnut in my left hand, and started in on the one in my right. "He said he's on a special diet, and has to take pills."
"You'd better enjoy these doughnuts, then," Connie said. She nosed around in the Tasty Pastry box I'd plunked on her desk a few minutes ago, and selected a jelly doughnut. "They'll probably be your last."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"You're practically living with Supercop," Lula said. "He'll expect you to go on the same diet they forced on him."
"I'm not really living with him." Not now, anyway. When he left town last month, I moved back home. And now that he was back, I wasn't so sure if I wanted to leave my apartment. I was used to living on my own again, and didn't really relish the thought of playing my version of Burg housewife. Plus, we'd have to go through all the same arguments about my job and who I was working with, namely Ranger.
I'm sure Morelli wouldn't want to know about all the time I'd spent with Ranger over the last month. Most of it was work related time, but there'd also been a lot of visits to the alley, and late night break-ins to my apartment. And kissing and nuzzling and wandering hands. No, not a discussion to have with a man who'd just been told he can't eat at Pino's anymore.
"It don't matter," Lula said. "No way the man's going to be eating carrots while you're scarfing down meatball subs and cheeseburgers in front of him."
"Besides, your cholesterol is probably as bad as his," Connie added.
I was starting to feel a little singled out. First Ranger, now my doughnut eating buddies. I'd been hoping for a little more sympathy from them. "Why would you say that?"
Connie and Lula looked at each other, and then laughed. It was that kind of cackling laughter that was only ever directed toward the totally clueless.
"You eat the same shit, don't you?"
"Well, yeah."
"Then you're doomed," Lula said. Behind the desk, Connie nodded, her mouth too full of doughnut to verbally agree.
"What about you?" I said to Lula. "You eat the same kind of stuff I do."
"Yeah, but I don't have a cholesterol problem, on account that I'm a bigger woman. My body can tolerate more fat and shit because it has more places to store it. It's you skinny chicks that have a problem, because there's no place to put all that shit, except where it don't belong."
I was pretty sure that wasn't how it worked, and yet, I still had the sudden desire to grow a bigger butt.
"Okay," I said. "Suppose I do have high cholesterol. What do you think I can eat?"
There was a moment's silence. "Egg whites?" Connie said. "Vegetables?"
"Maybe bread," Lula said. "And water. I don't think water has any cholesterol in it."
Oh boy. I looked at the remains of the doughnut in my hand. It was full of fat and cream and sugar, all the things I loved, all of which was now trying to find a home in my arteries. Lots of food that I ate contained the same three ingredients, just in varying quantities. Did I have to give it all up now?
"Do you think I can still eat sugar?" I recalled what happened the last time I went off sugar. Within two days I ran Joe to the point of sexual exhaustion, and made Ranger so excited that I became exhausted running away from him.
"I'm not sure," Connie said. But her face said, 'I doubt it.'
I sank into the couch. Maybe Joe wouldn't mind if I ate a few meatball subs in front of him. Or birthday cake. Surely Joe wouldn't deny me cake. Stephanie, Stephanie, Stephanie, I thought to myself. Of course he was going to mind. If he had to suffer, then so would I. He'd shoot me otherwise.
I must have looked a little sad, because Connie said, "I think you can still eat doughnut holes. You know, in place of doughnuts."
"Yeah," Lula said. "Everyone knows doughnut holes are too small to have any cholesterol in them."
So this was to become my life – downgraded to doughnut holes. I stood up from the couch, and made my way over to the doughnut box. "I'm eating another," I said.
"Uh, oh," Connie said. "I've seen that look before. We're heading for denial land."
"I'm not in denial." But I was. This whole cholesterol thing was going to be a problem, a problem I didn't necessarily want to face this early in the morning. At any time, really. I grabbed a Boston cream, shoved half of it in my mouth, and made a grab for the remaining two left in the box.
Just at that moment, Connie and Lula went quiet and still, and a familiar tingling went up my spine. I froze, unable to chew. A moment later, a hand settled at the back of my neck. I jumped, and involuntarily squeezed the doughnuts.
"Turn around, babe."
I didn't want to. Not with half a doughnut hanging out of my mouth, and two more in my hand, both of which were now leaking strawberry jelly all over my fingers. Plus his voice sounded scary.
The hand on my neck tightened just a little. "Drop the doughnut, babe."
"Which one?" Connie said.
I felt Ranger peek over my shoulder, then heard the sound that was his equivalent of a sigh. I immediately dropped the doughnuts, and sheepishly took out the one hanging from my mouth. Connie held up the garbage can, and I deposited the half eaten doughnut into it. I tried not to whimper as I did so. Even with an angry Ranger behind me, I still couldn't help but think what a waste of food it was. In my house, no one ever threw out a doughnut. Even the five second rule didn't apply to doughnuts.
"Let's talk outside for a second," Ranger said. And hand still on my neck, he directed me out to the alley, and trapped me against the wall.
I shrank back from him, as much as the wall would allow. I was afraid to touch him, and not just because my hands were still covered in strawberry jam.
Ranger looked me up and down, and paused at my face, which was no doubt covered with sugar and doughnut residue. A bit of the hardness left his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched. "You're a mess, babe." He leaned in until we were pressed together in all the right places, and kissed the corner of my mouth. His lips lingered in that spot before drawing away, slowly. "Sweet," he said.
It was a battle not to reach up and grip his shirt, like I always did in these moments, but if I got his shirt dirty, I was a dead woman. I let out the breath I had been holding, and tried not to sag. "You caught me in the middle of breakfast."
"It looks like you dived right in." He lifted my hand, and smiled at my strawberry covered fingers. He extended my index finger, and then, with his eyes upon mine, carefully drew my finger into his mouth.
"Ugmahuh," I said, or something like it. If his body hadn't been pressed against mine, I would have slumped down to the ground.
He smiled around my finger, and then began the business of licking it clean. "I'd do the rest," he said, once he was done, "but I'd risk putting my blood sugar off balance for the rest of the day."
"W-w-ell, we wouldn't want that," I said.
The smile grew momentarily. Then he took a step back from me. "Did you call your doctor yet?"
I frowned, my mind still hazy. "Doctor?"
The smile disappeared. "You aren't going to miss this blood test, babe. You gave me your word."
Oh, yeah. That. "I phoned this morning. I'm getting it done this afternoon." I had called as soon as I woke up, knowing if I waited, I'd eventually convince myself not to do it.
Ranger looked at me carefully for a long time, waiting for me to show some sign that I was lying. He smiled when he didn't find any. "Good." He leaned in again, and tagged a small kiss to my cheek. "You'll let me know the results once you find out?"
I bristled a little. I knew he only asked because he was concerned about me, but it really wasn't any of his business. Still, what was the point in keeping it secret? With his connections, he could find out the results before the doctor did, so I nodded. He rewarded me with another bone melting kiss, and left me there, dazed.
I called Morelli later that afternoon. "Mom knows you're back in town," I said. "She wants us to come over for dinner tonight."
"Sure. I'll pick you up at quarter to."
I was surprised at this quick acceptance. My mom's dinners were full of all sorts of yummy things, like meat, gravy, and dessert. Not exactly a meal recommended by the American Heart and Stroke Foundation. "Um… are you sure you want to come? I didn't tell them about your… you know…"
"My what?" He sounded amused.
"You know…" Why couldn't I spit it out? "Your cholesterol issues."
"Oh yeah." He said it casually, like his health problems were so minor they could not possibly affect him. "What are we having?"
"Pot roast." The rest went without saying, because we always had the same thing with every pot roast. Mashed potatoes swimming in butter. Cauliflower in cheese sauce. White buns. Pickles with extra salt. And pineapple upside down cake with lots of whip cream. Everything a potential heart attack victim needed for basic survival.
"It's okay, Cupcake. There's always plenty of food at the table. I'll find something there I can eat."
Really? "Really? Like what?"
Morelli became thoughtful. He had been to enough meals at our table to know the menu off by heart, and knew there wouldn't be a lot of choices. "Well, there's always broccoli, right?"
"Yeah." No one ate it, but it was always there at every meal.
"See? I won't starve. I'll eat trees and have potatoes without the gravy."
Something was wrong here; he was accepting this much too easily. I've never seen Morelli willingly eat a vegetable unless it was slathered in a sauce of some kind, or covered in cheese on a pizza. "Are you sure? Because I can call mom and ask her to - "
"No, don't put her out."
"Okay." And I fell silent.
I heard Joe sigh. "What is it?"
"Well, I think it's good that you're watching what you eat. That's really important, isn't it?"
There was a pause. "Yeah," he said, tone suspicious.
"I mean, it wouldn't do you any good to eat well one day and then… you know…"
"What? Cheat with a cheesecake?" He was sounding amused again, sort of.
We both knew that if anyone would cheat with a cheesecake, it would be me. I sighed. "Not a cheesecake. A cheese steak, maybe…"
"Don't worry about it, Steph," he said. "I'm being careful."
I kept expecting him to use the same tone of voice that he used when he knew something about a case, and wouldn't share it with me. But he didn't. He was actually telling me the truth. "Good." But I still wasn't happy.
There was another sigh. "What?"
"You don't expect me to eat the same things you do, do you?" There it was, my greatest fear – that the pineapple upside down cake would go uneaten, not that my boyfriend would go nuts from eating too many vegetables and throw himself upon a meatball sub. This was all about me, dammit.
"No. You can eat whatever you want."
I brightened. "Really?"
"Sure. Might as well enjoy it while you can. I'm sure once your blood test comes in, you'll be in the same boat as me."
Oh boy. "Are you laughing? Why are you laughing?"
"I'll see you tonight." And he hung up.
Grandma Mazur was waiting at the door when Morelli and I pulled up to the house later that night. "Well, isn't this nice," she said. "Is Ranger coming too?"
I cringed. Joe gave me a curious look. "Ranger?" he asked.
I shook my head. "Not this time," I said. Ranger had somehow become Joe's replacement at my parent's dinner table last month. He had sat through the insanity that was my family and tolerated Grandma's wandering hands and eyes with veiled amusement. I think he might have even enjoyed himself. And the funny part was, I never asked him to join me. He simply drove me over one Friday, and walked in with me, surprising the hell out of me and my family.
"I'm glad Joe's here. Now he can meet my new honey. He's coming for dinner tonight too. He's hot for me, if you know what I mean." She elbowed Morelli in a knowing way.
Morelli grunted; Grandma had elbows like the jagged edges of chicken bones. "Lucky guy," he told her. "What's his name?"
"Roger Hardwood. Ain't that a pip of a name? It sounds real promising, anyway. With a name like that, I'm practically guaranteed some action."
"Jesus," I heard my father mutter from the living room.
My mother came out of the kitchen and smiled at Joe. "Dinner's almost ready. Go and sit down."
My dad was halfway to the table before mom was even finished talking. He sat, fork in hand, watching the door to the kitchen with anticipation. Joe and I sat down, and mom started loading up the table with food.
Joe put an arm around my chair. "So," he said. "Ranger's been coming for dinner."
I shrugged, trying for casual rather than all out panic. "He filled in once or twice."
"Uh-huh." Morelli took the bowl of potatoes from me. "What else has he filled in for since I've been away?"
Nothing I thought appropriate for bringing up at my parent's dinner table.
I was saved by the doorbell. "There's my honey! I'll get it!" Grandma scuttled off to the door, and came back a few minutes later with a bald headed, bow tie wearing man in his nineties. Roger's pants came up to his armpits. If he wasn't so hunched over, I'd put his height at about six feet. Roger looked like a scarecrow that had seen too many rainy days and had lost most of its stuffing.
"This here is Roger," Grandma Mazur said proudly.
My father took in Roger and mumbled something, but his mouth was too full of pot roast to understand him.
"Evening," Roger said. His voice was dry and pinched. He sat down, and eyed the table. "Good looking spread you got here. Thanks for inviting me, cutie." He patted Grandma on her non-existent behind.
"Oh, you," Grandma said.
Mom reached for her wine glass, and drained half of it before she noticed that Joe's plate contained only potatoes and a tiny piece of pot roast. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Is there something wrong with the meal? Is the pot roast dry?"
"Not at all – everything looks great," Joe said. "Could someone pass me the broccoli?"
My father's fork fell to his plate with a clatter, and my mother and grandmother both gasped. No one ate the broccoli. It was just put out there because it was the right thing to do. They all stared at Morelli like he'd just grown antlers and asked if anyone else at the table was horny.
"What's going on?" mom asked.
Morelli leaned back in his chair. "Well, the doctor says my cholesterol is a bit high, so I'm cutting back a little on… a few things."
Yeah. Like food, apparently.
"Yep, yep. Don't want to mess around with that." Roger was the only one at the table unaffected by the announcement. He added a few more slices of pot roast to his overflowing plate, and topped everything off with gravy.
My mother was already on her feet. "Let me make you something else then," she said. "What can you have? Do you want some fish? A little chicken?"
Morelli shook his head. "It's fine, Ellen. This will be fine." He looked down at his half cup of potatoes, sliver of meat, and ten florets of broccoli. "It looks good," he said.
It didn't look good to me. We watched as Morelli shoved a huge piece of broccoli in his mouth, and started chewing. He chewed and chewed and chewed, and with great difficulty, finally swallowed. "Yum," he said. He glanced at the other nine florets, and looked a little sad.
"I'm not so good with broccoli," Grandma said. "It gives me gas."
"I hear you," Roger said. "It's bananas that do me in. I fart up a real windstorm whenever I eat a banana." He shoved in a mouthful of potatoes. "Or potatoes."
I saw my mother move her chair away from Roger just a little.
"Yep, yep, you watch what you eat there, young fellow," Roger said to Joe. "It's the diet that'll kill you."
Morelli glanced at Roger's plate, which was dripping gravy onto the linens. "You don't say."
"You betcha. Twenty years ago the doc told me I had high cholesterol. Told me diet was the key to fixing it. Wanted me to eat vegetables, beans, and fish. Had to drink that watered down beer, and give up my pork rinds."
"And that helped, did it?"
"Worked great, until I went impotent."
Joe choked on his broccoli. "What?"
Roger slathered some butter on a bun. "As soon as I started eating all that healthy stuff, Mr. Happy went soft, if you know what I mean. With a name like Roger Hardwood, I have a certain reputation to maintain. Got to keep the ladies happy. So I told the doc to stuff his veggies, and I've been in business ever since." He shovelled in some meat. "'Course, I have had three heart attacks and a quadruple bypass since then, but Mr. Happy never minded that."
Grandma looked pleased. My mother reached for the wine bottle, and emptied it into her glass. My father started muttering around his pot roast again. And Morelli looked like someone had just punched him in the gut.
He leaned in closer to me. "Pass me the gravy bowl."
"No way! You're not allowed!"
"I don't care. I'd rather die in a year."
I sent the gravy bowl in the opposite direction. "It was probably the lite beer that did it."
"You're not helping, Cupcake," he said. "I've been sentenced to lite beer, too. Now give me the gravy, or I just might disappoint you later."
That was unlikely. Morelli had the kind of libido that didn't tolerate disappointment. "Stay away from the gravy, and I'll do something for you that I haven't done before."
He immediately forgot about the gravy; I could tell by the way his eyes got all dark. "Oh yeah? Does it involve…" And he leaned over, and whispered an obscene suggestion in my ear.
I wasn't one for blushing, but my face went red. "Absolutely not," I said.
"Then what is it?"
I thought hard – I actually hadn't thought of a good carrot to dangle in front of him when I made the offer, though I knew it wasn't the particular carrot he had in mind. "I'll cook you dinner," I blurted out.
He looked at me for a beat or two, and then laughed. "I don't think I'm allowed to eat peanut butter or cookie dough," he said.
"No, it'll be something good. Something… low cholesterol."
He looked less amused and more alarmed. "You're serious, aren't you? Your cooking is supposed to be a temptation?"
"I can cook."
"No, you can't."
"Stephanie can cook," Grandma said. "When I was living with her, she made us a real nice meatloaf."
Morelli looked at me with disbelief. "Really?"
I nodded. If you could call the troll gonads I made meatloaf.
"You're going to make me a low cholesterol meatloaf," Morelli said. He looked dubious.
"Well, maybe not meatloaf."
"Then what?"
I gave him a little smile. "It'll be a surprise."
"I don't think anyone's doubting that."
A/N - Thanks for the reads and reviews, everyone! I look forward to hearing what you think of this one. So, what should she cook for him?