More laughter ensued as she looked at Chandler, asking if there was enough food to feed the group with the raising of her eyebrows.
“Yes, Madam, we have more than enough,” he said.
“Great! I guess we are having a dinner party. Let me change and get started on some side dishes while you fire up the grill,” she said to Scott, patting his chest.
“Sure thing, Sweetie,” he said, kissing her cheek before she walked away. Scott stepped to the left as Zelda left the room. He turned back to the group to find them all staring at him. “What?”
Laughter erupted again with the men coming over to offer pats to his back.
“I see why he fixed them damned teeth and shaved his ears,” Jo-Jo said.
Scott could take the ribbing. He didn’t care what they had to say. Zelda loved him as he was. That was all that mattered. Plus, he was going to get a chance to show off the skills he’d been honing on the grill since he left Texas.
It was going to be a fantastic evening.
Chapter 10
Friday Evening
The kitchen smelled of warm memories as cookies baked in the oven from a quick recipe Zelda threw together from her mental cookbook repertoire. Outfitted in a loose pair of jeans and a Chicago Bulls tee, she placed white cabbage on the mandolin slicer for coleslaw, alternating carrots with a red variety. Chandler prepared dinner dishes and place settings for the dining room, taking down the good china and washing the plates.
“Chandler, if you don’t mind, can we use the plates here in the kitchen cabinet?” she asked, not wanting Scott’s friends to think she was pretentious. Zelda wanted the women to like her.
“Madam, you don’t wish to use the china?”
“No, it’s too formal. We are having grilled sausages, steaks, dogs, and burgers. I don’t need nor do I want to serve that on turn of the century Staffordshire china,” Zelda responded. “Those hideous lime green plates and matching apple cups are ridiculously perfect.”
“Yes, Madam,” Chandler said, admiring her choice for serving the common meal.
“You can call me Zelda,” she told him.
“In private, it would be my honor,” he told her.
Jo-Jo slipped into the kitchen, quietly sitting at the kitchen table, watching her grate the cabbage. Scott’s new lady appeared at ease at the stove. Secretly, he’d expected her to be dumb with huge knockers and one who took pleasure in sucking on her extra-long artificial pinky nail. However, the sharp woman in the loose fitted jeans and oversized tee shirt was the opposite of what he’d expected. She was also very attractive. This piqued his curiosity. He had questions but didn’t know where to start.
“Jo-Jo, can you look in the pantry to the right and get me a few cans of beans for some baked beans?” she asked. “Ranch beans would be better if there are any in there.”
“Sure thing,” he said, retrieving the canned goods from the pantry. He tried to hide his surprise at her putting him to work.
“Grab the bake pan from under that cabinet, rinse it, and open those beans if you don’t mind,” she said.
“Oh, okay,” he answered, doing as she asked.
Opening the oven, she removed the first batch of cookies, which she transferred to a cooling rack. Dropping rounded spoonfuls of dough onto a cool tray, she slipped those into the oven.
“Okay Jo-Jo, I have beans, coleslaw, and meat. What are we missing?” she asked him, counting the items on the countertop.
“Deviled eggs. I came in here to ask if you knew how to make them and ended up being your sous chef,” he said.
“I figured if you were busy you wouldn’t have time to ask me inappropriate questions that are probably none of your damned business anyway,” she said, adding a lump of mayo to the coleslaw along with half a spoonful of sweet salad cubes and diced tomatoes.
“Fair enough,” he said. “We are just protective of him, that’s all.”
“Good to know. I am going to marry him possibly as soon as next year, but first, I have to do something about this really ugly kitchen. It is stifling my cooking creativity,” she said with a warm smile.
Scott entered the back door with a tray of cooked hot dogs and sausages. “Burgers are up next, then the steaks,” he said, spotting Jo-Jo dumping the beans in the pan.
“Jo-Jo, don’t start asking her inappropriate questions that are really none of your damned business anyway, you hear me?” Scott said firmly, adding more bass to his voice.
Zelda crinkled her nose at the authority Scott put in his voice. It was sexy. She was kind of turned on, her nipples told him so. They were poking through the thin bra and tee shirt begging him, ‘hey Scott, look at me’.
“You like it when I get all manly don’t you?” he asked her, giving a wide toothy, partially bucked toothed grin.
“I sure do, Baby. Do it again,” she encouraged him, shimmying her shoulders.
Scott turned to Jo-Jo. He squared his shoulders, sucked in his stomach and jutted out his chin when he spoke. “I don’t want no shit out of you, Jo-Jo,” he said with a snarl.
Zelda wiggled her hips doing a night club hip roll with a bit of flare. She winked sexily at him, her tongue partially sticking out her mouth,
“Oooh, Mama like. Mama like a lot! I think I just released an egg for you to fertilize, purrrrrr,” she said, purring at him.
“You two deserve each other,” Jo-Jo said, frowning, opening the third can of beans.
“True and those beans deserve some brown sugar, onion, a bit of bar-b-que sauce and a tad bit of mustard. Do you mind lending me a hand while I put these on to boil to make your deviled eggs?” she asked Jo-Jo, holding a carton of eggs with a very sweet, innocent look.
“Blackmailing me for food. That is just a new low,” Jo-Jo responded.
“What? You don’t want the deviled eggs?” she asked, using a syrupy sweet Texas drawl.
“Of course I want them. You know I want them, and I am going to make whatever you want with these beans in order to get them. You are just being mean,” he said, going back to the pantry.
“Just go with it, man. She is an amazing cook. It’s worth lending her a hand with dinner,” Scott added, heading out the back door to continue grilling as the other friends stood about observing Scott’s newfound skills. She could hear them making comments about his technique as he pulled out his calculator, giving precise measurements and cook times for the shape and size of the beef.
Zelda’s eyes were drawn to the back driveway as she looked out the window. Tires crunched in the driveway from a late model sedan. She listened closely as lady’s voices rang in the early evening air.
“Where is she?” she heard a voice call out.
Another voice, younger, full of energy added, “I can’t wait to meet her.”
Four women climbed out of the car, all making a beeline for the kitchen. Zelda spotted them all from the kitchen window, impressed that Scott’s friends were as diverse as he was. It was like a rainbow coalition of womanhood. When I move here, these will be my new friends. I just hope they are cool.
And nice to me.
“Hello in there,” Sheila called out.
“Come on in, ladies! I am slaving over a hot stove,” she called back.
Pearline entered the door first. Zelda knew who she was because she entered he door saying, “Hey, I’m Pearline.”
“I’m Sheila, Dwayne’s wife,” said a large bosomed black woman with blond hair.
The next short ball of energy was an Asian woman wearing tons of perfume, way too much jewelry, and five inch heels. “I’m Debra, Chris’s wife. Is there anything I can help do?”
“I’m Brittany, Ralphie’s girl,” said a tall redhead with a turned up, button nose. She wore, short-short, coochie huggers, which told entirely too much about how she liked to spend her free time with Ralphie.
“I’m Zelda. I would appreciate it if one of you could relieve Jo-Jo on the baked beans,” she said to them. “There is sweet tea on the table, the cookies need to
be frosted, and I am finishing the coleslaw. Do you think we need anything else?”
Pearline moved over taking the spoon from Jo-Jo’s hand. “I got the beans, Zelda, and by the by, I am Mark’s fiancé,” she said.
“Pleasure to meet you all. This dinner is informal, impromptu, and hopefully loads of fun,” she told them. “I think we need something green. Should I have Scott throw some kale on the grill?
“What else can I help you do, Zelda?” Debra asked.
“The eggs are done. If you would be so kind to rinse off the hot water and add a load of cold water and ice to the pot, we can get those deviled eggs going,” Zelda said.
“I will wash the kale leaves. I don’t really cook, but I can do that,” Brittany offered, her long acrylic nails picking up the kale as if it were a stinky diaper. The leaves weren’t large enough to grill, so Zelda thought better of the idea.
The kitchen hummed as the ladies worked. Instead of grilling the kale, she added the cut up bunches to a sauté pan with a few strips of bacon, onion, and seasoning. Placing the pan on the stove top, the kale leaves tenderized quickly. The combined team effort got everything done by the time Scott walked through the door with the last tray of meats.
“Everything’s done,” he told her.
“Perfect, you guys come on in and wash up and we will start bringing food to the dining room,” she said.
Chandler materialized with serving dishes, which too were lime green, and Zelda ladled coleslaw into one bowl and hot beans in another and placed perfectly even deviled eggs on a plate.
“Dinner is served,” she said, looking at her watch. Good timing.
Small talk commenced as everyone loaded their plates with goodies, taking a seat at the long dining room table trimmed in orange fringes. Zelda’s eyes went to Scott for him to bless the meal as she grabbed Jo-Jo’s hand, each person connected at the table, with heads bowed as Scott gave thanks for the meal and the hands which prepared it. Voices rang out with compliments as eyes focused on the plates with the quickly put together meal. The conversation ceased as forks clanked on green dinnerware and knives cut through steaks while everyone sampled her cooking.
“It must be good. No one is saying anything,” Zelda said.
Nervous laughter erupted at the table, breaking the ice followed by moans of satisfaction from happy taste buds.
“This is the first time we have ever been invited over for dinner,” Sheila said, slicing into the steak.
“Well, it will not be the last, only if you promise to return the favor,” Zelda replied, tasting the deviled egg, proud that it had come out near perfect.
“You got it,” Pearline added, slicing into a big thick sausage, forking it into her mouth, moaning in delight. The same reaction went around the table as Scott’s friends enjoyed a well-balanced meal.
Scott was the only one not eating. For years, he’d wanted this. Friends over for a meal, a cookout, and a family day at Scottie’s Pond. Any doubts he had about whether Zelda Fitzsimmons was the right woman for him were gone. He didn’t want to wait a year. If he had his way, he would get down on one knee right now, propose and whisk her off to Vegas to be married by a beer-bellied Elvis impersonating pastor.
It is too soon. It is still too soon. We have to really get to know each other. A year, Scott. Stay with the plan. She still has to meet my family and I have to meet her Grandmother. That worries me. On both fronts. My parents are nuts and her Grandma Lula may hate me.
“I can hear your thoughts,” Zelda said, touching his thigh.
“Then you heard me say I love you,” he said, reaching over to caress her cheek.
“I love you, too,” she replied, leaning in for a kiss.
“Get a room!” Jo-Jo yelled, shoving an egg into his mouth.
“We have one. Eat your food and get out so we can get to it,” Scott responded quickly. As nice as it was to have his friends over for dinner, he didn’t feel like sharing his Zelda tonight. He wanted his woman all to himself. He snarled at the thought of these yahoos wanting to make Vent Club night a family gathering.
Zelda swatted his arm.
“Confucius say, hairy man tiger in bed,” Debra said, nibbling on an egg.
“What the hell do you know about Confucius, Debra? You were born in Bowling Green,” Mark said.
“But my Mom was born in China,” she added, causing an uproar of laughter. The jovial atmosphere continued into the night as the men retired for cognacs in the ugly red living room while the women cleared away the food.
Pearline had been waiting to say something all night. She couldn’t hold it any longer. “I’m sorry but the last time I saw Scott, he did not look like that! Zelda, you have been really working with him.”
She resented the woman’s tone, but remained cordial.
“Pearline, any changes in Scotts’ appearance are of his own choosing. I have nothing to do with that,” Zelda added.
“I don’t care what he looks like. He is happy. You make him happy and that is all that matters. I hope he makes you happy, too,” Sheila spoke softly.
“He does. I am looking to move here in a year, make a life, but...,” Zelda started. She stopped at the sink, holding the large platter. It needed to go into the dishwasher, but her mind was doing somersaults over such a large life change. Chandler had volunteered to do the dishes but she wanted this time alone with the women, to take the pulse of the room.
The ladies all got quiet, waiting for her to finish her thought. She took a minute, holding the lime green dish cloth in one hand the platter in the other. Her eyes were lowered as she pulled together her words.
“I would need an entire team to redo this ugly ass house of many colors,” she said.
Sheila walked over and hugged her, joined by Pearline, then Debra, and lastly Brittany.
“I know lots of Asian contractors. I get you good deal,” Debra said, sounding like a bad stereotype from a sitcom.
“We will help with whatever you need,” Sheila commented. “It seems as if the two of you are happy together. He deserves a good person in his life and you seem to be all kinds of wonderful. I hope you will consider me to be your friend and I will do everything I can to make you feel welcomed when you move here so you won’t be lonely.”
“That means a lot. It really does,” Zelda said. It truly did. She could actually imagine having a life here with friends over for dinner, swimming at the pond, playdates for her hairy little children, and more.
“Welcome to Kentucky,” Pearline said.
Chapter 11
Friday Night
Hugs and kisses were freely distributed as Scott’s friends, and potentially Zelda’s new ones, left the house. Out of habit, Zelda made a last walkthrough of the kitchen, ensuring everything was put away and cleaned. It bugged her beyond measure to wake up to a dirty kitchen or to go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink. While her mind was on the kitchen, Scott’s was on the bed.
Lately, he mainly wanted to sleep.
He was tired, somewhat lethargic on some days and on others he could almost eat his weight in food. Yet tonight, he had no real appetite. Logically, he wanted to contribute the lack of appetite in sampling the products to ensure everything tasted good, but it was more than that.
“Scott, if we are to work, you have to share some of those heavy thoughts with me,” Zelda said as she closed he bedroom door.
“Not heavy, just deep,” he replied, pulling off the cotton tee shirt.
“Either way, will you open up about what is plaguing you tonight?” she asked.
He unzipped the pants, removing the khakis and standing in the middle of the floor in a pair a loose fitting boxers. The thick black hair on his chest had been manscaped, allowing the definition of muscle to almost peer through the forest of hair. He scratched his head, looking at her with pursed lips.
“I want to marry you today. I don’t want you to ever get on another plane unless it is with me. These are the things I am thinking and some of them are irra
tional. We aren’t ready to get married, but it is what I want. In so many ways, I just want to say fuck it, do it, and we deal with anything which comes our way, but Sweetie, you haven’t even met my family. You think this house is crazy? Wait until you meet my sisters, parents, and nieces and nephews,” he said.
“They live right here, Scott. Why can’t we just go and meet and them?”
“One, I don’t feel like driving that damned train to go and visit each house. Two, this is my week with you, and three, didn’t I say they were crazy?” he asked, looking around the room. “I need a cookie.”
He opened the door and walked down the stairs in his underwear, returning a few minutes later with three cookies in his hand. He almost mumbled to himself as he spoke, “The cookies are good. The pie was better,” he said sitting on the side of the bed. “I am going to get fat, aren’t I?”
“What?”
“I still have to meet your Grandma. She is not going to like me,” he said. “I can feel it. Your friends didn’t like me. I know they will hate me because I am going to take you away from them, and they are really not going to like that at all.”
He was meandering out loud. Zelda went to her purse and removed the second jewelry piece she’d purchased for him. She handed him the box, removing first the napkin with the cookies. She assisted him in opening the red velvet lined container, placing the neckwear about his throat.
“Good thing I shaved my chest a bit,” he said grinning. “This is really nice. It matches the bracelet. Thank you, Zee.”
She hoped the pieces would brighten his mood.
They didn’t.
“We only have the fifteen minutes left of this Friday and tomorrow night, and then you are on a plane back to Texas on Sunday morning. I am left here with this empty bed. I am also relegated to sharing my morning meals with a passive aggressive black butler that has lived in Kentucky for 24 years and still has a British accent. Life sucks,” he said, falling back on the bed.
“No, it doesn’t, but I do,” she said reaching inside of his boxers, taking him in her hand.
A Frickin' Fantastic Friday (The Zelda Dairies Book 3) Page 8