Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction!

by Lizz Lund

  I topped off the cart in the dairy section with sour cream, plain yogurt, milk (Ethel’s preggers, right?), hummus, four different kinds of cheeses, a container of 18 eggs and a few rolls of Pop’ems biscuits. The ice cream section had also gotten fancy in the last year: mini-chocolate éclairs, Bavarian crème puffs and phyllo pastry abounded. I rescued them from the frozen cases and balanced them on the top of my piled cart. I remembered I needed more mixers and put some seltzers and tonics on the bottom rack under the cart since I’d kind of run out of room. I grabbed a box of POP doggie treats for Jim on line to the cashier. I was about the tenth person in line when I’d realized I’d forgotten vital ingredients. I made my apologies to the guy behind me and got a sworn vow from him to keep my place in line. I hightailed it back through the store grabbing up various spices and oils I’d forgotten. Plus the kitty litter and bird seed and Finicky Fare I’d also forgotten, which should have been in the cart with Jim’s Whoof-Os.

  I got back to find the guy behind me loading my stuff onto the conveyor belt. “Wow, sorry,” I panted.

  “No problem, honey,” the nice elderly Hispanic man said to me. I nodded and said a sincere thanks.

  “Don’t you need my Barn Mart discount card?” I asked the cashier.

  The kid behind the register shook her head. “Nope; your friend here used his,” she said.

  “Wow, thanks a lot, mister!” I said.

  “De nada,” he replied and smiled. I keep telling you, are these Lancaster folk nice, or what? “You have a big family, yes?” he asked smilingly.

  I shrugged. “Only when they visit.”

  “Oh, you have party!” he answered. I smiled back sheepishly. “No wonder you nervous!” I nodded. He was right. There was nothing like a party to make a girl nervous. “And you have gatos, perro, and the ave!?” he asked incredulously.

  “I’ve got the gatos and the cockatiel; my friend Bauser’s got the pooch,” I answered. “He drove me here to get dog food. I guess I got a little carried away.” I smiled, hugging myself inside. There is almost nothing that gives you a false sense of safety and security than a completely jam packed fridge and freezer. Ha!

  “Ahh,” he said and nodded knowingly. “Ride is better than the bus.” I nodded in sincere agreement. “Me, I have the gatos.”

  “Really?” I asked nicely. After all, the guy had held my place in line, used his discount card for me, and hadn’t treated me like a complete simpering idiot. Or growled at me.

  “Yes, I have ocho gatos,” he said proudly.

  “Ocho?”

  “EIGHT. I have EIGHT gatos.”

  “Wow,” I said, impressed, now looking into his cart and seeing his two thirty-pound boxes of Pew-Be-Gone kitty litter, boxes of Kitty Cookies and crates of Finicky Fare.

  “Si. These cats, they find me. I think I save them, but they save me.” Who was I to argue with karma? He explained, “My apartment, she catch on fire last Christmas when I sick. These cats, they wake me. But I not leave them. We go out to fire escape and wait for help.”

  “Ohmygosh – you were lucky. Were they all okay?” I asked. I mean, I had to ask, right?

  “My neighbors, they help. They pass the cages – the carriers. I pack them together and the firemen, they carry them down.”

  “Wow, you were lucky. What happened to your apartment?”

  The man smiled broadly. “The slumlord get served. Another one buy the property. I have the renters insurance; my daughter, she make me. I get the money. The new landlord sells for condos. Now, I own condo! With everything new! Stainless steel!” He grinned. “The Lord, He answers your prayers,” he said sagely.

  I thought about EEJIT and the burning Bu-A-Lots and losing my job. Yup, God does answer. Sometimes strangely, but He answers.

  “That’ll be $336.84,” the cashier said. I pulled out my bank card and swiped. I signed my receipt and she handed me back the five-foot long ticker tape receipt. I shoved the receipt into my pocketbook after folding it I don’t know how many times, waved bye-bye to my new grocery store buddy and heaved the hundred pound cart smack into Bauser.

  “Woah, woah, woah!” He yelped from behind the mountain of groceries. He peered around. “Mina, is that you?”

  “Yip,” I said.

  “I thought you said you were okay solo in the grocery store?” he asked.

  “There were sales,” I replied defensively.

  Bauser came around to the front of the cart. He looked at me and shook his head. “C’mon. Let me help you,” he said, and hefted the cart forward with a grunt. “What did you buy anyway? The entire cow?” he asked.

  “No, not actually,” I said, but realized I probably shouldn’t elaborate.

  We came up to the security guard who was babysitting Jim. “He’s a great dog, mister,” he said. “And that story about his losing his leg in the line of action, damn, that just made those punks disappear.” He patted Jim on the head.

  “Yeah, especially the part about how he can’t sit pretty or he gets real mean,” Bauser added. “Later, dude.”

  “Later, man. Damn, I gotta get me a three-legged dog.”

  We got back to the now very small looking Aspire. Bauser looked at the cart, then at me. “Mina, how is all this going to fit?” he asked.

  “I got it all figured out,” I said. “Just put all the perishable groceries in the back seat, and crank the AC. The dry goods can go in the trunk. Jim sits in front, so he doesn’t eat the groceries.”

  “And where do you go?”

  “Jim and I can share the front seat,” I said, then worried. “He doesn’t have to tinkle, does he?”

  We lurched out of the parking lot, back up Millersville Pike and toward home. Once in the driveway, I extricated myself from underneath Jim, and opened the front door. Vinnie was lying in cockroach position, but asleep and snoring. I patted him and he stretched and smacked his chops a few times. “C’mon, buddy,” I said and herded him toward the basement stairs. He blinked at me sleepily. “Groceries,” I explained. Vinnie yawned in understanding and trotted down the steps. I closed the door. It had been a long time since I’d unloaded any serious groceries through the garage, but clearly it had made an impression. I pressed the button to open the garage door and motioned Bauser to pull his car inside.

  After parking, Bauser herded Jim inside, four bags of groceries clutched precariously in his grip. I followed behind with six more bags.

  Once I’d crammed everything into the fridge, Vinnie shook the basement door with both paws. I let him back up, then he re-met Jim. Vinnie looked roundly at him and smacked him on the nose. Jim licked Vinnie. Vinnie shook his head and sauntered off muttering something that I could only assume was not repeatable.

  Bauser came in. “So, what’s for dinner?” he asked.

  I looked up. It was six o’clock. I handed Bauser Jim’s Whoof-Os and a bowl. Vinnie ran back in at the sound of rustling, and looked at me aghast. “Jim’s company,” I told him defensively. Vinnie pounded his fists on the counter while I offered him this evening’s choice, Hammy Hinds or Guppy Guts; Vinnie picked Guppy Guts. I gave him his dinner, then went downstairs to check his kitty box. While I was down there, I made effort to keep my eyes averted from the drugstore den that was now my basement, lest I paused to marvel.

  I came back up to the kitchen to find Bauser staring into the open fridge.

  “Repeat: what’s for dinner? I know better than to help myself when you’re Menu-Aholic,” he said.

  I opened the freezer and pulled out some boxes. “Frozen pizzas,” I said.

  “I hope they’re not gourmet or anything fancy,” he said and turned on the oven.

  We got the pizzas ready. I found a beer for Bauser. He retreated into the living room; half a minute later the sound of a ball game entered my ears. I took out one of the roast beefs and washed and seasoned it, getting it in line after the pizzas came out. I washed and peeled and chopped the cucumbers and celery and carrots and a
ll the other crudités veggies. The kitchen was alive with garlic and pizza and fresh veggie smells. Life was good.

  Bauser found a ‘Doom ‘n’ Gloom’ sci-fi re-run and I went back happily to putting the roast in the oven and moving on to making canapés and other goodies for the Freudian Tapas I’d been concocting. I was almost finished when a knock came from the door. I washed my hands and went through the hallway. Bauser peered out from behind the living room curtains.

  “It’s Vito,” he hissed. This was unusual. Why hadn’t he just used his key? “And he’s got Helena.”

  I held my breath and opened the door.

  “Hey, Toots, how you doing?” Vito said shyly.

  Helena looked small and red-eyed and red-nosed and clutched a new box of brand name tissues in her hands.

  “Come on in, Vito,” I said.

  Vito motioned for Helena to enter first, and he followed. Vinnie sauntered up the hallway, took one look at Helena and sat pretty and trilled for her.

  “Oh, what a sweet – uh – lion cub,” Helena said and rubbed Vinnie’s head. Vinnie grabbed her hand with both paws and showered her with kitty kisses. Either she had just trussed a chicken, or Vinnie had Jim’s hankerings for blondes, too. The bums.

  “We was just headed out for a bite,” Vito said. “But I thought we should check in on you, to make sure yous was okay.”

  “Except for getting canned, we’re great,” Bauser said, looking brightly at Helena.

  “Yeah, I heard about that. That’s too bad,” Vito said.

  “You heard about that?” I asked.

  “Sure. Trixie called here after you guys left.” Great. Scooped by both my sister and my best friend. Everyone was a step ahead of my life, except for me. I was going to have to speak to the author about this.

  “Hey, instead of going out, why don’t you dig into what Mina’s been cooking?” Bauser asked hopefully, looking at Helena.

  Vito looked at me. I stared back at him.

  “Look, I’ve got a lot of company here this week. I got a little nervous,” I said.

  “Okay by me,” Vito said, and wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge door. He let out a long, soft whistle. Then he looked around at the 5 platters of cold hors d’oeuvres lining the counters. He whistled again. “Mina, you sure knocked yourself out. You want we should save this for your Aunt and your Ma?” he asked.

  “No, go ahead. I’m planning on making some salmon mousse and liver pate for them in a few minutes,” I answered.

  “Gee, that’s great. Come here, Helena. Look at all this!” Helena started to sniff. “Now what are you crying about?” Vito cried. Clearly Helena’s waterworks were getting to him, too. Either that or he was running out of tissues. Which could happen – and it wouldn’t take very long to happen, either.

  “I’m a terrible cook. I can’t cook anything,” Helena wailed.

  I rushed over, held up a platter and poked a canapé at her. “These are not cooking. These are canapés. You don’t cook anything. You just assemble. It’s like a kit,” I said. I held a shrimp and guacamole and roast pepper canapé at her lips. Helena dutifully opened her mouth and I shoved it in. She chewed. Then she started crying again.

  “I could never arrange all these flavors together. They’re won-der-ful…”

  Vito rolled his eyes, walked over to my sink and grabbed a few yards of paper towels and shoved them at her. I sighed. I wish I had invested my 401K in paper products.

  “Sure you could,” I said. “It’s just a matter of trial and error. When you make a mistake, you just don’t do it again.”

  Helena blinked more tears and chewed. “That’s very philosophical.” She chewed some more, then added shyly, “Thanks, these are really good.”

  “No biggie,” I said. “It kind of helps me out to cater like this sometimes.”

  “How so?”

  “I like to make food stuff when I’m a little nervous. After today, I felt a little, uh, worried about losing my job and all.”

  “Oh. I’ve never had a job. What’s it like?”

  Vito hung his head. Helena looked at him. “Lint,” he lied, pretending to wipe invisible fluff from his trousers.

  “Oh.”

  We all herded into the living room, along with more trays of canapés and several Mugs O’Merlot. For a while we flipped through the channels, before finally settling on the local news.

  Bauser turned to Helena and asked, “So, uh, how are you liking Lancaster?”

  “It’s very nice. Even the police were nice to me,” Helena said and reached for a paper towel. Vito ripped one off for her. “I’m sorry, Uncle Vlad – I didn’t understand,” she wailed.

  Vito sighed. “There, there, my moja mała mysz, no harm done…”

  “So I guess you two had a lot to talk about?” I asked carefully.

  Helena nodded. “Oh yes. Uncle Vlad told me all about what happened between him and Mickey,” she added.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah, I figured Mickey was fibbing about the traffic tickets and all. But I didn’t think it was this thick,” she said. “You see, what Uncle Vlad didn’t know was that Mickey was set up. He didn’t know he was running drugs. He thought he was scamming bogus Dooney & Bourke bags.” She blew her nose. Vito ripped off another paper towel and held it out to Helena.

  “There, there,” Vito said patting Helena’s head. “I told Mickey he should stay away from that crowd, if he knew what I meant. But he didn’t,” he grunted. “He thought he was gonna make big points by acting like a hot shot. And after all that, alls he was was a mule.”

  Helena nodded. “Mickey thought he was just passing off fake Dooneys as real ones, and getting a percentage of the difference,” she said.

  “Percentage?” Bauser asked.

  “Why sure, they promised him a piece of the action,” she said.

  “Yeah, he got a piece of the action. Right inside prison,” Vito answered. Helena responded with a sob. Vito handed her the last paper towel. Bauser sighed and got up and came back with a new roll of paper towels for later.

  “He was going to make this a one time thing. Ladies’ accessories aren’t really his schtick. He just wanted to get some cash under him, to impress my dad. And then, he was going to take some classes,” she sniffed.

  “Classes?” Vito asked.

  “Real estate!” Bauser and I exchanged glances. “Uncle Vlad knew about the New York family’s drug activities, so he figured Mickey was into something bad. But there’s no talking to Mickey once he gets an idea in his head. Even when told me he didn’t understand what a bunch of thugs wanted buying ladies’ purses for top dollar, at the pier,” she said.

  Vito shook his head. “Those bums had PixieDust sewed in the lining of every other bag in a shipment,” he said.

  Helena nodded. “It’s true. If Mickey had any idea it was drugs and not Dooney’s he was dealing, he’d never have gotten involved. That’s why he wanted me to find Uncle Vlad and explain. See, if Uncle Vlad forgives him, Pop will too, and let us get married.” She let loose another sob.

  “But moja mała mysz, the guy needs a job. Where would you both live until he got settled?” Vito asked.

  “With Ma and Pop!” Helena sang out happily. “After I moved back, Pop had the basement converted into an apartment. It’s worked out great.”

  Vito sighed and rubbed his head with his hand – vigorously. Which turned his fingers orange.

  “Oh, hey, that’s great,” Bauser lied. “But what’s Vito going to do? Now that your cover’s blown, I mean.”

  Good point.

  “Only if I want it to be blown,” Vito said. “And from what Helena tells me, even though Mickey might be getting out sooner than later, those other mugs aren’t. I’ll be pushing daisies before I have to worry about them.”

  “So long as you’re not pushing daisies because of them,” Bauser said.

  Helena sniffed. “I’m sorry, Uncle Vlad. I didn’t kn
ow. I thought if Mickey knew where you were, especially with his being in prison and all, it was common knowledge.”

  “It probably is,” Vito – Vlad – said. Helena blew her nose. Vito rolled his eyes. “Hey, the worst that happens is I get taken off the protection list. I don’t get babysitting visits from Green or Annie no more, and that would be a good thing, right? They’re not exactly subtle.” He grimaced.

  “So who would you be?” I asked.

  Vito picked up a cucumber and smoked salmon and sour cream with capers canapé. “Everybody around here knows me as Vito. So I’ll stay Vito. No point in changing tradition.”

  The doorbell rang; I got up to answer it. It was Annie. “Hi there, Mina. It’s Annie, Vito’s niece.” I looked over at Vito.

  “Hey, Annie, c’mon in. I’d like you to meet Helena, my real niece,” he said.

  CHAPTER 11

  (Wednesday afternoon)

  After a few awkward introductions, we got Annie settled down with a mug of wine and her own platter of canapés. She sat and sniffled. Helena held out one of the new box of tissues that Vito brought back from his house, since my supply was leaning toward extinct.

  “So you see, if you’re not in the protection program, I’m going to get kicked back to desk work or worse – filing…” Annie trailed off in tears. Helena patted her on the shoulder and offered her another tissue.

  “Hey, it’s not your fault, Annie,” Vito reasoned. “Green told me from the get-go that it’s my call about staying a protected witness. If I change my mind, I don’t get no protection, that’s all. Now it looks like I’m okay to take my chances, just like any other Joe.”

  “No you’re not,” Annie said. “The New York family is mad their kids got busted.”

  Vito shook his head. “No they’re not. They’re just saying they are to keep their kids’ tempers in line. They’re actually glad I’m the fall guy on this, and not them,” he said.