by Lizz Lund
“It’s okay,” I said. “We’re going to be in the Chukker tent, right? That’s in the middle. It’s pretty far away from both goal posts.”
After some discussion, Ma and Aunt Muriel agreed and said that I didn’t have to wear the construction helmet or the fluorescent orange vest Aunt Muriel borrowed for me, after all.
We got the boys situated around Vito’s Towncar with their man stuff tailgate picnic, complete with Krumpthf’s. Norman and Bauser took Stanley and Jim onto the empty pre-game polo field to play doggie Frisbee. Vito lay stretched out comfily in one of his recliners, reading the polo propaganda from the hundred or so handouts we’d received at the entrance. Aunt Muriel and Ma and I strolled off toward the Chukker Tent.
It was a beautiful day. This time the tent was gleaming white, instead of the dingy color it had been last week. Then I realized: this tent was new. I hung my head.
Aunt Muriel looked at me. “They were due for a new tent, anyway,” she said.
Ma rolled her eyes. “Let’s get a beverage,” she said brightly.
We walked into the tent and I entered the realm of extreme tailgating. Conestoga Cabana had not just provided a polo picnic, but a full scale outdoor catered reception. One side of the tent was filled by an enormously long buffet table. It was draped with linens and decorated with sculptures and flowers and huge vases filled with lemons and sunflowers. There were baskets of artisan rolls, huge bowls of pasta, seafood salads, green salads, Waldorf salad, trays of sandwich wraps, and dozens of other side dishes and appetizers. This line-up culminated in warming trays filled with Chicken Rossini, stuffed shells, a stroganoff, and pans of stuffed shrimp. At the very end, Armand stood at a carving station, waiting to serve an impossibly large roast beef and a gigantic turkey. He saw me and nodded and glowered at me from beneath furrowed eyebrows. I waved back. I hadn’t seen him this happy in a long time. I figured he must be ecstatic to be working weekends again.
Auntie and Ma and I got something to nibble on. Another table housed various metal tubs filled with ice and bottles of wine and mini bottles of spring water. We each got a glass of white wine, with a spring water chaser. We looked around at the dozen or so bar height tables that were dotted around the tent area. We saw someone leaving what became a lone empty table, and claimed it quickly.
I felt a tap on my shoulder. It was Trixie. She was wearing an electric blue sundress, a large orange sun hat, electric blue retro bobble earrings, and a big smile.
“You look great!” I said, hugging her. “What happened to Green?”
“Left him at the train station,” she answered.
“And?” I asked. Trixie smiled brightly at me, and pointed her chin toward a polo player, sitting on his horse and chatting to some patrons on the sidelines. “Married? Separated?” I asked dubiously.
“Nope. Completely single and complete with uniform,” Trixie winked at me. I opened my mouth, and shut it. Some things are better left unknown.
Trixie needed a beverage, so I walked with her to get a glass of wine.
“White wine, red wine, or a soft drink?” the waitress manning the beverage table asked.
As I reached to receive my white wine, I gazed directly into Lee’s face. She was clad in black and white service wear, complete with a bronze SNAP ID badge with her name engraved on it. It read ‘Lee’. Yup, it was her alright.
“How’s it going?” I faked, hoping an exit strategy would present itself immediately.
Lee reached for my wine hand, I jolted, and sent six ounces of Pinot Grigio straight up in the air. The pitter-pat of wine droplets pinged off of Trixie’s sun bonnet.
“Sorry!” I cried, backing away and squeezing the wine out of my ponytail.
Lee wiped her head, and her sleeves. “It’s okay; here,” she said, pouring me another glass of wine. “I’m actually glad to see you,” she added, looking somewhat chagrined.
Trixie leaned in at her. “Really?” she asked, a glint in her eye. Lee winced.
She looked around, then leaned in toward us. We huddled. “I’m really sorry about Bauser and the Plan and everything. And I’m really glad to see you’re alright,” she said. I shrugged. “I got put on the Plan right after he did.”
“Really? For what?”
Lee shook her head. “After they got rid of you, they made me responsible for office supplies.” I nodded. Being the Gatekeeper of Office Supplies kind of goes with the territory. You have no idea how many office workers have sticky fingers. “I know. Except when it came to the checkpoint review, they faulted me for failing to order backup tapes for the server,” she said.
I looked at her. “Corporate IT does that,” I said.
“I know,” she said.
“So they fired you for not ordering something that you weren’t supposed to order?”
“Precisely.” Yeesh. “Anyway, before all that I was kind of desperate. Howard kept threatening to fire me if I didn’t help him. I’ve never been unemployed before, or fired,” she admitted.
I nodded understandingly and drank some wine.
“Guess it’s all part of the human experience,” Trixie offered, and began wandering off toward her polo player, who was sitting on his horse toward the far goal near Vito, chatting up a petite blonde.
Lee looked around again. “Anyway, I’m sorry I hurt you,” she said.
“Huh?” I replied brightly.
Lee rolled her eyes. “Look, please don’t make this any harder than it is. We haven’t exactly been buddies,” she said. She had a point there.
“Being unemployed isn’t so bad. Except for the not having any money thing,” I said.
Lee shook her head. “I’m not talking about your getting fired. I’m trying to apologize for landing on you and knocking you out.”
“What?”
“I was kind of hiding in the ladies’ room. But then all the fire alarms went off and I kind of panicked and I crawled up through the ceiling tile and kind of got stuck.” She grimaced.
“You crawled through the ceiling tile in the ladies’ room?”
“I told you, I panicked!” she snipped.
“I’ll say,” I said. “So, did you take my purse, too?”
“Yeah.” I glared at her. “But I wasn’t trying to rip you off! I swear! I thought you had a key to the HR cabinet in Howard’s office,” she said.
I looked at her. “There’s no key to that cabinet,” I said.
“But there’s a lock on it,” she countered.
“Howard broke that the first year I worked there,” I said. “All you needed to do was open the drawer.” Lee hung her head. “So, how do you like your new job?” I asked, trying to switch gears.
“It’s pretty good,” she said. “But it’s just temporary. In a couple weeks, I start my new job at Krapf Communications.”
“Oh, great. What are you going to do there?”
“Nothing big; just entry level,” she admitted. “But I think I have a real knack for slogans and such,” she said.
“Oh?”
She nodded enthusiastically. “I nailed my interview with a tagline for them,” she said. “Want to hear it?”
“Sure,” I lied.
“Krapf Communications,” she began: “When you hear us, you know it’s Krapf.”
I examined the ground for lost lottery tickets.
After exchanging a few more pleasantries, I relieved Lee of an open bottle of Pinot Grigio and some clean glasses. Then I made my way back to the table where Auntie and Ma were nodding and smiling with K. and his new date, Manny. We exchanged some introductions and wine.
Auntie consulted the diamonds on her wristwatch. “The game should be getting started very soon now,” she said, nodding to herself.
“I better tell the fellas,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
I wandered past the various families and groupings of friends showing off their tailgate ware. As I approached the boys, I saw a couple of car loads of
Auntie’s church buddies parked on the other side of Vito’s Towncar. I recognized Evelyn and Eddie and Ernie and Henry. They were talking with animated gauze bandaged hands, arms, noses and noggins and smiling with Vito, Trixie and her polo player. Beside them was another carload of people chatting, too.
Norman and Bauser walked over to me with Jim and Stanley. “So, what do you think about the burn victim ward?” Bauser asked.
“I don’t want to know,” I replied automatically.
“Nor do we,” Norman added.
We walked over toward Vito’s Towncar tailgate. Trixie was waving bye-bye to her polo date; he was trotting down the field to kick off the first chukker. Then, when he was gone, she turned and faced the gauzed grannies.
“Now I know most of you were admitted during my shift in the ER,” she stage whispered. There was much shuffling around of feet and walkers in response.
“It was supposed to have been a coordinated effort,” Henry said.
“LA LA LA LA LA LA LA! I don’t want to know!” Trixie sang, waving and walking back toward the party tent.
I looked at Vito. He shrugged.
Helena popped out from his side.
“Hi!” she sang, holding a chubby and adorably beautiful baby girl against her hip. She smiled. “I talked it over with the family, and they’ve agreed it’s time Uncle Vlad – Vito – met his grandniece,” she said.
Vito nodded. “Seems like I’m out of the woods now, so to speak,” he said.
Mrs. Phang walked over from the church mummy crowd, wearing an expensive ivory colored silk pant suit and some striking gold jewelry, set with jade. “Honesty is the best policy,” she said, handing Vito a glass of wine, and the baby an animal cracker.
Norman held up his can of Krumpthf’s and we all raised our drinks.
“To happy endings,” he toasted.
We clinked.
“So you guys are definitely out of the prescription sample business, right?” Bauser asked.
Vito nodded. “Too much risk,” he said.
“Besides, we’re investigating homeopathic therapies now,” Mrs. Phang offered.
“Huh?” I asked.
Helena nodded. “Mickey’s been doing a lot of reading in prison. Herbal remedies are the way to go,” she said. “They’re completely unregulated, so there’re no rules to break,” she added helpfully.
Vito nodded sagely. I drank the rest of my wine quickly.
The players lined up on the field, and the first chukker started. We watched the horses race up and down, Vito and Bauser alternately shoving me behind anything possible each time the polo ball came remotely near our section of the field.
An air horn sounded a short time later, and the first three chukkers were over. Patrons were invited to the field for the traditional stamping of the divots. With the traditional warning to avoid the steaming divots.
“Game?” Norman asked me.
“Sure,” I said.
We ambled out onto the field with St. Bart’s crowd and their assorted walkers, canes and wheelchairs. I looked down the field, and saw Ma and Aunt Muriel laughing with K. and Manny, happily spilling wine and stomping divots. Trixie was petting her polo player’s horse and his thigh. So to speak. I looked toward the party tent, and saw Lee actually smiling while she was working. Huh. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. Maybe she just hated her job as much as I did mine. Armand frowned intensely and served briskly, happy in his work.
I smiled to myself, turned around, and stepped right into a pile of poo.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I said.
“Uh, yes, it is,” he said.
I looked up and saw the non-irate chef from Squirrel Run Acres.
“May I?” he asked, kneeling down and picking my foot up out of the horse manure. He pulled out a few thousand paper towels from his pocket and took my shoe off to wipe it.
“It’s really okay,” I started.
“I’ll be right back,” he said.
I stood on the field, one foot in the air like a flamingo.
K. hurried over. “OMG, girlfriend! He’s just like Prince Charming!” he whispered.
“He took my shoe,” I said simply.
“I know! Isn’t that fabulous?” K. said, then beat a hasty retreat.
Chef came back with my wet shoe. “It needed to be hosed off,” he explained.
“Oh,” I answered brightly.
“Here,” he said, and offered my shoe for me to put back on. I squashed my foot into the soggy mess.
“Thanks. What’s your name?”
“Jack,” he replied.
“Really?”
He shrugged. “Chef Jacque in the kitchen. Jack everyplace else. My mom’s French,” he explained. “What’s yours?”
“Mina,” I said.
He smiled. “So, Mina, I hear you like to cook,” he began.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lizz Lund loves Lancaster. Since 1999, she’s been having a terrific time here and thinks everyone else should, too. She is a newlywed and head-over-heels about her chef husband; she made him move from New Jersey, too. Kitchen Addiction! is her first novel of the Mina Kitchen series. Lizz grew up in Glen Rock, New Jersey and still hasn’t recovered. She holds a BA in Musical Theatre from Syracuse University, but has never learned to waitress.
LOOK FOR THE SEQUEL TO KITCHEN ADDICTION! COMING SOON: Confection Connection.
Stay tuned! Check out Lizz’s site for updates!
www.LizzLund.com
For quick, fun reads: Lizz’s blog – Simmerings
www.LizzLund.com
Connect with Lizz:
Twitter: @FunnyAuthor
Facebook: Lizz Lund – Author