Let Them Eat Tea

by Coleman Maskell

Chapter 23 - Charlie Drinks the Tea

  After a carefree afternoon, Katrina parts company with Doug reluctantly, promising to meet up again soon. Back at the apartment she replays bits of the afternoon in her head as she starts the dinner, repressing recurrent urges to hum a cheerful tune still stuck in her head from the concert. She slips the tea canister into a big pocket on her favorite kitchen apron. While the oven heats up, she rolls out dough for pizza on a cookie tray. She places the tray into the oven gently, just for a few minutes, just so it can start to set.

  Taking the tray back out of the oven, she covers it thickly with tomato paste. Onto that she adds chopped garlic and onions, fresh oregano and basil. Carefully she sprinkles out about an ounce of the dried herbal mixture from the tea canister, then closes the canister and slips it back into her apron pocket. With a long-handled spoon she mixes the additions into the tomato paste, until it looks like thick lumpy spaghetti sauce. With a smaller spoon she takes a sample of the sauce and tastes it. Not bad, but a little off from what you'd expect on pizza. After considering for a few seconds, she decides to add a little cayenne pepper and a lot of mushrooms. Oh, some veggie burger might help too. Finally she anoints her work of art with a cheese-like topping they favor, but she uses it sparingly. Just enough to suggest the idea of cheese. The less you can taste it, she reasons, the less chance you have to notice it isn't exactly cheese by a strict definition.

  Back into the oven her masterpiece goes. She hopes she remembers correctly that the herbs can withstand the heat of cooking. In the islands they boil it to make tea, she reminds herself. Of course it can take the heat.

  During the next ten minutes, while the pizza bakes, she sets the dining room table for dinner, using the good napkins, the good dishes, and wine goblets for the apple juice. She sets out a big bowl of tossed green salad. In the center of the table she places a cake stand for the pizza. May as well give the main course its best chance for success.

  The kitten comes in and rubs itself against her ankle. Charlie follows close behind it. "What's cooking?" he asks. "Smells like spaghetti."

  "More like pizza," she says nervously. "Have you fed the cat? Or will it be joining us for pizza?"

  He laughs just a little and shakes his head. The kitten does have a calming effect on him, she notes to herself yet again.

  "I'll just give it some soft cat food," he answers her, and goes into the kitchen. The kitten walks after him. Katrina exhales heavily.

  After a few minutes she goes into the kitchen to get the pizza. Charlie is stooping beside the kitten, petting it gently as it eats its cat food and purrs. Katrina says nothing. She knows the kitten takes only a few minutes to eat. After that it will curl up for a nap, and Charlie will be free to join her for dinner. He'll even be a bit tranquilized by his time spent with the purring cat.

  Picking up a few kitchen implements as she goes, she takes the pizza into the dining room and transfers it gently to the cake stand, where she cuts it into the traditional eight slices. Not the best idea, she decides. It would have been easier to cut it first and then move it to the cake stand. Oh well. It'll do. It looks fine. She sets down a serving spatula at the corner of the table, between where she and Charlie will sit. That's it. Nothing to do now but wait the few minutes until Charlie joins her.

  On a whim she decides to chance putting on some music. Something peaceful, romantic maybe. Something that will aid in digestion. Just as the music starts, Charlie rejoins her in the dining room.

  "We should dance," he suggests. She's a bit taken aback. "After dinner, maybe," he adds. "That pizza smells good."

  Hunh. So it does, she realizes. Okay then. She takes her seat at the table, and he follows suit. "You do the serving honors?" she asks, gesturing at the serving spatula. Immediately she feels like biting her tongue, afraid he might knock something over and spoil both the mood and the food. Her fear turns out to be groundless, though. He serves a slice of the herbal pizza onto each plate with aplomb, and reseats himself gracefully.

  "A toast?" he proposes, lifting his goblet of apple juice. She clinks her glass against his. "To pizza dinners," he offers.

  "To pizza dinners," she agrees, her eyes meeting his, clinking glasses again.

  Apple juice has never tasted so good, she thinks. This is going to work. She takes a few bits of the salad. Just as she starts to smile, the doorbell rings. Ding-dong, an old, standard doorbell two-note chime. She folds her napkin and sets it on the table as she rises to answer the door. Charlie rises with her. Ding-dong, the bell sounds again.

  They open the door to a small group of LiberTEA party campaign workers, Charlie's mother in front.

  "Mom!" Charlie exclaims.

  "We were in the neighborhood, passing out fliers," his mother explains cheerily as she steps forward. Charlie steps back and lets the group into the room.

  "Well, come on in," he says, picking up the kitten that has come to the door to investigate the commotion. "Come on, have some pizza with us," he adds, and returns to the dining room, kitten in hand, without waiting for an answer. Katrina smiles at the guests and gestures to them to come on.

  "Hey, this is good stuff," Eugene says, helping himself to a slice of pizza. "I didn't know you were such a good cook, Kat."

  "Oh, me and Marie, cooks," she answers with a little light laugh, not knowing what else to say. "That's us, okay." She brings down a stack of sandwich-size plates from a cabinet and hands them around. "Maybe I should make some more pizza," she adds. "It doesn't take long. Twenty minutes or so. You have time to stay for a while?"

  Those who have already tried the pizza nod vigorously in acceptance.

  "Well, okay, then," Katrina agrees, smiling. "I'll just get back in the kitchen and whip that up. You stay here and relax your feet. Charlie can get you some apple juice." As the kitchen door closes behind her, she sees Charlie's mother starting to hand out goblets for the juice.

  Feeling safe in the kitchen, she sighs in relief, surprised to realize how happy she is just to be alone, away from the tension of guarding every word against some slip that might send Charlie into another sudden fit of temper. Wow. She breathes deeply, relaxes, and sets to making more pizzas.

  The boys in the islands sent plenty of tea, she reflects as she applies measured amounts onto the tomato sauce along with the oregano and basil. Even so, if she's going to be feeding crowds, she'd better ask for another shipment. It occurs to her that half the LiberTEA party could be infected, for all she knows. She laughs involuntarily at that. Maybe they all are! Well, she shrugs, as long as the herbal mixture holds out, she doesn't care. It's harmless at worst. And apparently tasty.

  She puts two pizzas into the oven and closes it, then leans back on the counter and relaxes, staring at the oven, listening to the muffled sound of voices chatting on the other side of the door. The people in the other room seem as distant as last year's memories. It's as if she finds herself watching someone else's life being replayed on a stage or a movie screen, not quite real, but demanding her attention for now. She finds herself wondering how the show will end, and soon after that, she wonders when. The pizza continues to cook, permeating the kitchen with the homey, healthy smell. Again she breathes deeply. A life-giving recipe, she hopes. The oven timer rings, and the moment ends. She leans forward, takes the pizzas out of the oven, and places them on top of the stove.

  "Pizza time," she says cheerily, leaning her back against the door to open it, carrying a warm pizza tray held high in two ovenmitt-clad hands. Someone pulls the door open the rest of the way and she turns to set the pizza on top of the empty tray where the first one had been. "Help yourselves," she says, and returns to get the other pizza from the kitchen, leaving Charlie to do the cutting and serving.

  A minute later, both pizzas delivered to the table, she has little choice but to rejoin the group. They seem to be discussing an upcoming execution, as if it were
a sporting event. The ensemble in the room reminds her suddenly of a scene from a World War II movie; a group of Nazi supporters in Berlin, toasting the triumphs of the Reich. She shudders involuntarily. Happily, no one notices.

  "This sure is good pizza," Eugene says, for the third or fourth time. "You know what you could do? You could make this for one of the fund raisers," he suggests, to a murmur of general assent.

  A f---? Wow. A fund raiser. She's supposed to help these people raise money? Holding her tongue, she smiles an icy smile. "We'll see," she hears herself saying, and notices Charlie's expression turn dark as she does. She forces a bigger smile. "Honestly, I'll have to see if I can. I still have classes and all that. Let me know when you're planning one around here." She directs the remark to Eugene. He nods seriously, taking her remarks at face value, knowing nothing about her true feelings or Charlie's dark mood swings.

  "Well, okay then," she says with a little laugh. The conversation moves on, to something about tomorrow's plans for distributing leaflets. She looks at the salad, remembering that earlier in the evening she had looked forward to eating it. At the moment the idea of eating that, or anything else, seems like a foreign concept. She can't imagine forcing herself to swallow anything more.