"Are you going to sleep all day?" Maura stood in the sunlit bedroom, gazing down at her groggy betrothed splayed face down across the mattress with one lean foot poking out from under the comforter.
"I'm just getting into my vacation groove." Jane rolled onto her back, squinting against the rays sluicing through the opened blinds. "What time is it?"
Maura glanced at the heavy silver Tag on her wrist. "Ten past one."
"Oh shit." A long tan leg slid out from under the snowy bedclothes followed by the rest of the lanky woman. "I gotta get a move on. I'm going to eat my own weight in hot dogs today."
The doctor groaned, remembering her promise that Jane could choose their menu for the day. "If we're going to eat frankfurters, please buy a quality product, all beef, organic. You wouldn't want to know what they put in the average sausage."
"Nope. I don't want to know, so please don't tell me. But, I'm not buying anything and you don't have to eat a single weenie, babe." She plodded into the bathroom and returned with a toothbrush jammed into her mouth. "I'm eating for free at the Ice Palace."
Maura cocked her head, questioning.
"Dagwatcokgobball." Jane explained, her mouth full of toothpaste.
"Rinse and then speak, Jane. I don't understand gibberish."
"The Great Cock Gobble," came the shout from the bathroom over the sound of urination and then running water. "I'm going to sign up for the hot dog eating contest. I saw the flyer in the kitchen.
"Oh." Maura remembered the young man in the hot pink short shorts who had handed her the advertisement on her first day in town. She should have realized that such an event would be precisely something that her beloved would enjoy; it would appeal to both her appetite for junk food and her competitive nature.
"When I was a kid, my pop took us to New York for the weekend. The fleet was in town and we got to visit the ship that pop was stationed on in his Navy days. Frankie and Tommy thought that was the highlight of the trip, spending time on a real naval destroyer, but for me it was eating at the original Nathan's on Surf Avenue. We saw the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest up close. The winner was this really skinny Asian guy who ate 61 dogs in ten minutes. It was amazing. All the other competitors were big, fat dudes and he blew them away."
"I'm not surprised. Smaller stomachs have a greater capacity for expansion." Maura drew up her hands, prepared to lecture. "Imagine a balloon that has never been filled with air; it's taut and pliable. However, once it is repeatedly filled and emptied, it becomes slack and loses its elasticity."
"So I have a good shot, right?" Jane slapped her hand against her rigid abdominal muscles, and Maura's eyes were drawn to the lean musculature below high, firm breasts.
"Yes. I think so."
Jane grinned. "The winner back then had a technique that I found repulsive, but I may use out of the starting gate, just till I get a good lead and then I'll leisurely enjoy the rest of my meal."
"I'd hardly call stuffing 61 hot dogs into your stomach a 'meal.' A 'meal' implies savoring a special food with a wine pairing that brings out the subtle seasonings of the dish… a crisp Gewurtztraminer to stand up to boldness of coriander or a full-bodied Syrah with mint and lamb."
Jane sat on the bed and pulled the smaller woman into her lap. "I'm pairing my dogs with the refreshing taste of Coors Light, a bland, boring American beer that I can drink a case of without getting full or drunk."
"That's not your regular beer."
"Nope. It's my competition beer."
Maura laughed, running a hand through Jane's silky curls. "Sounds like you have your winning strategy in place. I will be in the front of the crowd cheering you on."
"I wouldn't expect anything less." She kissed a freckled cheek and moved on, raking her teeth over Maura's earlobe. "No bra." She husked.
"Why?"
"The girls need a vacation, too." She ran her hands up under Maura's scrub top and unclasped her bra, slipping it over strong shoulders and out one sleeve."
"You're getting very good at this, Jane."
"Practice makes perfect. Wear something sexy."
"I'm certain I packed the purple Team Jane shirt from the cruise." Maura stood and opened a drawer, revealing three rows of neatly folded tees. "Purple should be in the third pile." She muttered.
"You arranged them alphabetically? You really have too much time on your hands."
"Of course not. They're grouped prismatically. Purple should be on the far right between indigo and violet."
Jane sat on the edge of the mattress, admiring the colorful display of fabric shifting under her fianceé's hands, a cotton rainbow. "Why don't you do my drawers at home like this? It's really cool."
"Because…" Maura flipped past a crimson tank top and a lilac v-neck, before pulling the shirt she was seeking from the pile as well as Jane's purple Queen of All Lesbian's tee, "…at home there are many more factors at play. Your shirts need to be correlated with your suits; fabric weight, stitching, and neckline must be taken into account and juxtaposed to the worsted count, denier, tex and mommes of its accompanying suit."
"I have no idea what you're talking about. I didn't realize my shirt had a mom."
"The mathematics of textile measurement is fascinating; mommes are used to describe the relative weight of a fabric; a gauze is light, weighing about 5 mommes, whereas a charmeuse may weigh up to 30."
Jane flopped back onto the bed, resting her hands across her flat abdomen. "I don't know how I managed to dress myself for 40 years before we moved in together. Korsak and Frost must have laughed their asses off behind my back every day knowing that the thread count of my clothing was outside of the proscribed momme zone."
Maura narrowed her eyes. "Mock if you must, but even to the casual observer, you appear better dressed now although you have the same wardrobe. Your mother noticed, as did Sean and Susie Chang."
"That's because I am in love and glowing with happiness."
"I'd like to think it's a combination of both your internal changes and your improved clothing coordination."
"That's fair. Gimme a kiss."
Maura leaned over, taking one soft lip between her own, conscious of the weight of her breasts just grazing the points of Jane's nipples, hardened to peaks with only the thin fabric of Maura's scrub top between them. She deepened the kiss, but held her body back, just out of Jane's reach, teasing.
"Oh, two can play at that game, doctor." Jane crossed her legs modestly and reached for her discarded tank top, pulling it over her head.
Maura gave in immediately, straddling Jane's lap. "Don't get dressed just yet."
"No?" Her hands returned to Maura's waist, fingers smoothing up under the rough cotton scrub top onto warm soft flesh, stopping only when they reached her breasts. She stroked Maura's nipples with her thumbs, feeling them grown taut under her fingertips.
"Mmmm." Maura moaned into Jane's mouth. Jane's tongue was warm, but the minty taste of her toothpaste cooled and tingled deliciously. "Think we have time for…?"
"We have time for a good make out session, but I don't want to come."
Maura pulled back. "You don't want to have an orgasm?"
"No, but you can, if you want."
Maura frowned.
"No, that didn't come out right. I want you to have an orgasm. I want to please you."
"Jane, I know you're not having your menses and we talked about that. You know it doesn't bother me at all if you were. In fact, menstruation is a healthy and normal part of a woman's life. As your lover, I…"
"Eww, no. Let's not go there again. I want to hold off to keep my edge during the competition."
Maura laughed. "There have been numerous studies on the subject of athletic performance and sexual activity. Every one of them has concluded that orgasms are beneficial. The surge in testosterone, even in women, contributes to greater strength and confidence on the playing field. And in your case, the release of the hormone prolactin will improve your sense of smell, which is directly linked to taste."
"So making love to you will give me the killer edge today?"
"Yes."
"Is that your scientific opinion?"
"Yes, as well as my opinion as a woman who loves and desires you above all else."
"Then take those scrubs off, doctor."
"I like this place, babe. It's gives off a weird vibe, but it's cool; no cars, no sidewalks, lots of shady trees hanging over the boardwalks, everything made of wood. It's not like anyplace else."
"I like it too, Jane. Have you noticed that every cottage has a name? For instance, our temporary home is called Belly Acres. There's a house at the other end of town called The Legal Pad. I assume the town lawyer lives there. I've seen bungalows with nautical names, LGBTQ themed names and some others that are in a category all their own."
"We'll have to take a walk tomorrow and check it all out. You've got two days on me, Maur. I'm the tourist and your the local. You'll have to show me all the funkiest places."
Maura reached for her fianceé's hand. "I passed a house yesterday called Hold Her Liquor. It was only after I read it aloud that I understood the pun."
Jane drew her brows together. "Hold her liquor." She said out loud. "Hold her. Lick her. Ha! I get it. I assume lesbians live there."
"I would think so." Maura agreed.
They heard and smelled the contest half a block before they reached the inclined wood ramp that led into Ice Palace. Thrumming dance music filled the air, the low rumble of bass lines reverberated through their spines. The primal scent of roasted meat overpowered the scent of the sea. Maura's nostrils flared.
"You know you want a hot dog, Maur, admit it. The human parts of your brain are craving it. Fight the cyborg, babe."
Maura pushed her away in mock anger, then pulled her back, never having unlaced their fingers. "My id may be carnivorous, but my superego will fight the impulse. I will not eat nitrate-laden pureed animal scraps."
Jane put on her best documentarian voice. "This is Jane Rizzoli for Animal Planet. Today we will witness an epic battle of will as one woman fights against her own human nature to devour delicious grilled frankfurters. Who will win? Stayed tuned for 'Id Versus Ego', sponsored by Acme Knockwurst and Fertilizer Company."
"It's superego, and I have no problems mastering my baser nature."
"If you say so. I do remember you scarfing down a dog or two on the cruise."
"That may be true, but I do not 'scarf.'"
The music grew louder, the smell stronger as they entered the open courtyard of the Ice Palace. Hundreds of revelers, most in bathing suits, stood in groups of two and three around a rippling teal-blue swimming pool. A bearded man in a gold lamé mermaid gown floated on a green plastic lily pad on the surface of the water, a bottle of Rittenhouse resting beside him. All around him, in the water, bodies splashed and floated. An oversized beach ball was batted back and forth across the pool in twirling multicolored arcs.
Jane followed her nose to an enormous kettle drum barbecue set up just past the bar. Volga, wearing a "Kiss the Cook" apron, stood sentry over the glowing coals, expertly turning dogs while Olga slapped the finished product onto a bun and collected a dollar for each.
"Hello Doctor!" They both waved as the pair approached. "What happened last night? We heard you had an emergency at the Belvedere."
"Yes, a minor emergency."
Volga drew her heavy grey brows together. "We heard that someone cut off his pee-pee and the doctor sewed it back on."
"That's ridiculous. I couldn't reattach a severed penis on my exam table; he would have to be airlifted to Stony Brook University Medical Center." Maura had to shout to be heard above the pounding music. "This music is terrible and so loud."
Olga shrugged. "The gay boys like it."
"да, конечно. The customer is always right. We give them what they want." Volga added.
"Yeah, like borscht. Everybody wants that shit." Jane snarked, but no one heard her over the music.
"You want sausage?" Olga held out a paper plate with two dogs resting greasily on split buns. "Free as a welcome to Ice Palace."
"Thank you." Maura took the plate in a tentative hand. "Are these made from organic grass-fed beef?"
Olga looked at her blankly. "They are from Costco. We buy in bulk." She reached behind her into an enormous steel pot and returned with a steaming ladle of sauerkraut, dosing the dogs generously. "Cabbage is a quarter extra, but for you, free."
Jane waved away the plate that her fianceé tried to pass to her. "I gotta stay lean and hungry."
"You don't like franken-furter?" Volga asked, astonished.
"I fuckin' love them!" Jane replied. "But I want to enter the contest, so I can't fill up beforehand."
The Slavic pair leaned toward one another and began speaking in rapid-fire Russian. Volga gestured so violently that a frankfurter flew off of the grill and rolled across the patio where a little dog dashed from under a table, snagged his prize, and returned triumphantly to his owner.
Maura cocked an ear to listen, but the booming speakers thwarted her. She stepped away and began to pick sauerkraut from her plate, eating it delicately, strand by strand.
"Hey, Maur, we could have brought Jo Friday." Jane gestured to another dog, a black lab whose dark eyes had followed the trajectory of the beach ball as it popped out of a hand and caromed off of a bar stool. A moment later the ball was back in the pool along with the dog.
"Yes, I've noticed that there seem to be as many canine vacationers here as human. Pets are apparently welcome everywhere."
"Dykes love their dogs." A waiter in a tiny Soviet flag speedo appeared beside them. "Can I get you a cocktail, ladies? The special today is a Penis Colada,"
"Ewww. I'll have a Coors Light. Maur?"
"I'll have the Colada, sans penis, please."
The waiter returned with their drinks. Jane pulled a twenty from her pocket and was met by a carefully plucked raised eyebrow.
"Right, we're in New York. Everything costs twice as much here." She dug out another twenty.
"You weren't looking for change, I hope." The waiter had already tucked the $40 into his speedo.
"Nah. Keep it." She took a huge swig, draining half the bottle.
"Doctor and girlfriend!" Volga was gesturing with her tongs.
"I'm Jane."
"Da. Zhane. We have discussed. You can be in contest. We are hoping it will bring Мир to the community."
"Peace." Maura translated.
"I don't understand."
Olga answered, she had a far better command of the English language. "Last night at the Belvedere…" She paused, looking toward Volga who nodded once that she should continue. "The women were upset because the doctor was not allowed inside to treat her patient."
"Yeah, that was pretty fucked up." Jane agreed.
"There was a protest outside of the hotel after you left."
"We kinda saw the start of that." Jane remembered the small group that had spontaneously began singing "We Shall Overcome."
"Yes. It got ugly later and angry words were said. Some women want men to go to Pines and have Cherry Grove all for the ladies. There is a group, a small group, that wants this, but last night they gained many members."
"Lesbian separatists." Maura chimed in. "I recently read an article in the Dyke Press about the The Michigan Womyn's Festival. Beata was scheduled to perform there this year, but she had to fly to Bayreuth to fill in for a sick Sieglinde. I told her that we'll go next year if she reschedules."
"Oh..kay…" Jane gestured that she wanted further explanation.
"The group that runs the festival spell 'women' with a 'Y' to exclude the 'men.' Males are not allowed at the festival at all. There is an ongoing debate about what actually constitutes a woman; must she be born female? What about postoperative transwomen? Can a lesbian couple attend with their male offspring? It's fascinating the way the very essence of gender identity and expression can be parsed and…"
"Doctor Is-lez…" Volga interrupted. "Contest starts in two minutes."
Maura flushed and returned to eating her rapidly cooling sauerkraut.
"So what does eating hot dogs have to do with gender?" Jane finished her beer and suppressed a burp.
"This contest is traditionally male." Olga spread out her chubby arms to encompass the crowd around the pool. There were a few women sitting together at tables or leaning alone against the side walls, drinking beer. But the crowd was overwhelmingly male, many of them in drag.
"Men like franken-furter." Volga leered suggestively.
"You would be the first ever female contestant." Olga concluded.
"Cool. I'm in. I've spent my entire life competing with men and winning." Jane rested her hand on her purple Olivia Cruise T-shirt. "I am the Queen of All Lesbians and I am going to beat the boys at their own game."
"Good!" Olga grinned, revealing a gold tooth, in the far left corner of her mouth. "You win and we have peace."
"Fighting is bad for business." Volga agreed.
The music suddenly stopped, leaving a silence in its place that confounded the ear. A hundred conversations started up at once. An electric whine, feedback from a microphone left too close to its transmitter drew everyone's attention to a small stage set up adjacent to the barbecue drum.
Madam Butthole-Fly, resplendent in a yellow kimono with a bright pink obi took the stage. He tottered on five inch lacquered wooden platform sandals and brandished an elaborately painted fan.
"What the hell is he wearing on his feet?" Jane whispered out of the side of her mouth.
"Okobo. They're the traditional sandals worn by geisha. Though with his balance, he'd be wiser to choose a pair of zori." Maura answered, sipping at her Penis Colada.
"Zori? Is that a new Italian designer?"
"No, they're okobo without the platform."
"Is there anything you don't know?"
"Yes, certainly." Maura smiled, but Jane was not convinced.
"Gentlemen and ladies and gentlemen dressed as ladies, welcome to the 22nd annual Cherry Grove Cock Gobble!" He took a few shambling steps and fanned himself vigorously. "Sorry, girls, but the thought of all that delicious meat about to go into all those hungry mouths has me hot and bothered. Anyone else hot and bothered?"
Shouts and catcalls rang out across the bar.
"If you can't stand the heat, jump in the pool!"
Three men jumped, dislodging the drag mermaid from her lily pad. He popped from the water, sputtering, but clutching his bottle of rye.
"Now I know that many of you frequent the Meat Rack…" Butthole-Fly continued to more whistling and cackles. "…Oh, come on, I've seen many of you skulking in the bushes and don't tell me you're in there to bird watch. There's plenty of cock gobbling going on in that idyllic stretch of forest that separates our dear town from The Pines."
"What a freakin' ham. Can it, Myron, and let's get on with the show!" A man to Jane's left shouted through cupped hands.
"Get on with the show? Fine, Harriet, you're such a party pooper." Butthole-Fly turned toward the barbecue, waggling his fingers.
A moment later, Olga took the stage and sat at an upright piano behind the microphone stand. She flexed her fingers and began to play. The haunting notes of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata washed over the crowd.
"She plays beautifully." Maura whispered.
Thirty seconds in, the key switched from C sharp minor to C major. The crowd instantly recognized Sondheim's Send in the Clowns; groans and boos resounded from all sides.
Butthole-Fly ignored his detractors; raising the microphone to his lips, he closed his kohl-lined eyes and began to sing. "Isn't it rich? Are we a pair? Me here at last on the ground, you in mid-air. Send in the cocks…"
"He has a lovely high-tenor voice." Maura clapped loudly when the song ended. No one else did.
Butthole-Fly bowed deeply and fanned himself again. "All right. I had my moment in the sun, now let's gobble some cock." He shaded his eyes and peered out across the pool. "Contestants, please come forward."
"Kiss me for luck." Jane inclined her head and Maura met her lips with her own.
"I'll be right in front. Look for me if you need support. If you begin to feel ill, please stop. It's not worth your health to win a silly contest."
"Yes it is. Now I'm not only eating for myself, I'm eating for all the outraged lesbians on Fire Island."
Maura just shook her head. "Go, Jane. There's no reasoning with you. Please make sure you chew adequately. Hot dogs are number one on the forbidden list for toddlers for a reason; they are very easy to choke on."
"I'm not a toddler…and Maura, keep the beer coming."
Jane jogged around the pool and leaped up the three steps to the stage in one limber bound. Six men, four shirtless and in skimpy bathing suits, two in bikinis, already stood behind a makeshift bar, each with an oval paper platter in front of him.
Butthole-Fly turned his white-painted face to Jane, his black-stenciled eyebrows rising high in surprise. "Homicide Detective Jane! Are you standing by in case someone chokes? That would be a homo-cide, not a homicide, my dear."
Before Jane could respond, Olga waddled over and whispered something in Butthole-Fly's ear. His eyebrows rose even higher.
"I see." He patted Jane on the arm and addressed the crowd. "Today, for the first time ever, we will have a female contestant. A real female with a vagina and everything!"
Everyone laughed good-naturedly and Maura was relieved to hear a few shouts of, "Welcome!"
"This is Detective Jane." The chubby geisha continued. "Jane, dear, do you think you love cock as much as these boys here?"
"Definitely not." She deadpanned. "But I do love hot dogs."
"All right then, to-mato to-mah-to. Let's begin."
Volga brought over another plate and placed it on the bar, pushing the man at the end over with one generous hip. "Make room for the lady."
Jane took her place, eager to get busy eating. She glanced over at her competition; they were all thin and fit, the oldest maybe around her own age. She thought she recognized the man on the far end as the Belvedere's pool-fucker. He wouldn't be doing that again any time soon. Maura had said he had a few nasty scrapes and would probably be bruised and sore for at least a week. She snickered to herself.
"Something funny, Detective Jane?" The bikini-clad man next to her asked.
"Nope…I, um, I was just thinking of the Coney Island Hot Dog Eating Contest that I went to as a kid. I was sizing up my competition; it seems like the skinniest person always wins."
"Oh." He seemed puzzled. "This is nothing like Coney Island or as they say 'You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.'" But he didn't elaborate.
Olga and Volga climbed to the stage, balancing a ceramic platter between them. It was piled high with steaming frankfurters. Jane's mouth began to water at the delectable smell wafting through the air. Must be the orgasm hormone. She thought.
The pair placed the platter on a chair and began counting out franks. "Adeen, dva, tree, chatyri, pyat…" Within minutes a neat pyramid of four dozen dogs rested in front of each contestant.
"No buns?" Jane asked.
This question triggered a full minute of raucous laughter from the contestants and spectators alike. Maura began to have a bad feeling about this contest. She debated rushing the stage and dragging her fianceé back to the safety of their little cottage on Doctor's Walk. She had heard the human buttocks slangily referred to as "buns." Men had whistled at her on the streets of Boston yelling, "Nice buns" or "Sweet rack", enough times that she had googled the terms. What if this contest was not about eating frankfurters? What if the contestants were expected to insert the tubular meats between their own buns? Maura blanched at the thought and began urgently waving to her fianceé, hissing her name to attract her attention, but Jane couldn't be distracted. She had her game face on; she was in the zone.
Jane mulled over the absence of buns. This was actually a good thing, she decided. The technique she had witnessed thirty years earlier at the Coney Island contest would be of no help in eating bunless dogs, but she was glad. The winner, all those years ago, had dunked his bun in a glass of water and squished it down into a ball before eating it, effectively pre-digesting the bread and saving precious room in his belly. Jane had planned to do the same, but the thought of waterlogged white bread was unappealing to her.
"On the count of three…" Butthole-Fly trilled. "One, two, three….Gobble!"
Jane grabbed a dog in each fist. They were still warm from the barbecue, but not burning hot. Each had a beautiful brown char and picture perfect grill marks. She took a large bite and began chewing. These dogs were exactly the type she loved; cheap franks that tasted like bologna. She swallowed and took another bite, debating whether she'd be best served to polish off a dog in three or four mouthfuls. Three, she decided.
She finished a second and reached for a third and a fourth. This was easy. The winner in Coney Island had gobbled 61 dogs with buns in 10 minutes. She only had to get through 48 without buns.
The crowd was cheering and laughing, but Jane kept her head down, her snout inches from her plate like Jo Friday when Ma let her lick out the lasagna pan.
Maura pulled her eyes away from Jane, who was earnestly making her way through her overfilled platter. She was taking overly large bites, which was distressing, but seemed to be sufficiently chewing her food and taking a swig of beer every other dog to keep her throat lubricated. If she kept this up, she was in no danger of choking.
The other contestants were not eating at all. It was not as bad as Maura had feared; no one had, as of yet, inserted a frankfurter into his rectum. The man at the far end, wearing silvery figure-hugging swim trunks was clearly the crowd favorite. He tilted his head back and inserted three dogs at a time into his mouth, sucking them back until they disappeared down his throat only to force them up again and again. The silhouettes of the franks showed through the underside of his jaw and bobbed his prominent adam's apple up and down as he swallowed and regurgitated the meat again and again. He was in real danger of choking, but the crowd loved it. After thirty seconds of this, he spit the dogs into his hand, licked them and tossed them into the crowd. Men fought over the discarded franks, only to kiss them and feed them to the pack of dogs that had gathered at the foot of the stage for just this purpose. The doctor was very glad they had left Jo Friday at home.
Maura squinted at the most popular cock-gobbler. He looked very familiar, but she wasn't sure… She reached into her purse and pulled out her eyeglasses. She disliked wearing them in public, but sometimes there was no choice. With her improved vision she was certain the man was Denis, her penis patient from the night before. She shook her head. She hoped he was resting his penis, if not his mouth.
"Maura." Jane croaked, drawing the doctor's eyes back to her beloved. "Beer."
Pushing a slobbering Irish setter out of the way, Maura rushed to the stage and passed two bottles of Coors Light to Butthole-Fly who placed them on the bar next to the sweating detective.
Jane risked a glance to her right as she finished an even dozen dogs. Her competition seemed to be goofing off with their hot dogs instead of methodically chewing and swallowing like she was. They were wasting precious eating time to get a few cheap laughs. She twisted off the cap of a beer bottle and downed it in its entirety. She deserved it. With a decidedly unladylike belch, she grabbed a dog in each fist and went back to work.
After two dozen dogs, Jane was feeling sluggish. She wished she had tied her hair up before the contest; with every bite, she was shoving a sweaty black lock into her mouth and having to pull it back out with half-chewed bits of frankfurter stuck to it. The dogs that had smelled delicious to her only a few minutes before were making her nauseous. Next year she would tie her hair back and invest in a set of scent-blocking nose plugs, the kind rookie detectives wore to autopsies.
At three dozen, she glanced at Maura. The doctor was standing, as promised, in the first row. She was gazing at Jane with an expression that on anyone else, Jane would have interpreted as pity, but on Maura was probably extreme worry. She was wearing her glasses. Was she crying? Jane's heart squeezed at the thought of making her fianceé cry. "I'm okay, babe." She mouthed and gave a double thumbs up before going back to the trough.
At forty one dogs, Jane was done. Dog number forty two hung limply in her hand. She glanced to her right at the nearly empty plates of her competitors. How was it possible that they ate more than she did with all that goofing around? Fuckin' men. She had always had to work twice as hard to hold her own in a male dominated profession. But Jane Rizzoli was not a quitter. She swallowed the last piece of forty one that had stuck in her throat and redoubled her efforts at forty two, grabbing for forty-three and four as she swallowed.
"Time!" Butterfly called, just as Jane had shoved the final piece of forty-four in her mouth. She gave it a cursory chew and washed it down with the rest of her beer.
Jane leaned heavily onto the bar top. She was feeling woozy. Maura was instantly at her side. "Are you feeling light-headed? Your blood is rushing to your stomach to aid in digestion."
"A little." She looked at the empty plates of her competitors. "I didn't win."
"Jane." Maura took her face in her hands, taking the opportunity to examine her pupils. "You ate the most hot dogs."
"But…"
"I think we have a winner." Butterhole-Fly had kicked off his okobo in favor of a pair of sensible pink crocs and was dancing ungracefully across the stage, twirling his fan.
"Who's our winner, boys?"
"Denis!" Came the shout of several hundred male voices.
"It's unanimous!" The geisha declared, planting a kiss on the champion's cheek which left a bright red lipstick mark.
Olga trundled onto the stage holding a gold trophy depicting the lower half of a male torso, a hot dog on a bun protruded from the statue's unzipped fly.
"Bullshit!" A female voice cried from across the pool. "No one ate a single hot dog except for Jane."
"Jane should win." Another woman shouted.
"What are they talking about, Maura?" Jane searched her fianceé's worried eyes, greatly magnified behind her large glasses.
"It wasn't about eating, Jane. We misunderstood."
Jane didn't understand at all and she couldn't think. The ache in her belly and burning in her throat was all she could focus on. "I think I'm gonna hurl, babe."
Maura looked around behind them and spotted a silver ice bucket. She grabbed it and placed it under Jane's chin just in time.
The handful of women who had attended the festivities were massing and approaching the stage, led by the burly EMT with the Marine Corps tattoo.
"Let's get out of here, Maur. I want to vomit up the rest of my guts in the privacy of our own home."
Maura wrapped an arm around Jane's waist and led her down the steps and away from the stage.
"Hey doc!" One of the women shouted. "We're gonna get that trophy for your girl, even if we have to rip it out of someone's hands."
"That's not necessary." Maura shook her head. "Jane is my champion and she doesn't need a trophy to prove that."
"Let it go, ladies." Jane managed to get out. "It's my fault. I didn't understand the rules; I should have been blowing the hot dogs, not eating them."
"The rules are always changing, but the one thing that never changes is that women are kept down." Another woman, smaller and bespectacled answered.
"Jane needs to get home and evacuate the contents of her stomach."
The women wished them well, but continued on their path to the stage. Maura tightened her grip around Jane's waist and hurried toward the exit.
At the corner of Bayview and Main they ran into Jane's fairy godfathers, Barbara and Joan, who were walking arm in arm with Miss Pussy on a leash between them.
"Jane, darling. We saw you gobbling cocks at the Ice Palace. You're a regular maneater."
"Yeah, now I'm paying for it. I feel like ten pounds of dog shit in a five pound bag."
"What a charming expression. I see you've met our dear Dr. Isles. She'll fix you up, I'm sure." Barbara winked.
Jane stepped out of the shower on shaky legs and wrapped herself in a clean white towel. She felt only slightly better. She padded into the bedroom and dropped onto the mattress with a groan.
Maura was typing away on her MacBook. She hit a few more keys and closed it, tucking it under the bed. "Can I make you something to eat?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"No. I think you've emptied yourself. You should eat something light. Toast and tea, maybe?"
"I'm never eating again." Jane rolled over and rested her head in Maura's lap.
Maura smoothed her fingers through damp dark curls, gently massaging the scalp underneath.
"That feels good. I wish you could massage my stomach lining."
"Tea will help."
"Nah-uh." Jane sighed. She snuggled in closer, wrapping her arms around Maura's waist. "Remember how we said we'd come up with one wedding idea each day?"
"Yes."
"I have an anti-idea. Does that count?"
"I guess so." Maura's hands stilled. Jane nudged her and she began massaging once again.
"Don't worry, babe. I love you. You always think the worst. My anti-idea is that I don't want hot dogs at our wedding."
"Deal." Maura replied immediately.
"I guess Olga and Volga's plan backfired. My competing in the contest did not bring peace to the community."
"No." Maura agreed. "There were a lot of angry lesbians at Ice Palace today. We'll think of something to soothe those tempers."
"I'm not much of a soother."
"You're a born leader, Jane. We'll come up with an idea and you will make it happen. I have faith in you."
Jane grunted in reply. "Did I disturb your work?"
"No, I was emailing directions to Kaye."
"Directions?"
"Yes. She and Faye are coming to Cherry Grove."
"When?"
"Tomorrow. They'll be staying with us of course."
"That's great, Maur." Jane sat up, smiling. "I know you've been worried, even though you're doing an amazing job sewing on severed penises and everything."
Maura chuckled, poking Jane in the ribs.
"Oww, don't do that. I might barf again."
"I have been worried. I will feel enormous relief with Faye here to help me. Maybe I'll be able to relax and enjoy the non-working part of our vacation."
"And I'll have someone to hang with while you two are busy splicing genes and performing brain transplants. Maybe Kaye and I can catch a Mets game; Citifield is only an hour drive from the ferry."
"They're bringing Annaliese, their granddaughter."
"The red-headed cutie? I hope she's a devil or at least a tomboy. I'm sure you're hoping she's a total nerd-bomb who likes to dissect frogs and quote from the Aeneid."
Maura laughed again. "Knowing Faye and Kaye, she may be a little of both."