Batteries Not Included
oOoOo
Driving to my parents' house always filled me with nostalgia. You know, how much bigger the street trees are and the gardens growing, everyone competing with their late spring bursts of colour. Then there are the streak-free shiny clean windows with the curious, nosey neighbours lurking behind their sheers, and ironed curtains, or blinds, to see who is coming to visit, or dinner, as in this case. Am I being cynical? Of course, I am! Lately, however, the nostalgia has been tainted with criticisms, demands and expectations which I certainly do not want to live up to with the accompanying censures.
How to be a good Burg girl.
Living up to Burg standards.
Marrying a nice Burg boy.
Are there any left?
You know the drill: get married, white picket fence and pop out 2.5 babies, and, be a stay at home mum. Being a good housewife, keeping the house and windows immaculately clean, also means having dinner cooked and ready for the Burg husband, promptly on the table at six o'clock sharp.
Nope.
Not for me.
Not my vision.
That is my Mum's vision for me. She has it all worked out. It makes her look like a good Burg Mum.
Married? Pfft. Been there done that! Her idea. Her wedding plan. Her choices, like my floofie-poofie wedding dress! I had something much nicer in mind, so very different. Nope. Her choice. Her wedding. What a disaster. Richard Orr, AKA Dickie, up and coming lawyer. He worked for the District Attorney for a short time. He had a job with the firm Kreiner and Kreiner. Note, a short time, he had a job. I think I was was attracted to him because he had a nice car. As soon as my mother heard he was a lawyer he was invited to dinner. I should have seen the red flags earlier. He did recreational coke. That alone was a massive red flag. Then I discovered he did the deed with Mallory's wife. It turns out he did the deed with half the women in the phone book before I divorced him. We, or rather, I was married for less than a year, the ink had barely dried on the marriage licence. I was twenty four. It's amazing how something like that changes your perspective on a lot of things. Dickie cheated on everything including his taxes. But it was catching him having sex on my dining room table with my arch nemesis, Joyce-Fucking-Skank-Bitch-Barnyard, that sealed the deal.
When I arrived at the front door of my childhood home, distraught and in tears of despair, with my suitcase already packed, she told me to go back. Look the other way, you know, turn a blind eye. Feed him better, cook a nice special dinner for him. She implied that I wasn't doing sexy things for him, and let's not even go even further there. Those are things I do not discuss with my Mum! But the implication was, that sometimes men will stray, even Burg men, and to accept these things for the greater good. Think of the future. What will the neighbours say?
Oh well. The neighbours heard lots, since our divorce was an acrimoniously loud affair. He played dirty, with the support of his father, Richard Senior. Somehow, unwittingly, I acquired his student loans, debts and other bills, since I had signed on documents I didn't understand. I was just the wife. The patsy. The right image for an up and coming, aspiring District Attorney. Ha! That didn't happen. I made sure about that! My mother was disgusted that I aired my, HIS, dirty laundry in public. Needless to say, I did not talk to her for a long time.
So …
Friday night dinner summons.
Say no more.
Pot roast, be there before six PM or the roast will be dry and ruined and it will be all my fault. Yay me! Isn't that why she makes so much gravy? Oops. My bad.
Since my fridge and pantry supplies were rather sparse, I had to endure all the snide comments to get some real home-cooked food. Call it my penitence. My usual fare is take-away foods like pizza, subs, Chinese, or supermarket ready-made Mac'n Cheese. A quick zap in the microwave and DING! It's done. That is the full extent of my cooking expertise. I didn't inherit the cooking gene. I can probably burn water. I have almost burned down my kitchen, once.
Chasing fugitives, AKA skips, to bring them back into the system for failing to appear in court, isn't a well-paid job. I only get the low, and sometimes low/medium bonds, from which I collect a whole ten percent. Ten percent of five hundred dollars is a measly fifty dollars. Damnit. It's hard to make ends meet sometimes and I still have bills to pay like everyone else, you know, like rent and utilities. Sigh. Woe is me. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Hence, why I am here obeying the summons. The bribe of my favourite dessert was a sure thing … pineapple upside down cake. I usually get to take a slab home along with some left-overs. So really, that's two evening meals sorted. Sometimes it is evening and then breakfast. Breakfast options are sometimes limited in Old Mother Hubbard's cupboard, my pantry. Pop Tarts will sometimes feature since they fit in the toaster. Staples are so important, especially peanut butter and olives.
I'm now thirty two and happily single. Did I say how much I hate cheaters? Aside from the sordid history we have, somehow, I allowed Joseph Morelli to finagle his way into my life, and even into his bed. Our relationship ran hot and cold. Neither one of us wanted to commit. I didn't trust him enough to go without a condom. Thankfully that's what saved me with the Dick! Who knows how many STDs and herpes he might have passed on to me. Likewise, with Morelli. I knew he still had a soft spot for Terry Grizolli, now Gilman. When Grandma Mazur said one of her friends saw Morelli climbing out of her upstairs bedroom window while she was wearing a very sheer negligee, I had my doubts. As it turns out. Morelli also had his side pieces, as well as Terry, and Joyce. She let me know that she was more than just a fling with him. The on again/off again switch went to the permanently off position.
But. My mother won't listen. She only hears what she wants to hear. So many times, I was invited to dinner, oops, summonsed, and there would be a guest for dinner. A guest, you know, of the single, eligible bachelor Burg man kind. I roll my eyes just thinking about the number of unexpected guests who sat at the family table. One or two still lived at home, definite Mummy's boys. Lordy, Lordy! Some she probably lynched at the shopping centre, if his credentials fit the bill. The list of potentials was sickening, all keen to be the boyfriend of Stephanie Plum. Whoa, buddy. This is just dinner. No other invites have been extended. However, my Mother did not get the memo.
I don't like to judge, but I'd look at my father and hold my hands out in silent despair. He'd shrug his shoulders and shake his head. He mouthed, "Sorry, Pumpkin." Some of these men were too old for my liking. I did not like mother's strategy. Some had no hair. Some still had pimples! A couple I knew from high school. It was so embarrassing! The revolving door of Burg candidates was looking desperate. Were these the left-overs, the dregs of the Burg? I know a few had been married before. Nope. Not accepted, according to Grandma, if she questioned them on their current or previous marital status. "How many kids do you have?" was another favourite. Another for the discard pile. "Do you have a car?" "Do you have a criminal record?"
Grandma took advantage and had a field day, asking all sorts of probing questions, making my mother gasp, but Daddy and I would chuckle. It was a new form of entertainment. Friday night was Lucky Dip Night. In fact, I don't recall there was a time when it was just the four of us on one of those pot roast dinner nights.
Grandma's questions ranged from the polite safe zone, like, "What job do you do?" right to the danger zone, shoot from the hip kind of questions, like, "Are you circumcised or uncircumcised?" or "Are you a virgin?" There was a whole range in between. She did it mainly to thwart my mother's plans and to protect me, I know that for sure. Her cheeky wink, when she was about to ask a doozy of a question, was all the preparation Daddy and I needed as forewarning. Some guests did not survive the inquisition and left early. Mum would be gasping in shock, taking a hefty swig of her wine or her "iced tea" to cope, choking on her water at times.
Ranger survived the inquisition, slightly amused. His comment to me was funny too. "Babe. You come from a long line of scary women." I smiled at the thought. But Ranger was not Burg. Ranger was Cuban American. Daddy welcomed him readily. Grandma admired and approved of his package.
Glancing up the street I groaned. Damnit. The incoming text confirmed my fears. Morelli. Thanks, Grandma. She always has my back. Mother damned well knows he's been on my shit list for over a year, but she still persists in trying for a Plum-Morelli wedding. Nope. Not gonna happen. No way. Not ever.
I grabbed my phone and pressed speed dial one.
"Yo."
"Yo, to you too, Batman."
"Do you have a problem? I see you're parked about a block away from your parents' house."
"Yep."
"Babe?"
"I need back up."
"Lucky Dip Pot Roast Night?"
"Got it in one."
"Why do you need back up?"
"Morelli."
"Leave your car parked there, I'll pick you up in five, I'm already on my way."
I went to say thanks, but my personal Batman had already disconnected.
Sure enough, in four minutes and forty-five seconds, the distinct sound of a Porsche snapped me from my Ranger reverie, instantly making me smile. Tank popped out, which was a feat in itself as he unfolded himself from the passenger seat and opened my door, holding his hand out for my keys.
"Have fun, Little Girl. Play nice," he grinned at me after opening the Porsche door for me. He was going to drive my car back to Rangeman.
"Babe. Are you ready for this?"
"Let's do it. Sorry to drag you into my mess."
"Babe. I have your back. This could be fun."
We arrived at the front of the house and parked at the kerb. Grandma was waiting at the door, smiling with a thumbs up of approval. Morelli's car was two houses up the road. That's weird. But, you know, meh! Don't care.
Ranger rounded the bonnet of the Porsche and opened the door for me. Taking my hand, he pulled me up and out of the car, then put his warm hand in the small of my back, walking together to the porch. It's a nice feeling, with his hand in my back like that. It was such a reassuring, simple gesture, so gentlemanly. Grandma was just about bouncing on the spot.
"Frank knows," she chuckled with a knowing wink. "I have set the table and I reckon you should take my usual side of the table. I'll sit next to the horse's patoot, Morelli."
"Stephanie's here," she called to the kitchen, going in to help with the serving.
"Hey, Daddy."
"Hello Pumpkin. Ranger," he replied, standing up to shake hands with Ranger who held my chair out for me to sit down and pushed me in to the table. I smiled up at him in thanks.
The scowl on Morelli's face was not unexpected as he watched the greetings and gentlemanly deeds. Daddy never shook hands with him. Mind you, Morelli never offered either. Hm. Now that's interesting. Not. He wasn't happy with the seating arrangements either, that was obvious.
"Morelli," I said with a noncommittal expression, neither guarded, or surprised, nor scornful. "I didn't expect to see you here. You know, after all this time." Ranger and Morelli barely nodded at each other, cop face versus Ranger's blank face.
"I was invited."
"Hm. Right."
"That was perfect timing Stephanie …" her voice emerged from the kitchen, sounding quite perky for a change.
In that moment, as Mum walked into the dining room with the pot roast, in shock she nearly dropped it when she saw Ranger. He stood up instantly and offered his assistance, saving the impending disaster of pot roast falling on the floor, whilst gracing her one of his 100 watt smiles, totally disarming her.
"Mrs Plum. So nice to see you. Thank you for allowing me to share your dinner with you and your family this evening."
He ticked all the Burg manners boxes. "You're welcome, Ranger." She smiled and nodded her thanks, blushing, as she dashed into the kitchen to help bring the vegetables while Grandma brought in the gravy.
"Good save, Ranger," I smiled. I squeezed his thigh under the table and smiled at him, proud of his smooth technique. In reply I was gifted a sexy wink. Ohh, nice. It sends a thrill right to my core with how he does that. There's winking, and then there's sexy winking. I bet he wrote the book. His grin was telling me he knew I was affected by it, so I nudged his shoulder lightly. It wasn't a full on grin per se, just a Ranger lift of the corner of his luscious lips showing that he was amused or reading my mind – probably both.
In the meantime, Grandma was enjoying our subtle antics, while making a slight head nod to Mr Surly beside her and rolling her eyes. Then she winked slyly. Suddenly Morelli jolted, distracted immediately from us to Grandma smirking at him. Her champion grin with that cheeky eyebrow wiggle, indicated she had succeeded in grabbing a handful of his package. Oh my God! At the dinner table. I had to sip my water, which was difficult while not trying to snort or choke at the same time.
"Are you alright, Joseph?" Mum asked in concern for his discomfort because of his painful grimace as he tried to shuffle his chair slightly away from Grandma. Mum cast her eyes to her mother, making her eyes widen followed by a glare, while Grandma gave her best look of innocence. Daddy in the meantime, was grinning behind a mouthful of the pot roast, humming to disguise his happy reaction to Grandma's tactics. Mum took that as approval and all was quiet for the rest of the meal while we ate. Ranger had a lot of the vegetables, without the gravy. Morelli took seconds, drowning everything in extra gravy. There was one piece of meat left, but before Morelli could grab it, Daddy speared it quite viciously, giving Morelli a stern warning glare. I had to tighten my lips to stop my laugh. I hiccupped instead.
After helping to clear the table, I knew it was lecture time. Mental drum roll. Having experienced this routine before, many times, I decided the kitchen was not going to be her domain of dominance for her snide remarks, so I waltzed in and out quickly, making multiple journeys with small loads rather than taking a stack of empty plates in. Grandma offered to rinse and then load the dishwasher shooing me quickly back into the safety of the dining room. Mum was trying to wind up as is her usual want, as she prepared the dessert, by slicing it into serving portions. It was a fine looking pineapple upside-down cake, which she sliced before carrying it in to the dining table. Grandma brought in the coffee and we were set.
"This is Stephanie's favourite dessert, well, cake. I made it especially for you," she smiled at me as she set the platter down carefully. Pfft. As if nobody knew. Brace yourself, here it comes, as I noticed Morelli repositioning himself on his chair. Grandma had moved hers closer which he hadn't noticed. I raised an eyebrow at her. Yes! I did the one eyebrow and Ranger noticed, giving me a nudge. Daddy was surveying the scene, knowing the drill and how the Helen Plum show was about to begin.
"Stephanie," she began in that censorious tone when she's in criticise mode. Daddy rolled his eyes. Morelli was preening like a peacock. What the hell? "It's about time you settled down, don't you think? You're not getting any younger. Any respectable Burg girl is already married and having babies. What about you? Your biological clock is ticking," she remarked smugly, eyeing Morelli before taking a mouthful of her cake. I raised an eyebrow at Daddy, sort of like a warning to be ready. He lifted his chin up a smidge, saying he was ready for anything.
I paused while I swallowed my mouthful and took a sip of my water. I have this brilliant response to that golden nugget of motherly advice. I took a deep breath and calmly responded just as Joe was sipping his coffee.
"This biological clock, does it have batteries? Maybe that's why I didn't hear it. I took the batteries out and stuck them in my vibrator."
In that split second Morelli's coffee went all over the table. Daddy had just put down his cup and the spoon for the cake. The sparkle in his eye and the sneaky grin on his face was like saying, "Touché, Pumpkin." Grandma cackled and banged the table, giggling hysterically behind her serviette. Ranger grinned at me, a huge grin. Uh oh. That expression had so many emotions, I knew it was going to come back and bite me on the ass. Yep. It had Ranger repercussions written all over his face. My Mother? She froze, after a two second delay when she absorbed the words, gagging on her cake, coughing until she was red in the face.
While Mother was unable to speak, I finished off my cake while she was still spluttering and sipped my coffee in a most ladylike manner. Ranger's hand wandered up to my thigh, patting me and then gave me a titillating squeeze. "Babe," he whispered huskily.
Morelli was wiping his chin and the table. Well, that's the end of that cake. Nope. I am not eating any of that anytime soon, not with Morelli cooties all over it.
"Stephanie," my mother croaked out. "That was uncalled for. It must be your job, talking like that."
"But I don't use vibrators in my job. Handcuffs yes, but a vibrator would be useless."
I smiled to myself as with each mention of the V word she cringed.
"Stephanie! You should quit your job and settle down. Joseph here is prepared to …"
"What? Prepared to what? Joseph Morelli can take any notions that you two might have and shove them. I do not want anything to do with his cheating, lying ass. He blew it. Deal with it. Come on Ranger. Please take me home. Thanks for dinner, Mum. Don't bother with the cake, since Joe's cooties are all over it. Thanks Daddy, Grandma."
I kissed them goodnight and chuckled at Daddy's high five. Ranger shook hands with Daddy and hugged Grandma who kept her hands to herself.
In the car, once we were settled in, Ranger looked at me. You know, that look. It was accompanied with a shit eating grin.
"Vibrator, Babe?"
I smiled cheekily and shrugged my shoulders.
"I can do better if you need help. Batteries are not included but I can guarantee that my stamina is long lasting."
We laughed all the way back to Rangeman and our penthouse suite. I had tears in my eyes as we relived the various reactions.
True to his word, Ranger's stamina was the ultimate reward for my needs. Oh, what a night. I'm a lucky girl.
oOoOo
The End
The characters you recognise belong to Ms Janet. I was just playing with them.
This one shot is from a prompt on Ranger Should Get the Girl fanfiction page. I took the gauntlet and ran with it. My Muse wouldn't let it go until I wrote this. She's smiling now.