November, 2016

For Those of You Who Cannot Be With Family This Thanksgiving, Please Resist the Urge to Brag – Andy Borowitz

November 2

"Boy, I wish we were open for Turkey Day and Christmas."

I looked up in surprise. "Are you looking for more hours?" MacKenzie was one of my longtime employees, working up from very part time in high school at the turn of the millennium.

Mac shook her head. "I'm good, especially working between the two stores." She sighed and went back to shelving the holiday themed cookbooks (which may have caused the discussion).

"You're certainly welcome to join us for both holidays," Ducky immediately volunteered. He had joined me for lunch at the Hippie Gypsy and stopped by the store on the way back to the Navy Yard. One of the forensic techs ("baggie bunnies" as Tony was wont to call them) had called in an order for several woodcarving books and Ducky had volunteered to pick them up.

"Oh, thank you," Mac quickly said, "I have a place to go. I just kind of wish I didn't."

Ducky looked puzzled, but I had a pretty good idea. "Parents?" She nodded. "Grandparents?" A slow, deep nod (and eye roll). "Buttinsky aunties and cousins?" Heartfelt sigh and drooped shoulders. "Expectations?"

She let out another huge sigh. "Oh, boy, and how."

"Ah." Ducky nodded wisely. "'When are you getting married, dear? When are we getting grandchildren? You're not getting any younger!'" He perfectly imitated a querulous old woman—probably thinking of all those years his mother nagged him.

"Exactly." She visibly sagged against the bookcase. "It's like a bad version of My Big Fat Greek Wedding or something. I stopped bringing dates because, holy cow! They were interrogating him even worse than I was grilled and god forbid I have one date for 2005 and someone different for 2006! Or break up after Thanksgiving and bring someone different for Christmas. Oh, man." She rolled her eyes. "Better to show up alone."

"I can understand," Ducky said sympathetically. Boy, could he.

Chanda stuck her head around the corner. "Hey, maybe you could rent Agent DiNozzo!"

I was pretty sure MacKenzie had met him. "Are you nuts?" she protested. "He's such a smooth operator, all of my relatives would fall madly in love with him and they'd kill me if I don't show up with him next year with an engagement ring weighing down my hand!" Yeah—she had met him.

"Maybe you could come down with the plague?" I suggested.

"I would need a doctor's note."

Chanda chewed her bottom lip. "Kidnapped?" she said half-heartedly.

"Only if they never send me back."

"Well, you're welcome to come to our house and use it as an excuse—'I really want to, but I need to kiss up to my boss,'" I said desperately.

Mac laughed. "They've met you, Sandy. You're too nice for them to buy it."

Ducky patted her hand. "I'm sure we'll come up with something.

November 13

"Do we have a list for Thanksgiving?" Ducky asked. He was going over the shopping spreadsheet for Thanksgiving.

"Yup." I pulled my day runner from my purse and tore out the top page. "Here ya go."

He scanned the list and clicked several columns, increasing numbers on a number of things (including doubling the amount of turkey). "Quite a few from the stores, I see."

"Yup. Valerie got volun-told by her mom that she is hosting Christmas this year, so she really wants Thanksgiving off. We have her and the usual store orphans who normally go to her place for dinner."

"But not MacKenzie?"

"She wouldn't dare."

"In that case…" He pulled a letter sized envelope from his briefcase. "Could you please give this to her the next time you see her? You will see her this week?"

"She's scheduled for tomorrow." I said, puzzled. "What's up?"

"Just…a possible date for her."

I started to hum Matchmaker, Matchmaker.

"I don't want to share until she has a chance to consider the option."

I gave him a "sure, sure" nod and started singing Matchmaker as I headed toward the kitchen. Loudly.

November 14

"Apparently you have a date for Thanksgiving."

MacKenzie's eyes widened. "Who?" Her astonished look became a suspicious one. "Not Agent DiNozzo…!"

I laughed. "I doubt it." I handed over Ducky's envelope. "This is from Ducky."

Mac slit it open. "It just says, 'Please call when you have a moment. I may have a solution.'" She cocked her head and look at me curiously.

I shrugged and spread my hands. "Don't ask me. He may be a Chatty Cathy doll most of the time, but he was mum on this."

She pulled out her cell phone and punched in what I presumed was Ducky's number. Sure enough: "Hi, Dr. Mallard? It's MacKenzie at Papyrus…?" She listened for a moment. "Sure, I guess. But—" She listened, puzzled. "Okay… Um, see you then…"

She looked confused, slowly slipping the phone into her pocket. "Anything you can share?" I prodded.

"He's going to stop by at lunch and…show me something…"

Drat the luck; I was just going to be there long enough to throw boxes of office supplies into the van and schlep them over to the other store. I would have to interrogate Ducky later on.

/ / / / / / / / / /

My interrogation skills suck.

"I don't want to jinx things," Ducky said repeatedly. "Let it be a surprise."

"You're killing me, Smalls!"

He turned his head and looked up at me, eyebrow cocked. "You're shorter than I am."

I didn't bother to explain. "Did you find an entrance to an underground railway for her?"

"Nope."

"Hire a hitman?" He shook his head, smiling. "You did hire a hitman! Oh my gawd, genius!"

He got up from the floor, dragging the big roasting pans with him. They had migrated to the far back of the bottom cabinet since Christmas. He crawled to a standing position. "Next time, Lexi should pull these out," he half-moaned, rolling his head to crack his neck.

"Hitman!"

He leaned close, until we were almost nose to nose. "Wait. For. Thanks. Giving."

"Party pooper," I grumbled.

"Nosey Parker," he shot back in the same tone.

I gave him a dirty look as he sauntered out of the kitchen. Never mind. Mac will tell me.

November 15

Mac didn't tell me.

I tried. Oh, how I tried. But, like Ducky, she said, "I don't want to jinx it. But I've gotta say, I think your husband is brilliant."

"Well, I can't argue about that, but—" I gave her a narrow-eyed look. "He didn't find a hitman in the criminal rolls at NCIS, did he?"

She almost swallowed her tongue. "Not…exactly…"

"'Not exactly?!' Isn't that like being a little bit pregnant?!"

Giggling, she grabbed an armload of incoming trade and skittered off toward the gardening section. "Just hang on until Thanksgiving…!" drifted back.

I'll hang—just wondering if I'll need bail money for my husband. Or Mac. Or both of them.

November 25 (Black Friday)

Ducky had the day off. Not that it mattered—I think he would have called out sick just to be there when Mac arrived.

Knowing both stores would be packed, I sweet-talked Mother into staying home with Suzy by dangling the treat of Lexi and Charlie staying home with her (even though I could have used one or the other (or both) of them). They planned to run off to Home Depot or Lowe's and come home with a ton of goodies for the greenhouse, so that would keep her a happy camper for the day—and out of the way.

Mac was scheduled to work at the second store at Mesa Verde Mall, so we traipsed over to the former Party Hearty location (swinging by Early Bird's for breakfast on the way). Since Geoff was the manager of the second store, I tended to leave him on his own; I let Valerie run the M Street store, but I hung out there more because of proximity to the Navy Yard. I was glad to see traffic was picking up a little bit; not the crowds you'd see at Tyson's Corner, but a respectable number of cars in the parking lot. Mira Costa Mesa Verde Mall just might come back from the dead after all.

Mac was busy brewing coffee for the air pots and filling the baskets with sugar and sweeteners and creamers, but she waved us over excitedly. "Oh, my gosh, I wish you had been there!"

Ducky gave her a sly smile. "It worked?"

She almost fell over, laughing. "Oh, man, did it! We got to the front door and my mother kind of paled, but she was excruciatingly polite and welcomed us in. We showed up just in time, when I knew everyone would already be there. He starts in with always keeping an arm around my shoulders, calling me his old lady, making comments that are just slightly filthy—especially to the females in the room."

My moth was frankly open. Mac was young—well, in her late twenties—but she had always gone for "nice guys." I glanced at Ducky, but he had a smug grin on his puss.

"He's getting the usual—where do you work, what's your career, where are you from—and he laid it on with a skiploader. Oh, he doesn't need a job, his old lady always takes care of him. Nah, he didn't go to college, he dropped out of high school. Sure, he travelled—did a couple of years at Rikers, a nickel at Folsom—"

I was starting to catch on and covered my mouth to hide the snickers.

"Complimented the food, said it was a shame he couldn't be there for Christmas but there was a fight going on with two of his baby mamas as to where and when he could see his kids. My grandma on my mom's side just smiled this strained smile and said, 'Oh, dear, how unfortunate.' Then he looks at me and says, 'Hey, maybe we could bring all of them here! This beats hooking up with them at McDonald's.'"

My hands covered my face and I was strangling on snorks and giggles. "Please tell me you have film!"

"I think one of my cousins snuck some footage. She's getting the 'when are you getting married' drill, too. We've commiserated."

I turned on Ducky. "Did you get DiNozzo to play this sleazeball?"

He waved a hand dismissively. "He's very good at 'undercover' jobs, but this required someone with a different….physique, if you will." I looked at him expectantly and gestured "well, well?" a couple of times. "Richard Willette."

It took me a minute to remember and then I gasped. "Rick "The Brick" Willette?" Ducky smiled and inclined his head. "Oh, I would have paid to see that!"

"The Brick" fits his name. He is about 6'6", at least 300 pounds, and solid muscle. He works on the outskirts of the agency, doing undercover work and keeping his ears peeled for dropped information, maintaining a carefully crafted persona as a biker without a family, drifting from state to state, job to job, prison to prison. He has a big drooping moustache, tattoos everywhere you look, and dark shades that apparently are welded to his face. I only know him as "The Brick" because when Ducky and I stopped at the shop to pick up the Saturn, "The Brick" was there picking up a part for his motorcycle that they had special ordered. There was the briefest of nods between Ducky and Rick, and Ducky waited until we were home and in private before he explained the situation.

The second time I saw him was at the office holiday party that year. Ducky had disappeared, and I found myself in a discussion about Gilbert and Sullivan with a delightful ops manager visiting from the Los Angeles office, a Ms. Lange. Another agent joined our conversation: a tall, muscular gentleman, gently spoken and very knowledgeable about G&S and opera in general. He had graduated from Julliard, but found the market for opera singers was rather tight. About that time Ducky returned to the fold. "Ah. I see you've finally gotten to meet Richard."

"Rick. Rick Willette," he said, sticking his hand out.

It had been barely a month since we had seen him at the repair shop. I tried not to look shocked. I failed.

Hetty Lange had apparently been told that our paths had crossed. "Cleans up rather well, no?"

You could say that.

I shook my head, laughing, and looked at Mac. "He went…in costume, I presume?"

Mac grinned. "He looked like an entire Hell's Angels gang rolled into one. I'm pretty sure my family is going to back off—and if they start bugging me again, all I have to do is say Ricky called and we're thinking of getting back together again."

Ducky looked speculative. "Maybe he could set this up as a second career. Charge by the performance…"

"He didn't ask a penny," Mac said, finishing her coffee station duties. "I wanted to slip him a C-note, I was so grateful. But he said dinner was enough payment, and it was a ball yanking their chains. But I did take him out for a couple of drinks afterward." She gave us a sunny smile. "He's a real sweet guy under all that."

Hmm. Maybe he is her type.