Chapter IV: A Lovely Dinner
They agreed upon the following evening, and Aileen didn't come into work in the afternoon to have the time to shop what she needed and then cook quietly. As her guests were going to find out, she was an excellent cook, the worthy successor of a Neapolitan grandmother who had taught all of her culinary secrets to her daughter-in-law and then to her granddaughter too.
At 6.50 pm, Penelope parked her pink convertible – a car as eccentric as her – into the parking lot in front of Aileen's condo. "What floor did she say?" she asked Morgan, who was seated next to her.
"Tenth", he answered.
"That's the penthouse", Reid pointed out from the back seat, watching the building. It was located in a prestigious residential neighbourhood of Quantico, just twenty minutes' drive from the FBI headquarters, but away from the chaos of the city centre.
"Look, there's a panoramic elevator!" cried Penelope. "Come, let's go!"
They rang the bell; just moments later, the light turned on and they heard the click of the lock as the front door opened. The entered.
"A bit imprudent", commented Morgan, frowning. "She didn't even asked confirmation that it's us."
Penelope ignored him and ran to call the elevator, curious to admire the cityscape. As it was December, at this time it was dark and the city lights created a fascinating sight that she ecstatically admired.
Morgan smiled: his baby-girl was truly delightful, when she acted in this childlike manner. However, he knew very well how smart she really was, and not at all childish. He had a great respect for her, and she was the only person in the world whom he would entrust – he had entrusted – his life in an instant. Not even his colleagues, whom he trusted, had ever gained this level of trust.
When they reached the landing, which walls were actually big transparent windows, Penelope admired the landscape for a few more moments, then she followed her two colleagues who were already walking to Aileen's door, which they found slightly open. Again, Morgan frowned for the apparent carelessness their hostess was showing. "We're coming in!" he called, pushing the door open.
"Come, come!" they heard Aileen's voice from the next room. A moment later, the young woman arrived; she was dressed in a casual style, as she had told them to do too, sporting tight stonewashed jeans with a printed rambling rose on one leg and a low-necked emerald green woollen sweater.
Turning to close the door, Morgan noticed the video doorphone and its numeric keypad, and he realised that Aileen didn't need to ask who it was, when they had rung the bell: she had seen them. Besides, very likely the elevator button for the tenth floor was wired to an unlock code she could enter from there, otherwise nobody could reach that floor. Morgan had to admit to himself that he had been completely wrong: Aileen was not at all imprudent, it was the other way round, as she took her safety in her house very seriously.
Following their hostess' invitation, they hung their coats on the rack next to the door and moved to the sitting room. Three upholstered couches, covered with Alcantara fabric, were placed in a U shape, the same way the therapist had them in her office, but larger and more luxurious. The open side faced a wall entirely covered by a bookcase filled with tomes, decorated with ethnic knickknacks from all over the world. In a niche in the middle stood a gigantic high-tech plasma TV, with a DVD recorder, and several shelves full of DVDs. All around the room, small speakers revealed the presence of a stunning home theatre system. A hi-fi stereo too was wired to that system, with numerous shelves filled with CDs.
"Wow!" Penelope cried in awe. "How do you manage to find something, among all this stuff? Summing up books, CDs and DVDs, they're, like, a million!"
Their hostess laughed aloud. "No, no, just eight-hundred and two books, three-hundred and twelve DVDs and six-hundred and twenty-six CDs... As for how I find them, well, I simply remember where I put them."
"I do the same", Reid disclosed.
"Oh, right, your astonishing memory", Penelope nodded, without irony.
On the coffee table before the sofas were two carafes, one containing a red liquid, the other a green one; as well as a tray with savoury snakc and another with stuffed olives.
"Please, take a seat and help yourself with this Italian-style aperitif", Aileen invited them, turning down the volume of the stereo: like in her office, there was always music, especially ethnic, classic and new age music. On this evening, she had opted for the Native American genre. "The red carafe is alcoholic, the green one non-alcoholic", she added.
She had already enquired about their possible food preferences or problems, learning that none of them were vegetarian, that Reid was teetotal and that JJ didn't like seafood.
A few moments later, the doorbell rang again, sounding like a gentle carillon. Aileen checked on the video doorphone and saw it was Hotchner; as she already knew it was going to happen, her heart jumped to her mouth. Holy cow, she thought, it had been too long since she had had sex, if just the sight of a handsome man could make her feel so shaken... Then, a thought flashed through her mind: no, not just any handsome man, but Special Supervisory Senior Agent Aaron Hotchner. But why he? She wondered in frustration. He was everything but her type of guy: too serious, too closed-off, too sullen. Derek Morgan, being quite the hunk, was much better, right? Truly dashing, and bright and witty too. Penelope had her good reasons to call him cupcake, you could really want to devour him... But no, she was losing her head for a cold fish like Hotchner. She wanted to break through his cold exterior... Well, that's it, she decided: it was the challenge that piqued her interest, the idea of shattering his poise, to make him lose control. So far, she had never thought she was the type of person fascinated by challenge in itself, but she was well aware that people change over time, and she was no exception: apparently, she had developed this part of her personality without realising it.
She clenched her hands until her knuckles whitened: she had to keep all this to herself, not revealing anything in the presence of all these profilers. When she wanted to, she was good at making herself inscrutable. She called in all of her self-control and, when Hotchner reached the landing, she had been able to put on a totally relaxed appearance to welcome him.
The doorbell rang again: this time it was Emily, who had arrived the same moment as Rossi. The last one was JJ, just a few minutes later.
Soon enough, they were all seated in the sitting room enjoying the aperitif. Aileen drank some of the red one, white dry wine with a splash of bitter, and the alcohol helped to ease once and for all the tension she felt in Hotchner's presence. The presence of the other guests, too, was of great help, distracting her from that thought, which was starting to feel quite obsessive.
"Excellent olives", declared Rossi.
"Giant olives stuffed with red peppers", revealed Aileen. "A typical Italian appetiser."
"Did you make an Italian dinner?" enquired JJ, who loved this cuisine very much.
"Of course", answered Aileen. "With a paternal grandmother from Naples and a mother of Venetian origin, Italian is my specialty, when it comes to cooking. My other grandmother too, who was Spanish, taught me something."
"I'm good with Mexican", Penelope disclosed. "My stepfather's mother was from Monterrey."
"I'm very good at barbecuing", chipped in Rossi. "Too bad that here in the States we don't have the fiorentina, those big t-bone steaks of a special cow breed typical of Tuscany."
"I'm crazy about Italian cuisine, but I don't cook it, at all", confessed Emily. "I'm not much of a cook."
"But you're not starving, I think", joked Aileen. "Hence, you manage to get a pass mark."
The beautiful dark-haired agent smiled, amused by the therapist's school reference, and nodded.
"And you guys, can you cook?" enquired Aileen, snacking on a savoury.
"I'm a mess", confessed Reid, shrugging. "I live on ready-meals and restaurants."
"I love cooking", said Morgan. "My mother didn't want to make distinctions between me and my sisters, about how to manage at home."
"Intelligent woman", approved Aileen, turning to the last of her guests. "And you, Hotch?"
"I'm good enough", he answered. "My specialty is seafood."
Aileen recalled he was born in Seattle, a town facing the Pacific Ocean, therefore his statement didn't surprise her. "I love seafood", she smiled.
A ding came from the kitchen.
"Oh, it's ready", said Aileen, rising. "Please, go seat yourselves at the dining table, you'll find place cards. Dave, would you take care of the wine?"
"Of course, mia cara [my dear in Italian]", accepted Rossi.
Studying the place cards, Hotchner thought that Aileen knew well classical etiquette: as the lady of the house, she was seated at one head of the table, on her right hand, the eldest man, Rossi, and on her left hand, Hotchner, being the second eldest one; next to Rossi, the eldest woman, Emily, and then Morgan; next to Hotchner sat the second eldest woman, JJ, followed by Reid; on the other end of the table, Penelope. The male-female alternation was perfectly fulfilled.
Rossi followed Aileen in the kitchen, where she opened the fridge and handed him a bottle. He looked at the label, which said Traminer. It was imported from Italy, but he wasn't familiar with it. He took it to the table, where he uncorked it and poured it into the glasses, except of course Reid, who drank only water or soft drinks.
They took their seats, and soon enough, Aileen came in with a large serving dish laden with spaghetti with an intriguing aroma.
"Spaghetti alla carbonara", the psychologist announced in Italian. "Anyone knows this plate?"
"I do", answered Emily with enthusiasm. "It's delicious!"
Morgan watched Rossi filling his dish. "Bacon with some egg sauce", he guessed. The aroma was truly tantalising.
"Almost", said Aileen. "It's smoked pancetta, the Italian version of bacon. Hey, Emily, don't be shy! My guests don't walk away until they're stuffed almost to bursting!"
Emily laughed and helped herself with some more spaghetti, then handed the tray to Morgan. In this, Aileen had chosen a modern, less formal etiquette, leaving to the guests helping themselves in simple sitting order, not of rank, gender and age as the classic etiquette would require.
The pasta was very tasty, and Rossi wondered if Aileen's choice of a white wine was wrong; but when their hostess lifted her glass and toasted to them, he tried it and changed his mind: it was full-bodied, very dry, lively and sapid, very suited to accompany the richly flavoured food.
As they finished the pasta, Aileen picked up the dishes, then she asked her guests to rinse their wine glasses with water because she would bring another wine. This surprised them a little, as they weren't used to it, except Rossi who knew well the Italian custom to pair different wines to different food.
Again, Rossi did the honours and poured the wine, this time a light red one called Bardolino, again imported from Italy.
"Where do you stock up on wine, Aileen?" he asked as she came in with another tray.
"An importer in Washington D.C.", she answered. "Their name is Villa Sanessi and they deal only in Italian wine. They're quite expensive, but the quality is excellent. If your order is over $ 300, you have free shipping."
She placed down the tray, where slices of veal roast were neatly spread out, beside Hotchner. Then, she got back to the kitchen and returned with more trays, full of vegetables: creamed spinach, potatoes cooked in milk and cheese, carrots in a sweet-and-sour sauce.
They helped themselves, then resumed eating. Reid was feeding his face and, noticing it, JJ teased him a little. "Are you going to take Aileen literally and fill up to bursting?"
The young man paused to make his statement. "I think I've never had a better meal than this in my whole life. Aileen, you're an absolutely sublime cook."
"Yes, true, agreed", the others confirmed, including Hotchner. Aileen particularly appreciated his praise, as she knew he wasn't one to give it out freely.
"Thank you, my friends, your appreciation is my reward", she said smiling.
The conversation took off from there, becoming sparkling and animated, thanks also to the wine, of which they opened a second bottle. When they finished the roasted meat, they stayed seated, chatting easily, sometimes all together, sometimes in small groups, for around twenty minutes, and then Aileen started to clear the table. Morgan moved to help her, but Emily stopped him as she wanted to do her part.
"Well, actually, as my guests, none of you should do anything", Aileen objected quietly.
Emily shushed her. "If we were just guests, I could agree, but as we want to become friends, things are different."
"Whoops, my idea just backfired on me..." muttered Aileen, pulling a funny face that had everyone laughing. Well, except Hotchner, who just smirked, his way of laughing.
Once she had finished loading the dishwasher, Aileen closed the door, but didn't start it; Emily wondered why, but she realised why just a moment later, when the therapist removed a cake from the oven, long off, already on a serving plate.
"You baked even a cake!" the agent gaped.
"Of course I did! When I have guests, I always give them the full treatment", Aileen grinned.
Emily rolled her eyes, amused and glad to see how Aileen was proving more and more a very agreeable person.
"Would you please bring the wine?" the psychologist asked, opening the fridge and handing Emily a bottle. Again, it was an Italian wine, a spumante by the poetic name of Fiordarancio (orange blossom) that Emily understood, as because of her mother having been an ambassador, she had lived three years in Milan and had learned a little Italian. She didn't know this specific wine though.
Aileen brought to the table a tray with dessert plates, silverware and glasses, which she distributed to her guests. Then, she went back to pick up the cake.
"Orange-flavoured chocolate cake", she announced, placing the plate onto the table.
"You weren't joking, when you said you wanted us bursting!" laughed Penelope, clapping her hands like an excited child. "I love chocolate!"
"Me too!" nodded Aileen, who was crazy about it.
"Cocoa is known to have therapeutic properties", chipped in Reid. "Specifically, it increases the production of serotonin, which is an antidepressant our brain produces naturally."
"Hey, dude", Morgan interrupted him grinning, "I think no one here cares very much about the therapeutic properties of cocoa, as long as it's so delicious!"
"The Aztecs grew cocoa already 3000 years ago", Aileen told them, starting to cut the cake. "Legend has it that it was the god Quetzalcoatl giving it to mortal men, who in his honour called the seed xoko-l-atl, a name that stayed essentially unchanged in time, in almost all the tongues around the world: English chocolate, French chocolat, Italian cioccolata, German Schokolade, Spanish chocolate... The seeds of this plant were so precious, they used them as currency to pay their taxes to the king, can you imagine that?"
She started to distribute the pieces and JJ asked: "But how did they make it? I heard they used chili pepper..."
"True", confirmed Aileen. "After roasting the seeds, they ground them to a fine powder, mixed it with the chili, then diluted it with liquid and beat it until it became a frothy cream – but the exact recipe never came down to us. Then, the beverage was served in pure gold cups to the king and the nobles. They say that King Moctezuma could drink up to fifty cups in one day."
"Good grief!" muttered Rossi. "He must have had a cast-iron stomach..."
This time Aileen took personally care of the wine, expertly uncorking the bottle and pouring into the glasses, holding the bottom professionally.
"You look like a sommelier", commented Penelope, impressed.
"Well, I actually am a sommelier", Aileen revealed. "I got the certification exactly twenty years ago."
"But you must have been a child!" exclaimed Reid, astonished.
"Why, no! I was twenty-four..."
The others stared at her in disbelief and she stopped pouring. "What's up?" she enquired, confused.
"You can't possibly be forty-four!" cried Morgan.
"Of course I am", she confirmed. "My birthday was last month. Why, how old did you think I am?"
"Thirty, thirty-two at most", answered Rossi, recalling their first encounter at the FBI headquarters two weeks earlier.
Aileen laughed. "Oh, come on, I know I look younger, but that much? I don't believe it."
"Well, do believe it", said Hotchner. "I thought as much."
He was suddenly relieved: he had felt as if he was almost a paedophile, having sexual fantasies about her, thinking she was ten or twelve years younger than him.
Aileen shrugged off the topic shaking her head and smiling. She finished pouring the wine and distributed the glasses. "This spumante is called Fiordarancio, meaning orange blossom, because its flavour has a slight hint of oranges", she said, raising her cup. "Very suitable for this cake."
"I agree", said Rossi, standing up and raising his cup in turn. "I suggest toasting to our amazing hostess, who is spoiling us so much!"
"To Aileen!" the others responded, raising in turn to clink their glasses together.
Aileen too rose and answered. "To our friendship, which I hope this dinner laid the groundwork for."
They had a sip, then they raided the cake, of which in the end remained only crumbles.
"I truly feel like bursting", muttered Reid.
Morgan laughed. "Of course you are! You're so skinny, yet you ate double our amount!"
"You had even more than me", grinned Penelope, whose curvy physique clearly hinted to her love for food. "I can't understand where you put all that stuff."
"Let's move to the sitting room", Aileen suggested. "Who wants coffee? Or, as an alternative, I can brew an excellent digestive infusion."
"What herbs?" enquired JJ, intrigued.
"A blend of seven", answered the therapist. "Chamomile, lemon balm, mint, wild fennel, star anise, verbena and coriander."
"Wow, I want to try that!" cried Penelope.
"Me too", Hotchner nodded.
"I'm in", JJ joined them.
The other ones chose coffee, and soon enough, they were all seated in the sitting room having their hot beverages.