One Slice of Blackmail, Coming Right Up
by meatisadelicacy
Spoilers: None – set in an arbitrary and happy future.
A/N: Not at all beta'd - lemme know if you see any mistakes. And the Italian in the story means "boss of all bosses."
burn_ingcity challenge: Doris, a fedora, a pie (apple or blueberry), Emma, a mob hit/witness protection, the phrase "as likely to happen as a Gay Pride Parade at Vatican City."
Natalia's day just kept getting weirder and weirder. All day at work Blake had been noticeably distracted. The publisher kept getting this goofy little smile on her face, and they were even less productive than usual, which really said something. Finally just before noon, Blake stopped pretending they were getting anything done and Natalia found herself free for afternoon. Emma was still at school for another few hours and Olivia wouldn't be home from work until after five. She sat at the kitchen table, utterly bored. It was too early to start dinner, there was nothing to clean, no child to play with, no green-eyed hotel owner to seduce. Nada.
The shrill cry of her phone shook the woman out of a pleasant daydream involving the said hotel owner and something much more fun than paperwork on the desk. After a brief conversation, Natalia sat down her phone, still not quite believing her ears. Doris Wolfe needed her help…baking a pie? A pie!? Did the Bears just win the Superbowl? Did hell freeze over? She looked out the window. No flying pigs. Did the outbreak of swine flu count? At least she wasn't bored anymore.
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Not more than half an hour later, Doris knocked on the farmhouse door. “Hey Indiana Jones, what's with the hat?” Natalia teased. Rolling her eyes, Doris stepped into the house and took off her favorite fedora. When the younger woman failed to illicit any reaction out of the mayor, she tried again. “Clark Kent?” Olivia's sense of humor had definitely rubbed off on her.
“I didn't want anyone to see me buying all this crap.” Doris had begun dumping out her bags, having to stop at the store on the way over for pie making ingredients. She certainly didn't keep any of it on hand.
“Yeah we wouldn't want to ruin your reputation.” Seeing two kinds of fruit in the second bag, Natalia asked, “So do you want apple or blueberry?”
Doris took a minute to weigh the pros and cons. Apple was classic, and it went well with ice cream. Blueberry pie was a little more to her liking, but the potential to spill all over herself and look like a slob was greater. Better to be safe than sorry. “Apple.”
Natalia nodded. “Let the baking begin.”
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“You mean we actually have to peel all these apples?”
Natalia wasn't sure if she was joking or not. “They aren't going to peel themselves.”
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“Why do we need two kinds of sugar?” Doris asked, pouring both brown and white sugar into a bowl. “I mean really, what's the difference?”
“Color.”
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“Who decided to call it ‘shortening?' It's doesn't make you short. It should be called ‘fattening.'”
Natalia decided that didn't even deserve a response.
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Sometime later, between the rolling pin (which Doris thought had been out of production since the 1950s) and the melted butter, Emma came home from school. She took one look at her exasperated Mama and her flour coated Aunt Doris and decided she'd be safer upstairs doing homework, no matter how good the kitchen smelled.
Even though it was only Emma, Doris was completely embarrassed to have been caught baking a pie. She should have kept on the hat. The mayor knew it was wrong to put out a mob hit on a fourth grader, and considering who the child was, it would certainly be useless. For all Doris knew, Emma was the capo di tutti capi . She could just picture it – Don Emma, making offers nobody could refuse.
About five hours after the whole baking adventure began, the kitchen was once again clean, Doris was gone, and there was a warm blueberry pie for desert. Olivia entered the house, finding Natalia putting the last of the dishes away.
“Was that Doris' car I saw leaving?” she asked after kissing Natalia's cheek.
“It was.”
Olivia looked around with a slightly worried look on her face. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” Natalia assured her. “She has a date tonight.” She paused, waiting to see Olivia's reaction.
“What? With who?”
“She wouldn't say.” Natalia stood in front of the other woman, not wanting to miss a millisecond of her reaction. “But, she needed to bring desert, and she asked me to help her bake a pie.”
Olivia was incredulous. “Doris Wolfe was just in here baking?” Natalia nodded. “Baking a pie?” Another nod. “A pie made out of food?” This time the younger woman laughed. “You're lying.”
“I am not!” Natalia defended herself with mock outrage.
“It's just…that's…” Olivia trailed off, unable to think of anything remotely comparable to Doris Wolfe baking. A pie. Made out of food.
“That's as likely to happen as a Gay Pride Parade through Vatican City?” Natalia offered helpfully.
The green eyed woman laughed, equal parts amused and impressed with the metaphor. “I still don't buy it,” she said, skeptically.
Just then Emma came bounding into the room with her laptop. “It's true Mom, I have proof!”
“You have proof, honey?” Natalia asked, unsure of what the girl had to prove the bizarre afternoon had taken place.
The little girl nodded and opened up her computer. “See? I used my new camera to take pictures! Mama and Aunt Doris didn't notice me at all.” She stated proudly. Sure enough, there were several candid pictures of the two women slaving away in the kitchen. Aprons, rolling pins, oven mitts and all.
The two women straightened up and looked at each other. Slowly a huge, shit eating grin took over Olivia's face. “This is going to be better blackmail than Ladies' Night!”
Natalia smacked her on the shoulder. “We are not blackmailing our friend.” After a second's thought though, she changed her mind. “Or they could be used to find out who her date was with.” The suggestion was almost shy.
Olivia grabbed the other woman's face with both hands and kissed her. God, she loved that brilliant, surprisingly devious woman! As Olivia set about emailing a threat to Doris, Natalia's mind wandered back to the way Blake was acting that morning. She was almost like a teenager nervous about her first date. Doris and Blake? She thought to herself. No way!