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Stone left delivery instructions for his groceries and took a cab home. By seven, dinner was under way, and a bottle of vodka gimlets and one of martinis were in the freezer, chilling.
It was seven-thirty before Marla scratched at the kitchen door and was let in.
“Good evening,” Stone said. “Would you like a drink?”
“I would kill for a martini,” Marla replied, plopping down on the kitchen sofa.
Stone poured her the martini and himself a Knob Creek and sat down beside her. “Cheers,” he said. “Is the show coming into shape?”
“It is,” she said, “praise God. The structure is intact, and the lines, music, and choreography have been learned by my cast. Now we’re just working on not tripping over the scenery.”
“Congratulations on not having to panic at this juncture,” Stone said, clinking her glass with his.
“Mmmmm,” she said, sipping her martini. “Perfection. Don’t let me drink more than eight of these or I’ll make a fool of myself.”
Stone laughed. “I promise-not one more than eight. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll talk to you from the direction of the stove.”
“What are we having?”
“Osso buco,” Stone said, “with risotto.”
“Doesn’t that take hours?”
“Not in the pressure cooker,” he replied. “The risotto takes half an hour, though-no way to speed it up.”
“It all smells wonderful, and I thank you for not making me dress up to go out to a restaurant.” She pulled up a stool to the stove and watched him add stock to the risotto and stir it in. “Let’s get this out of the way,” she said. “Tell me about your wife.”
“She was murdered by a former and insanely jealous lover,” Stone said.
“I hope he got the chair.”
“They don’t do the chair anymore, it’s the needle nowadays,” Stone said. “But, in any case, he’s still at large, probably in Mexico.”
“That must be hard to take.”
Stone shrugged and added more stock. “I’m not a vengeful person. He’ll be caught, eventually, and will spend the rest of his life in prison.”
“Not the death penalty?”
“I’m opposed to the death penalty.”
“On what grounds?”
“Religious, moral, and economic.”
“I can understand the first two, but economic?”
“The death penalty costs the state several times as much as a prisoner’s serving life without parole, what with appeals. And in prison, they can make him earn his keep, until he’s too old or sick to work.”
“I never thought of that,” she said. “I guess I’m more vengeful than you.”
“I’ll try never to earn your vengeance,” Stone said.
“Smart move. I can be a real bitch.”
“Or your anger.”
Stone turned off the pressure cooker and let it cool, but he kept stirring the risotto and adding the stock. Finally, when all the liquid had been absorbed, he folded in half a container of creme fraiche and a couple of fistfuls of grated Parmesan cheese, then raked the rice into a platter and made a wall of it around the rim. He opened the pressure cooker, spooned out four slabs of the veal, and poured the sauce over it. “Voila,” he said, setting the platter on the table. And seating her.
