Interlude by Josie Daleiden Page A

what he
really did for a living. How was she going to tell him about how
she handled his little break in?
    “The guys who broke in and ransacked your
place were Dick Stevenson and Alan Jones. They're small time hoods
in Santa Barbara that think that they run some kind of crime ring.”
Karen said, waving her hand dismissively, adding, “They sell stolen
goods and occasionally try to break into the illegal drug market.
They always fail. Lately they had a bent on becoming gun runners,
so they tried to take over business like you do on the streets. It
was entertaining at first, watching them fall on their faces and
make asses of themselves, but when they attacked you Soren saw to
it that they didn't bother anybody again.” Karen said, her voice
trailing off into a quiet whisper.
    “Wait, so this guy Soren, who's not an
insurance guy at all, was sent by you to go kill these two thugs on
my behalf?” Cal said in disbelief. He was glad he was sitting down.
This was too much to process.
    “Well, technically it was my behalf.” She
paused, elaborating quickly when Cal gave her an astonished look,
“He didn't kill them!” She finally added with exasperation.
    “Then what did he do?” Cal asked, even though
he didn't want to know the answer.
    “He just flogged them pretty good, and then
set fire to their house..., and car.” Karen said defensively.
    “Oh thank goodness he didn't over react or
anything!” Cal said sarcastically. The wine was starting to make
his head spin when he attempted to break the tension.
    “How about I cook you dinner?” He finally
said, moving her off his lap so he could stand up straight.
    “You cook?” Karen asked.
    “Yeah, don't you?” Cal was moving to gather
up the albums and the empty bottle.
    “Not really. I bake sometimes.” She offered,
adding, “I'm not sure I have anything worth cooking.”
    “Well, let’s see shall we?” Cal said,
offering her his hand as they went inside.
    Cal set to work in the big kitchen. As a
college student, he got a job teaching a cooking class at the local
senior center. He had to learn quickly as he didn't know how to
cook, but he needed the money. He instead used his inexperience to
create a host of recipes that could be made in a dorm room with a
toaster oven and a microwave. This MacGyver approach to cooking
landed him the job, and lots of good ways to not starve to death as
a student. He could now use those odd skills to prepare something
for Karen in her, almost empty, kitchen.
    Reaching around in the giant refrigerator, he
found eggs, some carrots that looked like they might still be
useable, and some frozen peas petrified in the freezer. Rooting
around in the dark wood cabinets netted him some Ramen noodle
packages and an unopened bottle of soy sauce.
    “I can work with this.” Cal said to himself,
as Karen watched him in fascination.
    “What are you going to make with all that?”
Karen asked. Her wary look unmistakable.
    “Fried noodles, and some other stuff.” Cal
said, as he rooted around in his pile of ingredients. Sensing her
doubt, he added, “You'll have to trust me on this okay?” He said,
giving her a light pat on the ass as she moved behind him to fetch
a bottled water from the fridge.
    In no more than fifteen minutes, Cal had
managed to create something that looked like fusion cuisine. Deftly
moving about her kitchen, he made himself at home with her pots and
pans. He had cooked for so long, that finding his way around any
kitchen became second nature to him. As he fished out some
flatware, he plated everything up and handed her a fork. He watched
intently as she sampled his random culinary creation. He smiled
confidently when she smiled at the taste of his wonderful dish.
    “Oh my God, where did you learn how to do
this? I thought you were a computer guy?” She said.
    “Self-taught,” He said proudly, adding, “I
used to teach cooking in college. It payed my way through school. I
learned a bunch of ways to make great