“Oh, and I'm going to throw this pork chop away,” Missy called out behind her. “Unless you were planning to sell it to a museum or something.” Before Cain could answer, there was a loud thunk as the chop was deposited in the trash can.
Cain returned to the TV screen and saw that he'd somehow switched back to Tracy and Hepburn trading banter. She was lighting up a cigarette, and he seemed to be scolding her for it and threatening to watch her all day, every day if he had to so she wouldn't take another puff.
Suddenly, Cain realized that this was a different channel and a different movie from the previous one, and switched off the television in disgust. He hated those movies. He hated all that they-hate-each-other-and-then-they-fall-in-love crap. It felt like something he'd seen too many times already.
His dry throat was starting to feel like it was locking itself down, and he thought he might actually gag.
“Hey,” Missy called out, “do you want me to get you a glass of water or anything, or should I just go fuck myself?”
“No,” Cain choked out, sitting up. He slowly pulled himself off the couch. He succeeded in biting back any audible sounds of pain, and he felt a fierce surge of pride at that, but he was gritting his teeth so hard he thought his gums might start to bleed.
Cain swayed a bit on his feet, then lurched to the kitchen. Missy heard him open the cabinet for a drinking glass and turned, surprised. “I thought you didn't want water?”
“No, I didn't want you to get it for me,” Cain said, turning on the faucet and filling the glass. He drained it in two big gulps, then refilled it and drained it again.
On the counter, Cain saw a large package of ground beef, plus several jars of tomato paste, containers of spices, and three different kinds of canned beans. Missy was in the process of chopping an onion and some garlic cloves, and a large pot was heating on the stove.
“What are you making?” Cain asked.
“Well, Jeeves made it back with the Rolls after all, so it looks like tonight we're dining on pheasant and foie gras,” she said wryly.
Cain was confused for a moment, then remembered his earlier joke. “Funny,” he grunted.
“I'm making chili,” Missy said. “Relax, you'll like it. Plus, I got some cornbread to dip in it. That refined enough for your delicate palate, smart guy?”
“Yeah, sounds fine,” said Cain. He sat down at the table.
“You're going to watch me cook chili?” asked Missy, raising an eyebrow.
“Like I said, there's nothing good on TV,” Cain replied. “Besides, I never watched anyone make chili before.”
The truth was, he needed to be off the couch for a while. He could feel his own self-pity soaking into the cushions under him, and he worried that if he remained sprawled there, it might become a pool deep enough for him to drown in. And even though he didn't want Missy there, he still hated the idea of sitting in the living room like a lump and listening to a woman do chores in the other rooms of the house.
Missy shrugged, tossing the beef, onions, and garlic into the bottom of the pot. They sizzled, and the smell of cooking food made Cain's stomach growl audibly. He had to admit that the thought of a good meal wasn't so bad.
“Fair enough,” she said. “Anyway, you might find it useful, learning how to make big pots of food like this. Like they said in The Godfather, you might have to cook for twenty guys someday.”
“I doubt it.”
“Okay, maybe not,” Missy conceded, “but at least you can freeze a bunch of it and heat it up whenever you feel like eating something that doesn't come with fries and a large fountain drink. As long as I'm standing in for your TV, do you want me to narrate what I'm doing over here, like a cooking show?”
“No thanks,” he said.
“You sure? I could try to do some kind of accent to spice it up a bit...”
“Just make the chili, wiseass,” Cain snickered. He may have found her infuriating, but he still had to admit she could be kind of funny when she wasn't acting bitchy.
“Just trying to give you your money's worth,” Missy said, breaking up the meat in the pot and tossing some spices over it.
About an hour later, the chili was finished and Missy doled it out into bowls. She placed a plate of cornbread muffins in the center of the table, along with some butter.
“Eat up,” she said, handing him a spoon.
Cain took a bite, and immediately followed it with another and another, his hunger suddenly flooding through his body like water from a broken dam. It was, without doubt, the best chili he'd ever had, with the perfect blend of spices and a rich consistency.