Chocolate Daze

When the police and EMTs arrived, they found a broken front door, two incapacitated intruders, and Stella Macon sitting calmly at the kitchen table, drinking wine straight from the bottle. Officer Scott Murray looked over the petite brunette, taking in her messy bun sitting lopsided on her head, a hand-sized bruise forming on her face and torn shirt. Then he glanced into the kitchen where the two intruders were being treated by the EMTs.

The first thing he noticed was some meat substance splattered all over the kitchen and one of the intruders groaning on the floor, a cast iron frying pan next to his head. The second seemed to be covered in chocolate cake. He was being treated for anaphylactic shock. Officer Murray looked back at Stella, curiosity peaked, and watched as she took a mouthful of wine.

“Has anyone looked at your face yet, ma’am?” he asked, concerned. “You have a pretty decent sized bruise forming there.”

“Oh, yes, the nice EMT lady asked if I needed assistance. I told her she should probably check on the assholes in the kitchen first as one of them wasn’t breathing very well. I’ll be fine.” she replied. She spoke with a slight accent that hinted at a Hispanic ethnicity.

“Ok, so, would you like for me to get your statement about the events of today now, or would you rather come by the station tomorrow?” he asked, trying to keep his tone mild and his face straight as he glanced into the kitchen again, feeling mildly amused and slightly terrified of the woman in front of him.

“Oh, now’s fine.” she responded, with an indifferent wave of her hand.

He pulls out a small digital recorder.

“This is Officer Scott Murray recording the statement of Ms. Stella Macon. Do I have your permission to record your statement?” he asks, after pushing record.

“Yeah, sure, no problem.” she answers.

“Alright, Ms. Macon, whenever you’re ready, just start at the beginning and go from there.” he says as he settles his tall, lean frame into the chair across from her. She inspects him for a second before replying.

“Please, call me Stella. Only my students call me Ms. Macon.” giving him brief smile. He pauses for a moment.

“Ok, Stella,” returning her smile, giving her a slight nod, “whenever you’re ready.” his tone encouraging.

“Well,” she starts, “I had just finished making my meat base for enchiladas. I use my Abuela’s recipe, mine never tastes as good though.” She shrugs.

“My grandmother’s cooking always tastes better than mine.” he pipes in. “I think they add a special secret ingredient they never tell you about.” He looks startled by the sound of his own voice. He wasn’t one to make random conversation, especially while at work.

“Sorry for the interruption.” he says, self-consciously. Clearing his throat, he wonders where that mindless comment came from and why it wandered out his mouth.

She laughs, gently.

“I think your secret ingredient may be called ‘a grandmother’s love’.” giving him a wink before continuing.

“So, I just finished my enchilada meat, when the doorbell rang.” she goes on, shifting gears back to the attack. “I wasn’t expecting anybody, so I checked the doorbell cam. There were two men in suits: a big, tall one and a short, scrawny one. I wondered what they’re selling before opening the door. It seemed rude to tell them thanks but no thanks through an intercom, you know?”

“But before I could say anything, the taller one smiled and said, ‘Sorry to disturb you, but we were wondering if you had a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior?’” Scott watches, spellbound, as she becomes more animated as she speaks, talking with her hands almost as much as her voice. “Aw, crap, I thought. ‘No thanks’ I said, ‘I’m catholic. But did you know that Prince was a Jehovah?’ I asked them.”

“Wait, Prince, the musician Prince?” he interrupts.

“Yeah, the musician Prince. Is there some other Prince?” she retorts.

“Not that I know of,” he mutters, “I just didn’t know that.” Feeling slightly flustered.

“It’s ok,” she replies with an airy wave of her hand, “a lot of people don’t. I’m just a huge fan so.” She lifts one shoulder in a shrug.

“Anyway,” she continues, “I noticed that they aren’t carrying any of the usual paraphernalia of the Jehovah and that set off a warning bell in my brain. So, I plastered a great big smile on my face and said ‘Well, guys, thanks for stopping by, but I got to get back to making dinner. Have a great day!’ and I slammed the door,” she mimes slamming the door, “and threw the bolt as soon as it closed.”

“On the door cam,” she resumes, “I saw as the tall one drew up his leg to thunder kick my door. It blew in as I ran for the kitchen. Just as I got there, the little one gripped my shirt, tearing it. I clutched the first thing I could get my hands on, which happened to be my Tia Carmen’s cake. I turned and smashed it in his face.”

She pauses when, unexpectedly, a look of dejection descends upon her face.

“What? What is it?” he asks, suddenly alarmed. After listening and watching her talk about the break-in with such intensity and enthusiasm, seeing her abruptly unhappy causes him a stab of anxiety.

“My Tia made that cake especially for me and its ruined.” She mumbles, sounding miserable.

Scott knew he shouldn’t, but he found the fact she was more upset about a cake than everything else that happened oddly adorable and funny.

“This has been a week from hell.” She starts, “And today is a cheat day from this stupid diet that I’ve been on. My cousin’s getting married and, of course, she must,” eye roll, “have me in ceremony. This leads to my mom nagging me, more than normal, about finding a ‘good man’ and ‘settling down’.” She sighs.

“My Tia owns this little bakery over on fourth street-”

“Carmen’s Sweets and Treats?” he interrupts.

“Yeah, you know of it?” she asks, intrigued.

“I stop by there all the time. My daughter loves her macarons.” He remarks with a fond smile.

“You have a daughter?” she inquires, looking oddly disappointed. “And a wife?” A sudden blush splashes across her face as she blurts, “Ah, sorry, none of my business.”

“No, it’s ok.” He responds, giving a small, awkward laugh. “Yes, to the daughter, no to the wife. I do have an ex, though, with whom I share custody.”

“Ah, ok.” Somehow managing to look mortified and reassured at the same time, she clears her throat before persisting.

“So, Tia making me a cake is a big deal. And she made my favorite; a double layer, dark chocolate sponge cake with chocolate mousse frosting, topped with finely chopped peanuts. It’s called Chocolate Daze. Utterly divine.” she chef kisses, then looks sad again, “I was really looking forward to it.”

“You were planning on eating an entire cake on your cheat day?” he asks, amused. Laughter startles its way out of her.

“No.” she answers, still laughing, “A very large piece, maybe, but not the whole thing.”

He thinks for a second.

“Peanuts?” he queries.

“Yes! It’s exactly what you think, the little asshole is allergic.” She replies, gleeful. “He had an almost instantaneous reaction. I was like ‘oh, shit!’. That’s when the big asshole got to the kitchen, saw his little friend and yells, ‘he’s fucking allergic to peanuts!’. Like I’m just supposed to know that my friendly neighborhood home invaders have food allergies when they break in.” she finishes in exasperation.

She brings her hand to her face and lightly touching the bruise there.

“Then he backhanded me, knocking me into the stove.” She says in a quieter tone. “My hand fell onto the frying pan that I was using when they rang the doorbell. I grabbed the handle on reflex, swung around and tried to smash his brains out. He fell like a ton of bricks.” She pauses for a moment.

“And now you’re here.” she shrugs.

“Ah, ok,” he says, seemingly a bit muddled. “So, I guess that concludes your statement?”

She nods and he glances around, noticing that the EMTs had left with the perpetrators and the rest of the crime scene crew were wrapping up.

“Alright, well, it looks and sounds like we’re about done here. I’ll go down to the station and get the paperwork started. Keep your phone handy, someone will more than likely follow-up with you in a few days” he says, standing.

He glances around, taking in the mess in the kitchen and the still broken door.

“Um,” he begins nervously, “do you want me to call someone about the door? I can get them out here within the hour if you want.”

“That’d be great, if you could.” She replies with a soft smile. He can’t help thinking what a great smile she has.

“Yeah, no problem.” He responds awkwardly. “Well, I’ll see myself out. I hope you have a good night.”

She just nods in response as she takes a good look around, looking very dazed and beaten. He has an overwhelming desire to comfort her.

About an hour and a half later, Scott found himself standing back on Stella’s front porch. In one hand he’s holding a white box with the words Carmen’s Sweets and Treats embossed on it and in the other a large to go tray with Tita’s Grub Hub written on it.

He looks at the newly repaired door, amazed at how fast his friend had fixed it. He takes a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. He’s skin feels too tight as he looks down at the floor, apprehensively.

He looked up when the door opened.

“Officer Murray?” her tone puzzled, as she tilts her head to the side.

“Yeah, hi, sorry. I, uh, wanted to give you these.” He says, obviously flustered, as he hands her the box and food tray. “I figured, after everything, that you could use a good meal and bit of a pick-me-up.”

She looks down at the food.

“You went to my Tia’s bakery?” she asks, wonder filling her voice.

“Yeah.” He replies sheepishly. “I managed to grab the last piece of Chocolate Daze for you.”

“How did you know that Tita’s Grub Hub was my Abuela’s restaurant?” she demands in astonishment.

“Oh. Wow. No.” he comments in mild panic, “I didn’t. I just know that they have the best enchiladas.”

She’s quiet for a minute.

“Officer Murray-”

“Scott, please.” He interrupts, bashfully.

She scrutinizes him for a second before flashing him with a big, beautiful smile.

“Scott,” she pauses for a second, “would you like to come in?”

He smiles, feeling the tension leave his body.

“I would like that very much, Stella.”