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Homicide Detective Jane Rizzoli opened the front door of her mother’s house to Chief Medical Examiner Dr Maura Isles.
“Thank God you’re here,” she said as Maura entered.
“It’s lovely to see you too, Jane,” she said in her matter-of-fact voice; she was covered in snow and carrying two bags full of presents.
Jane closed the door, hugged Maura briefly and looked heavenward, “I can’t stand it. Take me now, please.”
“Don’t you think that would be a little rude to your mother and family? Wouldn’t it be obvious that we’ve both disappeared upstairs...together? Not that I didn’t enjoy Christmas Eve with you. In fact I’m just getting over the sore muscles and friction glow but...what?” she paused noticing Jane staring at her. “What? Have you come out to your mother?”
Jane glanced uncomfortably at the floor. “No, not yet,” she admitted. “I don’t think she could stand the strain at the moment. It’s been a tough year what with Pop leaving.” She took Maura’s coat and hung it up. “Anyway, I didn’t mean upstairs to the bedroom,” she whispered and pointed. “I meant ‘take me now, God.’ It was a joke; meaning my family is driving me crazy.”
“Oh.”
“Okay, kiss me. Just kiss me,” Jane moved closer.
“Maura!” Jane’s mother, Angela, appeared with arms open wide.
“Perhaps later,” Maura said to Jane.
“I’m so glad you could make it for one of the twelve days of Christmas,” Angela smiled.
They hugged.
“I wouldn’t miss the Feast of the Epiphany, Angela. January 6th is a special day.”
“It is,” Angela said noticing Maura’s coat covered in melting snow. “Is it still snowing out there?”
“If anything the flakes are coming down faster,” Maura said. “Did you know there are over fifty words for snow?”
“Don’t start,” Jane whispered under her breath. “Snow is a great word for snow; it’s to the point.”
They followed Angela into the living room.
Maura said ‘hi’ to Tommy.
“This is Tommy’s wife TB,” Angela said. “And these,” she pointed at three toddlers, “are their triplets.”
“How nice,” Maura said in a disinterested manner.
“Did you enjoy the New Year with your mother, Maura?” Angela said.
“Yes, it was lovely, thank you. I took her to the airport yesterday.”
“Where is Constance off to now?” Angela enquired.
“She’s heading for a visual artists’ event in St Petersburg and then on to Moscow. She’s collecting forbidden Avant-garde art for a client in London. In Moscow she’s presenting a petition at the Kremlin in support of Pussy Riot. It’s part of a global effort to get them out of prison.”
Angela looked confused. “Pussy Riot; sounds like a gay women’s club.”
“Radical anti-Kremlin punk rock group in Russia, Ma,” Tommy chipped in.
“They did an anti-Putin song and dance about the murky world of politics and religion at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour. They got arrested and are in prison,” Jane added.
“I’m not really up on current events since your father stole the television set,” Angela said bitterly. “What did they do to get put in prison, destroy property?”
“They sang about corruption in a punk style not in Gregorian chant,” Jane commented.
“They did a prayer to the Virgin Mary, as Jane says, in punk style. They said they did it to save Russia. It was a legitimate protest. My mother is a great advocate for free speech and for using art to express the truth behind life changing issues. She will be handing in a 10,000 signature petition to the Russian authorities in Moscow. It was decided by the art community that it would be presented to the authorities by my mother and radical artist Picassium who has just come out of his red period.”
Tommy thought for a moment. “Isn’t he the guy who emptied five barrels of pigs’ blood on the steps of Wall Street in 2010 to symbolise that the corrupt financial system is bleeding America dry?”
“Yes, that was him.” Maura nodded. “He accepted the Nobel Prize for Art last year and now paints portraits of bankers.” She sighed. “He seems to have lost his edge since he received money and critical acclaim.”
“It’s called selling out,” Jane explained.
“Well, I am not sure about the cathedral prank but I do believe in free speech.” Angela nodded. “I just don’t like the idea of them being disrespectful in a holy place.”
The room was cosy and warm. There was a large Christmas tree in one corner that looked the worse for wear and was ready to come down for another year. There seemed to be an overabundance of tinsel and Christmas decorations scattered around the room. The cross on the mantelpiece was wrapped in red tinsel. Maura knew that Mrs Rizzoli would have decorated with care but it still looked as though a Christmas bomb had gone off, spraying reindeer, baubles, tinsel and angels everywhere. A large red Santa stood by the kitchen door. Every so often he would come to life and sing ‘Jingle Bells’ whilst swaying and bobbing up and down.
“Maura would you like a glass of wine or a cup of tea?” Angela asked.
“Wine, please.”
“Are you British?” TB asked.
“My mother is,” Maura said honestly without seeing the oddity of the answer she had just given.
“Hey,” Tommy said to his wife. “Maybe Maura can help you with your British accent?”
She beamed. “That would be great. I’ve been trying to work on it for weeks; trying to get it to work with the characters.”
“Characters?” Maura asked as Angela handed her a glass of wine. “Thank you.”
“TB is an actress,” Angela said proudly as she scooped one of the triplets out of the Christmas tree. “Don’t chew grandma’s baubles or you won’t make it to four years old honey. No, you could choke and they will make you go ‘Ho Ho Ho’.”
“See what I mean?” Jane whispered to Maura who kept her eyes fixed on TB.
“Stage or screen?” Maura asked TB.
“Stage at the moment,” she said. “My agent is trying to get me an audition in Hollywood. They’re doing a remake of ‘Great Expectations’ and my agent said I’m a classic for Pip’s unkind sister, Mrs Joe Gargery.”
Jane shook her head slightly, tilted her head and placed her hands on her hips. “Doesn’t she get a nineteenth century version of a lobotomy that makes her a nicer person?”
Maura glanced disapprovingly at Jane. “Who are you with?”
“I’m performing with ‘We’re Theatrical!’” As she said the words she clapped her hands together and stepped forward with her right foot, thumping it down, as if delivering a punch line.
Maura tried not to flinch. “So are you working on a production now?”
“Yes, we sure are. Oliver by Charles Dickens,” she enthused. “I play Nancy, Bill Sykes’ prostitute lover.” She went into acting mode: “Bill I ain’t mutton and deaf you don’t harf to shout.’” She went into another theatrical pose and set the scene. “I also play Oliver’s mother who dies in the Workhouse on Christmas Eve. It’s real moving. I’m lying there and I slip into the Cockney rhyming slang I’ve learned.” She glanced at Maura. “I feel it’s appropriate.” She raises a hand and her eyes became glassy with a faraway look. “Core blimey, I feel as weak as a kitten. My mince pie eyes are going dark. I can see the light.” She raises her arms upwards. “Is my little Oliver dead? Tell me it ain’t so! He’s alive, gawd bless, love a duck. Off I go up the apples and stairway to heaven.”
“I don’t think that’s Cockney, I think that’s Led Zepplin.”
“Jane, please,” her mother scolded. “Let the woman work her magic.”
“That is such a good British accent TB,” Tommy swooned. “Don’t you think so Maura?”
“I’ve got goosebumps,” Maura said. “My mother isn’t from East London. She was raised in Warwickshire.”
Jane stuck her nose in the air as she stared at Tommy, “Home of William Shakespeare; class at work.”
“I’ve been researching for the character,” TB was saying, “and I was wondering whether it would be good to make Nancy a Pearly Queen? I could make such a beautiful button dress; make it look real authentic. I know plenty of rhyming slang; apples and stairs; mutton and deaf; rosy tea; trouble and wife. I think it will all come together on the night.”
“May I just correct you on one or two points?” Maura said politely.
“Sure.”
“I think that with Cockney rhyming slang you are supposed to infer what the subject is by the second or third word in the rhyme. It’s called hemiteleia; for example, apples and pears is ‘stairs’ whilst ‘rosy lee’ means ‘tea’ and ‘trouble and strife’ means wife. You don’t tell the listener what you are really saying or it doesn’t work; it’s a language meant for those in the know. The language is probably a cryptolect to bewilder stranger or those in authority. Do you see what I mean?”
TB was vacant.
“Like Richard Cranium means Dick head,” Jane offered and looked at Tommy.
“No Jane,” Maura said adamantly, “Richard Cranium does not rhyme.”
“The second point is that the Pearly Kings and Queens are quite late in the Victorian period. In fact the founder of the style, Henry Croft died in 1930. He was an orphan and a street cleaner and developed the working class clothing style for charity. I think Oliver’s mother was middle class.”
“Thanks for the tip,” TB said exuberantly. “So, Maura what do you do?”
“I’m a forensic pathologist.”
TB pulled an ugly face. “You work with dead people?”
“No,” Maura said calmly. “I work on dead people.”
At that moment one of the triplets staggered over to Maura and wiped chocolate covered hands down her skirt.
“Core blimey,” TB said and giggled.
“You little sticky fingered…imp,” Jane said as she looked at the chocolate smears on Maura’s skirt.
“Sorry, Maura, look at the mess she made. You can wipe it off in the kitchen after I sort her out. Come on you,” Angela said scooping the offending triplet up. “Go get those hands clean.”
“They’re…adorable,” Maura said in a shaky voice.
“Triplets,” Tommy said proudly. “I’m pretty fertile, eh?”
“Yes,” Maura said suppressing the urge to run out of the house screaming ‘this is Dior!’ quickly followed by ‘this is ruined.’
“This is TJ, Tommy Jr, the only boy,” TB was saying as she introduced the toddlers. “The one with Mrs R is PS, short for Penelope Sharon,” she giggled. “What can I say, I love abbreviations!”
“I think it’s called an acronym babe,” Tommy advised.
Maura remained silent; she was still in shock over her skirt. She looked at the one chewing tinsel.
“That’s Belinda Shirley,” Tommy said smugly. “I’m pretty sure she’ll be the brains of the bunch.”
Jane saw Angela come out of the kitchen and put the triplet back on to the carpet. At that point Jane grabbed Maura’s arm and took her into the kitchen. She could sense that Maura was too tense to move without help. She handed Maura a cloth to wipe down her skirt. Maura snapped out of it and grinned, “I hope they don’t shorten Belinda Shirley because that would be cruel.”
“You see what I mean? I have one nerve left and TB’s getting on it. Any more ‘We’re Theatrical’” Jane did the body moves, “and my mother’s house may become a murder scene.”
“TB or not TB that is the question” Maura laughed. “It’s almost Shakespeare.”
“Please, not you too,” Jane whined. “She’s more Ham than Hamlet.”
“Calm down,” Maura suggested. “I’m glad my stocking weren’t laddered,”
“You’re wearing stockings?”
Maura looked at her sweetly. “They’re expensive stockings from Europe.”
“Let me help you with your skirt,” Jane said taking the cloth and the opportunity to run her hand furtively under Maura’s skirt. “Stop it! You’re mother may come in!”
They heard the doorbell chime. Jane handed the cloth back to Maura and poured them both more wine. “That’ll be Frankie Jr and his new girlfriend Lucy or should I say L.”
“The place is heaving with heterosexuality.”
“I know but you’re the Isle of Queer in a rough heterosexual ocean.”
“Funny.”
Jane took Maura in her arms and kissed her neck. “When will we be alone together, again?”
“How about Friday? I have some free time then, I could slot you in,” Maura gave a seductive smile.
Jane grinned at her. “You are bad and smutty.”
“Talking of bad, when are you going to tell your mother that you’ve discovered you true sexual preferences?”
“Maura,” Jane squirmed. “She’s Italian and has expectations; it’s tricky. I need to time it just right.”
“I don’t want to pressure you, Jane,” Maura was saying as she reached for the wine glasses. “If and when you tell her is obviously up to you. Still, I am a grown woman and I refuse to behave in a furtive and clandestine manner. I am what I am.”
“God that was so brave and strong, it sounds like a disco anthem.”
“I am what I am; Gloria Gaynor, reached number 82 on the R&B list, 1983.”
“Girls,” Angela said as she appeared in the doorway, “Would you bring the bowls of food through when you come?”
“Sure, Ma,” Jane nodded.
“Do you like fish, Maura?” Angela asked. “We have La Vigilia?”
“Fish pie,” Jane whispered.
“No thank you, Angela. I am not a big fish fan.”
“What about Capitone?” Angela asked as she went into the family room.
“Eel,” Jane whispered and smirked when she saw the expression on Maura’s face.
“No, really, thank you Angela,” Maura shouted. “I am not hungry.”
Jane shoved her. “Yes you are! You told me you were ravenous.”
“It’s not a word I use; ravishing possibly but that has little to do with food and a good deal to do with how you look.”
Jane beamed. “I can live with those kinds of compliments.” She tried winding Maura up. “What about if she offers you Pufferfish?”
“I believe that is a show for Oprah. Did you know the Tetraodontidae family has over one hundred species of puffer and is one of the most poisonous vertebrates in the world? It is only surpassed in its toxicity by the golden poison frog.”
“Maura,” Jane said holding her hand momentarily. “Relax, I was only joking.”
“Okay, you can have something else. We have plenty of food,” Angela shouted. She was thinking aloud and not paying attention; she was flustered. She came back into the kitchen. “Get the dita degli aposteli will you?”
Maura looked at Angela quizzically. “Fingers of the apostles?”
Angela nodded with approval. “Very good, Maura.”
“I did spend a year in Italy studying medicine at the University of Bologna.”
“Plenty of useful fingers there I bet. Dark Italian ones,” Jane said and glared at Maura.
“Oldest medical school in the world, no wonder Maura wanted to go there,” Angela said, confirming Maura’s intellectual superiority.
“I know you were saying something Ma but all I heard was blah, blah, blah.”
“Don’t be ashamed that you didn’t go to college,” Angela said disappointedly.
“I wasn’t until you hinted that I have spaghetti for brains. I am sorry I didn’t go to college but I didn’t.”
“Sophie Loren said ‘Everything you see I owe to spaghetti,’ Maura smirked.
“She forgot to mention the bra with 46 double D cups that were stuffed with two large, eye catching, meatballs,” Jane shot back.
“38C,” Maura corrected.
“It’s not too late to go to college,” Angela suggested.
“Yes, give up detective work and study underachieving and step aerobics.”
“You could do worse, I hear they do step aerobics and hair dressing on one course in Boston,” Maura added.
“Crap courses for the masses.”
“Don’t be disrespectful about education, someone has to cut hair. And I remember Bologna because of the massacre in 1980. Your father’s uncle Silvio was one of those killed in the train station massacre.” She turned to Maura. “If you were a little older you may have got to work on his body.”
Jane threw her hands in the air. “What a great festive thought.”
Tommy called to Angela from the living room. “Ma, Frankie’s here.”
“Thanks for staying with the festive spirit,” Jane called out as her mother left the kitchen.
“Sometime you should remember those who have passed. It makes you appreciate what you have.” Maura suggested. She kissed Jane gently on the cheek.
“Yeah sure,” Jane dismissed her.
“Bring in the food, please,” Angela yelled from the living room.
“You,” Jane teased as she grabbed the fish pie. “You call yourself a lesbian and don’t like fish,” Jane quipped.
Maura gave her a wide-eyed offended look. “You may be surprised to know this Ms Rizzoli but you don’t smell or taste of sea bass or bluefin tuna. And when I put my head to your vagina I can’t hear the ocean.”
Jane laughed.
Angela returned to the kitchen, all flustered. “Let’s get the food in,” she grabbed some plates and cutlery. “The boys are having a testosterone surge to see who has the most body hair. There’s something about Italian men and hair.”
Maura frowned playfully as she helped carry the food to the dining table.
“Plates are the table, tuck in,” Angela instructed.
Jane kissed her brother, Frankie and shook hands with Lucy his new girlfriend. Jane noticed she was big in the breast department.
Tommy swallowed a mouthful of food before speaking. “So Frankie, how’s Pop?”
“Oh Florida was so hot!” Lucy let slip.
“Lucy,” Frankie told her off. “We agreed, not in front of Ma.”
“Sorry Frankie.”
“He’s doing fine,” Frankie shrugged.
“Is he still with that pole dancer?” Angela asked abrasively.
Frankie sighed. “Ma, she’s not a pole dancer.”
“What is she then?”
“She’s Polish and a dancer that’s not the same thing.” Frankie explained.
“She’s keeping your father from returning to his family.” Angela said like a wounded animal.
“So TB,” Frankie said. “Tommy tells me you’re a stage actress. Are you with anyone famous?”
TB smiled. “I’m with ‘We’re Theatrical’” and proceeded to do her hand clapping stamping routine. Frankie looked like he’d been slapped across the face and Lucy burst out laughing.
“Maura,” Jane said looking at her lover who had a strange expression on her face. “Maura? You okay?”
Maura grabbed a glass of wine and gulped it down in one go.
Jane gave an insecure grin as she touched Maura’s arm. “You okay?”
Maura nodded and gave her chest a swift thump. “I think I just swallowed a large olive. It was a hand clap too many.” She coughed again. “Oh that reminds me. I’ll be back in a moment.”
When Maura returned she had the bags of presents. “I got the triplets exactly the same so there could be no fighting.”
“Thanks Maura, that was thoughtful,” Tommy said genuinely touched.
“Wow,” TB exclaimed as the triplets pulled the wrapping paper off. “Fluffy dolls, weird dolls.”
They were plush toys one was yellow and teardrop shaped and the other was a series of brown rings with the widest on the bottom and the smallest on top; they had little white eyes and bright red mouths.
“They are pee and poo dolls,” Maura explained. “I was assured by a psychiatrist that the toys would help the triplets to associate their bodily functions as perfectly natural.”
Frankie smirked. “Maura, should they be encouraged to play with piss and shit?”
Jane slapped Frankie on the arm. “Ouch!” he grabbed his arm. “I was only asking.”
“The transition from pretend to reality should cause no problems,” Maura said, without offence. “This is for you Tommy,” she handed him a present.
“It’s probably a toy car with a plastic priest under it,” Frankie quipped.
“Frankie, be nice to your brother,” Angela said angrily.
He peeled off the wrapping paper and found a chess set. “Thanks Maura!”
“Frankie, this is for you,” she said. “I’m sorry Lucy, I didn’t know you were here or I would have bought you something.”
“No problem, I have all I want right here,” she looked at Frankie.
“Ah babe that’s so romantic,” they kissed.
“Please, stop it! You’ll frighten the triplets and Maura will have to go buy more dolls,” Jane said as she watched the triplets chew their pee and poo dolls.
“Ah, Maura you shouldn’t have,” Frankie said as he looked at his present. “What is it?”
“Thumb screws,” Maura said matter-of-factly. “Antique thumb screws,” she reiterated. “I noticed last week how you bent the thumbs back on a robbery suspect you had arrested thereby causing him considerable pain. I deduced that you must like torture implements and saw this at my antique dealer’s store. If you don’t like it I can take it back and get you something else?” She paused and thought. “How about I exchange it for a medieval spiked collar instead?”
No one could tell if Maura was serious or making a point about police brutality.
“No,” Frankie said suddenly subdued. “This is…great.”
“Mrs Rizzoli,” Maura handed her a slim envelope.
“Oh my how fantastic!” Angela was clearly thrilled as she peeled off the paper.
“What is it Ma?” Tommy asked.
“Six months membership to that exclusive health club in Beacon Hill,” she said. “Maura I can’t accept this. It must have cost a fortune.”
“Please, Angela this is a time of giving. It gives me pleasure to give.”
“Thank you,” she gave Maura a hug.
“Yeah, thanks Maura,” the brothers said and hugged her together. Maura disappeared under the arms of the Rizzoli men.
“Hey, hey,” Jane pulled them apart. “Let the woman breath.”
“What Maura get you, Jane?” Frankie said mockingly.
“Mind your own business.”
“Okay, let’s play charades,” Angela said putting the plates with half finished food on the table.
Jane’s body language was deflated. “Do we have too?”
“Sure it’ll be fun,” Frankie admitted. “It’s either that or Ma tells our loved ones what we were like as kids and pulls out the photo albums,” he stared at her knowingly.
Jane nodded. “Great idea, let’s play charades.”
They sat on the couch and on chairs and on the floor and everyone tried to guess the body language of the one doing the charade. There was lots of laughter, pointing and shouting.
“Maura,” Angela said. “It’s your turn.”
Maura approached Angela and picked up the paper with her task to act out.
“Okay?”
Maura nodded. She made the gesture that it was a film and a book.
The first clue was holding her back in pain. The second clue was pretending to herd animals; the third clue was slapping her thigh and standing like a cowboy.
“Snow White,” TB shouted.
It didn’t look like they were going to get it. In one last ditch attempt Maura made gestures of climbing and pretending to look out over a vast distance; she clutched her back and grabbed Jane and kissed her, pushed her way and kissed her again and then turned her around and did a couple of pelvic thrusts.
“Brokeback Mountain!” Tommy blurted out hysterically.
Maura laughed. “Yes, well done Tommy.”
“Okay, anyone for coffee?” Angela said heading to the kitchen.
“Sure Mrs R,” Tommy’s wife TB said, “but first we need to put the triplets to bed. Tommy, give me a hand?”
“Okay,” Tommy scooped up two of the irritable triplets and carried them out of the door.
Frankie and Lucy sat on the couch making eyes at each other as Angela went into the kitchen. As soon as she had gone they leapt up off the couch and made a dash into the hallway. They returned with a box containing a television.
They set up the twenty-six inch plasma screen while Angela was making coffee.
In no time at all a large picture filled the screen. Jane hugged her brother; it was a nice thought.
“Hey Ma,” Frankie yelled. “Why don’t you come in here and watch TV?”
“Frankie, stop teasing me,” she said as she came out of the kitchen with the coffee, cannoli and donuts. Her face lit up. Frankie took the tray from his mother and gave it to Lucy while he hugged her. “Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, Ma.”
“What great kids I’ve got,” she wiped the tears from her eyes. “Like the three Magi.”
Maura shot Jane a bewildered glance.
“Why don’t you watch the news?” Lucy said as she poured the coffee.
They sat watching the late evening news account on Boston’s deteriorating weather. The news was reporting a white out. The studio cut to a lone reporter disappearing before their eyes; turning into a snowman. He was yelling something lost in the wind about blizzard conditions and then the connection was severed and it was back to the warmth and brightness of the studio.
“Only travel if it is essential to do so,” the anchorman was saying.
Frankie stood up and walked to the window. “It’s thick out there.”
Jane went into the kitchen and her mother followed.
“I want you to be honest with me Jane.”
“Sure Ma,” Jane could tell that it was going to be a serious conversation.
“Are you and Maura having a relationship?”
Jane felt the blood drain from her face. “You mean are we together?”
Angela looked her daughter in the eye. “You know what I mean.”
Jane paused. “Did someone say something?”
Angela huffed. “They don’t have too. Your body language says it all. Are you having sex with Maura?”
Jane frowned. “Dear God, Ma what kind of a question is that?”
She thought about it. “Okay, maybe that was a little too overprotective even for me.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Do you love Maura?”
Jane considered the question. “Yes I do.”
“Are you sleeping with Maura?”
“What is this, OVRA headquarters?” she said avoiding answering. “Shall I go get Frankie’s thumb screws?”
“Don’t you take that tone with me,” Angela said and raised her hand as if to slap Jane around the face.
“Don’t get physical with me, Ma,” Jane was ready to defend herself. “I’m old enough to do what I want with the person of my choice. It’s my decision not yours.”
Frankie came into the kitchen. “Everything okay?” he looked concerned.
“Leave us alone for a minute Frankie,” Jane requested. He left.
“Do you remember the last time I slapped you?”
“What is this, the Rizzoli family blow by blow down memory lane?”
Maura came into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
Jane turned to Maura. “My mother knows we’re together and was telling me how she feels about it.” She turned to her mother. “I will take my offensive gay ass and leave this house.”
Angela shook her head and said in exasperation; “I don’t care that you’re gay.”
“You don’t?”
“No, I love Maura, she’s the best thing that happened to you,” she turned to Maura, “Welcome to the Rizzoli family Maura.”
Maura gave a weak grin. Both she and Jane were confused.
“But you were about to slap me.”
“Sure I was and you deserved it.”
“Hitting someone is the sign of a lack of vocabulary,” Maura interjected.
Jane raised her hand. “Not now, Maura. This is no time for intellect.”
“Your right,” Maura said. “This is a time for passion and I am passionate about your daughter.”
“Ah, thanks Maura.” Jane looked at her lovingly.
“The last time I slapped you was when you were a child and you lied to me. I wanted to slap you again, not because you’re gay, a lesbian, a queer, a West End Thespian,” she tried to cover all descriptions, “but because you lied to me.” She turned to Maura. “Your mother taught me the West End one.”
Maura raised her eyebrows in surprise.
“How did I lie to you?” Jane asked.
“By omission,” Maura quipped.
Jane scowled at Maura.
“Yes,” Angela said waving towards Maura, “by what Maura said.” Her face was full of hurt. “I am choked that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me how you felt. That you must think me such a terrible mother that I would abandon my child,” she looked at Jane, “and you’ll always be my child.” Jane was thawing. “How could you think I would not accept you and Maura?” She looked from one to the other. “I mean, dear God, I want my children to have partners who bring them joy. If you have to love women then thank God you chose Maura. You all have someone; Tommy has TB,” she shook her head. “I wish TB would use a goddamn name; and Frankie has Lucy. Okay, so I’ve seen sharper goldfish but she loves Frankie and that’s enough for me. She looks like good breeding material, too.”
Maura was trying not to grin. This was Angela’s big moment as a Matriarch.
“So you don’t mind?” Jane asked for confirmation.
“What do you think I am? Non me ne freggo un cazzo.”
“She really doesn’t give a fuck,” Maura said, trying to translate.
“When you nearly lose your daughter to a serial killer,” Angela choked before steadying her emotions. “When you’ve watched your children grow up and you watch them fighting for life in intensive care at the hospital” she looked at Jane, “which is what I did with you and Frankie, it puts everything into perspective.” She turned to Maura. “You are just right for Jane.”
“Thank you Angela, that means a lot to me,” Maura was touched by Angela’s open-mindedness.
Angela nodded gracefully like she was giving Holy Communion. “Today is the day of the Epiphany when God gave us Jesus and showed us that Jesus was a human being; he made Rome, us Italians, the centre of his heaven on earth. If he is a loving God I think I should try to do my bit.”
“That’s not quite correct,” Maura started to say until Jane grabbed her and gave her a hard ‘shut up’ squeeze.
“There is too much hatred in the world. Let’s try bringing in joy. I love you, both of you.”
“Oh Ma,” Jane said and hugged her mother.
“Oh Ma; oh Jane,” Maura said and hugged the Rizzoli women.
Angela pulled away and wiped her eyes. “Anyway, I’ve been around the block,” she said enigmatically. “It doesn’t mean you can’t get married and have children, does it? I mean Amy Walsh is married and has children.”
Jane’s jaw dropped. “Amy Walsh, the slim, beautiful cheerleader from across the street?”
“Sure, the way you look does not mean that much. Look at Maura.”
Maura tried to cover the dark water mark on her skirt. “Actually I prefer to think of myself as ambisexual on the Kinsey Scale.”
“I was a Kinsey one in my youth.” Angela admitted. “Towards the end of my marriage to Jane’s father we both became an X.”
“Wait, wait,” Jane said looking from one to the other. “What? Are you talking in sexual category Cockney so that I can’t understand?”
“What you’ve never heard of the Kinsey sexuality scale?” Angela mocked. “You young people think you invented sexual variation?”
“No,” Maura gave it some thought. “I think it’s toss up between the Celts, who thought nothing of same sex relationships and the Greeks.”
“Don’t underestimate the Romans for sexual experimentation,” Angela nodded.
Maura grinned at Angela. “How could I forget?”
“It makes so much sense to me now,” Angela was saying.
“What does?” Jane was relieved her love for Maura was out in the open.
“The comment Giovanni Gilberti made when I took my car to the garage to be fixed. Good auto mechanic.” She looked at Maura. “You met him, family friend, very fit, nice paint job but no engine under the hood if you know what I mean.”
“He is so dead,” Jane fumed.
“No, no, Jane, he didn’t say anything horrible. He was very supportive and asked after Maura. Said he thought it was cool about you two.”
“That was nice of him,” Maura noted.
“Your Uncle Vinny was at Stonewall,” Angela said mysteriously as she headed out of the kitchen.
“Hey,” Jane said following her. “What do you mean he was at Stonewall?”
“Jane,” Frankie grabbed her as she came through. “Care to dance?” He held his sister tightly and began to dance around the room to Dean Martin singing ‘Let it Snow.’
“Frankie, do you want to visit the hospital with broken thumbs?” Jane threatened as he glided them around the room.
“No, and we’ll never make it,” he said still forcing her to dance. “The weather outside is frightful,” he said mockingly, repeating the song.
Jane pulled away.
“He’s not wrong,” Maura noted as she looked at the snow piling up outside.
“The weather report is to only go out if you want to die,” Lucy said. “It looks like we’re all stuck here for the night.”
Tommy and TB came back into the room.
Frankie explained the weather report.
Angela listened. “It’s settled then, everyone is here for tonight.”
“We don’t mind we can sleep down here,” Lucy was saying as she looked for approval from Frankie.
“Tommy and TB can sleep with the triplets, I’ll get extra bedding.” Angela turned to Jane and Maura. “If Maura wouldn’t mind, she could share your old room with you.” Angela was being discreet.
“Sure, Ma, thanks,” Jane said. “Is that okay with you Maura?”
“I don’t mind at all.”
The adults settled down for a nightcap and sat watching the lights from the Christmas tree sparkle and the snow flutter past the window. The television was showing ‘It's a Wonderful Life.’
“You know,” Angela said as she sipped her coffee. “I think it is a wonderful life.”
They all nodded.
“Shall we go to bed?” Tommy asked TB. “Frankie and Lucy can’t get sorted out until we’re out of the way.”
“Tonight we take down all the Christmas stuff,” Angela said.
“Would you like us to help?” Tommy asked.
“No, I have Frankie and Lucy, they’ve offered to help. We can all make a fresh start tomorrow, early. It will be a new day and the real New Year will start.”
“Carpe diem!” TB said as she and Tommy headed upstairs.
“I know that one,” Lucy beamed. “’seize the fish’. My older sister taught me that.”
“Remind me to kick your sister’s ass when I next meet her,” Frankie said.
“Isn’t it right?”
“It’s real close, babe,” he said encouragingly.
“Maura we might as well get out of the way, too,” Jane said. “Shall we go up the apples and pears?”
They made their exit.
Jane climbed into bed. She heard the bathroom door open and close and shortly after Maura entered the bedroom. She was wearing a bathrobe which she quickly discarded revealing one of Jane’s old over-sized police shirts.
“It looks great on you,” Jane said appreciatively.
“You know,” she paused. “I think I’ve had an epiphany.”
“It was probably the whole olive you swallowed earlier.”
“No I’m serious, Jane. I think you’re mother is incredible. She’s been through so much and she can still see the good in people.”
“Most people, but my father is the exception,” Jane said calmly and shook her head. “Can we not talk about my parents? It’s a real turn off.”
“Sorry,” Maura smiled and slid into bed. “I just love the Day of Epiphany.”
“Love it,” Jane said kissing Maura’s collar bone. “I never took you for religious.”
“Oh, I’m not,” Maura said as Jane’s head rested on her chest. “It is the day I had my first lesbian encounter. It was with a school friend. She had beautiful blue eyes.”
“I’ve got brown eyes.”
“And they are beautiful eyes,” Maura said seductively. “It is also the birthday of a heroine of mine. La Pucelle d’Orleans.”
“La Blah d’who?”
“Joan of Arc, another young, strong and brave woman.”
“Don’t forget charred and crispy.” Jane began to unbutton Maura’s shirt. She pulled it open and began to gently kiss Maura’s breasts.
Maura moaned softly and sat up to take the shirt off. She lay on top of Jane and began to kiss her neck and breasts and stomach.
“What are you doing?” Jane whispered as she touched Maura’s head.
“Guess?”
Jane laughed.
“I am doing the only fishing I will ever do. Pearl fishing; you have to go deep and use skill to tease the pearl out.”
Jane smiled and lay back on the pillows enjoying the moment. “You sure have the perfect bait.”
Maura slid between Jane’s legs. “I believe there’s a beautiful small pearl down here.”
“That’s sweet Maura, no one has ever described my vagina as a mollusc before.”
Maura found the pearl and Jane was lost in the ocean of pleasure.