Hair pinned up, apron protecting the dress she'd spent the last week finishing up, make-up perfect, radio on, Isadora moved swiftly about her kitchen putting the finishing touches on a meal she'd been preparing all day.  The apple pie was on the window sill cooling, the pot roast was in the oven with vegetables packed all around it.  Carrots, onions, fingerling potatoes and gravy that her grandmother had sworn her to secrecy about in her youth.

Lordian was flying in for a meal, a thank you for all his support in dealing with her husband's debts and the newspaper.  She had prepared a small file of information about the business side of things for him to take with him, but in truth, she hoped the meal was more the focus on this visit than business.

He was a handsome young man, from a powerful family, just the sort she'd be well within her right mind to set her sight on - widow that she was, things being as they were in his day.  She knew she should feel ashamed, there was Betty after all, but he had made a point of noting she was the sort of dame he didn't see as up to the task of being his equal partner.  Wiping her hands on her apron she wondered what he would consider worthy of being his partner in life... was she barking up the wrong tree.  His family did have a certain reputation after all.

Hearing a knock at the door she checked her make-up one more time in a small mirror on the wall near the den and then rushed to open it.  She didn't want to keep her guest waiting.  Without looking outside to see who was there, she put on her brightest smile and pulled open the door to greet whoever was on the other side - sure it must be Lordian.

Lordian watched as the door opened to the small home. It reminded him much of his own childhood in Brooklyn. he reflected for a second, not exactly sure why his mother had decided to raise him in a small place like this when she could have easily dipped into his trust fund and bought any kind of palace she wanted. Then again, the thought swept from his mind quickly as his mother was kinder at heart, and cared little for the material things in the world.

As the door opened fully, his senses were rushed back to this place of existence with the fiery red hair, pinned up in front of him. Isadora's freckles of course could not be pinned up out of the way, such was the curse of Irish heritage, or at least he suspected hers to be Irish.

"Evening Isadora." He said with a smile as he produced a bottle of wine and a bouquet of flowers. His mother would have knocked him upside the head if he didn't come properly prepared to greet a woman in he own home. "I have another gift for you too." He tapped on the briefcase on the ground with a foot and then shrugged. "You take something, and I'll take the other two things inside huh?"

He like to play these little things. Each thing here, whatever she choose to take first, it was a tell. Flowers, she was romantic. Money, it was all about business. Wine, well she was part Italian, so that might just mean she was normal. But that would be the most difficult to assess.

"You didn't have to bring any gifts, this was meant to thank you after all!"  She leaned in and kissed his left cheek ever so gently and then his right.  Noting she'd left a bit of lipstick on him, she dabbed his cheek with a chuckle.  She then leaned in to smell the flowers, her eyes softening as she did so, before turning to take the wine from him.

"A red, I hope?"  She held open the door for him.  "I'll get it open straight away so it can breathe.  Then we'll find a vase for the flowers."  She closed the door behind him.  He had stepped into a small foyer.  In front of him a hallway went back to the bathroom and the bedrooms.  To his left the den - a cozy little place with mix-matched furniture covered in afghan blankets and handmade drapes.  The most expensive thing in the room was the radio.  Oddly missing from the walls seemed to be any photos or mementos.  

Isadora turned to the right and went into the dining room.  The dinette set was clearly something that had seen more than a few generations and had a matching chinette hutch against the wall.  The drapes in here, as in the den, appeared handmade.  Fine plates and glasses were already set out, two places near one another rather than at opposite ends of the table.

Isadora went into the kitchen which appeared no more impressive than the rest of the house.  A simple place, with well-used appliances, if quite clean and tidy.  The air smelled of the roast, vegetables, and of an apple pie that Lordian did not see anywhere.  One window remained open, curtains blowing inward.

Isadora fished out a corkscrew and went about the task of opening the wine like a seasoned pro.  This was NOT her first bottle.  When the cork came up she smelled it and smiled.  "Oh this is very nice!"  She put the bottle down to breathe and went about the task of preparing a vase off the top of the refrigerator for the flowers.

"I hope your flight was a good one?"

Lordian noted that she took the bottle first, but only after smelling the flowers. He made note of the handmade items around the house, and the fact that the fine cutlery was laid out. She clearly had an idea of him that wasn't necessarily based in fact. He placed the briefcase in the hallway next to the den and then took up a space leaning on the door between the kitchen and the dining area.

"Flights are about as good as they'll ever be I suppose. I'm not the biggest fan, I prefer trains to be honest, just not quite as fast. Then again, I'm rarely in a hurry so trains suit just fine, more comfortable and roomy too." He sniffed the air, and suddenly had a craving urge to pop a cherry tomato in his mouth, or to find some fresh mozzarella cheese lying around. He made no moves to do so of course, but the want was there.

"Smells like you've been at this all day Miss Esposito. I certainly hope you haven't been, I would feel terrible for you to have spent so much time on this when you could be doing things you're passionate about." That was a bullshit overture and they both knew it, she was clearly passionate about cooking, nobody was going to put this much time into doing it who didn't enjoy it at least a little bit. The question was, did she enjoy the cooking, or the company more?

"And a surprise to boot, you didn't mention apple pie in your letter."

"Oh, it's no trouble at all.  I had a craving for,"  She turned to the window where the pie had been and paused.  She furrowed her brow.  "Damn it!"  She cursed under her breath before stomping over to the window.  Looking out she grits her teeth and muttered, "Excuse me a moment."

Isadora went out the back door and cut across the grass headed towards a makeshift treehouse in the neighbor's yard, one that looked made from old crates and wooden pallets.  Despite being in what had to be one of her better dresses and heels as well, the young widow began pulling herself up the planks nailed into the tree.

"Mrs. Esposito?"  A woman, presumably the mother of at least one child in the tree, called out from her window.

Isadora cast a glance over her shoulder, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Blanco.  Fine weather we're having!"  She continued climbing the precarious ladder.

A cascade of youthful laughter could be heard inside the treehouse.  Isadora burst through the floor-hatch-entry that served as a door to the clubhouse, "If you boys have eaten all my pie..."

A young man's scream could be heard across the city block.

"TIMMY BLANCO WHAT HAVE YOU DONE THIS TIME?!?"

Isadora reappeared on the ladder pulling a scruffy looking, dirt-covered, boy with a mouth full of what was probably pie by his ear down the ladder.  His friends were laughing at him from above, and Isadora called back, "IF I WERE YOU BOBBY FINES I'D BE GONE BY THE TIME I GIVE TIMMY TO HIS MOTHER OR I'LL TAN YOUR HIDE TOO!"

Isadora swatted Timmy's butt the whole way across the yard before passing him off into his mother's hands who continued the work with increased fervor half-apologizing to Isadora and half-scolding her son.  To his credit, the boy who was most likely Bobby Fines and his cohort scampered down the ladder and ran off before Isadora could get to them - leaving the remains of her pie and it's tin at the base of the tree.

Isadora sighed as she picked it up and looked at the pathetic ruin of her hard work.  Timmy Blanco's cries from inside his mother's home were small comfort as she faced Lordian with no pie for dessert.  Her pie was always the deal closer... without it...

Isadora pushed a bit of her hair that came loose off her face.  "I... am SO sorry you had to see that..."  Isadora spoke the words as she walked back towards Lordian, blushing, realizing how she must have looked man-handling children.

Lordian, stayed in the shadow of the kitchen, careful not to be seen outside of the house for multiple reasons. The least of which was that he knew all too well the sound of a mother's voice and how well it rang in his ear when he had done wrong. Much of a grown man as he was, there was no way he would ever stand up to his own mother should she take on that tone with him, he certainly didn't want to take on anyone else's, and that neighbor woman, Mrs Blanco. Lordian felt bad for Timmy's backside.

"Miss Esposito, it's no trouble at all. I had no idea I was going to get a show with dinner." He smiled as best he could and moved further into the house. "You must get along well enough with your neighbors here though, Mrs Blanco certainly seemed to have no problems with you. Though I daresay if a strange man in a suit came waltzing out of your kitchen while you were man-handling her boy, she might have a thing or two to whisper in her husband's ear."

He looked to remnants of the pie tin and clicked his tongue.

"Well, we'll just have to settle for wine for dessert. Or perhaps I'll go into town a purchase something. Or better yet, you can invite Mrs. Blanco and her husband over for tea and coffee, and then she'll have to bring dessert." He chuckled at the last one. "That is the kind of thing MY mother would have done. That, and then my buddy Johnny, he would have been the pie-stealer, would have been forced to come with them and apologize before being sent back home with a reminder swat from his old man."

Lordian glanced out the kitchen window toward the driveway of the house next door. He saw no car. Either pops wasn't home, or they didn't have a car to begin with.

"So, shall I keep an eye on the roast while you go extend a friendly invitation to your neighbors to meet your "business partner" or "Friend" or whatever role you should have me play this evening?" His smile, for the first time with Isadora, took on a mischievous air.

Isadora looked at the floor tiles, trying to hide her smirk.  It had been some time since a gentleman had worn such a look in her company.  Maybe the pie wasn't a total loss?

"Evangeline is well aware that I had company coming for dinner tonight and while she is a bit of a gossip in the neighborhood, she means well.  I almost wouldn't have put it past her to have had Timmy steal that pie in the hopes she'd get a good look at you.  She's tried to set me up with every available bachelor in her church over the course of the last two months."

She laughed and quickly washed her hands in the sink.  "She's just worried some fella will take advantage being as I have no family to look out for my well being."

She turned around, looking Lordian in the eyes a moment before going for her oven mitts.  "So it's no never mind to me really.  We can dine privately or - if you think Evangeline will make the night more entertaining I can always invite her and Giovanni over.  Which would you prefer, you are the guest after all."

Lordian quirked up an eyebrow. "Trying to set you up huh? Trying to get a good look at me? Well then she's already got in her mind that we're courting doesn't she?"

He nodded, it was understandable, Isadora was attractive, she was young, and she had somehow, after the disappearance of her husband, still managed to keep a house and keep herself fed. Evangeline was not stupid, Isadora was ripe for someone to take advantage of.

"Alright, well then I suppose I'll just have to take advantage of your situation so that nobody else can. If I had my druthers I'd invite Evangeline and Giovanni over for dessert, see what she does. She'll no doubt tell you her opinion of me in the coming days, whether you ask for it or not I think. Then from there you make the decision on whether or not we are to remain in business together. it's not a bad thing to get the opinions of those around you. More eyes on a person means you can sift out the biases."

He nodded toward the den then. "Though if they do come over, I would probably suggest you stuff the half million dollars somewhere under your mattress, or in your closet of something." He smiled again and took in a deep breath, absorbing the flavorful aroma still hanging in the air. "So, when's the pot roast ready? Do we have time to fix your hair and invite your neighbors over, or should I just wash up and sit quietly like a good guest would do?"

"The roast should be done."  She said, a sparkle in her eyes that suggested a bit of mischief of her own.  "If you don't mind taking it to the table, I could go fix my hair and pop by to invite Evangeline and Giovanni over for coffee after dinner.  Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible idea if I did let her meet you.  After all, tongues are going to be wagging what with me making a home for myself in Detroit after all."

She smiled warmly, "I got an offer of a position with Katrina's crew in Corktown.  I decided to accept it.  I had hoped to save that last bit of news for later but there seems no harm in sharing it now."

She passed the mitts to Lordian.  "Don't burn yourself.  I won't be but a few minutes.  And I'll forgive you if you dig in before I get back.  Oh!  And there is a tray of olives, cheese, and the like in the fridge.  Feel free to bring that out as well.  It's more food than we'll possibly eat but I didn't know if you were a big eater or not and it's been a while since I've cooked a real meal."

With that, Isadora went to the den and picked up the briefcase, and walked down the hall to her bedroom.  There she fixed her hair and checked her make-up before heading back to the front door and over to see Evangeline before Giovanni got home.  She wondered if Lordian would start eating without her or not.  

She hadn't blinked. Not a single quiver of her voice. Half a million dollars would normally set a hear to racing. There was something about the woman, much more than she let on. She was more and more like his mother than he thought. Small house, threadbare. What was she hiding?

There would be time to answer that later, for now, Lordian set about the task assigned to him. He removed the pot roast from the oven, and turned the heat off. Rummaged for a moment looking for a cutting board, and after finally finding one, he moved the pot roast to that to let it rest a moment. While it rested, he turned on two stove burners and out the roasting pan with the vegetables still in it right on the heat and then poured in about half a cup of wine. He would let those simmer like that for a minute, just to get those juices flowing.

He opened the fridge and moved the platter to the dining table as he was told. Next it was the wine, he poured into two glasses and set those at either end of the table. it would breathe outside of the bottle for a few minutes while he carved the roast. About halfway through carving, he turned the stovetop off and added the slices of roast back to the pan. He sliced up the rest of the roast and made it all fit in the one dish before putting a cloth down on the dining table and moving the whole set in there.

By the time he sat down the sounds of his stomach rumbling were, he was sure, audible to half the neighborhood. it smelled delicious, but there was no way he was stepping out of etiquette and eating before the hose at least sat down at the table. His mother would know, somehow she would know and he would get a good clap on the ear for that one.

He pulled out his pad and scribbled a quick note "1m+". Just as he was replacing the pad and pencil he heard the door opening again.

"I hope I did it justice Miss Esposito, I'm only the owner of the restaurant, not a chef myself after all." He smiled as he turned toward the doorway.

She smiled at the sight of a fully set table she didn't put together herself.  For a moment she remembered the last time that was done.  Her gaze was distant and her smile less intense as the scene played out behind her eyes.  She blinked and drew a breath.  "It's perfect.  And please... Isadora is fine."

She slid her skirt under her as she sat down.  "Are you a religious man, Lordian?"  She arched an eyebrow putting her hands together to say grace.

Lordian nodded, clasped his hands and lowered his head. He said a silent grace along with Isadora as she spoke aloud, and as she was done he gestured to the table.

"I hope you don't mind, I uh, took some liberty with the vegetables."

He smiled and then waited for her to begin serving herself.

Isadora smiled and began serving her guest and then herself.  "I don't mind at all.  Is that the wine?"  She asked him as she took a deep breath inhaling their scent before settling back into her chair.  

"For a man who isn't a chef, you do have a knack... is cooking a hobby of yours too then?"

Lordian shrugged as he took a sip of wine.

"Just something I've picked up over the years. A bachelor needs to be able to cook for himself after all, and I certainly can't rely on restaurants to be open any time I want something right?"

He took a bite of the pot roast and savored the juices running down his throat. In truth, he could cook a few things now and again, but nothing like this. This was damned fine.

"Is this a family recipe, or something you came up with on your own? It's delicious either way."

"My grandmother's recipe actually.  She and my grandfather own a pub in Ireland.  Make some of the best stews and roasts you've ever eaten.  Mine is shoddy by comparison.  No one leaves my grandma's house hungry.  She'd probably tie you down to a chair and feed you until you burst, saying things like how you need some more meat on your bones long after you insisted you were full up."

She shook her head remembering the plump friendly old woman.  "I miss her a great deal.  I haven't seen her since I was shorter than the neighbor boys you saw out there.  Not that I regret coming to America mind you, but "

She cut her meat and then smiled to herself, "And something tells me that you're not in short supply of restaurants that would open for you if you asked nicely enough - no matter the hour."  For a moment they sat eating in silence.  Eventually, Isadora offered, "Evangeline said they'd come by in an hour.  I figured that would give us plenty of time to finish up."

Isadora reached across the table and popped an olive into her mouth with a smile spared for her guest.  "So, I know your first name, and I THINK I've guessed your surname - but I'd be lying if I didn't say I was dying to know more about you.  Tell me, how old are you?  Where'd you grow up... whatever you feel like you can share, I'd love to hear about it.  We shouldn't be strangers if we're going to keep doing this much business together."

Lordian chuckled. "Guess you did, but I don't like admitting that to the entire world if you don't mind. Also, to be fair I sort of dropped a ring in front of you to prove the point." He took another bite and continued. "Grew up in Brooklyn, and I'm not much older than you are, at least I think, though it's rude to ask that question outright." He popped a carrot into his mouth. "As for what else I can share, there isn't much to know. I went to school till I graduated high school. I got out and started working for one of my Aunt's businesses. Yeah I turned 21 she handed it over to me outright, and then told me to make something of myself. So I did. Four years later, I'm sitting in front of you having invested my profits as wisely as I could, and to be honest as wisely as my grandfather's journals taught me, and now I own the Blackhawk. I'll tell you I only think my Aunt sold it to me when she heard how much I made in just four years. Said it would do better in my hands that she could do on a boat, so part of the deal was I don't treat it like an investment, I treat it like home. That's why I moved to Detroit, to come home."

He finished by finishing his glass of wine, pouring another, and topping off Isadora's.

"What about you? I know you're a widow, and a newspaper editor, and that you don't have any kids. There's way more to the story of Isadora Esposito though, especially with the things I've seen. After all, where in God's green earth did you learn to climb like a monkey?" He pointed his fork toward the back yard before putting it down and sopping up some gravy with a piece of bread.

She laughed, "Oh God, I may live to regret going after that boy after all!"  She shook her head.  "I probably learned that when we were living in Chicago.  I wasn't always as well behaved as my mother would have liked.  God rest her soul.  We left Ireland when I was just a slip of a girl, came to Chicago where my father had family.  I spent most of my childhood in the Riverside neighborhood acting a fool tomboy... getting into trouble here and there."

She sighed.  "My parents enrolled me in a finishing school in Utica when my father's boss sent him up here to do some work importing goods from Canada.  I was in school when the Spanish Flu took both my parents."  She crossed herself.  "I got out of school and my father's family set me up with the job at Organized Crime Weekly.  I got to know Sal better, he asked me to marry him... I agreed.  A short while later his father passed and not long after that Sal was murdered.  Suddenly I inherit a paper and the debts that came with it."

She shrugs.  "I thought for a while about selling the paper... or reaching out to my father's family in Chicago for help but I thought so long as I could keep making payments, what would be the point in that?  I'd be just trading one man I owed for another.  Then you come along with this crazy offer and... well, here we are."

She ate a carrot before adding, "And you don't need to worry about me saying a word as to who your family is, it's none of my business.  When, and if, you're ever ready to make that known... well, that's your decision and rightly so.  For what it's worth I'm very sorry about the losses your family suffered."

She looked pointedly at Lordian's hair, "Though I don't suppose your mother remembers much about her family aside from your Aunts?"

Lordian shook his head. "Not much no. They were, my grandparents that is, killed when she was still very young. We never had much to go on except stories, and then mom decided to stay away from all of this stuff and just lead a normal life. So that's what we did. Every so often one of my Aunt's or uncles would come visit, you know for holidays and stuff, but other than that it was just me and mom."

His tone had taken on a sadness. It was not one for himself of course, but rather, one for his mother. She never got the opportunity to lead the life she deserved with parents who loved her. Then again, based on the journals, neither did his grandmother, or his grandfather. So maybe that was something he should count himself lucky for.

"Well, that took a sort of sad turn rather quickly. How about we talk about your paper for a minute? Got any big plans coming down the pike? Anything I can look forward to reading?"

"Honestly?  I'm not sure.  The Commissar continues to fill every corner of the streets with his opinions but not much else is happening.  I've gotten good feedback from people, but in truth, it's frustrating to see so many good folks not remarking on the state of affairs.  I'm honestly not a huge fan of all the ... what does he call them, fantasists?  People telling fantastical stories, whether true or not, it's just not my cup of tea - but I've never been one to tell people how they should live their lives and I feel a need to hold up a mirror to the folks who do."

She picked up her glass of wine, "The problem is, at times I feel like we're both yelling into a void.  The Commissar and I, everyone out in the streets sharing their ideas I suppose.  What good does it do anyone?  Does anything we say or do in the streets really matter at the end of the day?  I like to think my paper means something, but I'm just not sure that I'm not wasting time and energy."

She leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine, "Your ancestors were prolific in the streets.  There wasn't a person from east to west coast who didn't know their names and at least some of their exploits.  Do you think what is done in the streets matters all that much?  Do papers like mine matter anything more than a passing moment of entertainment at best?"

Lordian nodded. "It matters, it matters to the people who are telling their stories, and honestly, if you ask any storyteller worth their grit, you'll hear the same thing. It doesn't matter whether anyone reads it or not, they are going to have the desire to write it anyway. From my perspective, if you're doing the work anyway, why not get paid and praised for it?" He leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass of wine. "It's like people say about death. Someone was once asked, 'What do you think happens when we die?' They responded with, 'I think the people that love us will miss us.' Simple fact of the matter is, what I think as an individual doesn't matter, and shouldn't matter to any other individual. What should matter is how that person thinks or feels."

He shrugged and picked up his fork again.

"That's just my opinion though. Plenty of smarter folks have come out with better arguments. I think my problem is, I'm not making an argument for or against it. I'm just making the argument that, what other people do isn't hurting you, so don't purposely hurt them. At the same time, it's your right to feel slighted by what you feel is someone taking advantage of something. But at the end of the day, it's your energy to use how you see fit. You can spend it creating, destroying, complaining, or being benign. I won't judge you one way or another, I'll be over here spending my energy just trying to smile and be your friend."

With that, he did don a smile and bit into one last piece of roast.

"Miss Esposito I don't think I could eat another bite of this right now, no matter how delicious it is, and I assure you, it truly is."