Spooning Read Online Free Page A

ready-made graham cracker pie crust at grocery store
    Filling
    1 pound cream cheese (two 8-ounce packages)
    1 cup sugar
    3 teaspoons vanilla
    2 large egg yolks, beaten
    ½ pint sour cream
    Preheat the oven to 350° F. Mix the cream cheese, ¾ cup of the sugar, 2 teaspoons of the vanilla, and the egg yolks together. Pour the filling into the crust and bake for 17 minutes.
    Take the cake out of the oven and let it stand for 10 minutes to cool. Raise oven temperature to 450°F.
    Mix together the sour cream, and the remaining ¼ cup of sugar and 1 teaspoon of vanilla. Spread this mixture on top of the cheesecake. Return to the oven and bake for 5 minutes. Be sure not to let the top brown.
    Cool thoroughly, then refrigerate for a few hours and serve to your best friends with a smile.
    “
H
ey!” I whispered. Okay, need to raise it up a notch. “Hey!!” I whispered/screamed. “I'm being robbed …raped … pillaged and plundered! Psst!” Not one bruncher sitting outside at the restaurant in front of our building raised their hollandaise-sauce stuffed faces. I, in my pajamas and Earl Jean jacket (last-minute save), was leaning precariously over the rusty fire escape railing. I knew he, my assailant-rapist- murderer-arsonist-robber, would be throwing himself through my front door any minute. One more try, “Hey, help me!”
    Where was the whistle, or at least a can of mace to throw on one of the daft brunchers' heads when you needed one? I grabbed my cell phone. 9–1-1-CALL …
    “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?” She had such a calm voice in my moment of despair.
    “There is this man, a man trying to get into my apartment. He has a scratchy voice and is dressed in blue.” I am such a detail-oriented person. As I proceeded to describe my would- be assailant, I pointed my left foot, reached down to the third rung, and grabbed the side rail with my right hand, while still holding my cell phone. (Note to self: Must get out of bed more often in time for those Lean and Lengthen classes.) I was ready to glide down the fire escape ladder, a modern-day, urban Grace Kelly. But as I lunged downward, my Chinatown tiger slipper dropped onto the plate of one of the brunchers. He looked up as if expecting rain, but then jumped up to catch me as I dangled from the bottom rung. Did anyone realize that fire escape ladders do not reach anywhere near the safe ground? As I finished up with the very nice emergency woman, I spun around, safe on the ground, only to find my assailant standing in front of me.
    “Ahhhhh!” I screamed as only a woman can. Out from the front door popped the superintendent of my building.
    “Charlotte!” my super interrupted. “This is Eduardo.”Great, now I had a name to put with his mug shot. “Eduardo is your utilities man.”
    “My what man?”
    “The Consolidated Edison worker. He came to read your meter!” See how sick that sounds? “Your electric meter.”
    Two squad cars pulled up with the lights and sirens blaring. New York cop cars have two types of sirens. They have one annoying siren when they are “in pursuit” and another when they are “merely responding” to a call. Two cops got out, one of whom had his hand on his holster.
    “Con Ed man? You?” I shouted as I spun around. My assailant nodded demurely. “Well, what was up with the scary- as-hell voice?”
    “What scary voice?” he asked sounding as smooth as Barry White. The cops were looking rather confused.
    “That one … I mean, well, what the hell is up with the jean jacket? What Con Ed man wears a jean jacket? Don't you have a name label? It's eighty degrees out, for God's sake! Who wears a stonewashed jean jacket?” I demanded. I turned to the cop, “What Con Ed man services without an official uniform? They should all wear an official uniform you know.” I wrapped my Earl jacket tighter. The second cop had realized that he did not need to pull his gun and shifted his attention to the restaurant's brunch menu. By