Cooking with Q: Late Night Edition

Soft lighting, hard truths, and something al dente.

Scene: Zee emerges from her bedroom at midnight, barefoot, eyeliner smudged, hair like a crime scene. Q sits in his Eames chair—wine in hand, remote abandoned, already annoyed on her behalf.

ZEE ZEE:

Q, let’s say—hypothetically—a woman goes out dancing, makes a few questionable decisions, and ends up with a houseguest who doesn’t understand the concept of leaving. It’s late. She’s starving. The vodka’s still doing laps in her bloodstream. What’s your go-to sop-it-up-and-pass-out meal?

Q (dry as a martini): Carbonara After Coitus.

ZEE ZEE: God, you make it sound like a bodily function.

Q: It is, Zee. A very popular one.

ZEE ZEE: Could you possibly...

Q: No. I cook for you, Zee. Not for some random torso you brought home because the DJ played Prince. He can have a granola bar and directions to the exit.

(Setting: A man shuffles out of Zee’s bedroom, shirtless, holding his pants up with one hand.

MAN: “Anyone seen my belt?”

Q (without rising): Yes. I just saw it heading for the elevator. If you hurry, you can catch it.

Man exits.

Q (to Zee, now calmly standing):

Now. My dear Zee Zee… shall I make us a proper midnight supper?

ZEE ZEE: Can I have two aspirin first?

END SCENE