Meanwhile, Frankie is drowning his own troubles in a plate full of Mama R’s sympathy. Sympathy in the form of a humongous olive-eyed sandwich and heap of fries. He’s down because he thinks he blew his detective interview. Jane tells him he’s going to get fat and he’s all, “Good. I don’t care. You can’t make me. Mommy can I have some chocolate milk?”
Cavanaugh comes in with news, but not about Frankie’s possible promotion. It’s about the big drug bust and then we see Riley getting hauled in in cuffs. Cavanaugh tells Frankie he’s not ready to be a homicide detective, because he can’t investigate the girls he dates. And he scolds Frost, too. While true, it’s kind of not fair. Because I’m pretty sure Man Code also says if you can hook up with a hottie, no matter her flaws, you hit that.
Frankie is mad at Jane for not telling him about Riley. Jane is complaining to Maura about Frankie being mad. And Maura is only concerned about “the blue stuff” she found in the victim’s wound. It’s dry erase marker dust. Guess what, Cutthroat is the director of the Samaritan Girl. So I guess the weird grammar was right after all because they’re providing a “helpful” service to people. Yuck.
They figure out he is having an auction for the victim’s sister that night at a black tie fundraiser. Double yuck. Korsak drives up undercover dressed as a big fish .The perks, he says, of being a middle-aged white guy. Jane and Frost are hiding in the back all scrunched together. Alpha Jane insists she’s driving on the way back. Man, could you imagine the power-suit off between her and Bette Porter. It’d be epic.
They infiltrate the party and bust up the disgusting virginity auction. Jane comes in guns blazing and hits Cutthroat three times dead center. At the rate Jane is going, the Boston taxpayers should throw her a parade as thanks for the millions she has saved them in trials and incarceration bills.
Case, closed. Baddie, dead. Jane, hero. So, naturally, our ladies are celebrating together at Jane’s apartment. The camera pans up on Maura sitting up, holding a glass of pinot noir and smiling down, lovingly. The camera pans down and it’s Jane she is smiling at, with her own glass of pinot laying on the mattress next to her. Maura is in a silky blouse. Jane is in a white tank top. I half expect a cheesy saxophone solo to start playing. Did I switch to Cinemax After Dark?
Then Maura lays down next to Jane on the bed. Yes, they’re in bed together. Yes, again. Yes, I know. And then the first thing she does is start talking about Jane’s wedding fantasies. Yes, again. Yes, I know. Det. Jane Rizzoli and Dr. Maura Isles are in bed together talking about fantasies. And, I repeat, this is the gayest non-gay show on television.
Oh, and if that wasn’t gay enough Jane’s wedding fantasy is to say her vows over home plate at Fenway in a Red Sox jersey. The reception would be over the pitcher’s mound and the food would be foot-long hotdogs and frozen lemonade. Maura looks over at Jane, her eyes warm and glowing. And you just know in her heart even though it’s not the elegant wedding she dreamed about with three kinds of cake, a silk charmeuse gown and volcanic cliffs, she would do it for Jane. She would do anything for Jane.
And then, she turns her head and asks, softly, “Can I come?” Well, that’s one way to break in a bed.
p.s. It’s nice to know Jane and Maura have consistent sides of the bed, isn’t it?
And here are your absolutely ecstatic #gayzzoli tweets of the week. But when there’s this much subtext, it’s almost too easy.