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“Rizzoli & Isles” Subtext recap (4.03): They’re not regular aunts, they’re cool gay aunts

This week on Rizzoli & Isles, the entire Rizzoli clan is getting gussied up. While at Maura’s place. Because, well, of course they are. Big familial celebrations involving fancy clothes and the nice crystal naturally occur at the Isles Estates because family is family. Sure, Jane’s reluctance to make it legal, despite the best intentions of the Supreme Court, is frustrating. But we’re all certain that this Boston Marriage will become a plain-old marriage in time. Stare at those glasses all you want, Jane, it’s happening.

Wait, is it happening now? Because Jane and Maura are walking down the aisle together toward the altar to sanctify their love in front of God and assorted loved ones. Oh, false alarm. Well, we’ll just call it practice for the real thing. It’s TJ’s christening, not marriage, which has brought us together today (p.s. if you didn’t read that last bit in the Princess Bride priest voice I’m not sure if we can still be friends).

While it’s Tommy Jr.’s big day, Tommy Sr. is having his own very big, very strange day. First his new BFF Rondo drops by to give him a fake Rolex and ogle Jane in her dress. And in that moment, we are all Rondo. And then his old priest, Father Crowley, officiates TJ’s ceremony, which is made only slightly awkward by the fact that it’s the same priest whose legs Tommy broke while driving drunk. Oh, and he also never got around to apologizing for that. All that and he’s trying to make nice with Lydia, his baby mama/one-night stand. But she’d rather get engaged to a grown man who willingly calls himself Strawberry. And you thought life in prison was rough.

But we don’t really care about his ridiculous troubles because Jane is getting all soft in the eyes and softer in the heart about TJ during the christening. Someone has baby fever. Look out, Maura. If she slips a turkey baster into the shopping cart next time you’re at the grocery store, you’re in for a long night of processing.

However all potential baby talk, and the christening, abruptly end because Maura smells death. Sure, she can sniff out a dead body within seconds from the first pew but a decomposing hand sitting on her desk for three months doesn’t even warrant a quizzical whiff once? Or maybe it was just a particularly bad allergy season.

Stuffed inside the baptismal font is a dead woman’s body. She’s covered in agricultural lime. This of course leads to the fascinating discovery that Korsak is an avid gardener. He grows tomatoes, basil, herbs, green beans. I bet Korsak is the kind of guy who brings a big box of his excess garden harvest into the office with, “Free! Great for stir fry!” written on the side to encourage takers.

Of course, no one seems particularly excited about digging out what’s in this lime garden. The stuff will make it particularly hard to determine time of death and other key details — but don’t worry this isn’t just any medical examiner. This is Commonwealth of Massachusetts Chief Medical Examiner Dr. Maura Isles. And she’s working with Boston Homicide Det. Jane Rizzoli.

So together they piece together the woman was strangled and killed in the church. We of course we know this because we saw it before the credits rolled. But there’s just something so satisfying about watching Jane eagerly jump to rational assumptions based on Maura’s chagrined initial observations. It’s like crime-solving foreplay. I mean, they’re already wearing the gloves and everything.

Back at the Isles Estates, a dejected Tommy, Frankie and Mama Rizzoli (Mrs. Vanilla, if you’re nasty) are considering the ramifications of eating cake with their bare hands. Rondo returns to chide everyone for having terrible party skills, which is not wrong. But Tommy won’t stop bellyaching about how Lydia is going to marry Strawberry Dweebcake and take TJ away from him. Also, oops, he didn’t file his custody paperwork. Really, was prison such a bad thing for this guy? At least there was structure.

In the autopsy room, Jane shows off her Maura handling skills for Frankie — who grins because he’s seen it a million times. She gets Maura to say the picture in the dead woman’s locket is probably of her mother. These two, am I right, Frankie? I bet he’s the kind of brother who would wear the “My Gay Big Sister is My Hero” T-shirt in the pride parade, don’t you? I mean, Jane did shoot herself through the abdomen to save his life, so it’d kind of be a jerk move to not.

Back on the case the detectives are worrying as much about their job security as they are the case. The paper warns of possible cuts to Boston PD’s detective ranks, and Frankie already has to “float” between units. Korsak isn’t worried because of his fallback career as a pizza delivery boy.

I’m not too worried about Jane either. As long as she kept the cuffs and uniform she’d do nonstop business as a “Hot Cop” entertainer at lesbian bachelorette parties. I mean it; she wouldn’t even have to strip. Just walk in and demand the brides-to-be get up against the wall and spread ’em. If you tell me you wouldn’t give every dollar bill you own for that, I’d tell you you’re lying.

Of course, Jane would never have to resort to that because her girlfriend is loaded. Also, something tells me Maura doesn’t handle other ladies eyeballing her lady that well. Remember when Jane was making headway at the lesbian bar and Maura passive aggressively showed up and stuck the Rack of God into her face as a distraction. Of course you do. You open up the gif every couple of weeks as a secret pick-me up.

Speaking of Maura, she calls Jane in to talk more about the body. Jane instead decides it’s a perfect time to surf for some porn. Maura’s computers don’t have the same blocking software as the ones upstairs, apparently. Jane was also smart to use it while logged in as Maura. Naturally Maura runs right over when Jane tells her what she’s up to and pushes Jane out of the way. See, told you she wasn’t the sharing type.

After they’re done surfing CrashPad, Jane and Maura do a little familial stalking for good measure. They look up Strawberry Dweebcake and find he’s already bragging about his “new family” online and how they’re all going to move to Texas together and burn to a crisp in the sun. When will the pale-complected learn to live in the Pacific Northwest? It worked for the Cullens.

Jane and Maura are not pleased because it’s so much harder to be the cool gay aunts long distance. Mama Rizzoli is also not pleased. She decides the only solution is to get Tommy and Lydia back together because she needs a grandbaby nearby to dote on. And, as she pointedly tells Jane and Frankie, “Neither one of you are making any.” Look, Mama R, I know it’s difficult what with Jane and Maura being so obviously together and Frankie and Frost keeping on the DL. But there are so many happy, healthy gay parents out there through the wonders of adoption, surrogacy, in-vitro fertilization and more. Just watch The Fosters and relax. You’ll have oodles of grandbabies yet.

Frankie decides to buy him and Jane some time, because in a stable relationship, or not, the decision to have kids is a big one not to be rushed. So he devises a Parent Trap-esque plan to get Tommy and Lydia in the same room. This involves calling Lydia and telling her how much Jane wants to get together to give TJ his present. Jane is less than enthused by the plan. This is clearly the face of a woman who has never stepped foot inside Babies “R” Us.

In the break room, all the detectives are reading memos from the brass. There’s talk of layoffs. Or possibly reassignments to beat positions. Jane bemoans the fact that she might have to come to work everyday in her uniform. Well, she’s the only one. Sure, it’s a demotion. But, you know, yum. To work off her frustration, Jane tells Maura they have to go to her office immediately. It’s an emergency. Maura asks what kind of emergency. Jane says the kinds where you don’t ask any questions, trust me and remember your safe word.

See, ladies, this is what happens when you surf porn together in the middle of a workday.

Finished with their urgent emergency, Jane and Maura meet Lydia in the cafeteria with their “present.” It’s a developmental children’s mask guaranteed to stimulate learning and boost IQ masquerading as a ceremonial tribal mask from Maura’s office. Hold on, did I get the order wrong in that sentence

But hey, weren’t they supposed to get Lydia to Jane’s apartment? I know, tell her because of budget cuts you’ve been transferred to Guam. Works every time. I used to pick up girls at the bar that way. Except I used to say I was being shipped to Trinidad and Tobago. The longer the name, the more the sympathy it elicits. Pro tip.

Maura’s pretty certain there’s no way Lydia will fall for the old Guam line, but then she does and everyone screams because nothing says fun like a girls night with an ulterior motive.

A little old-fashioned detective work by way of Vidal Sassoon helps Korsak get a major break in the case which leads them to a bodega where the victim was the night she died which leads them to the factory across the street which leads them to her mother and identity. Yes, yes, this is a police show. We get it.

An interview with the girl’s mother sheds light on the tattoo, which is a mark of possession by the Four Corners gang. And then Maura arrives to break even more bad news, her daughter was four weeks pregnant when she was killed. Jane gives the distraught mom her extra-sensitive sympathy eyes along with deeply compassionate hand holding, something — you might have noticed — she reserves only for female loved ones of murder victims.

But murder has to wait, people, because Jane and Maura have a fake “girls’ night” to throw. They rush home to prepare their “homemade” dinner, while Lydia plays with Jo Friday. And, might I add, it’s the real Jo Friday this time not that scraggly imposter. Lydia is just having the best time playing with the pup, so Jane and Maura lay it on thick about how Tommy loves Jo Friday, too, and Tommy loves playing with TJ and Tommy is such a good father.

Then there’s a knock on the door and it’s Tommy — and Rondo in all his hobo chic meets Cab Calloway glory. Jane slips Rondo a couple bills to get lost so the dim-witted lovebirds can coo at each other without interruption. And to make things even more private, Jane snaps at Maura to bring Jo Friday over so she can have an “accident” with the pot roast. A plan with this many “air quotes” is bound to succeed, “right?”

Everyone laughs because look at that little dog trying to eat that big pot roast. Then Jane drags Maura off under the guise of getting take out. But instead they meet a still-lingering Rondo outside the door and all stop to listen. I swear this show gets more like Scooby Doo every week.

Our eavesdropping Scooby Gang hear Lydia telling Tommy how much Jo Friday likes him. Maura calls it a good sign because verbal compliments often serve as foreplay. And then the good times really roll as dopamine and oxytocin (not to be confused with their less legal cousins dope and Oxycontin) get released. Well, Maura should know. She’s the one who keeps calling Jane “gorgeous.”

But the best laid plans rarely get people laid, and Lydia storms out after the two start to argue. Jane and the gang scramble to appear less conspicuous in the hallway. But Lydia says they’ll have to take a raincheck on the girls’ night for Guam. That’s gonna be one humdinger of a commute.

The next day, Maura hasn’t stopped her scheming. She tells Jane they need to find a way to get rid of Strawberry Dweebcake. Jane tells Maura her mob boss daughter roots are showing. And Maura’s all, and don’t you forget it. I got a pair of concrete boots in the trunk for if you don’t behave. Now fetch me some grapes, mama’s hungry. What, you know she’s totally thinking that.

Alas, there’s no dirt on Strawberry Dweebcake to find. He has a clean record and his only noticeable flaw besides his terrible, terrible haircut is the dark circles under his eyes indicating severe allergies. Which means he probably can’t be around animals. Which means Lydia can’t have her dogs. Seriously, is the Rizzoli Trap really going to work after all?

The detectives, their jobs on the line because of budget cuts, stop momentarily from their homewrecking and matchmaking to interview a requisite red herring. Frost asks Jane if he can take Frankie along because, um, “he was really helpful.” Oh, sweetie, you don’t have to make up excuses. Jane takes Maura everywhere and no one blinks an eye. It’s 2013, everyone understands.

And so the murderer is arrested and justice prevails with two minutes left to air, just how we like it. Lydia arrives at Maura’s place to drop TJ off for babysitting with his gay aunts. Jane looks so excited she might actually eat the little guy. Like gobble him up like an ice cream sundae.

Lydia and Strawberry Dweebcake are about to leave for his going away party, but who should show up but Tommy with Jo Friday. Of course this triggers his allergies, which triggers Lydia’s realization that she can’t have dogs with him, which triggers her realization that he’s an enormous dweeb and totally not worth moving to Texas for — especially considering how regressive the state’s legislature is when it comes to women’s reproductive rights.

Lydia opts for a nice long walk with Tommy and Jo Friday (who is a good dog, who is, who is?) instead. This leaves Jane and Maura the happiest gay aunts in all the land. They high-five their successful scheming and settle down for a night of baby talk and couch cuddling.

But Maura, ever the worrier, asks what they’ll do if Lydia decides to stick with Strawdweeby after all. Jane says she’ll just have to go rogue. Maura says they’re going to have to discuss her lawless behavior. It’s all fun and games playing good cop/bad cop in the bedroom — but rules are there for a reason. Jane squints her eyes at her girlfriend and says simply, “Not in front of the nephew, Maura.” Yep, Auntie Jane and Auntie Maura sure do love their little nephew. That’s one lucky, lucky kid.

 

And now for your #gayzzoli tweets of the week. Consensus, Edie Windsor fought for your right to have your marriage be recognized on a federal level. So quit dragging your feed already, ladies.

 

                   

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