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“Rizzoli & Isles” Subtext Recap (3.06): Sister can you spare a kidney

Hey, what happened? Did I pop in an old, dusty copy of Eyes Wide Shut? Is Tom trying to win back with Nicole now that Katie has escaped? Oh, wait, it’s just some fetish party where everyone wears masks and some guy gets a lethal beef injection. Now that’s what I call some dead wood.

Back at the Isles Estates, Maura is engaging in some coffee porn with Jane. She’s talking about the joy of controlling hot rising torrents of penetration. I’m not even kidding, she really is. Jane, who is in her scuzzy just-woke-up clothes after clearly spending the night is all, “Honey, we already did that this morning. Twice.” And then she says now all she wants is a cup of coffee, and not the Roman orgy they had earlier.

Mama Rizzoli pokes her head around the door slowly. She knows all too well those who barge into Maura’s kitchen in the morning may well indeed witness a Roman orgy on the countertops. She’s all gussied up for “work” complete with high heels. We interrupt this Subtext Recap to for a very important message about sensible shoes. Wear them. That way, we won’t have to suffer through any more ridiculous product placement. And now back to our regularly scheduled, totally gayzzoli programming.

Maura’s phone rings and it’s Motherboard Martin. Hope kind of invites herself over to dinner, with her 18-year-old daughter, that night. Maura immediately goes into full panic mode after hanging up, prattling on about how her immaculate house is a wreck and she doesn’t know what to serve them. Jane concurs saying, “Oh, I’d be so embarrassed to invite anyone but me here.” Now it’s Jane’s turn to have her phone ring and it’s murder to save the day. Maura says she has to stay, Jane says fine she thinks she can handle an autopsy on her own. Maura says she has to shower and Jane says she has three minutes until the hot water gets turned off.

Yes, of course, this is all perfectly normal. All best friends regulate each other’s shower time. All best friends barge into the bathroom while the other friend is showering and physically turn off the hot water. Yes, of course, perfectly normal behavior for people who don’t regularly see each other naked. Carry on.

The crime scene is in a posh foreclosed $3 million mansion, which is on the market. Jane can’t believe the home prices and Maura can’t believe she agreed to host a formal dinner in less than 10 hours. Panic mode sets in again and Jane is having none of it. “No, no, no — not with the heavy breathing,” she orders. Well, I see her point. No use in getting all hot and heavy now that they’re at the crime scene. On the way over in the car would have been a much more appropriate time for a quickie.

Jane tells her to call Mama R, use flattery and get her to cook the dinner. Maura says it’s an imposition, but Jane suggests she invite her to dinner, too. Come on, Maura, you should of thought of that one yourself. Your mother-in-law wants to meet your birth mom, too.

At the crime scene the real estate agent is a prickly ice queen who pegs Maura as the “can afford a $3 million listing”-type immediately and offers her her card. Jane sticks out her hand for one too, with a little eyebrow raise. Maura’s money is Jane’s money and Jane’s money is Maura’s money. See, yet another reason same-sex marriage should be legal — to validate our unions in the eyes of the law and commerce.

In the autopsy room, Mr. Dead Wood is being examined. And I mean that quite literally. Maura says, “Let’s talk about his penis.” And Jane, being the good gay girl that she is, says, “If we must.” Under the sheet she learns Mr. Dead Wood had several needle marks on his, um, wood. He was treating for erectile dysfunction. These are the moments I thank the universe I’m gay. Jane’s face agrees.

Back at the Isles Estate, Maura is bossing around her girlfriend and mother-in-law. Jane is earning major Good Girlfriend points for stirring the wild boar ragout and opening the “multipoopenano.” Sounds delicious, wish I was invited. The doorbell rings and Motherboard Martin and daughter are a whole minute early. A whole minute! Maura notices the drawing of her mother at her grave and freaks. She tells Jane to hide it in the bathroom. Because no dinner guest would ever dream of going to the bathroom. To quote Det. Jane Rizzoli, “Really? REALLY?”

Dinner is going well, the “multipoopenano” is flowing and everyone is having a lovely time except Hope’s 18-year-old daughter, Kaylin Cailin. She’s all sullen about leaving London and texting her friends under the table saying stuff like, “OMG. At some lezzer house. My mom suks. GAWD.”

Cailin excuses herself to the bathroom — gee, good thing they hid the picture there — and everyone at the table tries to pretend teenagers aren’t the worst. Hope asks Maura if her mother taught her how to cook. Maura confesses that Angela, her mother-in-law, made dinner. So close, very close. Cailin returns to sulk on the couch and now Hope goes to the bathroom. Seriously, Maura — worst hiding place ever.

Jane offers Maura some supportive eye sex and Maura reciprocates with a little Totally Gratuitous, Totally Gay Touching arm pat that says, “Tonight, we Roman orgy to forget this dinner disaster.” Jane, who by this point has racked up 1,000 Good Girlfriend points, makes one last ditch attempt to make nice with Cailin, armed with chocolate cake. But instead, Cailin leaves and says she’ll walk home. Which makes Hope leave after her. Well, good, now let the Roman orgy commence.

The next morning in the precinct cafĂ©, Jane is having breakfast and Maura offers her a chilled lavender towel to help treat her “vaginitis,” among other things. These things can happen after a night of Roman orgying, people. Jane says she’s eating and she doesn’t need to be soothed. Then Maura brings up the victim’s erectile dysfunction and it puts Jane off her breakfast entirely. Hope shows up unexpectedly full of apologies about Cailin. Jane takes Maura’s lavender towel from her (wouldn’t want her birth-mom to know about all that vaginitis business right away) and tells Maura to have a fabulous day and call her later before leaving quickly to give her some birth mother-daughter time. Another 100 Good Girlfriend points for Jane. Man, she’s racking them up this week.

Hope confesses that Cailin is very ill, which is why they moved back to Boston. She contracted a bacterial infection while Motherboard Martin was doing relief work in Africa. And now she needs a new kidney. But neither parent is a match. Maura, don’t go getting any crazy ideas. We like all your parts where they are.

Back in the detectives squad we learn the contrived plot point that the victim was crunk rapper Heavy Drizzle’s financial adviser. This is just an excuse, though, to get Frost and Frankie to dance with each other. But first Frankie does his own white boy crumping and it goes well for no one. So Frost shows him how it’s done. But just as Frostie really start to get their groove thang on together, in stalks Sister Bitcher with her Ruler of Regrets. She gives them both a righteous smack and says how disappointed she is — in Barold.

I’m not. Barold can move, yo. Though, Francesco, perhaps stick to square dancing.

Back in Maura’s lab, she’s running critical scientific tests on last night’s dessert. She tells Jane, “We’re a match.” Jane bald-face lies and tells her, “You’re not really my type.” Oh, please. Maura’s face and our eyes know that’s 1,000 percent untrue. I though police officers had to take some sort of oath to tell the truth. Where’s that Ruler of Regrets when you need it?

Maura says she’s going to donate her kidney to Cailin anonymously. Jane says no, all Maura’s bits belong to her. Maura says she has to, and she can never tell Hope who she really is. Jane calls Maura, “incredible,” and slips in a little “I will still love you with only one kidney” eye sex. Maura says Jane would do the same for her brothers, to which she says, “Maybe.” But then she tells Maura, “I’d definitely do it for you, though.” In love. Together. Married. End of story. Thank you and good night.

Turns out the investment firm Mr. Dead Wood ran was really a Ponzi scheme. And they were also a front for an upscale sex club complete with high-class hookers and secret masked parties in foreclosed homes. If only I’d listened to my parents and majored in business in college.

Hope comes in to see Maura, because they’re BFFs now (but not LLBFFS, because that’s gross and this isn’t based on a V.C. Andrews novel). She tells her her daughter makes her feel like a failure and Maura says it’s mothers who always make daughters feel like failures. Oy, neither of you are failures. The Hope tells her an anonymous donor for Cailin has come forward while blathering on about the kindness of strangers. Look deeply into this face, Dr. Martin. This is no stranger. Sheesh, some expert in forensic identification. She doesn’t even identify her own daughter.

The detectives go to question the icy real estate agent, who was also a former hooker, and she shuts them out by entering an exclusive members-only restaurant. Jane calls Maura, because that’s what Jane always does, who is a member and they proceed to have lunch. But Maura’s frank anatomical talk is too much for the well-heeled set. Sheesh, you’d think they’ve never seen an attractive lesbian couple having lunch together before.

Jane spots the real estate agent going to the bathroom and follows her. Maura says she’s coming too and Jane grouses. But Maura has to pee, Jane. No one wants a bladder infection on top of vaginitis. Maura says she really does have to pee because all mammals have to pee. Jane should know this already because she’s clearly intimate with Maura’s bathroom with Maura in it.

They grill the realtor/madame and get her to give them access to the next party scheduled for that night. Then Maura convinces Lieutenant Cavanaugh to let her and her microscope go undercover with them. Jane is skeptical, because the last time Maura went undercover she shot her father and the first time she got jealous because Maura’s Rack of God was exposed for all the other lesbians to see.

Maura, however, is ecstatic and immediately starts brainstorming what they’ll wear out of her fetish closet. She says she’s never played a high-class hooker before. Really, all of your role playing and hooker/cop never came up? Come on, you even met Jane when she was in vice.

But instead of lacy negligee, Jane and Maura show up in white button-up shirts, black masks and bolo ties. It’s like we’re at the kinky gay rodeo. Jane makes the rounds pulling out the call girls’ hair for Maura to examine. There has to be a better way to do this, like say a search warrant and group trip to the precinct.

A drunken hooker stumbles into the washroom and finds Maura and her microscope there. But she’s too busy insulting Maura’s precious metal level to worry about why someone in catering has scientific equipment. Jane walks in as she calls Maura a “tin,” and promptly yanks out one of her hairs with great vengeance. No one insults Maura in front of Jane, no one.

But the hair doesn’t match up so Jane says she’ll have to track the last potentials down in the leather room. The mention of leather makes Maura’s eyes light up. She says leather bears further study as a historical fetish. Then she lists all the items in her own leather closet: corsets, dog collars, whips, belts. He voice trails off as she imagines all the various, delicious applications of said leather. Let’s all take a moment and imagine them with her — and Jane, together. Perhaps more than a moment. Talk amongst yourselves. I’ll be in my bunk.

But our little fantasy interlude is interrupted when the realtor/madame is found dead in the pool. Dammit, murder, always getting in the way of my hot lesbian subtext. Long story, who cares — it was the wife of one of the investment firm guys who killed both of them to get back at her husband.

Murder successfully solved, who should show up at Maura’s door but Cailin. She sulks in all teenage angsty and terrible. I know the kid is dying and all, but she’s reaching Bella Swan levels of annoying right now. She has figured out Maura is Hope’s daughter when she found the drawing in the bathroom. Also because it’s obvious to everyone with eyes and who isn’t named Dr. Hope Martin. She also says she doesn’t want Maura’s kidney, or any other piece of Maura, living inside of her. Angsty, terrible and ungrateful.

Hope arrives, after calling the police because Cailin took their car. Possibly not the best move, maybe you are a bad mother after all. Then Maura confesses that she is her daughter and Hope says, “This is my daughter” while clutching Cailin. Yep, Mother of the Year right here, folks.

After they leave who should show up offering comfort and Kleenex but Jane. Always Jane. She reassures her distraught girlfriend with some sympathy eye sex, reassuring TGTG touching and a consoling “families suck.”

Then Maura says she’s all cried out about it and says she’s actually a little insulted. Cailin rejected her kidney. The nerve! Want Jane to go beat her up for you? Maura calls it a very nice kidney and Jane agrees, saying “You should keep it. In your body. Just sayin'” And in doing so succeeds in making Maura’s face do this.

That’s one million Good Girlfriend points for you, Jane Clementine Rizzoli. Well done, detective.

And now, on to your #gayzzoli tweets. To quote everyone on Twitter, ever, “Those two should just get married already.”

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