Twice Baked Page 4

  I nodded slowly. “Possibly,” I agreed. “But I don’t know how this is going to work. I haven’t made any bones about the things I don’t like. I’ve put them out there, boldly forward for the world to see.” It occurred to me that it wasn’t the humor or the snark that was bothering Meyer, but the fact that maybe I was garnering the attention. I kept that little tidbit to myself. Meyer was going to have to learn that the sun couldn’t always shine on him.

  “The others are right,” Meyer said flatly. “You need to be yourself. That’s the only way this is going to work. If you do anything else, it will come across as fake, and that is the kiss of death. Hollywood is fake—it’s plywood sets with nothing behind them, but it has to look real and feel real, even if it isn’t.” He sighed slightly, his expression darkening for a second, and then, without another word, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. The conflict in his eyes left me wondering at the true source even after he’d gone.

  I had no idea if I had just been offered some sort of peace deal or what.

  “Don’t worry,” the makeup woman, Darlene, said. She had been quiet for the entire exchange, continuing to check shades against my cheeks. “This is Hollywood, the land of big egos and people who wish they had what you have.”

  I turned to her. “Excuse me?”

  “Sweetheart,” Darlene said gently. “You have that presence. Turn to the mirror. Those eyes and that mouth—you have a face that, once I’m done with it, is going to stop traffic. You’re funny and you stand up for yourself. That’s a pretty powerful combination. And that is going to frighten some people.” She wagged her pinkie, and I snorted, trying not to laugh. She could wave that pinkie all she wanted, but if she was referring to Meyer, then she was way off in that department. I went along with her joke and did my best not to give away any indication that I knew something to the contrary.

  “I’ve never had any sort of presence in my life. I’m the guy that everyone overlooks.” It had always been that way.

  Darlene patted my shoulder through the cape. “You need to spend a little more time seeing what’s really there, rather than in your head. This is Hollywood, where everything is only skin-deep. Beautiful people in movies and on television. You’re interesting and have personality, but you’re also good-looking and your face has real character. It’s not plastic or cookie-cutter-looking. All you need to do is learn to use it.” She finished up and stepped away. “Take a look and tell me what you think.”

  I turned toward the mirror and widened my eyes. It was hard to believe that it was me staring out of the mirror. “Good God, what did you do?”

  “I evened out your skin tone some, and highlighted your eyes just enough to make them appear a little larger. Most of that is to counter the effects of the cameras. Otherwise, it’s all you.” She smiled as I grinned, looking at myself anew. “I’m going to make some notes so I can do this each morning that we’re filming, and you’ll be good to go.”

  “Do you come along when we go on location too?”

  “Yup. I’m your best makeup friend.” She smiled and patted my shoulder once more. “Just be yourself and remember to smile with your eyes.”

  I couldn’t help chuckling at the America’s Next Top Model reference. “I’ll do my best.”

  She took away the cape and handed me a tissue and some cream. “Use this to remove the makeup, and be sure to wash your face thoroughly at the end of the day. You want to make sure your pores remain open and clear. Otherwise you’ll get blemishes, and that isn’t going to be good. Now, I think wardrobe is waiting for you.” She shooed me off, and I thanked her for everything.

  I headed over to the wardrobe area, where the clothes that Justin had arranged for me hung on racks. He and I went over what they thought I would wear for each episode and marked them. He explained that, other than some shirts and basic pants, the rest couldn’t be worn more than once, and he confirmed that I would be given them once they were finished.

  “You certainly can wear clothes,” the man said, looking me over. “Some people are so bulky, it’s hard to get things to fit.”

  “Well, thank you,” I said as he fussed a few moments. “Is there anything I need to do to help you?”

  “Yes, try not to slobber down yourself. We had a judge two seasons ago who wore more food than he ate, and we ended up buying two of everything so we could have something to change him into.” He rolled his eyes. “I trust you’ll be more careful.”

  “I’m not a messy eater, just a picky one.” I met the older man’s gaze. He hadn’t bothered to introduce himself.

  “That’s a good one, kid,” he said, and actually started to smile. “Okay. You come here after makeup, and we’ll get you dressed and ready for the show. Sometimes we’ll have you change between the filming of the challenges and the judging, and sometimes you’ll just put on a jacket. We want you to look nice at all times.”

  “I understand. So, I can arrive in casual clothes?” I was hoping there wasn’t some in-studio dress code.

  “I’d keep changes in your dressing room. That way you have options.” He sat down on a stool and reached for a sandwich out of a cooler bag.

  “How long have you been doing this?” I asked as I got ready to leave.

  “I’ve been with this show every season, and I work on a lot of others too. I’ve worked at the studio about thirty years. I’ve dressed some really big stars. You know, the bigger they are, the nicer they are. It’s the ones who think they’re really something who are the biggest pain in the rump.” He flashed a smile and took a bite.

  “You have a good day, and I’ll be seeing you.” I pulled open the door and stepped out in the late-day sun. It was still intense, but waning, with the shadows growing longer. As far as I knew, I had been through everything I needed to today. Justin was off running errands for his boss, so I went in search of the car, gave up, and texted Felix. He told me where he was, and I located the car and got in, then asked him to take me to a grocery store so I could get something for dinner before he took me home. I don’t know what I had thought, but I guess I figured that working in television was easy.

  It sure as hell wasn’t.

  “ROSCO,” I called as I came in the door lugging my groceries. He sauntered out, stretched, and then followed me into the kitchen. “I know. You’re used to me being home to work, and now you’re spending a lot of time alone.” I picked him up, cradled him for a few minutes, then sat in one of the chairs. Rosco wiped his tail in my face a few times before settling down to purr.

  A knock on the door startled me, and Rosco jumped down and headed over. I picked him up so he wouldn’t make a run for it and pulled the door open, having no idea who could be visiting. Maybe a neighbor was welcoming me to the building?

  “Meyer,” I said, surprised enough that I nearly dropped Rosco. I stepped back, and Meyer came inside.

  “You brought your cat,” Meyer said. I set him down, and Rosco wound around Meyer’s legs a few times, then stretched and sank his claws into Meyer’s thigh. “Jesus.” He jumped back, and Rosco sauntered off toward the bedroom like he’d done his duty and wasn’t needed anymore. “What was that for, you cantankerous cat?”

  “I don’t think he likes the fact that you took off.” I wondered what Meyer could want. He certainly hadn’t come here to be scratched by my cat, though I was going to have to give Rosco an extra treat for his appropriate welcome. “What can I do for you?” I asked, remembering my manners. I turned and went into the kitchen, pulled out a couple of microbrews, and brought them into the living room, holding out a bottle to Meyer.

  “I see you still drink these,” Meyer said as he turned the bottle in his hand before screwing off the top.

  “You turned me on to them, and now the other stuff tastes like swill.” I tipped the bottle and held it out. Eventually Meyer got the idea and clinked it with his. “What do you want?” I was tired and hungry, and I needed to fix some food and go to bed.

  Meyer stood still, drinking h
is beer, and from the looks of it, trying to figure out for himself why he’d come. I sat on the sofa and leaned back. “What do you plan to say… about us?”

  “I already told you. Nothing.” I leaned forward with a sigh. “I think you’re crazy, completely nuts, to be this afraid of something like the fact that you’re gay and too ashamed of yourself and afraid to tell your family and the world the truth. None of your adoring public is going to care. Huge stars have come out of the closet. And your family….” I let that hang in the room.

  “They would never speak to me again,” Meyer said, draining the bottle in a couple of gulps. “I don’t know why I came here. I guess I needed to know, and….”

  “I am not going to tell anyone that you and I were lovers for three years. Three miserable, hiding, made-me-feel-like-a-complete-whore years.” I met his gaze with steel. “I won’t go back to that under any circumstances, so you get rid of whatever notion is running through the back of the fevered little brain of yours.” I knew Meyer, and if he thought he could get a little boom-boom going, he would. Meyer ran hot, always did, and when he really got going, the world could come to an end and neither one of us would have stopped or given a damn. I’d missed that, if I was honest, but not enough to go back to the place I’d been in or how I’d felt about myself. “That’s up to you to make the decision about when you’re going to be truthful with yourself and the world.”

  “Dammit.” Meyer flopped in the nearest chair. “You were always so damned fucking high and mighty. You knew what was best for me and for everyone else.” Sarcasm dripped from his lips.

  I shrugged. “Now that you have that understood, what did you come for?” I set down the bottle and crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Why are you so antagonistic?” Meyer asked. “Things didn’t work out with us—it’s no big deal.”

  I tried not to let the jab hurt, but it did. Damn, I meant that little to him?

  “We were together in one way or another for three years. I cared for you, saw you through a severe bout of flu and when you had that viral infection that nearly killed you. I was there all night long, sitting next to your bed, working a few hours, checking your temperature, and getting fluids in you. I put my damned life on hold for weeks until you were strong enough to get back to work, and I meant nothing to you?” I stood. “You know, if that’s the case, then maybe you should leave. And while I promise I won’t reveal any of your dirty little secrets, I’ll be damned if I’m going to be nice to your slimy ass.” I’d built up a good head of steam, and my mouth was really engaged.

  “I didn’t say that,” Meyer interjected. “I meant that relationships end. It happens.”

  “That’s true, but you slimed away rather than face the truth.” Maybe it was good that I was getting all this out in the open. “You used me for years, and then when you got the chance, you were off to Hollywood.”

  “I asked you to come with me,” Meyer said a little lamely.

  I rolled my eyes. “As your dirty secret. You were never going to tell your family about me or live openly. Hell, you didn’t in Philadelphia, and your family was thousands of miles away. Why could I expect anything different?” I looked down at my feet as Rosco returned and jumped into my lap. “I was in love with you, Meyer.” Damn, that was hard to admit.

  “I loved you too….”

  The ache in his voice was unmistakable, and it tugged at my heart, but I pushed it away. I couldn’t go back down that road again. I wasn’t going to.

  “I got out here and I didn’t know anyone. There were so many times I nearly called you just to hear your voice and to have someone to tell me it was going to be okay.” He sighed. “God, do you have another beer?”

  I nodded and pointed to the kitchen. “Help yourself.” This was not the kind of conversation I ever expected to be having with him.

  He got up, and the refrigerator door opened and closed in the other room. Then he returned and flopped back down. “Everything wasn’t easy for me either.” He opened the bottle and sucked down a lot of the beer. “I had a lot of pressure on me from all sides.”

  I had heard that before. “Yeah, and if you had been honest and open, then I would have been there to help you through it all. Instead, you had all these secrets in all these little boxes that you were afraid would get out. You didn’t want to tell your family that you were gay or about me, and for the longest time, you never told me you weren’t out to your family or anyone else. You kept your work in some little box too, so when things weren’t going well, you lied to me and said they were fine until you nearly lost your job and flushed your career down the toilet. You burned the candle at both ends, taking pills to work harder and longer instead of asking for help.” I stroked Rosco’s fur to try to calm myself even as my heart beat faster.

  “I didn’t want you to worry,” Meyer explained. “You shouldn’t have had to deal with my shit.”

  “But I was. I was in a relationship with you, even though I was still on the outside, looking in, excluded from so much of your world. So yeah, when you said you were leaving, it hurt, but I couldn’t go with you because I was never really with you in the first place.” That was the best way I could describe it. “I really need to get something to eat and then get to bed. This time change and the motion-sickness meds have really kicked my butt.”

  “Do you still like Asian? There’s some wonderful Korean in the area, and they deliver.” Before I could answer, Meyer had his phone out and was placing an order. “Two barbeque ribs with all the sides, no fish.” Meyer gave the address. “I’ll Apple Pay when you get here,” he said, and then hung up. “That way you won’t have to cook.”

  Sometimes I just didn’t get him at all. “You don’t need to do this.”

  It was hard for me to stay angry with him when he was actually nice, and that pissed me off. I wanted to be angry with him. That kept me from looking into his deep eyes and remembering just how his silken locks felt against my skin. Meyer was talented in the kitchen, but he had skills that were mind-blowing in another very important room of the house. I needed to push all that away, forget it like none of that existed. I couldn’t allow myself to go there, or else I was going down a road that was only going to lead to more heartache. Meyer was not the kind of guy I could only be friends with. That would never, ever work. I was attracted to him the first time I saw him, I was in love with him when he left, and, damn it all, I could still feel his pull after all this time away.

  I took a deep breath. We were going to have dinner, and then he was going home. Then we would work together on the show. Once it was over, he would stay, and I would leave, back to my life and to the real world. If I lasted that long.

  Chapter 4

  I SAT behind the desk with Rachel and Meyer on Friday of that same week as the chefs, mostly in white, filed onto the set. They looked around, craning their necks to see the various apparatus above and behind the area. The cameras were in position as well.

  “All right. We will be taping all day today because we might use some of this footage during the show,” Ethan said. “So let’s look alive and be ready. Pay no attention to the cameras, and once we’re done here, we will be filming with each of you to ask a number of questions and get some personal information that we can intersperse through the first episodes. We have a lot to get done today.” He pointed to Rachel, who smiled.

  “Chefs, welcome to Cooking Masters. You all are among the best of the best and were nominated to be on the show by your peers in a nationwide culinary talent search. We’re pleased to have each and every one of you here with us. There will be many challenges ahead, more for some than others, but you are all worthy of being here.” She turned to Meyer and then to me. “I want to introduce you to our judges. In addition to myself, I’m happy to introduce James Beard–award-winning chef and owner of multiple amazing restaurants on both coasts, Meyer Thibodeau.”

  Meyer stood as the contestants applauded.

  “And we have food blogger and aficionado
extraordinaire, Luke Walker, whose blog, The Pickiest Eater in America, is a sensation.”

  I smiled, and the contestants clapped and murmured among themselves.

  “Please step forward, tell us your name, where you’re from, and the kind of cuisine you love.”

  Each contestant stepped forward, introduced themselves, and explained why they loved to cook and the kind of food that fed their soul. There were men and women from every area of the country, cooking dishes from Jamaican jerk to traditional French, from nouvelle cuisine to reimagined classics. It was easy to see the enthusiasm in each and every face.

  “Will we be cooking today?” one man from the back asked.

  “Yes. This is not going to count and no one will be eliminated, but each of you should head into the kitchen behind you and prepare a signature dish using anything in the pantry. Again, this isn’t going to send anyone home, and it isn’t going to be on the show, but we will be judging, and the winner will receive dinner at Meyer’s Ma Maison with Meyer, Luke, and myself. The winner will also get to choose another contestant to come along. You have an hour.” Rachel smiled as they hurried into the other room, conversation breaking out as they rushed to find what they needed.

  “Is it like this each season?” I asked in general. It seemed like chaos.

  “Yes,” Ethan answered before climbing onto his boom to oversee the shooting and direct the cameras. He had a computer, as well as a joystick, to control various cameras himself and to communicate with the others. It was like a dance, and I was fascinated by the process.

  “We’ll give them ten minutes to settle down and start working before we circulate through the room and see what they’re doing. Feel free to ask questions and look at their work. It’s often a good indicator of what we can expect, come judging.”