Twice Baked Read online

  “I’m a blogger from Philadelphia. Why would anyone care about me and my past? I’ve never been on anyone’s radar, and as soon as the show is over, I’ll disappear and no one is going to care about me once again.”

  “Are you kidding? Your reactions during dinner were gold. Each dish was written all over your face, and it was priceless. Don’t you dare change. If you thought the dish was bad, you had an expression that every single person out there could identify with. They are going to make memes of that, and you’ll probably get your own emojis.” Ethan was practically giddy. “But that also means that the press and the public are going to want to know everything about you.”

  “Well, that’s just thrilling.”

  Ethan half smiled. “It’s what comes with this business. Most people are going to be nice and pretty respectful. But there will be the rabid ones, and they’ll dig into your private life for anything juicy.” He glanced to where Meyer and Rachel stood talking. “Meyer has been in that spotlight for years now, and they love him.”

  “Okay…?” I prompted. Ethan had to have checked me out before he and the producers agreed to have me on the show. They had to know that I was gay. This was the Cooking Channel, though. They had gay people on their shows all the time.

  “I see the way you look at Meyer and the way he looks back. If there isn’t something going on between you… then you both need to make sure nothing happens. This is a respected show, and the number one on this network. We want good food, great television, and no scandal. That might get short-term ratings, but it’s long-term death and everyone knows it.”

  “I see.” There was no way in hell I was going to confirm or deny anything. Even breathing an answer would in some way break my promise to Meyer. “Well, it’s a good thing that I’m not interested in fame, at least not the Hollywood kind. I’m here to be a judge on your show and then go home. That hardly seems the kind of situation that is going to be conducive to me getting in trouble with anyone.” This entire conversation was so much like the one I’d had with my parents when I came out of the closet. Plenty of euphemisms and vague references because it made them more comfortable than actually just saying the words. Sometimes we all need to just drop the drag and say things the way they were. “Is there anything else that you need?”

  “No. You did great. Keep it up.” He flashed a smile as his phone rang. He snatched it up and wandered away as he talked.

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head. I probably should have expected something like that eventually.

  I messaged Felix and asked him to meet me near the soundstage door in fifteen minutes. He responded right away, and I joined Rachel and Meyer. “I’m going to go unless either of you need anything.”

  “It was a great show, and the next one is going to be better,” Meyer said.

  Rachel turned to me. “That cat comment was genius. Half the country is going to be wondering all about the picky eater guy with an equally picky cat.” She grinned and rubbed her hands together for a second. “I need to go and get some beauty sleep. I’ll see you boys in the morning.” She bounced off, and I turned to Meyer.

  “What’s with her?”

  “She met someone.” Meyer winked. “Rachel has the worst luck in men, but started seeing a man a few weeks ago at a restaurant downtown.”

  I snickered. “You set her up, didn’t you?” Meyer was a matchmaker—he couldn’t really help it. His mother was one too, and so were most of the women in his family. It was part of what made them special. The tradition had come over from the old country, and his family had kept it alive.

  “All I did was invite her to a friend’s restaurant so she could check out his food and see if he’d make a good guest judge for the show.” Meyer bumped my shoulder. “It was a no on the show, but it seems a big, fat, glowing yes from Rachel.” There were times when he could stoke the drama. I loved that about Meyer. He leaned closer. “She’s a major size queen, and Lord knows he has exactly what she wants.” Meyer snickered, and I covered my mouth, grateful there was no one around.

  “I need to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.” I turned to leave and realized that Meyer was following me.

  “Do you want me to come over later?” Meyer asked, and I nearly said yes right away, but took a deep breath. That was exactly how things had been in Philadelphia. That exact same road was opening up in front of me.

  “If you like, but you and I need to talk.” I turned, meeting his heated gaze with cold steel. “I mean, really talk. So yeah, come on over. I’ll have a beer waiting for you.” I left without further explanation and headed to where Felix was waiting in the car. I climbed in and shut the door, letting Felix drive me home while my heart and head fought with each other. This wasn’t a battle or a skirmish, but a full-out war—the Russian Front, Maginot Line kind of war. And I needed to figure out which side I was truly going to land on.

  The shitty part was that I honestly had no fucking idea.

  “COME ON in,” I told Meyer an hour later. I handed him a beer and motioned toward the sofa. I sat in the nearest chair, with Rosco settling on my lap. At least I knew I’d have him on my side, no matter what. “I can’t do this again,” I informed him. “I won’t go back to the way things were three years ago. I won’t be your little secret on the side. I’m out and I have a life.”

  “With your cat?” Meyer sniped.

  “Don’t be a shit. You don’t get to judge me. I know who I am, and sneaking around, having a half life with someone that only exists behind closed doors and on the sly, isn’t it. That doesn’t mean that I don’t care for you. I always have, but I can’t live that way. I did it for three years, and it damned near killed me.” I tipped my beer to my lips and took a drink. “That isn’t who I can be, and it isn’t fair. I spent a great deal of time and pain figuring out who I was, and those years in Philly made me ashamed of myself. I had to hide and stay out of the light because of you. I can’t do that again.”

  “But I….” Meyer drank his entire beer and set the bottle on the table. “My family….”

  “I can’t live a lie, and you’ve been doing it for so long that you don’t know anything else. Living a lie takes so much effort.” I set my bottle on the table near his. “I know that Hollywood is like living in a fishbowl, but the network isn’t going to care if you’re gay or not, and neither are your customers at the restaurants. This is LA, where half the people are gay and the other half don’t give a damn.” I leaned forward.

  “You want me to come out. Is that the price of being able to see you? Is that what you’re saying?” I could tell that Meyer was becoming agitated.

  “I want you to be honest with yourself and the world. I know you’re afraid of your family. But what can they do to you? You’re hugely successful, on television—a chef who is looked up to and respected. Being gay has nothing to do with the amazing food you make, or your ability to run your businesses. Do you really think your family will turn their backs on you?” I had a pretty good idea that they might disapprove, but I also knew that Meyer helped them out. “I really doubt it.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like. I could come out and they could support me. But what about their friends? The community? They’ll be whispered about behind their backs and….” Meyer stood. “I think I’d better go.”

  I nodded. “Yeah. I think you should. I know we aren’t going to agree on this one.” I followed him to the door, my hand on the knob, but I didn’t pull it open. Instead, blocking his way, I let go and gently caressed his cheek. Meyer closed his eyes, and I could almost feel the conflict raging inside him. I knew what it felt like and how hard this was for him. “I will say this. Regardless of what you think will happen, what we fear is almost always worse than reality.” I patted his shoulders. “These are very strong, but they’re carrying a burden you don’t need to haul. I promise I’ll be here if you want to talk, but think about what you want and how you truly want to be.” I let my hands slide away from his shoulders and opened the door.

&nb
sp; I refused to watch him step out the door. I really wished things had been different.

  Chapter 7

  THE NEXT week was the busiest of my life, and that included when I worked full-time, was just starting the blog, and was trying to get my own business off the ground. I managed to write in my dressing room during down times in order to keep up with the blog and my clients’ work. Most of the time when I wasn’t on set, I was preparing to be on set. I even began bringing Rosco with me to the trailer because he soothed my nerves, which were becoming raw and more jangled by the day.

  “Don’t let Rosco out,” I called when the door opened.

  “I won’t,” Meyer said.

  I sat up. He and I hadn’t talked very much, other than for work, in the week since he’d come to the apartment.

  Meyer closed the door and brought Rosco over, handing him to me without getting scratched. Rosco seemed to have mellowed in his opinion of Meyer. “They are going to be ready to begin taping the appetizer in half an hour. There was a problem with one of the stoves, and they want to get it fixed first.”

  Meyer sat on the edge of the sofa, with Rosco curled between us, and absently stroked down his back. “I talked to my family. Mom and Dad skyped with me last Friday night, and I was tired and they were nagging me about getting married, so… I told them.” He closed his eyes and began shaking. Rosco got up and stretched onto Meyer’s lap, lying across his legs. Rosco always knew when I needed his comfort, and I guess he thought Meyer did now.

  “How did they take it?” I asked, but pretty much had my answer from Meyer’s posture.

  “Well, they didn’t open their arms and start singing ‘Kumbaya,’ if that’s what you’re thinking. My mother cried, and my father yelled. Then, when I couldn’t take it any longer, I told them goodbye and that I’d call them again when they’d had a chance to think things over.” He sighed. “My father sent me a message yesterday telling me that they didn’t need to talk to me unless I decided to lead a Christian life. I’ve been helping them every month, and Dad said that he and Mom don’t need any of my tainted money anymore.” He lifted his gaze. “They would rather go without than accept me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry.” I wish I could have seen that coming, but I had never met his parents. The one time they’d come to Philadelphia, I wasn’t introduced. “Do you think they’ll come around at all?”

  Meyer shrugged. “Mom might, but my dad won’t, ever. This has become such a thing of ego with him. He has his own idea of what a man is, and that doesn’t include a son who is gay. It never will.”

  “Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

  “No. Things are the way they are.”

  I slid closer and put an arm around Meyer’s shoulders. “You know it’s going to be okay.”

  “But my parents. They’re….”

  I had very strong opinions, but Meyer didn’t need to hear exactly what I thought of his family at this particular moment. I suspected Meyer also didn’t need to hear platitudes and explanations of how things could be worse. “I wish I knew what to say to make you feel better.” I smiled. “So, Option A, I can dish your parents from here to eternity, telling you exactly what I think of them and how they aren’t good enough for you if they’re going to act that way. Option B, I can commiserate with you and tell you that I hope they come around, and that it does get easier.”

  “Is there an Option C?” Meyer asked, lifting his gaze.

  “There’s always an Option C. I could quote platitudes to you until you go completely out of your mind and have a breakdown. Then you won’t care what happens by the time the men in their clean white coats come to take you away.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed Meyer’s lips. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better. It just might work. Except for the fact that in fifteen minutes, I have to go out there and tape an episode of Cooking Masters, acting like there’s nothing wrong in front of the other judges, the remaining ten chefs, and, oh, not to mention the entire world.”

  “Put on your game face and give the performance of your life, one that deserves an Academy Award, or maybe an Emmy, since this is television.”

  Meyer fake growled. “You’re no help at all.” He checked the time and lifted Rosco onto the sofa cushion. “I need to get changed before I go on set.”

  “Me too.” Rosco climbed in my lap, and I held him until Meyer left, then hurried to get into my clothes for the taping and out the door without getting covered in cat hair.

  “SO FAR our episodes are amazing,” Ethan said the following morning at the production meeting. “The chefs are back at their house, and we’re going to be bringing them over in an hour, so we have a lot to do. The challenges have been set up and are ready to go, with one addition.” Ethan turned to me, and I leaned forward.

  “What is it?” Meyer asked.

  “It’s going to be a surprise for everyone. We want to go off-script to incorporate a little more spontaneity. Just be on your toes and remember to have fun with it.”

  He went on talking, and I turned to Rachel, who continued to watch Ethan. She knew, I knew she knew, and I immediately tried to think of ways I was going to worm it out of her.

  After the meeting broke up, I headed to makeup, sitting next to Meyer, who since our talk had been stoic and largely quiet. That was never a good thing.

  I knew what was wrong, and I also knew Meyer would stew it over in his head, chewing on it until there was nothing left. And only then would he actually let whatever was bothering him really drive him crazy. I had seen it before, and I knew Meyer had a tender heart. It was why he kept it locked away and guarded so closely.

  I finished first and went to prepare myself, keeping Rosco away from me, then hurried out to the set. I was hosting the appetizer with our guest chef, the previous series winner, Lyle Bolton.

  “I hear you have a real sense of humor,” Lyle said. The guy was very uptight. He glanced from side to side. “Don’t you dare upstage me. I know how this works.”

  I met his gaze with cold stone. “You do? Then you know that I’m here for the season and you only get today.” I wagged my eyebrows as Lyle whirled around like a fairy princess and sauntered over to Meyer as though he was God’s gift to everyone in the room. I left them to their conversation, which seemed painfully short and ended with Meyer excusing himself, leaving Lyle standing alone on the set.

  “Everyone in place,” Ethan said. The chefs filed in, and Lyle and I entered the set.

  “Chefs, good morning. I’m sure you know Lyle Bolton, the winner of season seven.” I was doing the host duties for the first time. “Today’s appetizer challenge is one that I can truly say I wished would stay away. But alas, I’m here to judge a mushroom challenge. My hatred of the edible fungus is quite well known, so your task is to make an appetizer that you believe will change my mind. We have filled the pantry with a dozen different mushrooms, and you will have just thirty minutes. And the time starts… now.” I stepped back as the chefs raced to get their ingredients. “Is this as much hectic fun as it looks?” I asked Lyle.

  He turned to me, his eyes a little wide, and hesitated. “Yes,” he finally answered. “I loved my time on Cooking Masters. Each challenge is unique and requires skill and timing.” He took a deep breath as we continued talking. “What do you think would endear a mushroom dish to you?”

  “I hate the usual texture. So probably a way to make them firm, give them some body, and probably cut down on the deep, earthy taste. That always reminds me of dirt.”

  Lyle chuckled. “I can see this is going to be a real test for the chef’s abilities. Are you sure you’re up to tasting all the dishes?”

  The little shit. Casting shade right here in the kitchen.

  “Definitely. My entire family loves mushrooms, so I’ve been trying to like them for years. Maybe someone here will be able to change my mind.” I kept the conversation light. Even though Lyle was trying to be a pain, it wasn’t going to work. I turned to the room. “The winning ch
ef will get an advantage in the next round, and the chef and dish will be featured on my blog as the only mushroom recipe I have ever willingly eaten.” That was going to get them plenty of exposure.

  Excitement ramped up in the room. Lyle and I continued talking for a few minutes and then stood back because the chefs were now the stars of the show. One woman ran behind the others, nearly colliding with Peter, a blond god whose smile lit up a room. From what I had seen of him, the cameras loved him, and I’d bet the audience was going to be disappointed once he was eliminated. He was a good chef, but not top tier, and unless he grew quickly, he was eventually going home.

  “Five minutes. You need to start plating,” I called out. “What were these last few minutes of a challenge like for you?” I asked Lyle.

  “Completely nerve-wracking. Each chef wants everything to be hot and fresh on the plate, so we put off plating as long as we can. There’s also a ton of things to pull together, because we almost always bite off more than we can chew, especially in these quick challenges.” He seemed more relaxed and less snippy.

  The entire room was filled with the earthy scent of mushrooms, and I did my best to keep the revulsion off my face. It had nothing to do with their dishes and everything to do with me and foods I didn’t like.

  “Time is up,” I said.

  The chefs all stepped back. Lyle and I waited for them to get into place and then made our rounds of the room. I approached the first dish with trepidation, and it was about as mushroomy as it looked. Lyle praised the dish, and I took a small bite.

  “I want to remind you that the challenge was to make a mushroom dish that I could like.” I smiled at her but couldn’t stop the shudder that went through me. All the chefs muttered, and I thanked her and moved on.

  The next dish was just as bad, and though I somehow managed to swallow my bite, there was no way in hell I was going to get through ten of these dishes without gagging.