by Mel Walker
Of course it did. “Show me the next card,” I ask as the intern steps forward and holds it up. I read, I’m still the best chef under 30. Watch out, I’m coming for the crown, and nothing is going to stop me (slash the knife through the air).
My stomach bubbles in disgust at the phrasing. Chef Zach is a bigger ass than I recall. No wonder Dana tossed me out on my ass.
Just the mention of her name causes a newsreel of memories to stream in my head: stolen glances of Dana laughing in the cafe with her friends as she sneaks bites into the latest treat I’ve baked for her, our flirtatious gazes over the candlelight at our dinner, her lying on the mat in my room at the lodge. Her presence calms me, and her spirit tames my beating heart. Calm is where I want to be. She is the calm I seek; she is the calm I need.
“Chef?” The shrill voice of the director snaps me from my trance.
I lower the fake knife down to my side. Cooking now with heavy metal music and acting like a loud idiot has limited appeal. It is no longer me.
“You want the real Chef Zach?” I ask the assistant director, who finally appears ready to listen to me. He nods, his eyes filled with interest and curiosity. It feels like it’s the first time he’s seeing me. “Cut the music, please,” I say to the intern. As the music fades, I step in front of the table.
“Chef Zach is dead. Long live Chef Jackson.” I know my agent will be upset, but so be it. “Feel free to start rolling whenever you want,” I say as the assistant director taps the shoulder of the cameraman. I notice for the first time that the red light has been on the entire time. I close my eyes for a moment and take a long inhale, followed by a long exhale. In through the nose, out the mouth, slow and steady. I can practically hear Dana’s steady voice in my ears. Just the thought causes the corners of my lips to rise into a quiet smile.
“Let us know when you are ready, Chef,” the director states and I open my eyes slowly.
“This is it. Keep rolling.” I think of Dana and shift my weight, lifting my right leg, pressing the sole of the foot against my left calf, the tree pose. I bring my hands to my chest in prayer and open my eyes. I can practically feel Dana’s hands on my hips helping me maintain my balance. A warm sense of calm spreads through my chest. I am achieving balance.
“Cut,” the assistant director calls and hops off his stool. “What’s this?”
I lower my foot to the floor and step toward him. “You wanted promo material. This is it.”
He shakes his head. “Where is the badass I was promised? I read the folder on you—that’s the character we are looking to promote. People aren’t interested in watching you, or anyone, meditating. It’s not good for the ratings.” Mr. Five Minutes of Experience states the words as if he speaks for the universe.
I no longer care. I’m being given a second shot, and I can’t ruin it; however, I need to do it my way. I must be true to myself. I’m no longer the buffoon from back in Seattle. I’m not even the quiet manager of the cafe in Destiny Falls. Dana has shown me that I can do what I love, that I’m a badass chef, but I can do it with balance, kindness, and a gentle soul.
This is what I want to be. This is the true me. It’s about time I dropped the barriers and showed the world the true me.
“I’m sorry to inform you that I’ve evolved. As I’m sure everyone in the green room has. Don’t make caricatures of our lives based on the worst moment of our career. We screwed up. Yes, that’s on each of us. But that’s not who we are. It shouldn’t define us forever. We learn, we grow, we evolve, just like everyone else. Don’t you think your viewers would be more interested in that journey than a made-up cartoon character?” I watch him process the words; I realize that the cartoon character I had referenced had been me at one point in time.
Why did I believe I could ever revert back to a person I wasn’t happy with before? I don’t need to be the jerk chef in order to be successful. I can cook my food the way I want to and be the person I want to be.
“Take me as I am,” I state and turn heading toward the exit. I’m not sure what will happen or what it all means, but I know that I can’t do it. I can’t be someone I’m not meant to be.
The confusion on his face tells me everything I need to know. The blonde intern sidles up to him, and they begin to whisper to one another. I can’t hear their conversation and no longer care.
They want to see Chef Zach, so I show them the move I’ve perfected. “I’m out!!” I scream in their direction. I ignore the chatter and footsteps behind me.
They won’t catch me; I’m an expert at leaving. I was crazy to think I could return to this world. Home is where the heart is, and my home is no longer here. I no longer need the spotlight, and I no longer need to be the loudest voice, the badass in the room.
If anything, this past week rekindled my love for cooking. The preparation, the love placed into the care and feeding of those you care about, that is where my true heart lies. All I need, all I want, all I love is back in middle America.
I push through the door and wave to the three chefs waiting their turn. I head straight to the exit. It’s too late to catch a flight back to Indiana tonight, but that doesn’t matter. I’m going to book the first flight in the morning. I can’t wait to touch down in Indiana. It’s time to head home. My true home. Back to my love.
Chapter Forty-One
Dana
Walking through the coffee shop and not seeing Jackson’s handsome profile at the counter a few hours ago nearly broke me.
I know I must have looked like a lost puppy as I searched the shop, even pushing my way into the kitchen and storage areas.
Luckily, I’m a regular and everyone there knows me. That’s when it hit me. I’ve fallen in love with a man whose house I’ve never visited. I knew he stayed with his cousin Jason. Knew the neighborhood and even the street, but not the address.
It seems ridiculous, but nothing about my relationship with Jackson has been normal. Thankfully, Destiny Falls is a small town, with lots of gossip. Jason was easy to track down. He merely confirmed that Jackson wasn’t home. Had come in, changed bags, and headed right back out, destination not to be shared—at least not shared with me.
I took this news in stride. The universe responding to me banishing him. Fine. If they want me to jump another hurdle, I will. Jackson is worth jumping a million hurdles.
My next call went to Mia, who knew exactly what to do. It took Aaron less than twenty minutes to solve the Jackson mystery; I didn’t ask any questions.
I stare down at my phone at the foreign address, a recording studio in Studio City, a suburb of Los Angeles. I’m sitting in the back seat of an Uber with an overnight bag and a lifetime of anxiety in my veins. The address is a gift from Aaron Parker, the man who can find anything. The phone indicates that I’m a mere minute away from my destination.
The humidity of the warm California air already has my scalp sweating, Mia’s words of encouragement in my ears. “Go get your man.” Both she and Aaron reminded me that Mia took this same journey not too long ago, flying from Indiana to LA in pursuit of her happily ever after. I’m praying for a similar outcome.
Mia, however, did insist that I bring in reinforcements. I’m not sure if it’s because she’s fearful that things may not work out or because she knows my history of doing everything by myself.
I surprise her by accepting the support, something that even catches me off guard.
Speaking of support, I spot the sleek two-seater white Tesla convertible idling outside the gate of the studio.
“I Love LA” by Randy Newman streams from the Dolby speakers of the car as I exit the Uber. I can’t withhold the smile on my face as Mia and Aaron have pulled out all the stops.
My gaze lands on a set of sparkly blue-gray eyes that are to die for, and I instantly know everything is going to be all right.
Chapter Forty-Two
Jackson
Rob has been texting me with updates, begging me to return. He’s somehow convinced the producer that this
is all part of my badass persona. He berated them when he asked whether they recorded me leaving—"ratings gold” was the term he used.
Rob is the one worth his weight in gold. He’s spun my diva move into the best thing to ever happen to the Food Network. He practically painted them a picture of teasers and social media memes of my dick move that might go viral. I pray it doesn’t.
Having spun the producer, he’s now working on me, telling me to take the rest of the evening and come back first thing tomorrow for the cooking competition. I’ve already sent him the screenshot of my ticket back to Indiana, but he still refuses to believe my actions.
I raise my hand to the bartender and order another drink. I’m sitting in the hotel bar killing time until I pass out for the evening. I debate returning the calls from Dana. It’s well past overdue.
Not hearing her voice is merely punishing me. I miss her presence, her essence, her spirit. I miss her. The image of me surprising her in Indiana, however, keeps me from calling her. If I heard her voice right now, I would tell her everything, my big romantic gesture lost.
I lift the phone as it vibrates—yet another text from Dana. Curiosity grabs me by the throat and I open the text.
Dana: I know you are upset at me. One final request – let me make it up to you. I know you are in L.A. Please go to this address. There is something you must see. It will clear everything up.
Her cryptic message ends with an address and a heart emoji. My head spins as I scroll up the list of ignored texts.
I nearly fall off the barstool as I read them. Her apologizing for kicking me out the lodge. Note after note of her pouring out her heart to me. Her begging me to call her.
My heart sinks. I should have fought my initial instinct and stayed and fought for the woman I love.
It’s evening in LA which means it’s late in Indiana. I type away on the phone. My grand gesture will need to wait for another day. I can no longer wait.
Jackson: I’m headed to the airport first thing in the morning. I’m coming back to Indiana for you. Can we talk right now?
I’m surprised to see the three dots instantly appear. I picture her on her couch holding the phone in her lap.
Dana: go to the address first. Go now, it’s not too late. We can talk after you arrive there. I’ll still be up waiting for you.
Questions flood my head. I’m not sure if it’s the alcohol, the drama from the filming, or the imbalance I feel from missing Dana. Whatever it is, I need to get to her.
Jackson: headed there now. I’ll call you once I arrive.
I’m not sure what I’m walking into, but it doesn’t matter. If all that stands between me and Dana is visiting some place in LA, I’d move heaven and earth to get there.
Chapter Forty-Three
Dana
Amy is leaning against the Tesla, her beautiful blonde tresses of hair lying over one shoulder as her brilliant smile expands upon seeing me. Amy is Aaron’s former boss, former head of location scouting for Universal Studios.
Most recently she was the assistant director for the blockbuster movie Forever which was filmed at the recently renamed Forever Lodge in Lake Hope. Since then her star has ascended, no end in sight. She recently wrapped her directorial debut and is weighing her options as to what comes next.
I’ve met her a few times on set during the filming of Forever back at Lake Hope. She and Mia formed a tight bond during the production, and she’s become an adjunct member of our tribe.
Although driving a Tesla and obviously loving life, Amy is dressed in ripped jeans and a studio T-shirt advertising, believe it or not, a space opera. Yeah, it bombed big-time.
“It may not be as beautiful as Lake Hope, but welcome to LA,” she says and pulls me into a tight embrace. She smells of confidence, joy, and love.
The simple act of kindness after hours on edge during the flight transports me to back to my emotional state. I hold the embrace longer than acquaintances normally would.
Amy softly strokes my back and leans into the embrace, then places a soft kiss on my cheek. “It’s going to be okay. You girls from Indiana have a good history of roping your men here in LA.”
I nod, her confidence and words exactly what I need at this moment.
The anxiety of the day is probably written all over my face. I can’t imagine putting this off any longer. My nerves can’t wait.
“He should be on his way. I hope this works. It has to.”
I hop into her two-seater as she waves to the security guard, and the gate opens. The massive metal barrier lifts as if the returning conquering queen has arrived. I pray that this just another good omen of what is yet to come.
“As long as this man has a heart, this will work. You are in LA, the land of magic and dreams.”
I siphon off some of Amy’s confidence as we slowly navigate the back lot of the studio and head to meet my one true.
Chapter Forty-Four
Jackson
I shake my head and step out of the Uber. A few months in the peaceful world of Indiana has ruined me. How people live with this much traffic is beyond me.
I step up to the massive gate outside the studio, not sure what to do next. A tall security guard, who looks just like every security guard in a Hollywood movie, nods in my direction and approaches, iPad in hand.
“ID, please.”
Once again, my mind races to the pleasantries of the Midwest and pull out my wallet and slip him my credentials. “Beautiful night,” I start, knowing my comment will be ignored.
“Studio 92a. Walk through the gate, stand in the marked-off area there.” He points through the gate to a sign marked Pick up. “Hand this to the driver.”
If I were Chef Zach, I would have a few responses at the ready, but I decide to embrace my true self, Jackson. “Thank you. Have a wonderful evening.”
I follow his instructions, walking through the gate to the pickup area. It’s not long before a golf cart zips up to meet me. I hop in and hand the driver the slip. He looks down, a smile growing on his face. “You from Indiana?” he asks as the cart scoots forward.
His question raises my curiosity. I lean forward. “Seattle originally. But I’ve lived in Indiana the last few months.” He nods and the smile remains plastered on his face. “Why do you ask?”
“I take it you haven’t been to the set before?”
I turn my body toward him and my right hand holds on to the outside bar of the cart. I want to better read his expressions. “First time… Is it that obvious?”
His smile turns into a snicker. “Yeah.” His eyes return to the road as he navigates around a set of actors dressed as policemen. Two turns, one clown, and a dinosaur later, he pulls up to a distant building marked studio 92a.
He points to a white door. A red lightbulb sits prominently above the doorframe, the sign stating “Do not enter when light is on.” I stop next to a white Tesla and glance back toward my driver. He points to the light—it’s off—and waves me to enter.
I nod and open the door. It opens to a thin dark hallway, a large wall to my immediate right. I pause to allow my eyes to adjust as I hear the faint music. Any self-respecting person from Seattle would be able to recognize the song within three beats—Nirvana, “Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
That simple taste of home relaxes me and I follow the sound. The hallway opens to a massive open studio. An extension of bleachers sits behind me, and a large structure of some sort sits in front of me. A small spotlight shines on a radio sitting on the mantle of a fireplace. It’s a movie set.
“Is anybody there?” I shout out as the spotlight clicks off and the stage lights come on full. I nearly lose my breath at the sight.
The set is a recreation of the Forever suite from the lodge back in Lake Hope. They’ve recreated every little detail down to the bedspread. “What the…”
The lights click off as the spotlight returns to the radio. The song shifts to another tune, filled with memories of another sort. TSOP - The Sound of Philadelphia,
a song near and dear to…
The spotlight clicks off, throwing the entire room into darkness. I hear movement in front of me as the spotlight returns. This time it points center stage, highlighting a vision from my dreams.
Dana.
She is standing center stage holding a handful of Mylar balloons. I rub my eyes, wondering if I’m drunk. How is it possible that she is here? I race down to the stage, stopping two feet in front of her, afraid it’s all a Hollywood mirage.
I need to know if this is real. If she is real. That’s when she says the words that prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is all real.
She winks at me and speaks. “Hey, Jackson.”
Chapter Forty-Five
Dana
I release the balloons, and they float up to the rafters of the studio, their two seconds of purpose fulfilled. The look on Jackson’s face is my new favorite memory.
Watching the man of my dreams tear up and reach for me wipes away all the pain of the last twenty-four hours.
I give him a moment to process everything. “Hey, Jackson.” Two words. Two simple words which seem to always connect us. Two words which let him know I am here, I am real, and that we are okay.
He rushes forward, the hesitation from a moment ago gone. Our lips crash together with a force of a tsunami, his momentum pushing me back toward the California king. We tumble in a tangled fury of arms and legs, our lips never parting.
We battle for supremacy, taking turns rolling on top. Our kisses refill our hearts and our spirit. The kisses slow as we both take long breaths.
His finger strokes the outline of my face as his dark blue eyes fill with a look of love and admiration. How I hadn’t recognized this look for months is a mystery.