Appetizer

by Blane Thomas

  A little nervous, he made a move to walk over to Lalitha first before he heard his voice being called out. He turned around to see Keith standing in front of the storage unit, arms folded. Reluctantly, he walked over, trying his best to put on a brave face. That earlier magical moment – where they had been linked by an invisible thread – was now severed. While he was proud to have suggested the main course, it also made him guilty. Gus and Lalitha were angry, and they may take out their anger on him tomorrow after all of this was done.

  “Chef?”

  “It will take some time to prepare the pea puree and venison for tonight. I want you to get those done,” Keith said, rattling off a list in his head. He did not stutter when he spoke. Every word carried a significant amount of weight and he wasted no time in unnecessary rambling.

  “Un…, understood, chef!” Corey almost gave a half salute. The nape of his neck tingled slightly. He was fully aware of Lalitha staring daggers in his direction. They would not accept his sudden infidelity.

  “And I just wanted to thank you for the…,” Corey began but Keith was not listening. He waved Corey off and went back to his workstation.

  Though he was not polite, Keith was finally acknowledging him. This was an improvement from the past two months where the tall, blonde chef would not even look at him. He was going to have an opportunity to work with someone whose artistry he greatly respected – and that made him feverish with excitement.

  Without wasting any time, he opened the door to the storage unit and was greeted by the familiar dry, cool air of the room. Ingredients lined the wall, left, front and right. He needed peas to be made into puree. A hand reached into the freezer, fishing out a small bag of frozen peas. This will be the pond in his theme. As he continued moving around the storeroom, placing the ingredients into a small trolley, Corey hummed to himself, lost in his world.

  He did not notice the storage door behind him open. Only when it clicked did he turn around to see Keith standing there, leaning against the metallic, silver door.

  Corey looked at the young, experienced chef, whose expression was unreadable. A tiny strand of his blonde hair curled outwards of his pompadour, and Corey yearned to reach out and tuck it back into his scalp.

  “Is everything okay, chef?” Corey asked out.

  The heavy door and thick walls made the sounds of the outside kitchen seem too far away. They were alone together, contained within the silence of the storeroom, and all Corey could hear was the awkward sound of his voice washing over the wall.

  Keith did not answer. The impassive look remained plastered on his face.

  Corey was eager to break the silence swelling in the room. He began rambling on, choosing to look at a rack displaying various bottles of sauces and spices.

  “I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate your letting me assist in your meals, chef. I’ve seen your work…, and I just want to say, that they…, they are exquisite.”

  “Still, you decide to agree with Lalitha and Gus when they speak ill of my work,” Keith suddenly said.

  The chill of his tone blasted through Corey, who was immediately dumbstruck. “I…, I…”

  “How did you come up with the idea of the venison and porcini?” Keith cut across. He took a few steps forward, his hands still comfortably folded. An eyebrow was raised in polite curiosity.

  Corey was relieved that Keith changed the subject. “Well, I just felt like you were using nature as a theme – a pond, the sky, the beach, the soil… and the main course was a forest. You wanted to bring Anais Heart through a journey, but you also wanted to make it as varied but as cohesive as…”

  He suddenly found himself at a loss for words. Keith was now standing in front of him. He could see the faint hint of pockmarks on his right, pale cheek. The rush of air coursing through his nostrils was oddly calming towards Corey. The magnetic gaze compelled Corey to look back, not to challenge, but to submit. Keith’s eyes were like an extended hand, reaching out for Corey to reciprocate. This was no invitation for cooperation – but an establishment of the dominant and submissive.

  Keith leaned forward, pressing his body against Corey’s. As he did so, his ribcage rose upwards, meeting Corey’s chest in a prayer. Their noses touched. The pleasurable tingle surging down his pants caused Corey to drop the plastic zip-lock bag containing porcini mushrooms. It fell to the floor in a crumpled thud. Neither men moved from their spot. Corey could only press his body against the racks, with no means of escaping as Keith’s body kept pushing into his.

  He could have easily pushed Keith away. He could have. But, he did not want to. As the sharp tip of Keith’s nose continued prodding against Corey’s, all the younger, inexperienced chef could do was hold his breath and hold onto the metal railings of the racks, praying to all the gods there are in the world that his knees won’t buckle. He daren’t admit it, but every nightly stroke of his cock towards an intense climax had been fuelled by this desire, a desire to be conquered by Keith.

  Though he could consciously push himself away from Keith, his body would not lie. Keith could feel the tenting of Corey’s cock against his pants. He gave out a small smile and tilted his head ever so slightly before kissing Corey fully in the lips.

  The warm, thin pink lips met Corey’s fuller ones, decorated in the parameters by brown stubble. Both mouths, ever so slightly parted, met, not in a crash, but as gently as a settling of a butterfly’s legs on a petal of a flower. It was quiet, subtle, yet poignant. Keith did not move his lips, choosing to let the pinkish flesh greet Corey as an erotic greeting. Corey received the kiss, eyes closed, daring not to move. He was afraid that moving his lips would bring an end to this moment. Slowly, Keith sealed his lips, ordering Corey’s to follow its movement till they were both now touching in a sensuous pucker.

  Corey was almost breathless when Keith parted from him. He had held his breath throughout the tantalizing torment. The older chef took two steps to the back, looking at the porcini mushrooms on the floor. He paid the slightly gasping Corey no mind.

  “Pick those up and get back to work, Corey,” he said. Keith then proceeded to walk out the storage unit without a glance back at the younger chef, whose arms were still dangling upon the racks at a slightly awkward, comical angle.

  Chapter 5

  The lunch hour came and went. When the last of the patrons had left Trainyard, it was already three in the afternoon. Corey was pedantically stirring the pea puree to achieve a creamy, rich texture. A brilliant light green sheen had formed on the surface of the puree, catching the light from the ceiling. Keith came over to oversee the soup, and gave Corey a curt nod before setting off.

  Ryan hung over Corey like a vulture, overseeing the entire process.

  “Now, gently. Don’t be too hard when your blanche the peas,” he advised Corey.

  The younger chef could only nod and smile nervously. Ryan wanted everything to be perfect, but he was not doing much to alleviate the stress that was coursing through Corey’s veins. From the corner of his eyes, Corey could also see the contemptuous glances by Lalitha and Gus. He tried his best to block this all out.

  “Careful, Corey,” Ryan cooed out. “Please, please, please, be careful when you strain the peas!”

  “Chef, leave him alone,” Keith said quietly. “I’ll oversee him.”

  “Oh…, okay, right,” the executive chef replied distractedly before hopping off towards Gus and Lalitha. “Well, I think the two of you can go back home for the day then, Lalitha, Gus.”

  Usually, the other two chef de parties would have been happy to be let off early from work. But today, they begrudgingly cleaned up their workstations. Lalitha especially muttered darkly under her breath in her native language. No one could understand what she was saying, but Corey knew that from the tone of her voice it was not at all pleasant.

  As Corey carefully poured the puree over a mesh sieve, he was happy to see the filtrate in the bowl had a silkier, smoother quality. He was proud of doing actual cooking. His ha
nds trembled, a little out of fear, but more so from elation. His heart had not quite settled from Keith’s kiss earlier. As his mind replayed the scene repeatedly, it only made him flustered. He tried his best to concentrate on his pea puree.

  “Why did Keith kiss me?” Corey’s mind screamed out for the umpteenth time.

  “Corey,” Lalitha called out in a sharp whisper.

  He looked up from his inner monologue and pea puree to see her beckoning at him. She waved a hand, urging him to come over to her workstation. Instinctively, he looked around at Keith, who had his back turned to him. He would not notice Corey walking towards Lalitha, being too busy cutting the asparagus, beets and carrots for the salad. Though Corey wanted to focus on his puree, he knew that placating Lalitha’s anger was important too. He felt guilty at having Keith choose him over the other two, more experienced chefs.

  “Lalitha, look, I am sorry…” Corey whispered when he reached her stove.

  Lalitha brushed it off. She too was whispering, for fear that Keith may hear her. “You didn’t do anything wrong, did you? Keith was the one who is being a blatant asshole, isn’t he?”

  “Well, yeah…”

  “Look, Keith wants to hog all the attention for himself. If the meal turns out good, Anais Heart is going to want to know who cooked the meal. And Ryan will have no choice but to introduce Keith to her, won’t he? And then what? She’s gonna gush at him and write amazing things about him, even though technically you are the real star of the show!”

  “Me?” Corey asked, puzzled. “Why would I be the star?”

  “C’mon, Corey!” Lalitha let out a sharp huff. “His entrée, soup, appetizer and dessert are whatever! They only come together well because of your suggestion for the main course! And he’s taking all the credit, calling all the shots, even telling Ryan that he will supervise you. I mean, c’mon! What kind of support is that?”

  “But…, but, all he wants to do is make sure Anais gets a good five-course meal. I don’t think he cares about the accolades or the good review, Lalitha.”

  “You live in a fucking outlandish world, you know that, Corey?” Lalitha said, incredulous. “Do you know why Keith chose you and not Gus or I to be his assistant?”

  Corey shrugged. It was the same question playing hopscotch in his mind too.

  “It’s because you’re easier to control. Do you think Gus and I would have allowed him to order us like that?”

  He mulled it over. Lalitha did have a point. He shook his head.

  “Exactly,” Lalitha replied.

  “So, what should I do?” Corey asked, flustered. He looked at Keith, who was still immersed in marinating the venison.

  “Just don’t let him boss you around, all right? And when Anais Heart wants to meet the chef, demand that Ryan also include you in the introduction. It’s only fair. He is not the one who needs to get all the credit!”

  Her suggestion made him faint hearted. All he wanted to do was cook. But now he was forced by Lalitha to be included in the appraisal by an eminent critic. The thought of standing in front of such a profound food reviewer made him nauseous. Lalitha took his silence as consent. Patting him on the shoulder, she wished him luck.

  “You’ll be great, Corey. I have to admit, the venison with porcini mushroom is an amazing main course to complement his set. Just make sure that a little bit of ‘Corey Littman’ is on the meal, too. This is not solely ‘Keith Harding’ artistic endeavour, is it?”

  “No, I guess not.”

  Lalitha nodded and walked out. “Didn’t think so. Don’t let that asshole hog all the credit, okay?”

  Chapter 6

  It was fifteen minutes after eight. Though Corey and Keith were cooped in the kitchen, they knew that Anais Heart and Theo Devereux had arrived. As was requested, Ryan was asked to sit and dine with them.

  Bright lights in the kitchen did not reveal the already dark skyline outside. Corey worked painstakingly to sear the venison, praying for it to caramelize just right. A few feet away from him, Keith worked on his artistry. His hands, precise as a microsurgeon’s, carefully ran a butter knife along the thinnest slice of carrot, curling it into ribbons. He was fastidious in his presentation of the salad, which looked nothing like a bowl of vegetables. Instead, they were a dazzling array of long, straight strands of bright green zucchini sticks, interspersed with the maroon-purplish beets, and the curls of the carrots, forming a bright explosion of fireworks on the plate.

  Corey stopped his searing to admire the three plates salads Keith had prepared. Each plate reflected the other, identical quintuplets, impossible to tell apart. Keith stepped back, only to admire his handiwork for two seconds before nodding at the waiter who whisked it away.

  “That will be enough searing, Corey. Put it over on the cutting board. I’ll carve it. Go get the ravioli from the oven.”

  Corey acquiesced quietly. The past five hours had passed quietly, as it did quickly. The only sounds Keith made were simple, quiet orders, followed by the ‘Yes, chef,’ from Corey. He did not dare ask Keith about the kiss in the storage unit earlier. He wondered if it was just Keith’s way of showing affection. Was the blonde chef actually coming onto Corey? Would they even make a good couple?

  The internal monologue was interrupted by Ryan’s footsteps into the kitchen.

  “Great work, guys! Anais and Theo loved the pea puree and salad so far! Keep it up with the main course!”

  “Yes, chef!” Corey sang out automatically. A sudden chill ran up his spine for fear that his vocabulary would one day diminish to those two words only. Deciding to make conversation, he asked out, “Did they say anything else in particular?”

  Ryan shook his head and let out a jovial smile. “Nope. And that’s a good thing! Anais Heart is hard to please. The woman is a clamshell when it comes to dishing out compliments. As long as she says it’s good, in reality, it means that it is spectacular!”

  He left them to prepare the main course. Corey turned over to Keith who was silently hunched with a carving knife in one hand, a fork in the other, slicing the venison into uniform slices. Keith had ignored Ryan’s presence earlier.

  “That’s a good thing, huh?” Corey asked awkwardly. “They loved your meal.”

  “It makes no difference to me,” Keith said without emotions. “All I care about is seeing my meals being created.”

  Corey had had enough. The twinge of annoyance rose up his throat, and before he could stop himself, he cried out, “What the hell is wrong with you? Can’t you just take the compliment for once? You’re not better than anyone else, you know!”

  Keith did not blanche at the assistant’s chef outburst. Instead, his hands oscillated over the steak, novella-thick slices of meat falling limply on his right, reddishly delectable in the middle. “If you want to seek validation within strangers who pretend to understand our art, be my guest. I will not be a part of it.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Corey asked. He stood far away from Keith. He felt silly, but Corey thought that Keith’s demeanour was not unlike a panther’s ready to pounce and tear him apart.

  “Why do you cook?” Keith asked. “Is it for fame? The money? Or the art? Or for the patrons?”

  “Of course, it is for all of them! What kind of question is that?”

  Keith let out a disappointed sigh. “I had thought that you were different. Different from Ryan, Gus or Lalitha. Instead, you’re actually just like the rest of them, subscribing to this outlandish concept of cooking for fame and fortune.”

  Corey was taken aback by Keith’s remark. The bitter taste in his throat now throbbed like gastric reflux. “You are no better than us, Keith. You cook because you… you… want fame! You don’t fool me with your ‘I don’t care about fame’ shit!”

  Even with Corey’s outburst, Keith continued working pedantically as though nothing had happened.

  “Where is the ravioli?”

  Corey stomped over to the oven with his mitts, reached for the ravioli and slammed the di
sh in front of Keith. His mittens were still gripped tightly to the dish’s handles. “If art is so important, then I want to plate the main course my way!” he blurted out angrily.

  It was then that Keith calmly put down the carving knife and fork on the table. “You will let go of the casserole dish. This is my dish, and I will plate it the way I see fit.”

  “Your dish?” Corey challenged, looking into the pair of Keith’s severe, brown eyes. “Since when was this your dish? I was the one who suggested it to you in the first place.”

  “Leave the ravioli, and go, Corey. That’s an order. I am the chef here and you are a mere, unimportant kitchen boy whose head is getting bigger than his body. Fuck off.”

  He could only hold Keith’s intense gaze for five minutes before his anger blanched off pathetically. Contorting his face into an ugly grimace, Corey let go of the ravioli dish and walked away. He could still feel Keith’s stare burning into the back of his neck. Nausea surged forth, and he half ran into the locker room, half-hoping he would not vomit. Corey slammed the door behind him, eager to put as much distance and partition between himself and Keith. Never had he met a more boorish character with a blatant display of pretence. Pacing up and down the room, he threw his apron on the floor. The chef shoes made sticky noises against the floor. He had been excited to work with Keith. The kiss they shared, all that had been gratuitous ploy to keep Corey placated.

  He understood now.

  Keith was a man who used his sexuality and his brazen charm to lull the assistants into a false sense of security. Lalitha was right. This was a man who would exploit a naïve, young chef to do his bidding.

  “Unimportant kitchen boy…”

  The words echoed hollowly in Corey’s mind. It made him sick. He walked into the bathroom and stared at his face. He was horrified to see tear marks trail straight, wavy rivulets down either eye. When had he cried? Had tears fell when he stared at Keith? He just could not remember.