by Blane Thomas
Everyone could see what was going on, but no one said anything.
Corey tried then to laugh it off as a joke. The tears were slowly beginning to well at the corner of his eyes. He knew that though they could not do much to him in front of everyone, this harassment would not cease. Theo and Kimpton were treating him like a mere plaything.
“Oh lookie there,” Kimpton said in a sing-song voice, “… our poor boy here is embarrassed!”
“Don’t be, Corey. You are a man. You HAVE to like this. If you want to be worshipped by many, you should know that what we’re doing is no different,” Theo quietly advised him.
“But… but, I’m not comfortable,” Corey said truthfully. He was squirming against his seat, trying his best to wiggle out of their unsolicited hands. “Please, could the two of you remove your hands…, please?”
Kimpton’s face fell slightly. He became slightly flustered at Corey’s discomfort. It was at that moment that Theo leaned into Corey’s ear and whispered:
“We are just touching you, Corey, nothing else. Stop behaving like a fucking prude,” he said softly. “Got that?”
Corey pursed his lips. He was accustomed to Theo speaking to him in such a fine manner. This new side of Theo frightened Corey. The pain in his chest was increasingly unbearable. He was about to cry.
“Knock it off,” Theo continued. “You are making Kimpton over here very uncomfortable with your antics.”
Theo’s words incensed Corey. Here he was being groped by the two of them, but he was being blamed for showing distress on his face. He tried his best to stammer out a response in defiance, but Theo’s low whisper cut across, icy cold, and devoid of emotions.
“Laugh, you dumb bastard, or I swear I’ll make you regret it.”
It was as if Theo had twisted the tip of a sharp knife against Corey’s flank. Instantly, air rushed down Corey’s voice box, and he let out a cough. He mustered three sharp, shrill exhales, which sounded like a laugh, though albeit a little forced.
“See Kimpton, our Corey here is just a little nervous,” Theo crooned again, the honeyed voice returning to its usual warmth.
Corey kept up the charade and laughed out a little louder, and he could see the furrow of worry on Kimpton’s face melt away. Though Corey’s voice sounded cheery, inside he felt very much dead.
“Oh, thank god,” Kimpton said happily.
The entire charade, much to Corey’s relief, ended when Kimpton answered his cell phone. From the sliver of his conversation, Corey and Theo could fish out that a small problem had arisen on the set. Kimpton put his cell phone away and stood up.
“Shit, that’s my cue to leave, gentlemen,” Kimpton said pompously, twirling his fingers in the air. “Theo always a pleasure, and you Corey, I hope to see more often in the future.”
He winked at Corey one last time before making a peach streak across the site to handle the supposed crisis. Theo was left sitting next to Corey’s right. Suddenly, Corey was very much afraid. He would very much rather sit next to a lecherous man, than Theo – whose voice had a sleek iciness which easily tormented his soul.
“Walk with me,” Theo snapped his finger abruptly when Kimpton had left.
Corey meekly acquiesce, following behind the taller man. He was like a fugitive whose hands were bound, following in his jailer’s wake. They walked out of the studio where Theo’s car was parked.
“Get in,” Theo ordered again, pointing to the passenger’s side.
In his fully tinted sportscar, they were barricaded from the eyes of the outside world. The studio was a few hundred feet away from them. Even if Corey was to wave, it would be futile. No one could see what was going on in the car. If no one had stepped in to help him earlier in a crowded room, no one would give a fuck about him right now.
Theo sat on the driver’s seat, both hands rested languidly on his steering wheel. Corey daren’t look up, choosing instead to stare at his balled up fists which were gripping tightly at his knees. The entire event had spooked him tremendously. He sat there, refusing to wrap his mind around what had just happened. A million thoughts swirled through his mind. He could not focus on one or the other – instead letting all those voices scream out, shaming him for letting himself be manhandled in such a way.
“You misbehaved, Corey!” Theo thundered.
“What?” Corey managed. “What did I do wrong?”
The tears were slowly falling down his young face. It was only now that he could cry easily. But Theo remained unsympathetic.
“I gave you a good leg up, introducing you to Kimpton, having you featured in a reality cooking competition, and you were rude towards him. That’s bad. Really bad, Corey!”
“But, but I came here to just judge good, not to be groped by…”
“Shut up,” Theo said smoothly.
Corey was struck silent. It was like a sharp slap on his face. Theo turned to look at him. The usually warm, sensual smile on the face was now replaced with an ugly grimace. Theo’s usually domineering eyes was now almost demon-like, as though he was a man possessed.
“Listen here, faggot,” he said, his voice still smooth as velvet, yet sharp as a blade’s. “If you want to be in this business, you will do as you are ordered to, and then some more, you got that?”
Theo’s hard finger jabbed painfully at Corey’s thigh.
“If that fairy wants to touch your thigh and make perverted remarks, you let him. He is the executive producer of a big television network! Don’t try to make yourself appear like a pure, chaste school boy. This isn’t Sunday school. It is your responsibility to give him whatever he wants!”
Corey gulped and nodded silently. Wiping his tears, he was still shaking.
It was then that Theo’s face softened. The serrated edges of his voice gave way to a more compelling, softer tone.
“Hey…, hey,” he leaned in and pressed his lips against Corey’s neck. “I didn’t mean to be hard on you like that, but you’re going to have to learn this quickly, baby. You want to be a successful chef, yes?”
“Mmmhm,” Corey nodded silently.
“Then baby, you have to play this game well. Look at you, within a matter of months, you came from an assistant chef, to being the chef de partie in the Trainyard, and now you are judging a cooking competition on television! And what’s more, Kimpton likes you!”
His sudden change in tone placated Corey’s nerves. “I’m sorry, Theo. I’ll try better next time.”
“That’s my boy!” Theo slapped Corey on the thigh with satisfaction. “You’ll be a great celebrity chef, Corey. And Keith will never be able to take that away from you!”
The sudden mention of Keith’s name was like a douse of freezing water on his face. He sobered up.
“I hope you have the strength of mind and character for what they have in store for you.”
Those were the last words Keith had ever uttered to Corey before vanishing out of his life. No one knew where he went. When he had announced his resignation, Corey had ran over to his apartment after work to find the door to his home ajar. It had been emptied out, as though no one had ever lived there. Keith had no friends Corey could go to. Corey had knelt on the floor and wept. He did not know why he wept for Keith’s sudden departure. It was stupid, but he knew it to be the closest thing to love that he would ever feel till the day he died.
Now in Theo’s car, Corey knew fully what Keith meant.
Though disgusted with himself, Corey still nodded at Theo’s advice. There seemed to be no other way out from this trap he had built for himself.
Chapter 20
After the incident in Fippo Studios with Kimpton and Theo, things quieted down in Corey’s life. For the next few weeks, he would attend some of the most important dinners and get togethers in the city. The newfound fame was like clothes that fitted him well, but was still oddly uncomfortable. Strangers at the parties wanted to hear him talk about food.
Only, when Corey spoke, it was not his opinions they heard. It was Lali
tha or Gus’ opinion he had heard in the kitchen days before that he relayed as his own in front of the other guests.
“My, my, Corey! You certainly know beyond your age!” a man complimented him.
Corey would feel guilty at the compliment, but the feeling was premature. He soon learnt to accept those remarks with pleasure. It did not matter if it was not his opinion in the first place, as long as he was the one who said it. He justified it as being the ambassador of the Trainyard. It was him they wanted to see.
He was even invited by the most eclectic abstract artist for gallery showcase unveiling. Unsurprisingly, this particular artist was backed by a rich funder – Fippo Studio’s Young Artist Fund; a particular trust entitled to up and coming artists in Chicago city.
Even his time in the Trainyard was spent overseeing Gus and Lalitha in their work. Though junior by age and experience, Corey outranked them in fame and recognition. Often, it was him the patrons would want to see. He spent lesser time in the kitchen, and more time laughing with them at the tables, entertaining, schmoozing.
But as time went on in the kitchen, Corey’s heart had a dull ache. Though he worked well with Gus and Lalitha, something seemed to be missing. He did not have his own mind anymore.
“Corey, could you decorate this better?” Lalitha walked over to his workstation one day, during another busy lunch hour. She placed a white plate beside him. On the plate was a hemispherical latticework made out of caramelized sugar, forming a dome above a small dollop of pistachio ice cream.
Corey looked at the dish. It was simple and perfect. “It’s good, Lalitha. I wouldn’t add anything else to it!”
“You’re joking!” Lalitha admonished him. “Come on, Corey, please, add some of your style on it! I want this dessert to be perfect!”
“But, Lalitha, it’s already perfect!” Corey insisted, bemusedly stirring his soup. “I wouldn’t change anything on that plate.”
To his surprise, Lalitha banged the table with her fist. “If it is so perfect, why aren’t any of the diners calling Gus and I out to see them? Why don’t they send their compliments to us, too? Only you get called, Corey. Only your dishes get praised! You must be doing something right!”
Corey stopped stirring his soup. He pursed his lips guiltily. Lalitha’s face was a crumple of frustration. She was close to her breaking point. They both were thinking the same thinking, where the Trainyard had been given another good review, but Corey had been the only chef mentioned in that interview. Gus and Lalitha were side-lined. The review was no surprise to Corey, for the food critic was also brought in by Theo Devereux. He would have ordered the critic to sing praises for only Corey, but at the expense of ignoring the other two chefs.
Lalitha thought her incompetency stemmed from the lack of reviews from people who did not understand food in the first place. Corey wanted to shake her; to tell her that those people out there did not matter. But it was futile. Not when he rose up in fame, elevated by those charlatans too.
“Please…,” the ache in her voice almost moved Corey to tears.
He had no choice. Corey took a deep breath and pulled her dessert plate closer to his. There was strawberry glaze cooking at Gus’ workstation. Corey walked over to the sharp, sweet smell with Lalitha in tow. She could not see it, but Corey’s hand holding the plate was trembling, as though he was to commit a horrible crime.
He pedantically took a spoonful of the glaze and poured it around the perimeter of the latticework, forming a perfect circle. The viscous syrup stuck itself onto the plate, unyielding. He then took a brush, and proceeded to slash the glaze outwards, making it form red streaks, radiating outwards like an explosive burst of flower petals. Every stroke of his brush made his heart ache a little bit more, but he persevered.
“Oh, my god, Corey!” Lalitha gushed. “That’s beautiful!”
But as Corey looked at the dish now, an ugly pain rose within him like bile. Lalitha’s earlier pristine presentation was mangled now, by him. She had given him consent to ruin her otherwise perfect dish, all for the validation of someone who did not matter. He stood up and took a step back from the plate to assess the vandalism upon Lalitha’s art. Corey could see the ecstatic smile forced on her face.
Did she know her dish was already good? Was she pretending that my touch was better? Or did she genuinely believe that this mutation is an improvement from her purer presentation?
“Corey, thank you so much! This looks way better!” Lalitha gushed. “I’m going to need you to help me draw out those red bursts around my other plates, too!”
Corey internally screamed.
“Here, let me take care of your soup. Just help me plate my other five dessert plates, okay?”
Corey’s fingers shuddered at the thought of defiling another five dishes. Lalitha was offering up a piece of her art willingly to be destroyed by him. Her elation pained him more. She was genuinely convinced that her now ruined dish was even more magnificent than it was. But all Corey could see, after he was done with the other five plates, were gaudy, hideous messes.
Ryan walked into the kitchen and saw Corey decorating the last of Lalitha’s desserts. “That does look beautiful!”
“Thanks, chef,” Lalitha piped up from Corey’s workstation. “Corey’s just helping me put the finishing touches to my dish!”
Corey kept quiet throughout all this. As the waiter picked up the desserts, a part of Corey wanted to seize them all and throw them out the back. He did not want anyone to see the ugliness that was on the plate.
It came as no big surprise that when Ryan burst through the kitchen door twenty minutes later, he announced to the kitchen, “Cheli Yamagata loves the dessert!”
Cheli Yamagata was another surprise food critic that had graced the Trainyard’s lunch hour that day. Though it had been a surprise for Gus and Lalitha that he suddenly showed up, Corey had known a week before. It was he who had invited Cheli when they met in one of Theo’s many parties last week.
The executive chef’s fatherly face was not looking at Gus or Lalitha. All Ryan had eyes for was Corey. “Come, Corey. Cheli wants to meet you and thank you for the meal, especially the dessert!”
Lalitha was livid. “But chef, the dessert was mine!” her voice rang out through the kitchen. Gus, who was cleaning his workstation, piped up from underneath like a meerkat, looking at the imminent drama that was about to unfold.
“I was responsible for desserts today!” Lalitha echoed again. Her cleaning towel was sloppily put on her shoulder. She marched towards Ryan.
“Yes, Lalitha, but Cheli wants to meet Corey. He specifically requested for him,” Ryan said.
“But…, but…,” Lalitha was dumbstruck. “Why didn’t you tell him that it was I who made the dessert then?”
“Lalitha,” Ryan laughed, waving her off like she was a five-year old. “We give our patrons what they want. It is Corey they want to see! And plus, wasn’t it with his help that your dessert was finished? You owe him a great thanks!”
“But chef, I worked hard for that dessert,” Lalitha’s eyes were close to tears.
Corey who had been listening to all this could not believe his ears. The food critic had actually liked the mangled piece of dessert served on his plate. A part of Corey wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all, and another part wanted to weep at the bleak hope of fine dining. They were frankly at the mercy of the food critics, who were paid, bribed, or coerced by the people in the entertainment industry. It was all just one big piece of charade.
Lalitha looked at Corey, hoping he would back her up. But Corey did not meet her eyes. He knew what he had to do, and Lalitha would hate him for it. Silently, he threw his towel on the counter top and went over to the kitchen door.
“Let’s go see Cheli Yamagata then, chef,” he said to Ryan quietly.
Lalitha and Gus could not believe their ears. She started screaming at Corey for being a traitor and cheat, but he was not listening anymore.
“Lalitha, control yourself!”
Ryan admonished her angrily. “Anymore outbursts like this and I will have to take actions!”
“But, chef!” Lalitha’s eyes widened. “You’re siding HIM? Even though it’s my dessert?”
“Grow some thicker skin, Lalitha!” Ryan pointed a finger at her in warning. “It’s Corey the critic wants to see, not you.”
Corey was standing by the doorway. “I was the one who decorated your dessert,” he said.
To Ryan, Gus and Lalitha, it sounded more like an assertion of power, but in reality, it was an admission of guilt. Only Corey knew this.
Lalitha pursed her lips forcefully and stomped away to the storage unit, her boots smashing angrily against the kitchen floor. Gus looked at Corey without emotions, shaking his head. But he too returned to his work. They knew it was futile to argue with Ryan. Corey watched her walk away. He knew she was furious. She had thought that Corey had betrayed her trust.
Little did she know he was trying to protect her from the embarrassment of a disingenuous dish.
Chapter 21
“Keep doing what you’re doing, Corey.” Ryan’s eyes twinkled after a particular long lunch hour. “I owe you big time!”
Ryan made no attempt to hide his favouritism. All his energy was dedicated to grooming Corey as a soux chef, to oversee the entire happenings in the kitchen, and also in the dining area. Gus and Lalitha were livid and voiced out their frustration.
“But, chef!” Lalitha spoke out one day. “No offense to Corey, but Gus and I have worked longer here! Don’t we have a shot?”
Her voice was hurt. It was evident that she felt betrayed. Her oval face, often friendly towards Corey, had lost its cheerful demeanour. These days, when she locked eyes with him, there were daggers dancing in her irises. Even Gus, often good-natured and easy on his humour, had taken a surlier approach towards Corey.
Thus, the Trainyard resumed to its usual rhythm, with the two chefs hating on the third. Corey had unwittingly replaced Keith as the villain of the kitchen. Once, they worked together to assemble dishes, but now, Corey offered no help, nor sought after their help when he needed his dishes to be brought into this world. It first started with the realization that it was a chef’s sole responsibility, in mind and spirit, to conceptualize and create a dish out of a mixture of ingredients.