by Blane Thomas
“Theo Devereux,” Corey sighed. “Isn’t he the guy who came in last night to offer to buy you out?”
She shook her head. “No, that’s not him. The guy he came in yesterday was Keith. Keith Findlay.”
“WHAT?” Corey jumped from his stool, electrocuted by the sound of his voice. “Wait a second, Keith was here last night? You did not sell the diner off to Theo then?”
“Yeah…, Keith. Tall, thin guy. Blonde hair, does not smile much. He says he is a chef and is looking to convert this diner into a restaurant. Do you know him?”
Thoughts flooded into Corey’s mind. Apprehension, elation, confusion all mixed into one big ball of emotion pouring out of his thumping heart. It seeped into the muscles of his fingers.
“Corey, you are trembling! Is something the matter? Is Keith Findlay a bad man?”
He looked up at her and said with a rather calm voice. “He’s the greatest man I know.”
Chapter 26
When Keith walked into the diner, Corey was in the kitchen, half-hiding, half-curious to observe him from a distance. From the slightly ajar door, he eavesdropped in on their conversation. Keith was still the same as he had last seen him from a year ago. His hair was its usual tussled locks of yellow and amber. Clean shaven, Corey could see that the past year had etched lines upon Keith’s youthful face. Even so, as Keith conversed with Aretha, there was a genuine calmness he exuded that Corey was not familiar with.
Though he stood by the door, hidden a few feet away from them, Corey could not capture the content of their conversation. Instead, he had to placate himself by watching the up and down undulation of Keith’s lips. It was then he realized that since Keith, he had never been in bed with another man. The thought aroused him. Had Keith slept with anyone else? If he met Corey now, what would they say to each other?
“Oh, yes, definitely! Would you like to meet him?” Aretha suddenly said, a little too loudly. “He’s right at the kitchen. You go on ahead, I have to attend to this phone call for a moment. Go on now.”
Keith smiled in response and got up. Without waiting for Aretha’s invitation, Keith started walking towards the kitchen door. Corey jumped backwards in a horrific reflex, crashing into the rack. He was not ready to meet Keith, and there he was now, looking at Corey impassively.
“Hey,” Corey managed, straightening his body. “How… how have you been?”
Keith looked at him, and then at the whole kitchen, appraising the space separating them. Twice, his eyes darted at Corey’s face, and they locked eyes for a few seconds, before he looked around again.
“I am buying over this place,” Keith said in a matter-of-fact tone.
Corey smiled. He knew that Keith would not put up a façade or be friendly for the sake of being congenial. The man in front of him did not waste another person’s time.
“Aretha told me,” Corey said. “Congratulations.”
“The kitchen is a little bit smaller than I expected. I will have to break the walls…”
“I want to work with you,” Corey cut across. He did not know why he had said it. But, it was as though a truthful force was now moving his mental faculty and lips. This was his only chance to be with Keith, and he had to seize it.
Keith stopped talking and folded his arms. His small smile appeared at the corner of his lips. It was neither mocking nor malicious. The smile was pure, just as it had been when Corey had helped Keith complete his five-course meal a year ago. Corey took this opportunity to speak.
“I have learnt a lot about what it takes to be a chef. I have taken the forbidden fruit that was fame, and I was greedy. Yes, and I was willing to forsake my love for you, in lieu of recognition and validation by those who did not matter.”
“You broke my heart,” Keith said tonelessly. His voice betrayed no sadness, but the weight of the words crashed upon Corey painfully.
“I did,” Corey replied. “But I won’t apologize for it.”
“No?” Keith asked, unfazed.
“No,” Corey replied. “What I did was horrible. But I had to go through it. I had to experience the rotten fame. I had to soak myself through that hellish ordeal, to be everybody’s best friend. I had to… I had to lose my identity to understand what true cooking actually meant.”
The words formed a lump in Corey’s throat. He had not spoken about this to anyone. It took him weeks after being fired from the Trainyard to understand why he could not, would not, sleep with Theo. It was against his principles. To be a person who realized he was living in a world of dishonesty, Corey realized then that being fired was the greatest gift ever afforded to him. It was his way out of that manic world of parochial goals.
“And am I suppose to believe that?” Keith asked.
“Isn’t that why you are here?” Corey asked.
Miracle of all miracles, Keith let out a warm smile. It looked odd in his chiselled face. There was something odd about a warm smile on Keith’s face. It would have been deemed unattractive by many. Keith’s features were more suited for the brooding, mysterious kinds. Still, Corey was relieved to see the upper curls of the corner of his lips.
“I am. And I knew that you were working here. It didn’t take long to know what happened to you after I left.”
“You were keeping track of my life?” Corey found that hard to believe. He was rather mollified.
Keith shrugged. “You were the only person I ever cared about,” he answered. “Actually, I still do. And I came here to ask you…, to join me. I want you to run this restaurant with me, Corey.”
“Even after all that I did? You forgive me?”
“It’s stupid to ask for my forgiveness. After all, you said that you won’t apologize for your experiences. And that’s what I want in a man.”
Corey did not want to talk anymore. He leapt forward into Keith’s body, and for the first time, embraced the other chef, not as a subjugator, but as an equal.
Chapter 27
After the papers were signed, Aretha wished them luck and said her goodbyes. Corey and Keith wasted no time tearing the place down. With sledgehammers, they broke through the walls and old tiles, throwing out old seats. The best experience came with the duo smashing through the partition, and like a caged bird let out, the kitchen suddenly shone at its potential new, bigger, open space.
While they worked, not many words were exchanged. Keith had showed Corey the blueprints for the new restaurant – simple, yet effective in its layout. Corey only needed to see it once and he could already imagine the finished product in his head. Compelled by that force, to bring something to life, he worked tirelessly without any pay. The two of them would be at it from the early hours of the morning till two in the afternoon. Then, while Keith rested, Corey would take a quick shower, dress up and go down to the banks the old-fashioned way, hoping to secure a loan that would expedite the renovation of their restaurant.
During one of their shared nights together, Keith told Corey the story of what happened to him after he left the Trainyard. He had gone to seek out his mentor in California, where he worked with her for a few months.
“It was a small restaurant, and they served only ten tables,” Keith said. “Nestled within an alleyway of a busy intersection, it only welcomed those who sought for it. No reviews, nothing put online. If people come, they do.”
“But, how does the place sustain itself if the customers do not know it exists?” Corey had asked one night. His head was rested upon Keith’s chest. During these times, after their intense fucking sessions, it was often soothing to cup his ear against the bony surface of Keith’s slightly hairy chest, listening in to his heartbeat.
Keith let out one of his unusual snickers which left Corey astounded. He had never heard Keith produce such a carefree sound through his lips. “There are people who do not care about restaurant reviews, Corey. These are the people whose ideas, opinions, and lifestyles are not shaped by those around them. These are the wilfully strong and difficult to sway. They speak not a language The
o, Ryan, or many others in this city speak. People like Ryan or Theo only want to help others for the purpose of leveraging themselves even higher. But, the people I met in California, in that restaurant, they have no pretence about them. If they came to eat in your restaurant, it was because they wanted good food, plain and simple. They are not compelled by the opinions of their friends. It is as if those of us who speak this language of no ulterior motives, we are bound by an invisible thread. We will find each other.”
“Are you sure about that?” Corey asked, smiling.
“I am. How else do you think I ran into you again when I returned to Chicago? I didn’t know you were working in the diner,” Keith answered. He stroked Corey’s hair as he stared at the ceiling. Their arms were sore from the renovation that had been carried out.
“And Theo, he fears those who speak this language then,” Corey stated, more for his understanding. Keith nodded.
“Theo is scared, he hates it. He is used to dealing with people who want something in return. He does not understand it when a human does something for the pure love of the craft and is appreciated for just that. For him, it is unnatural. And he seeks to squash it.”
“We won’t let him do that,” Corey promised Keith. Lifting his head up from the rhythmic percussion of Keith’s heartbeat, they stared at each other, sealing the oath for the future.
Now, as Corey sat in front of the bank manager, in request of a loan, all he could think of is that conversation he had had with Keith that other night, about the language of no ulterior motive. The bank manager was a middle-aged woman whose intelligent eyes betrayed the babyish look of her face. She smiled crisply, just as neat as the pressed clothes worn on her body as she reviewed Corey’s application.
“Corey Littman,” she coughed a little, “… this is quite a huge undertaking on your part. Your proposal for the new restaurant seems sound… but…”
Corey did not interrupt and sat there calmly. If this was him a year ago, he would have been sweating buckets. But, after all the shit he had experienced, this felt like a walk in the park. The bank manager’s persona also put him at ease.
“… for two young chefs to be partaking in a rather small style restaurant, the bank wonders if you would actually make a profit. I don’t see any plans for marketing or promotion over here.”
“Ms. Chalmain,” Corey asked calmly, “… do you genuinely want me to consider plans for marketing and promotion? Especially in a city where who you know matters? Especially in a city where the right connections is what makes you successful? In this city where I would have to kiss ass and lick boots to just get a good review from an idiot who does not understand food in the first place?”
Leah Chalmain sat back in her chair and let out the first genuine laugh she had had in months. “No, Mr. Littman…,” she said between breaths, “I don’t expect you to! And I certainly did not expect the answer!”
“So, why would you ask me such a question?” Corey smiled.
“Because it is protocol,” Leah shook her head, as though berating herself for such a silly question, “… but you’re right. It’s bullshit.”
They continued to look at each other. The proposal for the loan was cast aside, and Leah let out a genuine smile. In all her times approving loans for new businesses, all of them spoke of how they were going to reach the masses as fast as possible. Some even exaggerated their virtues to dizzying heights. She was sick of it. This was one of the few times that she had met someone who meant exactly what they said. The fact that he was only twenty-three impressed her.
“But, I still need to know if this restaurant is going to be as good, or if not better than those we see in the city!”
Corey stood up serenely. He had been waiting for this moment. Leah Chalmain looked up, a little perplexed, but also curious to see where this would be leading.
“Follow me then. I’ll show you.”
“What, like right now?” she asked with delighted incredulity.
Corey led Leah out the bank building, down the streets, towards the half-destroyed diner. They both stared at the greyish wall outside, streaked with dirty brown water of time and rust. Corey let Leah look at its surface before opening the front door for her to enter.
“Watch out for the broken stones on the floor,” he advised.
Leah nodded and took a step into the former diner. She had been here before, once not too long ago. As typical as any diner was, she was not fazed by it then. Now all the booths were forcefully removed from its wall, appendages cut off from its main body. The countertop, cash register, even the walls were destroyed. She saw someone at the other corner of the restaurant, lifting broken bricks and plaster into a wheelbarrow and carting it out to the back. He was dishevelled, but there was an almost manic look in his eyes Leah could discern. It was the look someone had when they were taking concrete steps towards their end goal and they could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Leah watched as Keith came back into view with an empty wheelbarrow, filling it up once more. The veins in his forearms protruded out, separating sweat drops down into two distinct lines. He was thoroughly enjoying himself, she thought.
“That’s Keith,” Corey said. “My lover.”
At the sound of Corey’s voice, Keith looked up. He had not noticed them enter, too preoccupied with his work.
“Keith, this is Leah Chalmain. She is from the bank.”
Keith gave a curt nod but made no attempts to wipe his dusty hands and approach her for a handshake. He did not even thank Leah for her willingness in coming out of the bank to see their restaurant. Standing there, he knew that Leah was ‘one of them.’
“I saw your plans for the place,” Leah spoke out. “You will definitely need a bank loan to start up, but I am going to get you a lower interest.”
Within that space, she felt safe. For a long time, she had had to speak in a manner that would make others happy. She hated the aftertaste left in her mouth when she had to speak about helping others just for the sake of helping them. She did not understand why the true, talented people of the world – those who did not know how to play this game – were cast aside, not for incompetent, but charismatic people. But here, she stood between Corey and Keith and realized that they were kindred spirits.
“Don’t worry about lowering our interest,” Keith said, continuing to pile broken wood and stone into the wheelbarrow. “Charge us the full interest for the place.”
“Don’t you plan on making money?” Leah asked. “I can help make your life easier.”
“Oh, I plan to. But at our own pace,” Keith said. “And you will make our lives easier by approving the loan. But don’t worry, this restaurant will make its money.”
“I already know it,” the bank manager smiled. She was utterly convinced.
Chapter 28
When the loan got approved, Keith hired two other contractors to work on the refurbishment of the place. A large tarp was placed over the front of the restaurant to shield their work from prying eyes. Twice, they had seen Theo Devereux or other prominent restaurant owners past by the area with curiosity laden in their minds. Corey and Keith knew that when their restaurant opened, it will be critically panned by Theo and his friends. The public will be swayed over their opinion of the new restaurant.
Corey drove to a farm two-hundred miles out of the city to meet with a local farmer in the area who had a small-scale production of livestock and poultry. Xavier Freed was not a famous supplier. In fact, when Corey had done his research, he learnt that Xavier was hated by his peers. The middle-aged man was someone who did not want to forsake his principles for a little bit of extra coin. His unwavering belief proved too rigid for potential clients who expected extra supplies for him. But, Xavier was monotonous, yet consistent with his supply of food for restaurants in the city. Still, Corey understood that most restaurant operated on an excess supply basis, and this most chefs would have gone for bigger farms where farmers would pump their livestock and poultry with antibiotics.
&
nbsp; When he met Xavier Freed, his entire body relaxed, as though greeting a long-lost friend, separated not only by geographical distances or hours, but entire generations and lifetimes. Xavier reciprocated the feeling by pulling Corey in for a big, beefy hug.
“I spoke to Keith on the phone,” Xavier said with a chuckle. “Good kid. Never in my life have I ever conversed with someone like him.”
“He is a piece work,” Corey laughed too. “But I get what you mean, sir.”
“Quit this ‘sir’ nonsense, kid. I wasn’t knighted by the queen. ‘Xavier’ would do just fine.”
They spoke about the supply of meat for the future restaurant. In the end, it was agreed upon that Xavier Freed would supply all the livestock needed.
“All these years, I have been consisted in doing my work. I have never wavered with my delivery of meat to the restaurants in the big city,” Xavier said, puffing a cigarette. “But, when the restaurants got bigger, had larger capacities, they started demanding more from me. That’s when I told them that I could not increase my output. And these chefs, greedy, stupid, and insensitive, would tell me to pump my livestock with growth hormones and antibiotics. It was then that I would tell them to fuck off, and they would.”
“It gets annoying when someone else tells you how to do your job, doesn’t it? It is as though they have a right to tell you what is right and what isn’t just because they are giving you money,” Corey agreed. He was thinking of Anais Heart and the other food critics in the city who claimed to be experts in fine dining. It was the same thing everywhere. Those who held position of power or money thought that only their tongues spoke words to be listened to.
“I’ve lost customers to bigger farms all the time, but as you can see, I still run this same old production.”
“And that is why we came to you, Xavier. We want someone whose principles are not swayed easily by the promise of money or accolades. It’s odd, Keith spoke once of meeting people who speak this language. I thought people like these did not exist, but I am beginning to see that we are actually everywhere.”