Chef

by Throsby, Lynda

  Fuck, he can't speak. I can see the lump in his throat and tears sliding down his cheeks. What the fuck happened to me? He's scaring the shit out of me now.

  He shakes his head. “I can't, son. I just can't.”

  “Can't what? Tell me? You can't what? Don't stop now.”

  He shakes his head again. “No, I can't go there, son. Let's just say, you were in the hospital for a little while. You had sustained some injuries.”

  I stare at him for a while, trying to comprehend what he's saying. “You can't just leave it at that. This is my life you're talking about. You're the only person who can fit the pieces together. Tell me what happened,” I grit out at him, spittle flying out of my mouth. I look around, as I realize I'm raising my voice and the last thing I want is someone spotting me and filming any of this to put on social media. “Fuck, we need to get out of here. I can't have this conversation where people can hear or film me. Where are you staying?”

  He looks around and sees a couple of people looking our way. “I have a room here. Why would people be filming you?”

  “Let's go,” is all I say as I get up and start heading for the door.

  As I leave Starbucks, I stand just outside the entrance looking around at the casino. All these people look like they don't have a care in the world, and I feel like my world is just about to shatter. I feel him approach me. “Let's go to my room, son, then we don't have to worry about people filming you, although I don't understand why they would.”

  Could it be he doesn't know what I do for a living? I'm arrogant enough to think everyone knows me and what I do, so I find it hard to believe. “Lead the way, old man.”

  He shakes his head at that term. I take it he doesn't like it.

  We reach his room, which has a small seating area. I sit on the chair so he can't sit next to me, and so I can look at him as he speaks. “You gonna tell me the truth about what happened now? How they found me? Did they catch who took me and killed Momma?”

  He sits opposite me as I get up and go to the fridge. I need a drink. It's empty when I open it apart from some sodas. Great. I need the hard stuff, and this is all he's got — the recovering alcoholic. I take a soda and grab one for him, passing it to him as I take my seat again. “Well?” I say.

  “No, I can't tell you everything. It kills me just thinking about it — the shame of it and the guilt I've carried for all these years.”

  Wait, guilt, why? “What have you got to feel guilty about if you didn't do anything?”

  “That's just it. I couldn't help. I couldn't do anything. It's my fault because I was working. If I hadn't been at work, it wouldn't have happened. It's all my fault,” he shouts at me — the tears streaking down his face.

  “That's why I turned to drink. I just took solace in the bottom of the bottle. I drank myself to oblivion, day and night afterward. That was the worst kind of neglect on you. Leaving you to fend for yourself at such a young age. I hated myself, and I didn't want to be there. I didn't want to live. I tried to overdose on a few occasions, but like the failure I am, I failed at that too. I can never apologize enough to you, son. No apology would ever take away what you went through.”

  He still hasn't answered my questions. “Who took me? Do you know?” He nods his head, yes, then looks at me. “It was a couple who had moved into our neighborhood about ten months before. They were an odd pair. I remember them well. The house they lived in was a dump, and they had newspapers up on the windows that were all yellowed and starting to peel off, the garden was a mess, full of rubbish. They were scruffy. I would have said in their mid-fifties at the time, but I found out later they were both forty-three. They didn't have any kids, but they used to sit, watching all the kids play in the street. It was a cul-de-sac we lived in, so it felt safe for kids to play out. Steff, your momma would let you out sometimes, but she was always watching you making sure you were okay. I remember when the three of us would go out walking to the park this couple were always watching us like hawks. It unnerved your momma. She always had a bad feeling about them. She told me how they scared her. They never spoke to us, just watched all the time. I remembered her one time saying she found them outside our house just stood staring into the window. I told her to call the police, but she didn't want any trouble. The silly woman.”

  “Fuck, so they knew the people who took me! Did they kill her as well? Where are they now? Locked up, I hope.”

  He looks at me. “No, son, they’re dead.”

  I get up from the chair. “How long are you in town?” I ask him.

  I need to leave this room to sort my head out and get something harder to drink.

  He looks at me as though shocked that I'm just going to leave. “You’re going? Now?”

  “Yeah, can't take anymore. I need to sort my head out. Can we meet tomorrow? I was going to head back home tonight, but I will keep my departure slot for tomorrow as originally planned. I leave at noon. Will you be around in the morning?”

  He nods at me. “Yes, I leave tomorrow too. My flight is at 10.45 a.m. We can meet early for breakfast if you want? I'd like that.”

  Fuck, he thinks I want to get close to him when it's the furthest thing from my mind. I don't want to start a father-son relationship with him. Not yet anyway. I need to sort my head out and maybe do some research on what he's been telling me. It could all be bullshit for all I know. “I'll be here at 7 a.m. Be ready.” With that, I storm out of his room. I would slam the door if it weren’t on one of those fucking soft-close pressure things. I head back to my hotel.

  Macen

  I'M ON THE late shift today, so I get to take Dixon to preschool this morning. We’re ambling along the street — he's talking about the party, not because of Casper's, but because of the live dinosaurs. He loves his dinosaurs. He has many dinosaur toys, and he can name them all. One of our routines is him going through each one and telling me what they eat — he lines them up in order of who eats who.

  “Momma, do you think they will have a diplodocus? He's my favorite.”

  I look down at him to see his big smiling face looking up at me “Well, I hope they do, and a T-Rex as well, that's your second favorite, isn't it?” He nods his head. “Yes, the diplodocus is my favorite plant eater, and tyrannosaurus rex is my favorite meat eater, closely followed by the velociraptor. How do you think they stop them from escaping? How do they stop the pterodactyl from flying away?”

  I stop walking for a minute, and I crouch down in front of him. He needs to know they're not real. “Dixon, you do know dinosaurs are not alive, don't you? Remember we went to the museum to see them and how they used to be, with all the skeletons? They lived about a million years ago. For this party, you're going to see robot dinosaurs. They are not alive, just robots, so they can't really escape or fly away.”

  He looks a little puzzled, then shrugs. “I knew that really, Momma.”

  We carry on walking to school.

  We're not far from school, and I have this feeling of being watched again, just like last night. I might be getting paranoid, but the hairs on the back of my neck are sticking up. There are a lot of people around, dropping off their kids, and I scan all the faces but don't see anyone out of the ordinary, apart from one man, whose face I can't see as he's walking away from the school. His jacket collar is around his neck, and he has a beanie hat on his head. He's probably a dad just dropping off his kid. I can't shake the eerie feeling though. I kiss Dixon and give him a big hug then watch as he runs into the school with his friends.

  I'm walking back home when the feeling comes over me again. I stop and look all around me because this is getting ridiculous now. I don't see anyone again. I quicken my pace, rushing to get back home.

  “Grandma!” I shout as I get inside.

  She comes out of her bedroom. “Macen. Goodness, are you okay? You look flustered.”

  I let out a breath and steady myself because I can feel my hands shaking. “No, I think someone’s following me.”

  She looks a
t me with a frown. “What do you mean? Have you seen someone following you?”

  I shake my head, no. “I know I sound stupid, but last night, walking home, I felt someone watching me, and I swear someone was close behind me, but when I turned around, there was no one there. Then just now, at the school, it was the same feeling. I looked around but didn't see anyone. I know it sounds silly, but honestly, Grandma, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up. I felt it. I felt someone watching me. It's not the first time the hairs have stood up on my neck this week either. I was thinking about it on my way home. This is exactly how I feel when Reid is near me at work. Grandma, I'm scared of him, and I don't know what I've done to him to make him hate me like this.”

  She gives me a hug. “Let's have a coffee, shall we?”

  We sit in the kitchen, and I fill her in on the conversation with Francoise yesterday and the confrontation between Louis and Reid. “What if Reid goes mad because they change his shift and he takes it out on me? I think I should quit, Grandma. The last thing I want is to be causing trouble at the restaurant. I know I will never get this opportunity again, but, I can't work in an environment where there is hostility.” I have both hands around my mug, and I hang my head.

  “You listen to me, Macen. You will not quit this opportunity because someone has a problem with you. If Francoise changes the shift so that you very rarely work together, then that will be better, and you will be able to relax more and concentrate on your job. Let's see how it works out first. If there’s still a problem, then you speak to Francoise or Caspian about it. Do you hear me?”

  I nod at her, but I don't feel very optimistic about the situation at all.

  We decide to go and do some shopping in the city — a girly afternoon. I take my chef whites with me so I can just head straight to work afterward. I will be in work early because Grandma will have to leave to pick Dixon up, but I don't mind. I’ll sample some more of the dishes.

  I'm in work an hour before I need to be, so I head to Francoise to see if he is okay with me sampling some dishes. I knock on the office door. “Come in,” I hear a voice shout. I open the door and freeze. It's not Francoise behind the desk, but Caspian. “Oh, sorry, Mr. Kade, er Caspian, I didn't know you were in. I was looking for Francoise.”

  “Hello, Macen, please come in and take a seat. You saved me the bother of looking for you later. I wanted to speak with you the other day, but you left before I got the chance.” He motions for me to sit. He doesn’t look pleased to see me, in fact, he looks annoyed, and the tone he’s using is serious. Oh no, is this it? Is he going to fire me because he thinks Reid and I are seeing each other? I sit down hesitantly, not looking at him but rather looking at the chair and then the floor. He makes me so nervous and being in his company turns me into a shrinking violet. Why does he have that effect on me?

  He doesn't speak for what feels like an age, so I look up at him sheepishly. He's weighing me up, leaning back in his chair and rubbing the stubble on his chin. I feel like shriveling away on the spot from the intense look he’s giving me. “So, Macen, before I get to the point, I want to say Francoise is extremely happy with you. He says you’re a great addition to the team.” I feel confused. I thought he was going to fire me. “Now, tell me, how do you feel about working here?”

  I gulp but decide to tell him the truth. “I’m so grateful for the opportunity you have given me Mr. Ka… Caspian. I love working in such a thriving environment. It is so busy all the time, and I’m learning so much. I thank you for that.”

  He's looking at me strangely, and he leans forward putting his forearms on the desk. “I feel there’s a ‘but’ at the end of that?”

  I nod. “Yes, it's the situation with Reid.”

  His face changes. I see a flash of anger across it. “Yes, well, that is my next topic to discuss. I know what I saw in the employee room, Macen, and I had a word with Reid. He tells me you and he are an item: on and off.”

  I'm stunned, and I go to speak, but he holds up his hand. "No, let me finish. What happens outside of here is nothing I can control, but I will not tolerate any of my team fraternizing on the premises.”

  I hang my head. Why would Reid say that? “Mr. Kad…”

  “I said, let me finish.”

  The tone in his voice is harsh and he’s rude. Maybe I should just leave now. I frown at him and decide, no, I need to tell him the truth before I leave.

  “Now I spoke with Francoise yesterday after he spoke with you and he told me about the conversation you’ve had. If you're saying you don't know Reid and have never met him before then we have a problem — not with you, Macen, but with him. I will not have a member of my team intimidating and lying about another member of the team. That is not how I operate. I want my team to feel comfortable with each other. It's stressful enough working a busy kitchen without the added pressure of friction between members.”

  I look at him. He's gone from being harsh and angry to a little pitiful and dare I say it, concerned. But is this his way of saying I’m being fired? I’m confused, but I don't want his pity or his anger. That riles me up, and I sit up straight and look him in the eye. “I understand, Mr. Kade. I will leave now. Don't worry about paying me for today. If you just pay me for the days I’ve worked, I’ll be out of your hair and your harmonious kitchen,” I say this with sarcasm because now I’m angry. I start to get up.

  “Sit,” he says very assertively, and I stand, glaring at him. “I won't ask you again, Macen.” His tone is harsh. “You are not going anywhere.” I lower myself back to the seat as he scowls at me — back to being angry again. Well, screw him! I don't care who he is. He shouldn’t be angry with me. I haven't done anything wrong. I get up off the chair and head toward the door, but as I reach it, his deep voice says, very calmly, “Macen, if you walk out of that door you will not set foot in my restaurant again. We need to discuss this — now sit.” I consider this and walk back to the chair, trying not to look like a spoilt kid.

  “I agree with Francoise’s suggestion, and the first thing we will do is change the shifts so you’re not on at the same time as Reid. Unfortunately, we can't do that until Monday, which just leaves today’s shift. He leans back in his chair again and steeples his finger to his lips. He’s thinking but he also still looks annoyed. He leans forward again, looking me straight in the eyes. “I need to know the truth from you, Macen. Do you know Reid?”

  I shake my head. "No, I’ve been trying to think where I could know him from, but I have no idea. He asked me if I recognized him, and he was very intimidating, and he invaded my personal space. That was when you walked into the room. I was trying to leave, but he blocked the door. You knocked him forward with the door, and he grabbed my shoulder, which made me jump back from his touch. I know what it must have looked like, Caspian, but I can honestly say, I have never met him until I started working here. I think he must have me confused with someone else.”

  I don't look at Caspian because I feel stray tears flowing down my cheeks. I wipe them away. I don't want him to see me upset. I'm stronger than this, but I feel so intimidated both by Reid and Caspian although for completely different reasons.

  He hands me a tissue. “I'm sorry if I upset you. I don't want you to leave, Macen. If what Mrs. Webster says about you is correct, then I would be a fool to let you go. I want you to feel comfortable and safe at work and if sorting out Reid is what I have to do, then so be it.”

  What does he mean by sorting out? “I don't want to cause any trouble, Mr. Kade, please just change our shifts, and everything should be okay.”

  He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk and steepling his fingers in front of his face. I can't help but stare at his mouth. “One problem is that he lied to me, Macen. He said you were an item and had been for some time. I can't have liars working for me. I will discuss this with Reid, and in the meantime, please let me know if anything else is said or anything happens.”

  I nod at him, hanging my head, but relieved he wants m
e to stay.

  “Okay, what did you want to see Francoise about? Is it anything I can help you with?”

  “I was just going to see if he wanted to pick some dishes for me to sample. I'm early for my shift and thought I could try them now rather than try fit them in later. I take it we will be really busy with it being a Friday night?”

  He laughs a little. “We’re busy every night, Macen, the weekends are no different. Do you have your journal with you? I’ll see what dishes you've tried so I don't repeat any. I’ll get Don to bring them to you in the employee room.” I hand him my journal. “Great, thank you, Mr. Kade.”

  “Caspian, Macen, it's Caspian.” I smile and leave his office. I'm shaking like a leaf again; he does that to me every time.

  Don brings me three dishes along with my journal. I taste each one and write my notes. I'm just finishing the notes on the dessert, a dark chocolate cylinder with smoked praline and salted milk ice cream topped with a ball of caramelized puffed rice — the best one yet —before getting ready for my shift. I need to go to the fridge to get some ingredients for my sauces so I head there on the way to the kitchen. I’m in the huge, walk-in fridge when I get the prickles on the back of my neck. It's him. I can also smell him. It smells familiar but maybe just because he’s been hanging around me all week. I don't turn around. I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths. I have my arms full of all the ingredients I need now, so I turn to head out, but he’s blocking the doorway, sneering at me. I move towards him, I need to get past. “Excuse me, please,” I say as nicely as I can. He doesn’t move, so I start to squeeze past him at the side. He suddenly grabs my forearm, and I jump, dropping all the items from my hands. “Shit” I shout.