by Marika Ray
To hell with this show. To hell with Michael. To hell with my imploding career.
The last thing I heard was Lindsey interviewing Austin and his voice coming out strained, like a band was pulling tighter and tighter across his throat. “I did my best, but sometimes you gotta admit defeat.”
Whether he was speaking about the show or our relationship, I’d never be sure.
I needed to escape somewhere private and lick my wounds. Figure out where I was going to go from here. Here being this “rock bottom” everyone talked about, but I’d never experienced. The place where all dreams are either smashed to smithereens or dulled to something so faded, you can’t remember why you wanted it in the first place.
Because now that I’d destroyed Austin’s dreams, I couldn’t seem to care about my own. Ironic, huh?
I’d almost made it to my dressing room when Bertrand’s voice echoed down the hallway. “Elle, wait!” I heard his footsteps approaching at a fast pace, and for the life of me, I couldn’t ditch him. The guy shouldn’t be running at his age and I wasn’t going to be the reason he had a heart attack.
I stopped in my tracks and waited for him to join me. When his panting breaths were right beside me, I looked over, waiting for him to speak.
He caught sight of my face and his eyes widened. “What’s wrong, darling?”
Only then did I realize I had tears racing down my cheeks. I couldn’t remember the last time I cried, let alone cried in public. I wiped away all traces as quickly as I could and grabbed Bertrand in a hug. He was frail and smelled like Old Spice. He seemed shocked I’d hug him, but he recovered quickly and put his arms around my waist for a quick squeeze. Even Bertrand knew how to hug without being taught.
“Thank you for being my friend, Bertrand. Goodbye,” I whispered in his ear. I released him and ran the rest of the way to my room, not stopping until my door was locked shut behind me.
I sat in a chair, my legs curled up under me, not even bothering to turn on the light in my dressing room. The darkness was what I wanted. I wanted to completely melt into it and disappear. I wallowed in my pity for several hours, until I knew all cast and crew had left the studio. Until I knew I could escape without being seen.
I emerged from that dressing room a new woman.
This was my life now. I was on my way to realizing my every dream.
Who cared that all the color was gone around me, leaving only shades of gray, acquaintances who never hugged, and easy laughter that never filled my ears?
Not me.
I was El Jefe.
14
Austin
On the pisstivity scale, I was off the charts. Simple expressions like mad as hell, fit to be tied, angry like a crack whore late to pick up her kid stuck in traffic on the 405...none of them held a candle to what I was feeling.
Either that or I cooked some bad squid.
My stomach was knotted like a pretzel and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to laugh or cry. So I smiled. And I joked. And I congratulated Brandy like the goddamn adult I was. Some of us couldn’t run off the set and hide like a coward.
And when I’d done my duty, I wiped the smile from my face and drove back to the hotel in a perpetual red haze. I didn’t like losing. No one did.
But I especially didn’t like losing because the woman I’d slept with sold me out to some sleazeball. I saw Michael staring her down at the taping today and I saw her squirming in her chair. She voted against me to get Michael off her back so she could ensure her restaurant would thrive.
She crushed my dream so she could have hers.
Plain and simple. Now I’d have to look into my sister’s pleading eyes and tell her I didn’t win, I didn’t have a job, and I’d have to make her wait even longer before I could get her out of whatever foster home she’d been shuffled to this week.
So you see, Elle hadn’t just crushed my dream, she’d crushed my life. I wasn’t on this show for fame and fortune or to prove my mommy wrong in some twisted psychologist’s wet dream like she was. I was simply in it to get my sister back.
By the time I reached my room and started throwing clothes into my duffle bag with far more energy than was necessary for packing a few T-shirts, I reached another conclusion: I only had myself to blame.
And wasn’t that a pisser of a conclusion?
I was the one who let my desire for her take over my common sense. She’d warned me away left and right, in English and in Spanish. She essentially walked around with a giant stop sign on her forehead with the perennial straight face and rigid posture. I was the dumbass who disregarded all the red flags and pushed her to be someone she wasn’t. Her real nature had won out in the end when she threw me under the bus without a flutter of an eyelash.
And that Elle? That wasn’t a woman I wanted anything to do with. As much as it felt like a funhouse illusion, it sure seemed like that cold-hearted version was the real Elle, whether my pansy-ass heart wanted to believe it or not.
When my flight landed in Sacramento the following morning, I felt like I was landing on the moon. Everything looked different, felt different. I’d gone to war and lost, both the show and the woman. I felt like I’d aged a year for every day I was gone, the experience in L.A. bringing a maturity I wasn’t looking for, but got anyway.
I was back home, but my heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t sure where the hell my heart was, but it wasn’t with Elle and it wasn’t here. Maybe it was in a meat grinder somewhere. Which would explain the extreme pain and inability to take a deep breath.
But Austin Cox wasn’t a quitter.
When the going got tough, I threw on my favorite T-shirt—or whichever one was clean—and gave myself the mother of all pep talks, which usually involved talking about myself in the third person.
Totally normal, nothing to see here.
By the time the Uber driver dropped me off in front of the apartment I shared with Marcos, I was hopped up on artificial confidence and overstated belief in myself. Which meant it was the perfect time to call my sister and make sure she knew I was one step closer to taking care of her. She didn’t need to know that the one step hadn’t actually happened yet, but I had a plan. A solid one.
“Austin? Did you win??” Abi’s voice squealed into the phone so loud I had to pull it away from my ear the minute she answered.
A stab of pain hit me in the gut at her enthusiasm and trust. I threw my duffle bag on my bed and paced the tiny, empty apartment.
“Well, not quite, Abilene.” Step number one of evading little sister’s questions was to irritate her with the use of her full name. “I came in second place, but lost the big challenge at the end. The damn squid got me.”
“Huh? So, what does that mean? Second place, not the squid. Ew.” I could practically hear her nose scrunching up from over the phone line. She’d once cried over a shrimp dinner, so overcome with emotion for the poor shellfish she couldn’t eat it. Squid was in the same category as shrimp I imagined.
I ran a hand over my hair and pulled on all my years of spinning the positive in each shitty situation life presented. “Means I made a ton of contacts with professional chefs who loved my skills. Gotta make a few phone calls and get a job set up and then I’m coming for you.”
She squealed again. “You gonna wear that big white chef’s hat?”
I chuckled. “Yeah, the tallest, biggest one I can find. Just for you.”
“I miss you, Austin.”
“Miss you too, Abi. I’ll call you as soon as I have a job lined up, okay?”
“Go get ’em, tiger!”
My sister. Always my biggest cheerleader.
That hit me square in the feels and I decided I was allowed one night of wallowing and feeling sorry for myself. Tomorrow would start with another pep talk and one phone call after another until I found a job.
“I got to the last round. This one’s on you.” Marcos was unfairly tough on me when I was trying to lick my wounds. The first beer went down easy, the liquid coating my parched throat. I’d spille
d everything to Marcos, from the other contestants, to the judges, sleeping with Elle, her betrayal. Everything.
He’d stayed quiet, letting me spill my guts, like best friends do. While I flagged down our server and ordered another round of beers, he sat back, arms folded across his chest, and simply observed me.
“What?” I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed some feedback. Some commiseration. Maybe a few comments about how Elle was the biggest bitch on the planet for dumping me and I could have any woman anywhere so who cares about her anyway.
Instead, he just smirked at me, reminding me an awful lot of Elle, with his dark eyes and hair. “You went and fell in love with her, didn’t you?”
The blood drained from my face and I picked up my beer for another sip, only to realize it was empty, which was why I’d ordered another round. “What?”
“You said that already.” His grin grew and I felt the sudden urge to punch him in his stupid face. Let’s see him get all the girls with a black eye and busted lip.
“Dude. What the fuck?” I splayed my hands out to the side. “We’re here at a bar and I’m telling you what this woman did to me, your best friend, and that’s what you say?”
“Yeah, exactly. I’m your best friend. I know you, asshole, so quit lying to me that she didn’t mean anything to you. You’re clearly more butthurt she betrayed you than the fact you lost the competition that could set your career on fire on national TV. It’s pretty fucking obvious you love her.”
The server set down our beers and left. I picked up the glass bottle and guzzled half of it, giving myself time to think. I thought about what I was most upset about. What part tore me up more than the rest? It was a hard question to answer when all I could see in my mind was Elle’s beautiful face.
I slammed the beer down on the table. “Fucking-A. I hate it when you’re right.”
Marcos slapped me on the shoulder, like he was proud I’d finally stated the obvious. “So, what are you going to do about it?”
I scrunched up my face. “Do about what?”
He shook his head, exasperated. “My God, you’re dense. What are you going to do about Elle?”
“There’s nothing to do, dumbass. She doesn’t want to be with me and she lives in New York. Not like we’re going to accidentally run into each other on opposite coasts. Besides, she has her precious restaurant to open. She doesn’t have time for me.”
Marcos nodded slowly. “Okay, so get over her then.”
I rolled my eyes. “Sure, yeah. No problem. I’ll get right on that.”
“Or...” Marcos lowered his voice and I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in. “You could work your ass off getting your life in order and then go win her back.” He hurried on when he saw my objections already bubbling up. “Hear me out. She didn’t want to get involved with a contestant. Great, show’s over. She didn’t want to jeopardize her restaurant. Great, give her time to get it open and then go see her. Which gives you time to get your own job, get Abi back, and get your life in order too.”
He opened his arms out wide to the side like he deserved a fucking medal for figuring out my whole life for me. But the truth of the matter was, I didn’t know if I wanted to pursue things with Elle. I didn’t know who she was. Not really. Was she the soft but sassy woman she’d shown me behind closed doors or was she the cold and calculating woman she’d been on other occasions?
“I agree with you on one thing. I need to get my life together as soon as possible. Everything else will have to wait. Maybe by the time I do that I’ll have a better idea of what I want to do. Maybe this thing with Elle was just massive lust that I mistook for something else. I don’t know and I can’t take the time to worry about it right now. I need to save myself and my sister. No one else is gonna look out for us.”
“Whatever you want to do, man. I support you no matter what you decide. The only thing I know for sure is I’ve never seen you torn up over a girl before. For whatever that’s worth.” Marcos tipped his beer to me and we clinked necks and drank it down.
A few beers later and I was starting to feel more settled. My chest still ached where my heart was supposed to be, but the beer and the conversation dulled the pain quite a bit. I had a plan and I was going full speed ahead with getting my life on track.
“I gotta head back to the apartment.” Marcos waved our server over for the bill. “While you were gone, I crammed for the state real estate test and got my license.”
“What? Why didn’t you tell me? Instead of crying in my Cheerios, we could have been celebrating. Congrats, man.” Marcos finished college same time I did with a business degree but still didn’t know what he wanted to do. That is, until he’d randomly picked up a book about buying and selling properties at one of the few physical bookstores left on the planet.
He shrugged off my praise like it was nothing. “I’ve got an interview with a real estate team tomorrow down in San Francisco. If I can get on with them, it would be huge.”
My smile faltered. “San Francisco, huh?”
He plastered on a grin, but wouldn’t look at me. “Yeah, it would mean I had to move, but we’ll see about all that later.”
Jesus, growing up wasn’t for the weak. “I’m happy for you, Marcos. Wherever life takes you.”
We hugged it out like grown men did, with back slaps and grunts.
“Hey, Michael, this is Austin Cox. Long time no talk, pal. Listen, I’m calling to see if you know of any friends looking for a chef. I’m applying for jobs and would love an introduction if you’d be willing.”
I paced across the living room of my apartment at 9:00 a.m. the next morning placing phone calls to try to find a job. I was a man on a mission and even though Michael didn’t sound like a guy I wanted to tangle with based on Elle’s opinion, I was desperate. And desperate men will grovel.
“Austin. I’m surprised to hear from you. Didn’t your buddy, Elle, get you hooked up?”
God, this guy was a greasy son of a bitch. “No, I haven’t called her yet. Wouldn’t say we’re buddies.”
“Huh.” He let the silence hang there, maybe hoping I’d trip myself up and say more on the subject. “Well, sorry, buddy, but I don’t know of any openings. I’ll call you if I hear of anything, though. Good luck to you.”
The line went dead and I stared at the phone in my hand. What a fucktard. I wouldn’t hold my breath that I’d ever hear from him. Ah well, plenty of fish in the sea. Bertrand was next.
“Hi, Bertrand, this is Austin Cox. How are ya?”
“Austin! Lovely to hear from you. Are you missing everyone already? I sure am.” The guy was a bow tie-wearing gem.
“Yeah, I’m having Taste Test withdrawals, for sure. Which is partly why I’m calling. Being on the show reinforced that cooking is my life’s passion and I’d really like to get a job doing that. Do you know of anyone looking to hire a chef?”
“Hmm. I have to think for a second. Are you trying to stay in Northern California?”
“Honestly, I’d go anywhere, but I’ll have my little sister with me, so I would hope it wouldn’t be across the country.”
“Okay, that helps. Lot more opportunity in Southern California. Let me talk to a couple people I know and then I’ll call you right back. That work okay?”
Damn. He didn’t even hesitate to help me out. “I would be most grateful, Bertrand. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem, Austin. I really believe in your skills. Any restaurant would be lucky to have you.”
While there were plenty of fish in the sea, I didn’t know many of them. That was the extent of my calls. I didn’t know anyone else in the business and there was no way I was going to call Elle and beg for a favor. I was desperate, but I didn’t think filleting myself open and letting her pick at my innards was necessary at this point.
Instead, I fired up my computer and got busy looking at the want ads. Come hell or high water I’d be cooking for somebody by the end of the week. And the week after that? I’d get my sister
back.
15
Elle
My apartment was exactly how I’d left it: cold, empty, and impersonal. I’d lived there for almost eight years and I had two pictures on my wall to show that a human being occupied the space. One of me in Greece, cooking on an old wood table and one of my mother and me on some guy’s yacht off the coast of Italy. The man was long gone, just like all the others.
I had messages from both my executive chef and my building contractor with urgent questions for me. Prior to this trip, I would have been calling them back the minute my plane landed and I turned my cell phone back on while we taxied to the terminal. Somehow in the last two weeks, I’d lost my drive. The one that fueled my nonstop push for more. The one that ruled my life.
There was this weird pain in my chest. It felt like someone was sitting on me. I couldn’t even take a full breath without wincing. I didn’t recall bumping into anything hard enough to cause it, but it felt like I’d cracked a rib.
I threw my suitcase in my room and then moved to my living room to plop down on the white couch and gaze out at row upon row of apartments surrounding me. I could hear cars honking on the street below. The lady down the hall had her television turned up to concert level decibels. A teenager walked past my front door talking on his cell phone. There was evidence of people all around me.
And I was lonelier than I’d ever been.
I wanted to hear laughter. Get pulled into a warm bear hug. Maybe tease an old man about his lack of hair. Roll my eyes at a bleached blonde cheerleader host.
Without my consent, I’d somehow bonded with everyone on the set. I was back to the life I’d always wanted in New York and, somehow, I just wanted to go back to L.A. Back to people who enjoyed my company and didn’t want anything from me. They simply accepted who I was and rolled with it.
My phone rang again and I slipped it out of my purse to see if it was either my chef or the building contractor. Seeing my mother’s name flash on the screen had me pausing for a moment. I wasn’t sure I was in the best frame of mind to deal with her right now. But if I didn’t, she’d keep calling back. At least this way I could rush her off the phone saying I had calls to make.