by Land, Alexa
“Oh for the love of God,” Sven exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. “Are you trying to ruin Ms. Dombruso’s debut? Let me go find some aprons or something, while you two get on set! Now!” He stomped off with an elaborate sigh.
River took my hand and started guiding me through the crowd. “Did you catch that bit about his wife Helen? He refers to her about every three minutes, as if that somehow will make people think he’s straight.”
“Wait, what’s happening right now? We’re not actually going to appear on camera, are we?” I stammered, panic welling up in me.
“Yeah we are, but don’t worry. Like I said, there’s gonna be about six people watching.”
“But I get really bad stage fright,” I told him, my heart rate already accelerating. “I can’t do this.”
“Sure you can. The show’s thirty minutes long, and I’m guessing Mrs. Dombruso will be talking for twenty-nine of ‘em. All we have to do is stand there and nod and watch what she’s doing. It’s not like you’re going to have to memorize lines or anything.”
“I can’t do this,” I repeated. By now, River had towed me to the center of the kitchen, around the back of the island. The camera and lights were pointed right at us, and I shielded my eyes to keep from being blinded.
A man and woman rushed up to us. He looked a lot like the actor who’d played Khan in the original Star Trek series, and wore so much self-tanner that he was dark orange. “Boys, I’m Mr. Mario, Nana’s stylist. We don’t have much time, but let me see what I can do.” He wielded a huge comb in one hand and a bottle of spray in the other, and started to come after River, who bobbed and weaved, dodging whatever was being sprayed at him.
“Oh no, dude,” River exclaimed, shielding his shoulder-length brown hair with both hands. “Nobody touches the locks of loveliness.”
Mr. Mario sighed and turned to me, and I pulled back and told him, “What he said.” The man rolled his eyes and left the set. The makeup artist was stealthier though, and before I realized what she was doing, she’d attacked me with a huge brush and some kind of loose powder. This immediately set me off on a sneezing jag.
Sven reappeared holding a couple blue aprons with white pin-striping. He handed one to River, who pulled it on over his t-shirt, then sighed and tapped his foot impatiently while I doubled over and kept sneezing.
“Three minutes, people,” the director yelled. “Where’s Mrs. Dombruso? We need her on set now! Sven, where is she?”
“Mother of God, do I have to do everything?” Sven exclaimed. When I straightened up, he grabbed the hem of my blue cardigan and yanked it straight up and off me, threw it to the side, and shoved the apron over my head before marching off.
“This is freakin’ awesome,” River said, his brown eyes sparkling with amusement as he tied the apron around his waist.
“It’s a circus.”
“I know, that’s what’s freakin’ awesome about it.” The makeup artist was still lurking, and she started to come after River with the same big brush. He ducked out of the way like a fencer in a duel and said, “Oh no, sister, that ain’t happening. You got white-boy-bisque there with that powder, and while that’s fine for my pasty-faced friend here, that does not go with my already flawless part-Mexican mochaccino skin tone.”
“It’s translucent,” she insisted, “it works for everyone. It’s just to keep the shine down on camera.”
“Step away from the Latino,” he told her, making the sign of the cross with his index fingers and holding her at bay with it. She sighed and slunk away, muttering something about on-air talent and their rampaging egos.
“We’re live in two minutes, people,” the director announced, sounding a bit hysterical. “For God’s sake, where is our star?” Everyone started talking at once, and then he yelled, “Shut the fuck up! I mean, quiet on set! Boys, you two are going to have to wing it until Mrs. Dombruso arrives.” Horrifyingly, he meant River and me. “Sven, if it’s not too much trouble, could you fucking go and fucking locate our fucking star?” He screamed that last part shrilly, turning completely red. The beret that had been hanging on by a hair fell off, and he grabbed it with both hands and jammed it on his head, pulling it so far down that it covered his eyebrows.
“Oh sure, like this is somehow my fault!” Sven shrieked, and stormed out of the kitchen.
River was chuckling. “Man, this is priceless. I wish Skye was here to see it. Oh hey, I should call him and tell him to tune in.” He pulled out his phone and speed-dialed a number, then yelled when his brother picked up, “Skye! I’m gonna be on TV in two minutes! Channel 158!” He jabbed the off-button and returned the phone to his pocket.
“Live in sixty seconds! Quiet on the set!” The director bellowed.
“Oh God, I really can’t do this,” I mumbled, and tried to bolt.
But River clamped down on my hand and yanked me to his side. “Oh no you don’t! If I have to publicly humiliate myself, so do you. We’re business partners, remember?”
“I quit.”
“You can’t quit.”
“Why not?”
“Because I won’t let you.”
The director yelled, “Boys, get ready to fill some air time. Look right there, right into the camera. Going live in five, four....” he mouthed the last three numbers, and a green light blinked on.
I started sweating profusely as my friend, who still held my hand, started talking. “Um, hi! I’m River, of River’s Edge Catering, and this is my business partner, Trevor.” He glanced over at me and knit his brows in concern, then looked back at the camera. “Um, so yeah, if you need any catering, give us a call.” He recited his phone number, then glanced at me again. After a beat, he turned back to the camera. “No event is too big or too small, whether you’re throwin’ a party for a thousand or, like, a romantic dinner for two. Call us! Our rates are really affordable. Don’t forget, River’s Edge Catering. Sure, there are a lot of caterers in San Francisco, but those other guys suck, so give us a call.” He recited his number again, glanced at me one more time, then said, “Okay, they don’t really suck. There’s a lot of awesome caterers in this city. But they’re like, way expensive, dude! You shouldn’t have to like, sell a kidney on the black market just so you can afford a caterer for your daughter’s weddin’, know what I’m saying?”
River kind of ran out of steam after that and fell silent. The director slumped down in his chair, his face in both hands. Everyone else in the kitchen was staring at River and me with deer-in-headlights expressions. My friend still had a killer grip on my hand, so I couldn’t flee. All I could do was wish for a sudden death brought on by my racing heart exploding.
There was commotion to my right all of a sudden, and Nana burst into the kitchen. “Sorry I’m late, boys! I had a wardrobe malfunction. Not to where my boob flew out in front of millions of people or anything, but something went wrong with my suit at the dry cleaner’s. It changed color! I don’t know how you fuck up something like that.”
“Um, Nana, the show’s already started,” River told her, pointing at the camera. “You’re on live TV.”
Nana looked from him to the camera, then exclaimed, “Shit, I just said fuck on TV. Maybe they can edit that out or something.”
“Yeah, not really,” River said.
“Oh. Well hell, we better get started! I had this all timed out!” She yelled across the kitchen, “How much time do I have left, Roger?”
The director looked ill, and pointed to some kind of prompter to his left. It had minutes counting down on it.
“Shit, that isn’t much time,” Nana exclaimed, suddenly flustered. She grabbed a huge chef’s hat from under the counter and stuck it on her head as she told River and me, “I was gonna show you how to make lasagna, boys. Now, I know what you’re thinking: everyone already knows how to make lasagna. But everyone keeps fucking it up! I figured I should explain to America all they’re doing wrong. I’ve had some in restaurants lately that taste like the chef’s back there doing some
kind of fucking science experiment or something.” She yelled at the camera, “It’s noodles and cheese, people!”
“How can we help, Nana?” River asked.
“You can get a big pot of water boiling.” She turned to look at us. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You okay, Trevor? You’re sweating like a whore in church!”
“Oh God, please kill me now,” I whispered, feeling a ferocious blush rising in my cheeks as the cameraman swung the camera toward me.
River dragged me with him as he filled a big pot of water and set it on the stove. I kept trying to get away, but he was latched onto my hand like a bear trap. Meanwhile, Nana continued her rant about lasagna. I missed a lot of it, but we rejoined her in time to hear, “I went to a new restaurant the other day, and they had deconstructed lasagna on the menu. You know what that is? Not lasagna, that’s what! It was a bowlful of noodles and a chunky sauce. That’s failed spaghetti, not deconstructed lasagna! It looked like a pile of shit. And you know what they were charging for that dung heap? Twenty-seven dollars! Screw that! I’m gonna show you how to make a real lasagna at home for a few bucks. I’ll start with the filling. Boys, come help me, you’ll get some good tips here for your catering business. Lasagna’s always a crowd pleaser. Long as it isn’t deconstructed!”
“Okay, Nana,” River said.
Someone had taken the time to lay out a bunch of ingredients on the kitchen counter. Nana grabbed a tub of ricotta cheese and exclaimed, “Fat free? What the fuck? I didn’t say to get fat free! Who did this? Sven, was it you?” She looked around the room for her new assistant, but he was MIA.
“Um, maybe you can use it anyway, Nana,” River prompted. “What with us being in the middle of the show and all.” He flashed a huge smile at the camera.
She sighed dramatically and put her hands on her tiny hips. After a pause, she finally said, “Fine, we got no choice, we’ll use the fat free crap. But normally, don’t do that! You’ll just fuck up the lasagna. I mean I know everyone’s watching their figures and all, but there’s a time and place, know what I’m saying? Just use the regular cheese and eat the goddamn lasagna. Then later on you can do some jazzercise or something to burn off the calories. If you ask me, everyone in this country is too obsessed with their weight anyway. So what if you got a little junk in the trunk? You know what they say, more cushion for the pushin’.” She thought about that for a moment, then said, “I actually have no idea what that means. Do you, River?” He doubled over laughing.
The rest of the half hour proceeded pretty much exactly like that. When the director finally called, “Okay, we’re clear!” River let go of me. I exchanged the apron for my discarded sweater with shaking hands, then crashed so hard from the adrenaline build-up that I laid down right in the middle of the kitchen floor and just concentrated on breathing for a while.
“I think that went well,” Nana exclaimed, taking off her chef’s hat and fixing her hair.
“It was awesome,” River said. “I hope someone recorded it.”
“God, I don’t,” I murmured.
The crowd snapped into action, many of them taking down the lights and equipment. The director immediately dialed the TV station, apologizing profusely over the extensive use of profanity. Apparently fines were going to be involved.
Meanwhile, Sven wandered in and looked around at the chaos with a haughty glare. When Mrs. Dombruso spotted him, she yelled, “Sven! Where you been? You’re supposed to be personally assisting me, not dicking around on the job! And why did you buy fat free cheese when I sent you to the market? Why the fuck would I want fat free cheese?”
He held his hand up and said, “Oh no, uh uh. I am not paid enough to take this abuse. I quit! I told my wife Helen this job was probably a mistake!” He spun on his heel and marched out of the kitchen.
“Classic,” River said, chuckling as he sat cross-legged on the floor beside me and pulled off his apron.
It took a while for everyone to clear out. Once they did, Nana made some tea and loaded up a big tray. River carried it out to a little sun porch for her, and the three of us sat down around a white wrought-iron table. “That didn’t go quite how I thought it would,” Nana said as she splashed a little tea in a delicate china cup. “It looks so easy when you watch those cooking shows on TV. I always thought I could do better than that.”
“You did just fine, Nana,” River assured her.
“You sure? Turns out, I didn’t actually cook anything.” She’d barely gotten as far as mixing the filling.
“I don’t think anyone noticed,” he said.
“Well, good. You know, this all started because I wanted to show you boys some recipes to help you get ready to cater Christopher’s wedding, but I wasn’t much help there.”
“Actually Nana, I have a few ideas for the menu,” River said. As he pulled a piece of lined notebook paper out of his pocket and unfolded it, Nana picked up a silver flask from the tray and filled the remaining three-quarters of her tea cup with what looked like brandy.
He handed her the piece of paper and she looked it over, then raised her brows at River. “I’m impressed. How’d you come up with this?”
He looked a little embarrassed. “I went to culinary school for two semesters, before my savings ran out. Those are some of the dishes I feel I mastered. I thought, since the wedding’s at the height of summer, we should keep the food relatively light and not too fussy.” He turned to me and said, “Obviously you have a say in this too, T. I just jotted some ideas down last night, but feel free to make any changes or suggestions.”
As Nana handed me the list, I said, “This catering business is your dream, River. I’m just along for the ride. I mean, I’m happy that we’re doing this together, but really, it’s your company and your vision. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.” Nana had actually been the one to suggest we pair up, when River became overwhelmed during his first catering gig.
“What’s your dream, Trevor? I never actually asked you,” River said.
I shrugged and looked down at my cup. “I don’t really have a dream. I just want to cook. That’s what I’ve always enjoyed.”
He asked, “You mean you want to be a head chef?”
“Not really. I don’t think I have it in me to run a kitchen. I’d never be able to afford culinary school anyway. I just want to work on a line and cook good food that makes people happy.”
“You don’t need culinary school,” Nana said before taking a sip of ‘tea.’ She set her cup down and said, “Me? I only have a ninth grade education, because I had to drop out of school to help my mother after my father died. But still, I ran a successful restaurant for almost thirty years. Being able to cook good food comes from the heart, it’s not something you learn in a classroom.”
“Why don’t you think you could run a kitchen, T?” River popped a cookie in his mouth from the plate Nana had filled for us.
“Because it takes a lot of confidence, and that’s not exactly my strong suit,” I said.
“But you’re still young,” River said. “Maybe confidence is something you grow into.”
“I don’t know. I kind of think this is who I am. I can stand up for myself or the people I care about when I need to, but in general, I can’t imagine running a kitchen and expecting other chefs to listen to me.”
“Well, not with that attitude,” Nana said.
“Everyone needs a dream, T. I honestly believe that,” River said. “Maybe yours really is to become a head chef, but you just haven’t admitted it to yourself. It could be that you just need to pursue it and build your belief in yourself as you go.”
As he and Nana started discussing what it took to become a chef, I happened to glance out the glass wall of the sun porch. Nana’s house had a surprisingly big backyard, considering it was in the middle of San Francisco. It was impeccably cared for, a fairytale landscape of bright flowers and sculpted hedges.
Vincent was working at the far end of the yard, dressed in a form-fitting black t-shirt and jean
s. I totally lost track of the conversation and just stared at him. God was he gorgeous, his big biceps flexing as he lifted a heavy bag of topsoil, the sunlight reflecting off his glossy black hair.
River cut through my thoughts by saying, “Or maybe you do have a dream, and maybe that dream involves a certain big, ripped Italian guy in a painted on t-shirt. Huh, Trev?”
I glanced up as a blush warmed my cheeks. “What?”
My friend chuckled at that. “Yup, I think I hit the nail on the head. I knew you were into that guy when you couldn’t stop talking about him at the party on Saturday. And now here you are, drooling over him.”
“Could we not talk about this right now, River?” I said, staring at him and tilting my head subtly in Nana’s direction.
She saw what I was doing and exclaimed, “Oh come on! Why does everyone always assume I’m an old prude?”
“I don’t think that, Nana,” I said quickly.
“Do you like my grandson, Trevor? You can tell me. I’m perfectly fine with gay homosexuals, ask anybody. Which shouldn’t be news to you, since you know I’m helping plan a gay homosexual wedding for my dear, lovely Christopher. It’s the second one I’ve planned, you know!”
I mumbled, “I do like Vincent, Nana, but there’s nothing going on.”
“Why not?”
“It’s just wouldn’t work out between us.” Wow, was this an embarrassing conversation.
Nana stared at me for a long moment, then finally picked up her teacup. “I know how my grandson is, Trevor,” she said. “But I also know he’s got a good heart. You should give him a chance.” She tipped back her cup and drained the contents, then poured herself another drink, just like the first.
River chimed in, “I hate to cut this conversation short, but I need to get going. I landed a part-time gig petsitting Puffy, my buddy Conrad’s evil cat, and he’s expecting me in less than half an hour. I need to learn about Puffy’s routine before he flies to Spain on vacation.” River got up and knit his brows, then added, “My buddy, he’s the one flying to Spain. Not the cat.” When Nana stood up, he picked up the tray and carried it back to the kitchen for her.