An Officer And His Gentleman

by Ryan Field

  Sarah's mouth fell open and she pressed her hand to her chest.

  The old man's face became tight and he squinted. “If you walk out that door, don't come back here again.” Then he swung his right arm across the top of the deli counter and jars of pickles and horseradish flew across the room. His temper tantrums and scare tactics had always worked well in the past.

  But this time, Chance had something better waiting for him. He stepped back, and took a deep breath, turned his back to the old man, crossed the market and walked out the front door. For good.

  When he arrived on the set for the final recipe competition at the Food Network, he was glad he'd worn a dark blazer. His armpits were soaked and he had to keep his hands in his pockets so they wouldn't shake. He quietly watched the cameramen prepare for the show, while the director made a few last-minute changes. All of the other contestants were women, and one of the celebrity food judges, Tommy Clay, noticed him immediately. When he saw Chance standing at his cooking station, waiting to prepare his recipe on live TV, he walked over and introduced himself. Of course, Chance was a huge fan and already knew who he was. He reached out to shake his hand as calmly as he could. Tommy Clay looked more like thirty than his real age of forty-five. He was tall and dark and even better-looking in person than he was on television. He had an expensive haircut and a smooth deep voice that was well trained. His eyes were so blue, Chance couldn't help but stare into them. He had to clench his fists to find his voice and speak coherently. It wasn't every day he spoke face to face with the sexiest celebrity chef on TV.

  "Are you all set up for the show?” Tommy asked. He stared at him, Chance realized, the way Brody had watched him walk around in the high heels. Tommy's hungry eyes focused on his lips and he kept reaching out and rubbing Chance's arm in a playful way.

  "I guess,” Chance said. He knew Tommy was flirting. It felt good, too. Especially since he was still so pissed off at Brody for cheating on him.

  "I could take you back to my dressing room and give you a few pointers if you like,” Tommy said. He smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets. He had a huge bulge in his jeans; Chance could see the outline of his dick, though he tried not to show he saw it. Tommy pushed it forward with his hands in his pockets to show Chance he was well endowed. “We have about an hour before we go on the air."

  Chance smiled and stared at him with puppy-dog eyes. Tommy's bulge looked very good, indeed. A few months earlier he probably would have gone back to the dressing room and buried his face between Tommy's legs. But all he said was, “I'd like that very much, Mr. Clay. But I really have to get organized here, and I'm really nervous.” He looked down again at Tommy's crotch and wet his lips. It was growing. He would have let Tommy nail him a few months earlier, too. But he couldn't stop thinking about Brody's pitiful, unshaven face, sitting outside in the car. He couldn't stop smelling Brody's unwashed sweatpants. Sometimes, when he swallowed back, he could still taste Brody's balls.

  Tommy Clay's eyebrows went up and he stepped back. He wasn't used to being rejected by amateurs. “Ah, well. I'll see you later.” He turned his back on Chance and quickly headed back to his dressing room.

  As he watched Tommy disappear into the maze of wires and camera equipment, Chance allowed himself a contemptuous whisper ... even though he knew blowing Tommy Clay off like that could have been a huge mistake. Tommy had only been paying him a compliment. But after all the time he'd spent bowing to Dan Pratta's rules, not to mention walking around naked to keep a roof over his head, he was ready to take the lasagna pan and crack it over Tommy Clay's expensive haircut. There he was, preparing a recipe for lasagna that he'd been working to perfect for so long he didn't even need a written recipe, and the only thing Tommy Clay cared about was getting into his pants. It occurred to him briefly that he still had time to follow Tommy back to the dressing room and make amends.

  But he didn't do that.

  Instead, he took a deep breath and smiled at a young woman passing by his cooking station, then he lowered his head to the counter and started to organize his ingredients. As he lined the carrots, celery and onions beside the French knife, his hands were a little shaky and his mouth felt a little dry. He wasn't sure if it was because he was still annoyed at Tommy Clay, or because the magnitude of being on live TV was finally starting to hit him. But when he checked to be sure the pasta machine was attached securely to the counter—he was using his own dough, not store-bought noodles—his hands felt somehow steadier and Tommy Clay quickly began to fade from his thoughts. He took another deep breath and smiled as he double-checked that the beef, pork and veal trio was ready to go into the sautee pan. His hands were perfectly normal now, his heart wasn't racing and his mouth wasn't dry. All the ingredients he needed to prepare his dish, from tomato paste to grated cheese, were lined up in sequential order and ready to be cooked.

  And that's when he clenched his fists and told himself that he was going to make this recipe as perfect as humanly possible. And even if he didn't win, his life would still be all about the food.

  An hour later, right before they went on the air, Tommy passed by Chance again and Chance said hello. But Tommy turned his head and ignored him this time, and he started talking and flirting with the female contestant to Chance's right. She had long blond hair, huge breasts, and tons of eye makeup that edged her look to very near transvestite. She wore a homespun, fluffy pink dress made of calico, with huge ruffles on the sleeves and around the hem, and an American flag pin on her shoulder. Her recipe was something very sticky and sweet. She was from somewhere in the South and used an extra-thick, forced Southern accent that sounded a bit offensive and fake. She kept saying, “y'all” this, and “y'all that,” over and over. Chance took a deep breath and stared down at the oven to be sure it was preheated, and he didn't look up again until Tommy had walked away.

  The other contestants were all good, but by the end of the hourlong show, it came down to a decision between Chance and the woman in the pink fluffy dress. Two of the celebrity judges raved about Chance's recipe, and they loved his presentation. They said he was fresh and natural, born to give good, solid cooking instructions, and his family-style approach was very “relevant.” The only judge who gave him an unfavorable review was Tommy Clay. He said he thought Chance had a great deal of talent, but that his television persona was “too wooden” and he thought his recipe was too complicated for children. Tommy then gave a rave review to the woman contestant in the pink fluffy dress. He liked the fact that she used a store-bought cake mix, instant pudding and imitation whipped cream. He said her television persona was perfect for the Food Network. He thought she was energetic and perky and adorable. He even complimented her fluffy pink dress and flirted a little. The other judges politely disagreed with him and the show cut to a commercial.

  During the commercial, the judges huddled together and spoke quickly. Chance couldn't hear what they were saying, but you could see that fists were pounding and fingers were being pointed. Tommy Clay kept shaking his head no and stepping back. Chance looked across his cooking station and smiled at the woman in the pink dress, just to be a good sport. She gave him a very dirty look and fluffed the ruffles on her sleeves. This girl, he realized, was out to win no matter what it took, and she wasn't there to make friends.

  He knew how that felt, really. He was here to win too.

  He crossed his fingers and looked up to the ceiling. His entire life was resting on this one decision, a decision that was completely out of his hands. It occurred to him that he probably should have sucked Tommy Clay off in the dressing room after all. But he didn't want to win that way. He wanted to win because he was the best.

  Tommy Clay stood between Chance and the woman in the pink dress when the show returned from commercial break. He smiled when he slowly announced that the grand prize winner of the recipe competition was the woman in the pink dress.

  Chance waited to feel disappointed, but he felt nothing, and that was even worse.

  The
winner jumped up and down, waving her long pink fingernails, shouting, “Oh my golly, y'all! Oh my golly gosh, y'all!” with the exaggerated Southern accent. Chance forced a smile and congratulated her. He shook Tommy's soft, limp hand when he accepted second place, and his prize of one thousand dollars. When the show went off the air, both of the other judges ignored the woman with the pink dress and approached Chance to tell him that he was a very talented chef and that he shouldn't be discouraged by this contest. The producer of the show actually came over and handed him a business card. “Call me if you ever need a recommendation. I have friends in Paris and I'd like to see you attend cooking school there.” Then they all turned their backs on Tommy Clay and walked off the set.

  That night, Chance drove back to the lake and parked the car at The Island. He turned off the lights and leaned the seat all the way back. When he closed his eyes, he rubbed the thousand-dollar check in his pocket. Though devastated, he finally smiled when it occurred to him that he'd won second prize and he had a check for a thousand dollars to prove it. The thing that made him stop smiling before he fell asleep in the car that night was Brody. He knew he'd lost him forever.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Nine

  The next morning, Chance drove to the only pay phone left in town and called Sarah. And a half-hour later, they met for coffee at a small cafe on Lakeside Boulevard, not far from Dan's market. Sarah wore gray sweatpants and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail; small, red ringlets and frizzy corkscrews broke free from the rubber band and framed her round, freckled face. Sunday was her day off, and she looked sleepy—normally, she'd still be in bed. He stood from the table and gave her a hug. She'd watched the show. She squeezed him hard and said, “I know you wanted to win first prize, but at least you won second. And I think that's something to celebrate. I thought you were great."

  He asked the waitress to bring them two cups of black coffee, and thanked Sarah. He laughed and shook his head, then sat down and told her all about the bitchy woman in the pink dress and how Tommy Clay had tried to get into his pants before the show. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head. “So you really did win first prize. Just not officially.” But she was so shocked about Tommy Clay that her voice went shriller. She couldn't believe that he was “into guys,” and that he'd actually ruin someone's chances to win an important competition because he wouldn't sleep with him.

  Chance hadn't thought about it that way. According to the other judges, he had won the grand prize. Just not officially. He smiled and said, “I guess I did win."

  The waitress placed two cups of coffee on the table, then Sarah lowered her head and reached for his hand. “Brody's mother died last week,” she said.

  Chance's heart hurt.

  "He came into the market yesterday afternoon,” Sarah continued, “an hour after you'd left, and he told me. That's why he didn't come around again last week.” She patted Chance's hand and frowned. “The guy is really freaked out about you. He said he can't even sleep at night."

  "He actually came into the market?” Chance asked. He'd specifically told Brody never to come there while he was working. That was so typical of Brody, forging ahead without thinking about the consequences. A total control freak.

  "He really wants to see you before he leaves town,” she said. “He literally begged me to talk to you.” She sat back and took a sip of coffee, then sighed. “I don't see how it could hurt, now that he's leaving town. At least part on good terms."

  Chance lifted a spoon from the table and stared at a water stain. He knew Brody hadn't been close to his mother, but he also knew that Brody kept a great deal hidden inside, so he had to be grieving. “I'll think about it,” he said.

  "Are you still mad at him?"

  He smiled and set the spoon down on the table. “Not really.” It had occurred to him earlier that even if he'd wanted to stay mad at Brody, it wasn't possible.

  Sarah told him about how confusing things had been at the market after he'd left for New York. “The old man didn't even know how to slice the deli meat for poor Gladys Johnson. There she was, waiting patiently for a pound of bologna, and he jammed the machine and couldn't get it to work again. He got so frustrated he cut her a two-inch thick piece of bologna with a bread knife and gave it to her for free. After that, he told me to go home early and he closed the market before any more customers came in.” She gulped back a swallow of coffee and lifted her hands in the air. “When I saw the expression on his face, I ran out the door."

  Chanced laughed and folded his hands on top of the table. He knew Sunday wouldn't be much better with Sarah off and Dan trying to work the entire market with a lazy, part-time cashier he hated.

  After he left Sarah, he drove around the lake for about an hour, but whether it was to postpone or gather courage, he couldn't tell. Finally, he headed back toward Brody's house around noon. When he slowly pulled up to the end of the driveway, Brody was carrying large boxes down to a bulky pile of trash near the road. Four large, heavy boxes. Most men would have taken them one at a time, but Brody liked to prove his strength whenever he could. He placed them on top of a plastic-covered hospital bed mattress and stared at Chance's car. The top was down and Chance looked him. It was getting warm and thick and the heat wave was settling in around the lake; Brody was only wearing a pair of sweatpants and running shoes, and he had dark perspiration stains between his legs. Chance got out of the car and said, “I'm sorry about your mother, Brody."

  Brody shrugged his shoulders. “She went peacefully, in her sleep.” He stared down at the pile of trash for a moment and jerked his head sideways.

  "I guess that's best,” Chance said quietly. He wanted Brody to know he cared, but that he wasn't there for any other reason. “Do you need any help carrying boxes or anything?"

  "Naw,” Brody said, waving his arm. “I'm good. This is basically the last of it. It's just hospital stuff and boxes of medical supplies I don't want lying around when I'm gone.” He kicked a few stones in the driveway and stared at the pavement. Then he lifted his head and looked Chance in the eye. “I'm sorry about everything. I fucked up, baby. I'm sorry.” He spread his arms out a little, and then opened his hands so his palms were facing Chance.

  When Brody tilted his head, Chance stomach jumped. Brody's blue eyes were wet and glossy; he really did seem sorry. “It's okay. I don't want to talk about it again, Brody.” He lowered his head and sniffed back a few times. His bottom lip began to quiver and he had to bite it to keep from crying. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

  "I like the way you say my name,” Brody said. “No one says it like you. It's just different, like you care."

  "That's because I do care."

  "I'm glad you came over today,” Brody said. “I wouldn't have known how to get in touch with you if you hadn't.” He lifted his head and smiled. “But I saw you on TV last night. Sarah told me to watch."

  "Ah, well,” he said, “I didn't win the grand prize, but I would have if I'd slept with one of the judges.” He wanted Chance to know the reason why he'd won second place instead of first. “Tommy Clay, the celebrity chef, tried to get into my pants before the show, and I turned him down. He didn't like that, and I lost out."

  Brody smiled. “Why did you turn him down? He's not a bad-looking guy."

  "Because I'm either an ethical idiot, or I'm in love with someone else,” Chance said, then added, “Even though I already know it probably won't go anywhere.” He didn't want Brody to think he was there begging for anything. Brody was leaving town, and that was a fact. But he wanted Brody to know how he felt.

  Brody took a few steps toward him. “I'm proud of you ... for not sleeping with a judge and for winning second place,” he said. “And you looked really hot. I jerked off to the TV while you were cooking that lasagna thing."

  Chance's head jerked and he held back a huge smile. One of the things he loved most about Brody was his ability to make a serious conversation lighter with silly jokes.
“You did not, you big fool."

  "Oh yes, I really did ... jerked off, made a mess all over the bed, and had to change my sheets. You look fucking hot on TV, baby. I was banging my dick against the TV screen."

  Chance smiled. “That's because you're a sex maniac and a filthy pervert."

  Brody leaned back and grabbed his dick. “You want to go down to the boat house for a while and really see what kind of filthy pervert I am? We can go inside the big house, but I like it down there better."

  "Do you think I can take a shower?” Chance asked. “I haven't had one since yesterday morning.” His voice sounded a bit wrecked and his shoulders were slumped.

  Brody smiled and extended his right arm. “You can do whatever you want."

  When they were in the boat house, Brody went directly into the small bathroom and turned on the ancient shower. The water splashed on the tin walls loudly. Then he came out and kicked off his running shoes and pulled off his sweatpants. He was semi-erect and his heavy dick bounced off his hairy thighs a few times. Chance stood there and watched him strip. He looked like a messy little boy throwing his things around the room. He smelled a little like onions and raw meat because he'd been working and sweating. Chance inhaled the wonderful, masculine aroma and felt light-headed until Brody said, “I'll wait for you in the shower.” When he turned, he purposely kicked a shoebox out from under the bed. He jerked back as if it had been an accident and said, “I almost forgot. I got you a present. They are in that box.” His voice became unusually animated.

  Chance smiled and shook his head. “Are you sure that what's in that box is a present for me? I have this feeling I know what's inside that box, and this present is really for you."

  Brody kicked the top of the box off with his large,bare foot. There was a bright red pair of stilettos inside. “Ah well,” he said, “I guess this is a present for both of us.” Then he loped into the bathroom and went inside the shower stall.