Kimberly was silent for a moment, which I had come to understand was her way of thinking. "Yeah. You looking to head North or South for the gym?"
"Doesn't matter to me. If it's a good place I don't really care."
"Okay, two places come to mind. First is over by Wrigley Field, about two or three blocks away, called Quads Gym. It's the place my ex-ex-ex-he-was-a-total-asshole-of-a-boyfriend went to. It's used by a famous old powerlifter, guy named Ed Coan. Down on West 35th is a place called Lance's Gym. Where are you right now?"
"I'm closer to Quads. I decided to do some shopping at Riverpoint Center. By the way, you want me to pick up anything for you? Krystal said you like getting over to Costco when you can."
I heard the thaw and surprise in Kimberly's voice as she replied. She still was suspicious of me, but seemed to be accepting me more, kind of. "Thanks, but no, I'm good. Just went by on Saturday. Anything else?"
"Nope, not right at the moment. Thanks Kimberly. Actually, one other thing. Uhm, I really don't know how to cook, and ordering another pizza for myself is kind of stupid. Now, I'm not sure how to ask this without it sounding like I'm hitting on you which I'm totally not, but would you maybe like to get some dinner tonight or something?"
Kimberly laughed and I could hear the total thaw in my ear. "Yeah, sure. As long as you're paying, of course. Krystal may not want your money, but I won't say no. I'll take all the free Chinese takeout I can get. You got my address?"
"Uh, no. I just know you told me Edgewater."
"I'll text you the street number. Probably best if you take a taxi, the bus and El connections are confusing unless you know what you're doing. Thanks, Julian."
I hung up my phone, and headed out. Kimberly was right. While the El and the bus service wasn't as bad as the Southern California systems, you had to be more experienced, or at least more patient, than I was to be able to get around well. As I looked for a taxi, I should have remembered Quads Gym. Ed Coan is one of the greatest powerlifters of all time, and one of those guys that everyone at Metroflex, my gym in Los Angeles, looked up to. "Yo, taxi!"
Chapter 11
Krystal
A nervous sweat ran down the small of my back as I walked into Kitchen Stadium for the first time. Shannon, my boss, glanced around as well. "Yeah buddy," she whispered under her breath. "Tomorrow, this is all ours."
I nodded and walked over to what we had planned would be my station. I touched the cutting board and looked at the array of knives on the magnetized strip above the surface. "I kind of prefer our own kitchen more though," I said. "Although I guess it'd be a bit unfair to do it there."
The rest of the team also hit their stations up, and we spent the next twenty minutes talking through our various game plans for the next day. After we were done, Shannon called me over. "Krystal, are you okay? You've been a bit off this past week, and I need to know if you're going to be on point tomorrow."
"Yes Chef, I'll be fine," I said quietly. "Just, you know my stepbrother is in town, and he's staying at my place. It's kind of thrown me off a bit. But I'll be focused and ready tomorrow."
"Okay. You know, I had some doubts when Horst said you'd be a good add to our team, you being so new and all. But he's been dead on, you've been great. Now get your head in the game tomorrow, and we're all going home as champions."
Shannon clapped me on the shoulder, and walked out of Kitchen Stadium. I looked around the set one more time before turning to leave, when I heard my name called again. "Miss Aksoy?"
I couldn't believe it. Approaching me was the man, the myth, the legendary host of so many things I'd watched on Food Network since I was a little kid, Alton Brown himself. After Dad died, Alton's show was one my main comforts in life. Dad was a lot like Alton, quirky and focused, if sometimes a bit nerdy. "Yes? Wow, it's a pleasure to meet you Mr. Brown."
"Pleasure is all mine," Alton replied. "You may not have known, but I had the opportunity of meeting your father once when I was working on the pilot for Good Eats. This was back even before it was picked up here, and I was on PBS in Chicago. I'm glad to see you followed in his footsteps."
"Thank you sir, it's an honor to be here. But I'm not the contestant, Chef Shannon is."
"Well, if I'm still around in five or ten years, I expect I'll be seeing you up here, or maybe over on Chopped. In any case, good luck tomorrow."
We shook hands, and I turned to go. As I did, I stopped and turned back around. "Excuse me, Mr. Brown?"
"Yes?" he replied.
I smiled, remembering a promise I'd made. "You wouldn't happen to know if Iron Chef Morimoto is around, do you? I promised a friend an autograph if I had a chance to meet him."
Alton shook his head, but then stopped. "Just a moment. He's not in the studio today, he's not filming until tomorrow, but let me give him a call. Maybe if you can get in here a bit early tomorrow you'll have a chance. You have anything he can sign?"
"I'll have something tomorrow. If anything, I'll steal one of the swag bags that the celebrity judges get and see if he'll sign a t-shirt for me or something."
He smiled at me and I nodded my thanks and left Kitchen Stadium, feeling better than I had in hours. Tomorrow was my day for battle, and Alinea was going to kick some ass.
* * *
Julian
I looked down at the stereotypical boxes of Chinese takeout in the bag in my hand, and wondered just what I was doing here. If I were back in Los Angeles, I'd be dressed up, ready to hit the clubs or maybe just find one of the never-ending parties that dotted the landscape. My night would end sometime around sunrise with at least one woman in bed with me, maybe more.
But you were a miserable asshole then, a little voice said in my head. I'd come to hear that voice more and more often since meeting Krystal, and knew that most people called it a conscience. I wasn't really sure if that's what it was, considering I'd never heard it before. I didn't know if I was worthy of having such a term applied to any part of my thought processes, but so far it had been honest with me. Face it Julian, you've had more peace and better sleep over the past few weeks than you have since childhood.
"Yeah, but whose fault is that?" I muttered under my breath. "John Castelbon's dumping of Mom did a lot more than just get him some fresh pussy. And you know, like father, like son."
The voice in my head didn't have anything to say to that, and I looked down at my bag of food again. Still, I was trying, and talking with Kimberly was one of those things that I didn't just tolerate, but I was kind of looking forward to.
I searched around for the buzzer box at the front door for a good two minutes before I realized the building didn't have one. It was that sort of place. I pulled out my phone again, and re-checked Kimberly's text messages. I saw I had missed one. Third floor, apartment 304.
Tucking my phone back into my pocket, I tried the front door to the building, finding it open and unlocked. I made my way up the stairs, not trusting the elevator that looked like it had last been maintained maybe sometime around the time I'd been born. It was more difficult than I'd imagined, I'd stopped by Quads before coming over. The staff was nice, and the manager was willing to let me get a workout in. Since I was coming off of nearly two weeks with no weights, I knew I'd be sore the next day, but that didn't stop me from blasting a squat workout. The endorphin rush of getting that last squat when your back is on fire and your legs feel like they're going to explode is better than any of the so-called recreational drugs I've sampled. Not that I was ever a drughead or anything. I actually hadn't touched anything for over two years.
Either way, by the time I reached the top of the stairs, my heart was thumping and my calves were burning again. Oh yeah, I'd be using the bathtub back at the apartment for a good soak, that was for sure.
I found the door to 306 and knocked, waiting for a response. It took Kimberly a minute to respond. "Yes?"
"It's Julian, Kimberly," I said, trying to stand in front of the fish-eye security peephole. "I've come bearing chicken and shr
imp."
"And fortune cookies?" Kimberly asked through the door. I heard the chain and locks on the inside disengage, and the door opened a few inches. "Because if you don't have a couple of fortune cookies, I'm locking you out and calling the police."
"I have four cookies, you can have them all," I replied, laughing. "But I'm only giving you halfsies on the shrimp."
"Deal," Kimberly said, opening the door wider, letting me inside. I walked into what I could only describe as a computer geek's paradise. The small living room was dominated by a huge four panel workstation, along with a tower computer that glowed like a Japanese street racer's car."Wow, this setup is insane." I said, looking at the custom made case. It was big, around the size of a small refrigerator, and was made of brushed aluminum. "This thing looks like it should be powering the U.S.S. Enterprise" I said, as I squatted down to take a look.
I shook my head and got up, backing away slowly. A rule I learned from a tech geek that I'd hired to clean up some official records of me in California, never, ever, fuck with their equipment. It was kind of like Krystal with her culinary equipment, I thought. "I'm impressed. Krystal said you were a computer genius, but this I wasn't really expecting."
Kimberly crossed her arms over her chest and nodded. "Yep. Built the whole thing myself. It's a little expensive, but with my work it's necessary."
"Cool. So does your computer ever start asking for Sarah Connor?" I joked, sitting down on the floor next to the only other piece of furniture, a cheap coffee table. Kimberly stuck her tongue out at me, and sat on the other side, letting me take out the food and divide it between us. For about five minutes we were in a relatively comfortable silence as we enjoyed the food.
I was halfway through my portion of lo mein noodles when she sat her chopsticks down and looked at me. "So how was your first day in Chicago without Krystal?"
"Well, it wasn't really my first whole day," I replied, slurping up another bite of noodle. "Just since this morning."
"You know what I mean, wise ass. Sheesh, I can tell what she likes in you."
Kimberly's words caused me to almost choke on my noodles, coughing slightly to get the last bit down. "Sorry, hit a pepper," I said, covering myself. "But yeah, I know what you mean. I enjoyed it. After shopping like I told you, I went over to Quads. Nice place over there, I think I could make that a regular spot. I'm going to be sore tomorrow though, but the good kind of sore. How about you? I mean, how was your day?"
"Normal stuff. Some coding, some data collection, stuff like that. In fact, I have a couple of programs running now while we're eating, doing some work for me."
I looked over at the computer, which was pretty silent considering the size, and looked back. "What is it that you do anyway? I've been in town for weeks, and the most I can get is that you're into computers and jiu-jitsu, which normally don't mix. I think Krystal mentioned that you're a purple belt like her one time."
"I am, although I'm a bit higher up than her, I've got one stripe. I'm a bit of a jack of all trades," Kimberly replied. "I build of systems for people, usually high end systems for graphic designers or video editors. I do a little data mining, analysis, and a bit of hacking. All legal on the hacking, of course."
"There's legal hacking?" I asked, surprised. "What is that?"
"Companies pay me to try and hack their systems. If I can, it shows them where the flaws are in their systems, and ways they can defend against it. It's actually my most lucrative line of work since there's always new ways to hack, new protocols and new programs with holes coming online every day. That's what I'm doing on my system right now, using some of my cracker programs to probe an auto maker, see if I can get into their database. If I can, I put a marker inside their system and then e-mail their corporate security to tell them where to look, and what I did, which is tracked automatically by my computer."
"Crazy" I said, finishing off my lo mein and going on to my half of the General Tso's chicken.
We continued talking, mostly about her and her work and her love of jiu-jitsu for the next hour or so, until the sun was down and the food was all gone. "Thanks for the dinner," Kimberly said as she polished off her third fortune cookie. She'd left the other one for me, happily enough. "Now, can I ask you a few questions."
"Shoot," I replied, laying back. My legs were starting to stiffen up, and my stomach was filled to the point of nearly discomfort. "I'll answer what I can."
"How do you feel about Krystal?"
The question stopped me in my tracks, and I looked down my body at Kimberly. She was sitting cross legged, her chin in her hands with her elbows on the table, looking at me with a look I hadn't seen from someone in a long time. It wasn't judgmental, but it was interested, and at the same time discerning. I knew I couldn't bullshit her, she'd see right through me. "Damn, you picked a tough one right off the bat, didn't you?"
"I'll admit it's a lot tougher than asking about what I do for a living, but I think you can understand why. No offense, but I'm not really interested in knowing how much you squatted today."
"Four fifty for four reps, last set," I replied, grinning. "But damn. What can I say?"
"That you're nuts about her, and that despite her being your stepsister, you have a major thing for her," Kimberly said. "I've seen it in your face and your voice the entire time you've been here, Julian. It's also why I think you're actually trying to change."
I grunted and sat up, keeping my legs in front of me to minimize the twinges of pain. "I'm not a good guy, Kimberly. As my buddy in Los Angeles told me before I came out here, I'm an asshole, although a seemingly charismatic asshole. If I were a good guy, I'd leave Chicago, and not tell her how I feel about her. I'd keep her from getting dirtied by my presence and my life. Instead, I'm here, and the most I can do is not put a move on her as much as I want to. So I'm all sorts of asshole."
"You're changing yourself, which takes guts and heart," Kimberly replied. "I wouldn't call that being an asshole."
"Yeah? Well being an asshole is in my DNA. I've been an asshole to every woman I've ever been with, and done more harm than good my entire life. If I hooked up with Krystal the way I wanted to, I'd just do to her what Johnathan Castelbon did to my mother and to me. I may be an asshole, but I do have my limits. I'll save her that pain if I can."
Kim sighed and stood up, going over to her computer. She tapped a power switch on her screen, and minimized what she was doing with her main program, sending it off to one of the other three screens, which went black. "I think it's time you learned this. Come over here."
Chapter 12
Krystal
"Allez Cuisine!"
Marc Dacascos was a lot smaller than I thought he would be, and his acting was hammy enough I could understand why he never really got much traction with his movie career past B movies and kung fu flicks. Still, with the clock starting, I put it all out of my mind, and sprinted up to the stage with Shannon. My first job was to help her get at least a few pounds of ground lamb, while she got the ground beef. It was a hamburger battle, and I was worried. For all of Shannon's skill and the Alinea team's abilities, ground meat was perhaps the weakest of our chances against the Iron Chef. Hell, the man owned a hamburger restaurant that was named the best in New York according to the Zagat guide!
"Get back, get that tartare going," Shannon said as I scooped my second double handful of ground lamb into my bowl. I could hear the tension in her voice, and I knew she was thinking the same thing I was. With one of the rules being that we had to have a gourmet hamburger up in front of the judges within the first twenty minutes, we were in trouble.
I got back to my station and scooped out the meat for my tartare, setting it aside to combine with the other ingredients later. Then I rushed over to the produce area of the stage, getting mint, lime, lemons, capers, shallots, and Shannon's secret, gherkin pickles. Shannon would add quail eggs later on top when they were on the plates.
One of the key differences between fine dining and home cooking is in
your cuts. Your average home cook, when they read chop, starts going to town like a killer in a slasher film, often with as big a knife as their cutting board allows. While it's a lot of fun and gets the work done seemingly quickly, the result is inconsistent cuts, pieces of all different sizes, and tastes that vary.
A professional chef, on the other hand, cuts precisely, and knows exactly what chopped means. It's an actual measurement, with the industry standard being half inch pieces.
A fine chop, which I was doing, is quarter inch pieces. A mince is finer than that. You get the point. Also, we use just the right sized knife for the job. Since I was cutting mint, shallots, and other things like that, I worked with a small knife, not much larger than a paring knife, getting my cuts exactly what they needed to be.
Stepbrother Bad Boy's Baby Boxed Set Page 8
