by J. J. Cook
I looked around for Miguel. I couldn’t find him, or the Mercedes, anywhere on the street. I started to call him, but I didn’t want to be a nag or someone who’s always trying to keep tabs on him. I didn’t really need his help.
Ollie brought out the first tray of biscuit bowls, savory. I took it from him, got ready to sing, and fell down hard on the sidewalk.
TWELVE
There were only three spicy chicken biscuit bowls that could be saved. The other five had to be thrown away.
What made it even worse was that we were the first team up and running so we were getting extra coverage from the cameramen. They didn’t stop taping when I fell, either. The whole mess—including the ripped, bloody part of my jeans where I’d hit my knee on the concrete—would be preserved for the TV audience.
Ollie helped me up and yelled for Delia. “We have to get that knee cleaned up.”
Delia ran outside with Uncle Saul. They both groaned and said how sorry they were, asking if I was okay.
In the meantime, one of the ministers from Our Daily Bread (not Jay Jablonski) was already on his skates, singing loudly in his professional choir voice and heading into the waiting crowd of spectators with a trayful of cinnamon rolls.
“Never mind that,” I told my team. “We need another tray of biscuit bowls. Delia, could you get me a wet paper towel? Let’s get over this and move on.”
The cameraman had his lens right in my face as I was talking. I wished I could yell at him to move away. I’d agreed when I registered to allow the cameras complete access. What good was a food truck race if they couldn’t capture every single detail?
Delia, Ollie, and Uncle Saul moved quickly. I was on my feet—wobbly but standing. A wet paper towel got most of the blood off my knee. My jeans were only going to be good for making shorts later.
Ollie and Uncle Saul got another tray of eight biscuit bowls ready.
By that time, Fred was skating away from his fish taco truck. Believe me, the cinnamon rolls smelled a lot better than fish tacos at that time of the morning.
Another minister was taking more cinnamon rolls to the first one, who was now lost in the crowd, probably selling his hundred and fifty dollars’ worth of product before I could even get on my feet.
“Come and find me when you have another tray ready.” I started slowly skating down the sidewalk again.
“Be careful,” Ollie said. “And sing. Don’t forget to sing!”
It looked as though Bobbie Shields’s daughter, Allison, who was part of the Shut Up and Eat team, was a worse skater than even me. She was a pretty young girl with waist-length blond hair that gently floated in the breeze as she fell, over and over again.
Finally, her loose meat sandwiches and giant pickles spread out around her, she gave up. I passed her on the sidewalk as she sat there crying.
I felt terrible not offering her my help. It wasn’t just that I’d lose the challenge. I didn’t think I could stop without falling over, too. I couldn’t remember how to use the brakes on the skates.
Lucky for me, I skated right into a man on the edge of the crowd that stopped me. He smiled and steadied me before buying one of my biscuit bowls.
“This looks really good.” He took a big bite. “Mmm. Tastes good, too. Let me have another one.”
I stuffed the money into my pocket, glad I didn’t have to make change at the same time. I pushed my feet a little and glided forward again. A woman stopped me and bought another biscuit bowl.
I should’ve been better prepared. My pockets weren’t going to be adequate for the money I was going to have to put into them. I wasn’t used to street selling. I had my cash box at the food truck. It usually wasn’t a big deal.
I noticed that a member of Chooey’s Sooey was skating around like a pro with dim sum on a tray. He was also wearing a money pouch around his waist. Great idea.
When Ollie came to find me, I only had one biscuit bowl left. I was singing my heart out, any song that came to mind.
“I need one of those.” I pointed to the money pouch.
“You mean a fanny pack?” He shook his head. “Nobody wears those anymore.”
“I don’t care.” I dug in my pockets until I found all the money I’d made and stuffed it into his hands. I still had the money for change that I’d put in there. So far everyone had given me exact change, and a tip.
“Okay. Let me call Miguel.” He massaged my shoulders quickly and then took the empty tray and the money before he left.
What I really needed was some pain-relieving antibiotic spray for my knee. It had been a long time since I’d had a scrape there. I’d forgotten how much it hurt. I couldn’t get to my phone to call Miguel and see if he could find some in the cool-down tent where they kept the first-aid supplies. I was going to have to live with it.
The crowd was much bigger today than it had been in Charlotte. They were all there to watch what was going on and wave to the camera. It seemed like I’d skated through a sea of them before I reached the other side.
Ollie brought more biscuit bowls after I’d emerged from the crowd. He took the money again. “I can’t get in touch with Miguel. I don’t know where he is. I sent Delia to the cool-down tent for some salve for your knee. I’m gonna kick Miguel’s scrawny butt when I see him.”
“Thanks.” I continued skating. “How are we doing on the money?”
“We’ve got a ways to go.” He held up a cup with a straw in it. “Uncle Saul says hot water with lemon is good for your throat. I’d like to kick his scrawny butt, too, but we have to get through this challenge first. Are you okay?”
“Great.”
On the other side of the crowd were the real people heading in for jobs at the downtown businesses. Some were white-collar workers in their suits and ties. Others were retail shop people in various other outfits—more colorful than the suit people. None of them looked very happy.
I heard them grumbling about the delays in traffic because of the food truck race. They were in a hurry to get to their jobs and didn’t have time to stop for a before-work snack. They didn’t mind telling me about it, either.
I saw the minister from Our Daily Bread praying by the crowded sidewalk. A few people stopped, prayed, and bought cinnamon rolls from him. Maybe they felt sorry for him.
I tried my best to think of something I could do to draw positive attention to my biscuit bowls, which were getting cold waiting for me to sell them. Cold biscuit bowls were bad biscuit bowls. I had to come up with something. I realized this was why everyone had expected me to wear tight shorts and a low-cut top.
But I didn’t want that kind of attention. I saw Dante from Stick It Here in his red scarf, talking to a crowd of women who were buying pot stickers and kebabs from him. He was letting them taste first before buying.
I knew what I had to do.
When Ollie came back with the next tray of biscuit bowls, I had him break two of them into smaller pieces.
“We’re going to need a few extra biscuit bowls to give away,” I told him. “Maybe you should bring some napkins back with you, too.”
“Okay. You sound a little hoarse. Drink some more water.” He held the cup again. “I hate to tell you this, but somebody said that Grinch’s Ganache has already sold enough cupcakes to win the challenge.”
“We should keep going anyway. Who knows if that’s true or what else is involved or how they’re going to decide who gets kicked out? Has anyone found the man with the money yet?”
“Not as far as I know.” He squatted in front of me and carefully sprayed antibiotic pain relief on my knee. “Is that okay? I can pull up your pants leg if you need me to.”
I breathed a sigh of relief right away. “No. That feels better already. Thanks, Ollie. Any word from Miguel?”
He snorted. “Nothing, otherwise he’d be running this stuff out here. Is something wrong with
him?”
“Not as far as I know.” I pushed what Helms and Marsh had told me out of my thoughts. No way Miguel had anything to do with the cords being cut in the parking garage or Reggie’s death. I didn’t believe that for a second.
I had to focus on finishing the challenge.
The camera crews had switched from following the food truck team members to interviewing the people on their way to work—probably for the taste challenge. I heard a few workers curse at them. One man loudly told a cameraman to get out of his face.
What happened to the South being so friendly?
My voice sounded a little stronger after the lemon water. I switched to all the patriotic songs I could think of—“The Star-Spangled Banner,” four verses; anything I had ever heard that sounded like “God Bless America.”
I engaged the slightly hostile crowd and offered them free samples as I skated by the steps of another large building. People were really starting to pack into the city. I glanced at my watch; it was seven thirty.
A few more people bought biscuit bowls from me. One man bought a peach biscuit bowl for breakfast and a spicy chicken biscuit bowl for lunch. I sold two peach biscuit bowls to a woman in a dashing red suit with a matching hat. Loved her look!
I had to tell her how gorgeous she was. That was when I was struggling to make change for her twenty-dollar bill. I didn’t say it just to sell her a biscuit bowl.
One of the members of Pizza Papa’s team had dropped his tray of mini pizzas on the sidewalk. I’d thought when I saw him skating with a tray in each hand that he was doomed. He was shaky on his skates and had forgotten all about singing. Antonio pushed through the crowd to help him. The closest cameraman took pictures of the whole thing.
I was down to one peach biscuit bowl when Ollie finally came back.
“We’re having a few issues with the deep fryer.” He replaced my empty tray with a full one. “That’s the bad news.”
I groaned. “How bad is it?”
“Like it-will-never-deep-fry-another-biscuit bad.”
Oh no. At home, I’d know where to get that fixed, or replaced, on credit. What are we going to do out here?
“Don’t give up yet. Saul is looking at it. He thinks he might be able to do something with it.”
My legs and feet hurt, especially my knee. My lips were chapped and my throat was sore. I was ready to sit down with a cup of coffee and take a break.
“The good news is—this is it! Sell this tray, and you’re done with the challenge.” He held up the lemon water again.
I waved it away. “I can’t drink any more of that stuff.”
“You have to. You have to stay hydrated. The fish taco truck was out in front until his assistant passed out from dehydration. They had to take him to the hospital. They dropped out of the challenge because they only had one skater. Drink the water. Sell the biscuit bowls. Keep singing.”
I did as he said because I knew he was right, but I was almost too tired to care.
When Ollie was gone, I pushed myself to sell the last eight biscuit bowls. I wished I’d thought to ask if anyone had won the money yet. I knew it didn’t really matter. I had to concentrate on getting rid of the biscuit bowls.
I thought for a few seconds about buying them myself and eating them, but I knew that would be the moment all the cameras would focus on me.
I saw a group of businessmen in nice suits walking toward a building with a double green door on the front at street level. I skated toward them, and into them, when I couldn’t stop.
Miraculously, I didn’t drop anything.
“Sorry.” I smiled as they helped me settle my tray and held me upright for a moment.
“What’s a pretty girl like you doing out here selling food on the street?” One of them was a handsome man who had a sweet, smoky drawl that even managed to tingle my weary senses.
“It’s that food truck thing,” one of the other men told him—not so handsome and a little nasal.
“These look very good,” smoky, sweet said, not only looking at my biscuits, either. “I think we could use five of them for our morning meeting, don’t you, Roger? Pay the woman.”
Roger (nasal) quickly took out his wallet and gave me forty dollars for the five biscuit bowls. “Keep the change, and look for a new job.”
Forty dollars! That was well over my hundred-and-fifty-dollar goal. I almost started crying, I was so grateful to be done with it. I still had three biscuit bowls left, but that didn’t matter since the challenge was for the money and not how much product we could sell.
“Thank you so much. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome.” Sweet and smoky smiled and went inside the green door.
I was ready to skate back to the biscuit bowl before my legs gave out on me. I saw a man putting newspapers into one of the dozens of newspaper boxes. His big delivery truck was parked at the curb.
I knew the remaining biscuit bowls wouldn’t be any good. We’d have to throw them away when I got back. I thought I might as well give them to this man to enjoy. I could also give him a business card.
Who knew when he might be in Mobile?
“Excuse me. I have these yummy peach biscuit bowls that I can’t use. I was wondering if you’d like to have them.”
He squinted at me, his baseball cap pulled down low on his face. “They look delicious. Are you sure you don’t want me to buy them?”
I explained about the food truck race and the daily challenge. “So I’m good for the day. Usually my customers have hot, fresh biscuit bowls, made to order. I don’t want to sell them to you cold and a little stale.”
He nodded and took the whole tray in one hand before he threw his ball cap up in the air and congratulated me. “You’ve just won the twenty-five-hundred-dollar cash prize!”
THIRTEEN
I was stunned. I was sure I looked like it, too, as the cameras all zoomed in on me. I was such a mess, it made me cringe to think that everyone would see me like this on TV. I hoped my mother wasn’t watching. She’d really think I’d lost it.
The man explained that he was part of the food truck race as he counted out the twenty-five hundred-dollar bills into my hand.
I was fortunate that someone had thought to tell Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul what was happening. They got there before I could drop all the money. There was no room in my pockets for any more cash.
“We won!” Delia danced around.
Uncle Saul hugged me, and Ollie took the initiative and pulled Delia into his big, strong arms.
She stopped dancing and kissed him hard for a minute.
Ollie left her and hugged me. “Was that too weird?”
I laughed. “Not at all. I’m happy for you.”
“That’s the way I like to leave ’em.” His crazy eyebrows went up and down. “Pining for more.”
It didn’t take long before Alex had joined us with more cameras and his usual microphone. Local media types also took part, snapping hundreds of pictures. People asked me questions. All I could think about was getting the stupid skates off my feet. I never wanted to wear a pair of skates again.
While everyone was focused on Ollie, Delia, and Uncle Saul, I slipped off to a bus bench to take off the skates and socks. I had blisters all over my feet. No one ever said being in business was going to be easy.
I glanced up at the concrete stairs leading to one of the tall buildings and saw Miguel. He was talking to the same woman from the hotel the night before—the same woman who’d been in Charlotte.
So that’s where you’ve been.
I watched him for a few minutes with her. He’d changed into a nice brown suit and a tie. A white shirt played up his dark hair and eyes. She was wearing a strawberry-colored dress with a little matching crocheted jacket that complemented it beautifully.
They were speaking intently
to each other. Neither one of them seemed to notice anything else going on around them.
Who is she? Are they romantically involved?
Maybe they were talking about business. I massaged my tired ankles.
If it was business, it was something serious. Miguel had his serious face on, like when he told me I shouldn’t get involved in what happened to Reggie.
I only had a second to wonder if his odd behavior was related to that.
Then I was swamped by the race proceedings again. Most of the teams had left their food trucks and wandered over to where we were. Everyone was shouting, happy, and enjoying the end of the Columbia challenge.
“All right, food truckers,” Alex called out on his microphone. “Time to go over to the cool-down tent and look at our taste-test videos before we announce today’s winners—and losers.”
His voice was like squeaky thunder, even with the noise of the city around us. I glanced up at the stairs again. Miguel was looking down at me. I grabbed my skates and walked barefoot between Ollie and Uncle Saul back to the food truck. Delia ran ahead. She was afraid she was going to miss the announcements.
The way my feet and legs felt, I didn’t care.
Chef Art was in the cool-down tent when we got there. That meant another round of photos with him. “You did good, Zoe. They’re putting up a board outside to chart the standings of the teams. I have a feeling the Biscuit Bowl is gonna be at the top.”
All the teams crammed into the tent to see what people thought of their food. I kind of cringed after a few videos had people saying bad things about other vendors’ food. Most of the comments were positive.
When they finally got to mine, three people who had biscuit bowls in their hands said they were delicious. One man said my biscuits were dry. Another man said he didn’t like the filling. That was three out of five—not too bad. Some teams only had one good response.
Alex announced that Our Daily Bread was the winner of the taste challenge with five positive responses. The team of ministers received a bunch of freebies from Disney World, airplane tickets to exotic locations, and dinner at several nice restaurants.
