Sizzling in Singapore (A Carnal Cuisine Novel)

by Falls, K. C.

  "Chef, you're drunk or I'd be tempted to deck you. Mae's like a little sister to me, even if she is my boss. She ain't like that at all."

  "Bullshit. We're all like that. Chefs are all whores."

  "Look I don't know what's got into you other than that bottle of whiskey on your desk, but I've known Mae for going on five years. She ain't no whore. Hell, she's practically a little nun. In all the time I've known her I ain't never known her to just fuck around."

  Nick looked up with a dubious smirk. "Is that so?"

  "She got her heart broke once or twice. I coulda killed the wine asshole that left her mournin' him for months. No sir, I think you've read her all wrong. Don't see how you coulda, but I don't know you all that well."

  "No you don't know me. I'm not too sure I know me."

  "Well you don't know Mae, either. So let's just leave it at that."

  "Sorry man. I didn't mean to offend. Just making stupid conversation."

  "Look, Chef, it's late. Why don't I help you get up to your room?"

  "Thanks, but I'll be fine. Really."

  "Okay, boss, I'll see ya tomorrow. Take it easy now"

  "Thanks Tank. Oh...and thanks for not decking me."

  Tank closed the door on his way out and left Nick to think alone in the dim kitchen office. Even though his thoughts were not completely crystal clear, he slowly processed what the big man had told him. Tank had no reason to lie to Nick. Especially in the camaraderie of cooks, the sexual escapades of fellow chefs is fair game. If Mae had a penchant for rolling the guests, Tank would have shared a tale or two and they would have had a good laugh. Women can be every bit as raunchy behind the swinging doors as men. Early in his career, the young Nick had been shocked more than once at the frankness with which his female co-workers discussed all things sexual.

  He laughed to himself as he recalled a waitress who had passed by some mayonnaise he had spilled on the prep counter and said "nice splooge!" He didn't know what that meant at the time, but he knew from the laughter in the kitchen that it was something sexual.

  Even as a gangly adolescent, Nick had been a handsome boy. He looked older than his years at fifteen. Because he'd spent so much time immersed in the bawdy atmosphere of the kitchen he could at least pretend a level of sophistication even if he didn't feel as mature as his swagger would suggest. As a result, his 'first time' took place on a flour sack with a pastry chef twice his age. She was a mighty hellion in the kitchen, but a sensuous and generous lover who gave him a fine introduction to the pleasures he could find between a woman's legs.

  But, assuming what Tank had told him was true, Mae did not fit the usual mold of the women he had known in his cheffing career. And that meant that his suspicions might be true. She might really be fabricating this whole righteous indignation thing over Kurt to spare herself the inevitable pain his departure would cause. His instincts about her feelings could be right!

  On the other hand, one thing was certainly true. She was dedicated to her job and her career. Did he have the right to ask her to go with him? Was that fair? When he had shared his dream with her she'd asked all the right questions. She had told him she thought the farmhouse and the barn sounded fabulous. They had even discussed the kinds of food he'd have on the menu and the way he should renovate the barn. Nick dared to hope that she would consider a drastic change in the direction of her life and career. They would make a fantastic team. In every way, in all ways. Always.

  Nick folded his arms on the desk to make a pillow for his drooping head. In minutes he was asleep. But not before he had made a plan.

  ***

  "Ordering: 33 Bennies. Two florentine. Four crab. Six asparagus. One cajun. That leaves twenty regular--one SOS. Always an asshole in every bunch" Jonesie called the order from room service that had everyone jumping.

  Mae reached through the window and took a look at the ticket. Talk about a nightmare of an order! They kept a dozen or so pre-poached eggs for room service every morning and twice that on weekends but they needed 66 poached eggs for this monster. "Who in the hell is up there in those suites?"

  "Some entourage for a band descended in the night and decided to play hell with our nice little breakfast service. Rock those pots--NOW!" The expeditor shouted to the dishwasher who was running pots of steaming water from his station to the stove.

  Mae saw that Reggie was about to melt down trying to quadruple the Hollandaise recipe. "I'll take the sauce, Reg. You go lay out the English muffins on sheet trays for the salamander. Tank, forget sautéing the ham there's no room on the stove--grill it." She barked at one of the assistants. "Start laying the plates and get the fruit garnish in place. How are we with the fries?"

  "Plenty there, chef."

  "Thank God." Most of the egg dishes on the breakfast menu came with a side of sweet potato home fries and those took a while to pre-cook. "Get the fries on the flat top. We want quality here, people!"

  The cooks ran through their sweaty paces like the pros they were. Orders ticked out for other in-room diners and every time eggs Benedict came up Jonsie would call out " Ordering: another fucking plate of Bennies!" and the cooks would groan.

  The 33 plates went upstairs on several trolleys accompanied by gallons of Mimosas that had given the bartender his own special hell as their version of the drink was made to order with fresh squeezed juice.

  The kitchen reverted to its normal pace and only then did Mae realize that Nick wasn't there. With the frenzy taking place the past forty minutes, she wasn't surprised that she hadn't noticed. Good, she thought, maybe he wants to avoid me, too. There's a big banquet tonight and I can remove myself at dinner to supervise that. I could use at least today to get myself together without having to look at him.

  Oh, but I so want to look at him. I want to look at him forever. Those hazel eyes--deep as a tawny forest. That black as night hair. The body that moves so gracefully around mine. He'll be gone so soon and all I want to do right now is drink him in.

  "Tank?"

  "Yes, Chef?'

  "Did Nick say he wasn't coming in this morning?"

  "He didn't say. But after last night I'm pretty sure he's nursing a kick-ass hangover."

  "Is that so?" Mae had seen Nick slightly tipsy when they'd had a bit too much wine, but she's never seen him drunk.

  "I was closing last night and he was in the office getting shit-faced on Kurt's special reserve. Man, that dude was wasted. Wasted and strange."

  "What do you mean, 'strange'"

  "I don't know what set him off, but he went into this whole weird shtick about you and your...sex life, I guess you'd say. I'm tellin' you it was bizarre."

  Mae did a double take. Did Nick discuss their affair with Tank? Was the "your" part referring to her individually or the two of them? "My sex life? How did my sex life come up in your conversation?"

  "I didn't bring it up, he did. I thought we were talking about working here and the benefits. But he was talking about other kinds of benefits."

  "Dish." Mae wasn't sure what to expect.

  Tank repeated as much as he could remember of the conversation verbatim. "Honestly, I was ready to punch him. But he was real drunk, Mae. Real drunk. I set him to rights, though."

  Mae was apoplectic. What a horse's ass. Drunk or not drunk he had no right to go nosing around with a member of the staff--someone who worked under her for goodness sakes--implying that she was a slut. Okay, so maybe she had acted like a slut at first, but surely the past few weeks...

  "Thanks for defending my honor, you big clumsy knight."

  "Any time, Chef Maybe. You're a slave driver, but I love ya anyway."

  Mae went into her corner and flipped open her notebook. She needed to gather her wits about her. Why, in his inebriated state, did Nick start such a ludicrous conversation with Tank? Was he trying to undermine her with the staff? Was he trying to confirm his suspicions about her--or deny them? The whole incident seemed terribly out of character. At least out of the character she had come to know
.

  They had become friends. What kind of friend gets drunk and starts talking trash about you? Had she made him so angry when she broke it off that he wanted to get back at her? Whatever the motivation, it was completely out of line. She had warned him early on that she worked very hard to maintain a professional relationship and a strong position as chef de cuisine for an all male staff. And, quite possibly had it been anyone other than Tank, he might have created quite a hot topic of conversation within the crew. The kind that resulted in lots of leering and speculation. As it was, she was grateful that he chose the one person on the kitchen staff who knew her very well. The entire incident would go no further, she was sure

  ***

  Nick paid the price for killing that bottle of Scotch. He eventually made it back to his suite in the wee small hours and fell into his bed, reeking and reeling. Work in the morning was out of the question. His head was exploding with a force he vaguely remembered having experienced once or twice when he was much younger and far more stupid.

  Surprisingly, he had total recall of the evening up to and including his conversation with Tank. His relief at Tank's vigorous defense of Mae's honor and reputation gave him hope that he might possibly be more important to her than she let on. It would explain a great deal about her recent confusing behavior--the over reaction to the fact that he kept his knowledge of Kurt to himself really could be a ruse to get some distance.

  It was conceivable. Nick had gotten a scent of something else in their conversation the afternoon when he had 'fessed up about his uncle. Something about her reaction to the entire conversation was just, well, off kilter. He sensed there was an internal dialogue going on with Mae that had nothing to do with the mystery of the missing chef.

  Then, the whole 'it's over because you lied to me' thing stank of contrivance. Nick knew Mae would have done exactly the same thing he had done. He knew her well enough by now to know that she'd face down an inquisition rather than betray a confidence. There had been too many examples of her loyalty and fidelity to friends and coworkers for him to buy into the flimsy excuse she'd put up for ending their affair so abruptly.

  Time to call her bluff. Time to grow a pair, Nicky-boy. She's already done her worst to you and you've faced it. You can be miserable and possibly lose the best thing that's ever crossed your path or you can take action. What was it dad used to say? Oh yeah. You always lose a hundred percent on the chances you don't take.

  Nick showered and shaved, pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt and slid into his flip-flops. He always felt like he wasn't quite fully dressed when he wore 'regular' clothes. There was a group of young women in the lobby when he opened the elevator door and approached the concierge. The girls made no secret of watching him and a couple of them even whistled as he passed them. They looked like groupies for some rock band to Nick. All weird hair and funky clothes. He could hear them swearing loudly at one another and picked out a couple of comments that apparently concerned his ass and his hair.

  He leaned over the concierge's desk and heard one girl murmur, "Mmmm, mmmm. Now that's what I'm talkin' about!" Nick ignored her.

  "Say Sally, do you know where I can find a nice woodworking shop?"

  "In Singapore, Chef? There are plenty. What do you want made? Furniture, frames, cabinets?" The efficient concierge already had her reference files pulled up on the laptop on her desk.

  "Actually, I need to find someone who can make me a sign. So, it would have to be a place that has some kind of carver. I want it to be artistic."

  Sally wrote down a name and address. "This shop has done some great work for not only some guests, but there are a few items around the hotel from them also. If I'm not mistaken, the 'Reception' sign and the ones for the banquet rooms all came from them."

  Nick looked at the sign over the reception desk. The lettering was outstanding and the floral decorations were realistic and detailed. He wanted colors a bit more bold than the pastels used on the flowers, but he felt sure he could communicate his ideas to the artist well enough. "That looks perfect, Sally, thanks."

  "Any cab driver will know the address. It's out Thompson Road."

  In the back seat of the cab, he pulled out the paper he had roughly sketched his idea on. He was no artist, that's for sure. But at least he had put his ideas to paper and, given a talented enough carver who could listen and understand what he wanted, it shouldn't be too difficult to execute.

  The shop was nestled among several in a rear portion of an all purpose shopping center that had everything from a food market to apparel and furniture. There were several frame shops and one or two other less identifiable establishments. Nick was tempted to nose around and look at what other choices he had, but he figured it was best to go with Sally's recommendation. He approached the wizened Chinese man who was sitting at the entrance to the open front of the narrow workspace. The man was absently whittling at a stick and his feet and the floor were covered with sawdust.

  Nick described what he was looking for and the man called to another who came out from behind a jumble of boards, half-finished projects and various tools. "This my son," said the old man. "He help you."

  The son motioned for Nick to take a seat at a rough board table and sat next to him. For the next half hour or so, they discussed the sign in great detail. Nick wanted to make sure that the fellow knew exactly how the sign would be designed. He wanted vibrant, rich colors and the text to have soft, almost cursive lettering. To his surprise, the son disappeared in the mess of the back and returned with a laptop on which he pulled up all the fonts he could imitate. They decided on teak for the wood because it was abundant and took intricate carving well. "It also resists termites," said the carver. Nick chose a very light piece of teak with some subtle shading.

  "Look, I'm in kind of a rush for this." Nick realized that the carver probably heard that from every tourist who came into the shop for a 'Welcome to the Smiths' sign for their front yard back in Iowa. "I'm the Executive Chef over at the Elysium," he offered, thinking that maybe the promise of future business would sweeten the deal. Plus he hadn't dickered at all on the price, something that was a foregone part of any purchase on the island.

  "Today I work. Tomorrow afternoon you pick it up. That fast enough for you?"

  "How 'bout tomorrow morning? I'll pay extra for the rush."

  "Can't. Paint take time to dry.."

  "I'll be very careful. I'll take full responsibility if I smudge your paint job"

  "Your sign. Pick up tomorrow morning if you want."

  "I'll be here first thing."

  ***

  Mae banged a small angry fist against the suite's door. She had exited the kitchen after the lunch service was over and high-tailed it up to the eighth-floor room where Nick had been housed the past weeks. No one answered. She knocked again, this time with enough vigor to smart on her knuckles.

  The door opened and he stood there obviously fresh from a shower and dripping wet. The water drizzled down over the peaks and valleys of his finely toned chest and just about did her in. His hair had been tousled around but not combed and she was ever so tempted to brush it away from his face, the better to see those gorgeous eyes. It was hard for her to find the breath to speak. The towel was secured at his hip leaving one strong thigh exposed and barely covering his groin. Summoning all the self control she could manage, Mae lit into him.

  "How dare you? How-fucking-dare-you? What gives you the right to discuss my personal life--my private affairs--with a member of my staff?" Mae's eyes were locked on his, wide and lit with indignation. "Tank told me about your little drunken conversation last night. I can't believe it. I can't believe you would do something like that."

  "Mae, I wasn't myself. Have you ever seen me drunk?" Nick shook his head. " Well I wasn't pretty last night. I guess I was a little overwhelmed with the shock that I'd be leaving within a week. I didn't expect it so soon."

  "And that's the excuse you're sticking with? That's the reason for intimating to my f
riend--my friend who works for me--that I am a...that I'm some sort of..a predator?"

  "I didn't say that."

  "No, you simply implied that I was in the business of screwing around with every playboy, rock star or businessman who stays at the Elysium. Thank goodness you chose Tank to express yourself to. He's too loyal to spread your nastiness around"

  "So now loyalty is a good thing, is it? You certainly didn't respect it when I was loyal to someone close to me."

  "That's different."

  "And that's always your fall back rationalization isn't it? That somehow what you feel makes you right, but what I feel doesn't count. It's okay for you to expect loyalty from your friends but you cut me off cold when I did the same for Kurt."

  Mae knew he'd hit on a painful truth. She was at least pretending to hold him to a different standard. She changed tactics. "I can't believe that you would think I'm so shallow that I spend my nights just sport fucking total strangers."

  "What would you have me think? Have you given me any reason to believe otherwise? You may recall that I was a total stranger. And Babe, if that night in the pool wasn't sport fucking I don't know what is."

  Mae raised her hand high intending to slap the sarcastic smirk off Nick's face. He caught her wrist and roughly yanked her toward his body. The towel fell to his feet. "Just what," he asked as he pressed himself up against her, " do you think this is?" He pulled her hand down to his crotch and forced her to feel his hard cock. "And," he leaned down to kiss her "what do you think this is?" His mouth took hers in a violent, crushing kiss. She felt the taste of him and the lightning bolts of desire that he called forth pierced her. She struggled to free herself but he held her tightly in his embrace.

  "I want you to tell me, Mae. Tell me what this is." He reached for her jacket and ripped the double-breasted panels apart scattering the little black plastic studs to the floor. Pulling her undershirt below her breasts, he savagely suckled them. "And this...what is this?"