Twice Baked

by Andrew Grey

  “I will. But even there, it’s—”

  “No,” Meyer interrupted. “That comment about not feeding that dish to your cat is going to go viral. The marketing team is already getting memes ready.” He held me. Meyer actually put his arms around me and just held me. “They asked you to be here because you’re honest about food and what you like. And I should never have tried to teach you to like the things you don’t.”

  I shrugged. “I think you and I got off the track again.”

  “Maybe we did. But we should be able to talk about what bothers us. And I promise that as long as I get to cook for you, I will never add bananas or mushrooms to your food.” He grinned, and I leaned against him. Maybe that was as close to a declaration of love as I could expect right at the moment.

  “You know, I’ll take that with all the feeling that’s intended.”

  Meyer leaned closer, and I groaned when his lips touched mine, the electric current instantly chasing away any hint of fatigue. Rosco jumped off the sofa with an annoyed mrrr, and Meyer pressed me back against the cushions. I didn’t have time to think if any of the neighbors could see in through the balcony from the other building, and frankly, at the moment, I didn’t care. Maybe they got an eyeful, but the way Meyer kissed down my neck, tugged off my shirt, and then ran his lips over a nipple, frizzed my brain and made rational thought something out of my grasp. Threats, letters, hot-as-hell shooting locations—they all went out of my head as my attention centered on Meyer and how he made me feel alive.

  Yeah, in ways I was afraid of him. But not in a physically violent kind of thing. It was more in the fact that Meyer could hurt me again, but hell and blast, the way Meyer pushed me through the need to hibernate and tugged me back into the light of day, the light that meant I could have care and maybe something deep and meaningful in my life, was worth it.

  “Meyer…,” I groaned. “What are you doing to me?”

  “I’m going to make your eyes roll to the back of your head and then, only then, I’ll carry you into the bedroom and make love to you for the rest of the night. And tomorrow, when everyone asks you why you have bags under your eyes, you can either tell them the truth or not, but you will know that I was the one who put them there.”

  The deep, gravelly roughness in Meyer’s voice left no doubt that was exactly what he intended to do, and I was more than ready. In fact, I shook like a palm branch in a gale at the very thought of it.

  “I BET I know what someone has been doing,” Darlene whispered the following morning. “You look like hell, your skin is sallow, and you’re seconds from falling asleep in my chair, and yet, damn it all, you’re fucking smiling. That can only mean that you got something last night.” She winked, and I tried to keep from smirking. It was hard, and I doubted anyone was that good an actor. “Don’t worry. It will be our secret.” She got to work, and I sat still, letting my mind wander.

  “I need all of you in the production office,” Ethan barked.

  “What crawled up his butt and died?” I asked once Ethan had stormed out.

  “Didn’t you watch E! News last night?” Darlene asked, and shook her head as she pulled away the clothing protectors. “Go on. You’re almost done, and I can finish you up once your meeting is over.”

  “Great,” I mumbled under my breath, and followed Meyer, Rachel, and the key production staff into the office.

  Ethan closed the door, fuming. “I assume you all watched this last night, but for those of you who didn’t—” He started the tape of the show on the huge television mounted on the wall. The logo appeared and the announcer stood in front of the Cooking Masters emblem.

  “The ultrapopular cuisine show, Cooking Masters, has begun shooting its eighth season, and things are really starting to heat up—and not just in the kitchen. Sources say that there is more going on than just great food and competition drama. Stay tuned for more details when they become available.” The announcer went on to reveal some daytime television indiscretion, and the screen went dark.

  “I want to know what is going on and who in the hell is talking to these people. If we want them to have a story about this show, then we’ll leak it ourselves. We have people for that.”

  Rachel leaned forward. “This is good for all of us. Watchers are going to wonder about the upcoming season, and the first episode hasn’t even aired yet.” What she said made sense to me, but there was more behind this than just some gossip on a cable TV show.

  “Under normal circumstances, yes. But the network has already been hit with scandals on some of its other shows, and they won’t stand for any with us. We’re a pressure cooker. Let the chefs snipe and backbite at each other. That’s what’s supposed to happen, but as judges and producers, we’re supposed to be above all this. There are rumors on the set that contestants are involved with judges and—”

  “I’ve heard those too,” I spoke up. “Don’t see how that’s possible, given the fact that you’re supervising or filming them most of the time. The rest of us are too exhausted to worry about it. I think that’s just a rumor that someone planted to stir the pot.”

  “We didn’t have any of this trouble last season,” Ethan countered, his hands on his hips.

  “Then what’s different?” I questioned. “You have had different chefs and guest judges before. Rachel has been on the show for five seasons. I don’t know anyone to tell stories to even if I had any. Meyer wouldn’t talk to gossipers. So who else is different?” I met Ethan’s gaze.

  “What? You want us to talk to every gaffer and soundman on the set who wasn’t here before?” Ethan challenged.

  “We should be doing something if this is a real concern, because yelling at us isn’t going to stop the leak, and it isn’t going to help put these rumors to rest. We all have just as much invested in a successful season as you do.” I didn’t want to sound snippy, but being taken to the woodshed for something that I had nothing to do with was not something I was going to take lying down.

  Ethan trooped around the table. “What’s your idea?”

  I cleared my throat and glanced at Meyer and then back to Ethan. “There is more going on than just this show.” I got out the messenger bag that I’d brought with me and pulled out the canary-yellow note. “I got this on Friday and thought it was a shooting change.” I handed it to Ethan. “The thing is, I found another note under my plate after the desert challenge. This one was addressed to Rachel.” I passed it to her. “It says nearly the same thing.”

  “What secret are you afraid of revealing?” Ethan asked. “I’m not a fool. I know we all have things we would like to keep private.”

  I purposely didn’t look at Meyer. “That’s just it. I don’t have a secret. I think someone is fishing and trying to find something juicy. That clip you showed us didn’t say anything specific. In fact, I don’t think they have anything other than that juicy teaser.” A picture started to form in my head. “This isn’t my usual business, but is this the time of year when television shows are normally filmed?” I looked to each of the people around the table as they shook their heads.

  “This is a slow time of year,” Burt, the head of cinematography, explained. He looked like he had been around this business for years. “It’s part of how we can get all this space. What are you getting at?”

  “If it’s a slow time of year for filming and production, then it’s a slow time for the gossips unless some star falls off the wagon, or Justin Bieber drops his drawers on Melrose Avenue or someone else does something stupid.”

  They all chuckled.

  “So, they need filler, and someone is supplying it to them, whether it’s true or not.”

  Ethan nodded slowly, and Rachel smiled. “You know this town better than you think you do,” she whispered to me.

  “But I would suggest that if anyone does have something indiscreet going on, they tell Ethan,” I explained. “He needs to know.” Once again, I didn’t even glance at Meyer, but those words were meant for him, and I hoped he’d take t
he chance. Ethan did deserve to know if Meyer and I were involved, and quite frankly, I needed to know as well. So yeah, this was a sort of test to see how serious Meyer was. It might have been very high school, but there was nothing wrong with killing two birds with one stone. “Is there anything else?” I asked Ethan.

  “No,” he said.

  I stood. “I’m needed back in makeup and then wardrobe.” I didn’t say that we all had a show to tape, but I was ready to get out of there.

  “Yes. We all have plenty to do, so let’s get at it.” Ethan dismissed everyone, and they filed out. I followed the others and returned to Darlene so she could finish.

  Word got around at lightning speed about the subject of our discussion. These people gossiped faster than anyone I had ever met in my life. It seemed that Darlene knew what had happened before I even got back.

  “Honey, I hear everything.”

  “Great. Did you hear the one about the one-legged bootlegger?” I asked.

  “No,” Darlene answered as she lightly applied some powder.

  “Then you haven’t heard everything.” I shrugged, and she actually half snorted, and I let her finish her work. Once she was done, I met Rachel and Meyer, and we reviewed the challenges and the plan for the day before getting to work.

  “THE SET used to be fun, but now it’s nothing but pressure,” I told Felix as he drove me home that evening. I was growing to like him more and more.

  “That’s Hollywood. No one seems to let anyone else just enjoy what’s good. There’s always someone who wants what you have and is willing to snatch it away.”

  I nodded. “Have you always lived here?”

  “Yes. I was born here. I’m a true Angelino, and there are surprisingly few of us. It seems like more and more people come here every year, looking for their dream—whatever that may be.”

  That sounded about right to me. “What’s your dream?” I asked. “Mine was to be an artist. I thought I would produce great works of art, but instead I design websites and make other people look good—well, that’s how I make my living. But I used to dream of having a gallery opening and displaying my work for everyone to see.” I paused and waited, hoping Felix would open up a little.

  “I wanted to be a television star. As a kid, I used to watch all the shows and wondered why so few people looked like me, and when they did, they were the bad guys.” He pulled to a stop at a light. “People of Latin or Spanish descent like me were always the drug dealers or the killers. But never the good guys or the leading men. That is until guys like Antonio Banderas and a few others. But even then, he ended up playing Zorro.”

  “But he played a lot of other characters and was in some very important movies. And his Zorro was so good, and the humor….” I smiled because I enjoyed those movies, but I did understand the point Felix was making. “I loved him in Evita and in Philadelphia—he was amazing. But I get what you’re saying. Do you want to be in the movies?” I asked, and Felix shook his head.

  “I want to start a movement or something so that there are more people like the rest of us on television.” He seemed so earnest, and I couldn’t help smiling. Such passion, especially for other people, was rare, and I got the idea that Felix was a very special man. “But that isn’t a career, just a goal. I’m taking some online college courses so I can start to figure things out.”

  The more I talked with him, the more I realized that Felix had a good head on his shoulders.

  “Do you have someone special?” I asked, and he hesitated. “You don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to.” That was his business, and I probably shouldn’t have asked.

  “There is someone very special. But it’s not what you think.” He passed a small photo book to the back seat. “His name is Louis, and he’s my son.” The smiling little boy from those pictures must have been about two. The braces on his legs had me wondering what had happened to him.

  “He’s adorable, and that smile is precious.”

  “Louis is my world. Everything I do is for him.” The pride and love for his son rang as clear as a bell in Felix’s voice. “Right now, my mother is taking care of him while I work.” Worry crept in, and I could tell there was a story there, but we made the turn off the freeway into stop-and-go traffic, and Felix grew quiet as he drove. I didn’t have the right to push anyway.

  Felix pulled the car up to my building, and I got out, thanking him for the ride, and went inside. Rosco greeted me at the door, and I dropped my things on the sofa and flopped down into the chair. Rosco climbed on my lap, and I absently stroked his fur, wondering what in the hell was going on. This was supposed to be a relatively simple task: come to Hollywood, judge a cooking competition. I wasn’t supposed to run into Meyer again, and all this business with the drama on set was getting ridiculous.

  I absently answered my phone when it rang. “Hi, Clare,” I said as brightly as I could.

  “Even I can tell that was fake. What the hell is happening?” she demanded.

  “Well, I love you too,” I retorted.

  “I know you do, and it’s because I care about your picky ass, so spill,” she pressed. “And don’t leave out any of the good juicy stuff. Is the set a passion pit?”

  “It’s a cooking show. You have been watching too much tabloid television.” Of course, she had seen the little story teaser. “Working on the show is longer hours and harder work than I expected it would be.”

  “Yeah… yeah…. What’s the dirt?” she pushed. “I want the good gossip. Are the contestants sleeping with each other? Why all the secrecy and stuff?” She was like a rabid dog. “I love this kind of stuff. My life is really boring. Heck, I work for you, don’t I? I need some excitement.”

  “And this is how you get it?” That was something I didn’t understand at all.

  “Sure. Why not? It doesn’t hurt anyone, and it’s fun. Stories about other people getting into trouble make my petty misdeeds unimportant. And I don’t get to be around glamorous people all the time. You’ve seen the other people in the building here. It’s pretty dull, and there certainly isn’t California eye candy. I just want to live a little through you.” She laughed, and I knew she was pretty much putting me on, though just how much was still a mystery.

  “What did you really call for besides giving me grief?” I hoped she’d get to the point.

  “Really… I wanted to find out how you were doing. I hinted on the blog that something really big was coming, and the comments lit up. It seems that it hasn’t been leaked yet that you’re a judge on Cooking Masters, so I thought I’d play it up as much as possible. Anyway, how are you?”

  “I’m busy and tired. Rosco is doing well, though he misses you.” I was stalling, trying to figure out how much to tell her. “As near as we can tell, that story on television is bullshit, but….” It was hard to deny it completely. “I will tell you this…. Meyer seems really different, and he told his parents….”

  She gasped. “No fucking way? He came out of the closet? Well, that’s a step in the right direction.” She paused. “Wait, are you involved with him again?” She had a knife-edge in her voice.

  “It’s all right. I have my eyes open, and I really like this Meyer. He’s caring and looks out for me the way a real boyfriend should. I haven’t told anyone about us because I promised I wouldn’t.”

  “Are you sure about this?” Boy, there was fire inside her.

  “He actually asked about things between us after the show was over. I don’t have any answers, but he’s really different. I actually think you’d like this Meyer. He knows what he wants and is not a selfish dick. I think he’s figuring it out.”

  Clare groaned. “Oh shit… you’re falling in love with him all over again.” I could see her eyes rolling. “You never got over the guy, not really….”

  A knock sounded on the door.

  “Is that him?” Clare demanded. “Look, you tell him that if he doesn’t treat you right, I’m going to come out there and slap him to a peak and then knoc
k the peak off. And if he hurts you, his nuts are in real danger. Tell him I’ll make pâté out of them and feed it to Rosco.”

  Man, she was rabid. “Okay. I get the point.”

  “Make sure he does. Maybe the point of a knife.”

  Holy cow, it was wonderful to have a friend who cared about me so much.

  “I’ll be fine, and if he hurts me, then I’ll come home and you can feed me ice cream until I pass out into a coma. We’ll watch sappy movies, and I’ll cry my eyes out like I did the last time.” At least I knew what the awful feeling was. Heartbreak was a mistress who came around for everyone at some point. This time I’d recognize the witch.

  I opened the door and let Meyer in.

  “I’m going to let you go, but you’d better tell me if anything happens and I’ll be on the next plane out there.”

  God, it was great that I had a friend like her. “I love you, and we’ll talk later.” I was about to hang up when she stopped me.

  “You tell him what I said, because I will come for him.” The cut in her voice was back, and I promised her that I would, chuckling slightly, and Meyer definitely seemed confused.

  I hung up and smiled. “That was Clare.” I grinned and told him what she’d said.

  Meyer paled and his hands clasped in front of him. “She’s scary.” He shook his head, and I set the phone aside. There was no doubt that she could be damned frightening.

  Meyer sat in what was becoming his place on the sofa, and I sat next to him. “I’m scared.” I figured I might as well be honest about what I was thinking. “Someone is digging for some dirt, and they will do whatever they have to in order to find it.” I bit my lower lip. “If someone finds out about us, what do you think is going to happen?”

  Meyer shrugged. “Nothing. I had a meeting with Ethan, and I told him that you and I knew each other and had a previous relationship. I was clear that neither of us knew the other was going to be part of this season and that we have been seeing each other. I didn’t go into the nature of our relationship, and when he asked, I told him it was none of his business.”