by Zuri Day
“I know you didn’t think you were the only one.”
“What I think isn’t any of your business, but one thing’s for sure. You’re not one of the women on his calendar, because if you were you wouldn’t be over here hating on me.”
Charlotte took the verbal artillery like someone wearing a bulletproof vest. “You’re not even good enough for the weekend,” she continued calmly. “He reserves those days for women he actually wants to be seen with, the ones where he not only fixes their food but sits down with them to eat it.”
In her mind, Naomi saw Charlotte’s face smashed into the plate of black-eyed peas the man across from her was eating. But knowing the woman wanted to rile her was why Naomi refused to react. She casually picked up the check Charlotte had dropped and noted that Marvin had only charged her for one meal. He’d obviously paid for her dinner, something that Naomi was tempted to point out, but didn’t. She had nothing to prove, especially to a chick who didn’t know better than to open her mouth and mess with her tip. But the girl didn’t know when to stop talking.
“The one he had come here this past weekend wasn’t even all that cute, but still beat you in status.”
“You’re getting ready to get beat, too,” Naomi replied, almost too calmly, while pulling money out of her purse. “And status won’t have nothing to do with it.”
“Go ahead and catch a case if you want to,” Charlotte said, though she’d backed up as she talked. “That’ll just leave more time for his other women.”
Naomi scooted back her chair and began to rise. Partly because she’d had just about enough of Miss Charlotte’s jaw-jacking, and partly because she wanted Marvin to come out and refute the waiter’s claims. As if on cue, he came around the corner carrying a to-go bag.
“Here’s your cousin’s order,” he said to Naomi.
“Thank you, babe.”
He then turned to the server. “Charlotte, why are you bothering my guest?”
“Not just bothering me,” Naomi said. “But lying about you.”
“I’m not lying about all his women coming in here. And just for the record,” she continued, standing almost behind Marvin as though she needed protection, “I have been on the calendar and I just might be on it again.”
She gave Marvin a playful shove as she walked away.
Naomi didn’t care about that. She wanted to know that the girl was lying.
“You’ve effed her?”
Marvin frowned. “Is that what she told you?”
“She told me a bunch of stuff. Did you?”
Marvin took a quick glance around. “Let’s go outside real quick.”
They passed the restaurant’s window and continued over to Naomi’s car in the parking lot. She watched Marvin take the towel draped around his neck and mop his brow. Was it the weather, or was he in the hot seat? Having asked the question twice already, she wasn’t going to ask again. Instead she leaned against her car, crossed her arms and waited.
“Whatever she’s talking about happened long before I met you.”
“So you did screw her. Dang, I hoped she was lying. Now I need to go to the vet. I might be diseased!”
“You mean the doctor.”
“No, the vet. That’s who treats dogs.”
Marvin tried to make light of the matter, grabbed his stomach and bent over as though he’d been punched. “Ow, girl, that really hurt.” Naomi turned to open her door. Marvin stopped her. “My doctor will confirm that I have a clean bill of health.”
Naomi appeared unconvinced, which bothered Marvin . . . a lot.
“Come on, Juicy. Don’t me mad, and don’t worry. I was with Charlotte a couple times, like four or five years ago. She wanted a boyfriend. I didn’t want the job. That was it. Life went on. I saw her here and there and thought we were cool until she came in here a year ago, saw me working and applied for a job.”
“You didn’t get with her again, after she was hired?”
“Nope. Didn’t want to have any drama at work. She’s pretty much had an attitude ever since. I think the only reason she keeps working here is to get on my nerves.”
“What about all the women she claimed come to see you, one for every day of the week.”
“I have a lot of female friends and they all like to eat. What’s with all the questions? I’m not asking for a résumé on your men. You’re acting like we’re exclusive or something. We’re not. We’re just kicking it . . . right?”
Naomi stared for a moment, then reached for her door handle. “Yeah, we’re just kicking it.”
Marvin reached out once again. “Still, you’re the only one I’m kicking it with.”
“Okay.”
Naomi got into her car and drove away with mixed emotions. Marvin was right in saying they weren’t exclusive. They’d been too busy screwing to give the meet-ups a definition. But hearing that she was the only one in his life right now definitely made her feel better. The thought of being his one-and-only made her happy, and considering that he was competition, the thought maybe made her happier than it should.
21
Naomi left the Soul Spot and tapped her Bluetooth to call Kristy. “Hey, Tee, I’m on my way over.”
“Do you have my food?”
“I didn’t think you’d want a whole order. It was a whole lot of food. So I’m bringing my leftovers, a little macaroni and a couple of ribs.”
“Quit playing.”
“What? You said you wanted to taste it.”
“I told you to bring me a plate!”
“I’ve got your order, girl. Don’t raise your pressure.”
They both cracked up at Nana’s way of advising someone to not get too excited and raise their blood pressure.
“I’ll see you in a little bit.”
Naomi navigated South Central streets crowded with the end of rush-hour traffic. She reached the low-to-middle-income neighborhood that bordered an area that used to be called “The Jungle,” now called the more respectable Baldwin Village. She squeezed her car between an SUV that had taken up almost two parking spaces and a battered Honda, walked up to a row of town houses, and knocked on a door. Kristy’s mom answered.
“Hey, Auntie.”
“Hello, Nay-Nay.”
They hugged as Naomi said, as she almost always did, “You’re the only one who still calls me that.”
“That my dinner?”
“I didn’t know you were here. It’s for Tee. Where is she?”
“In her room, I guess. Probably watching back-to-back episodes of Black-ish and dreaming she’s Anthony Anderson’s wife.”
Naomi smiled as she took the stairs and tapped on the first door on the right, before cracking it open. “Hey, girl.”
“Come on in and bring my food.”
Naomi entered the room, saw Anthony talking to his TV wife, Tracee Ross, and laughed out loud.
“What?”
“Auntie said you’d be watching your husband.”
“And her son-in-law. She needs to recognize.”
Naomi handed the slightly warm sack to Kristy, who pulled out the Styrofoam container. “What happened to that guy you met on the internet? The one you told me about when I called with the news I’d made that first cut?”
“Gary?” Kristy raised the lid, smelled the contents, and picked up a chunk of mac and cheese with her fingers. “He’s alright. Guys online always look better on paper than they do in person.”
“He didn’t look like his picture?”
“His picture wasn’t all that, so, no, I wasn’t disappointed. He’s tall though, I like that. And he has his own place. And a job, like a real one with benefits that you can’t get with a criminal record.”
Naomi chuckled, and plopped down in a roomy, worn Papasan chair. “Where’d y’all go?”
“To a comedy club, which was different. It was in the Valley. He knew one of the comedians, so we went backstage. Then out to dinner. He wanted to take me to some fancy restaurant, but I told him I don’t eat
anything I can’t pronounce. So we went to the Cheesecake Factory. You know I love that place.”
“Looks aren’t everything, cousin. From what you say, he sounds like a nice guy.”
Kristy picked up another cheesy bite, talked as she chewed. “Nice guys are boring.”
“There’s a fork in the sack,” Naomi deadpanned.
Kristy ignored her, picked up a rib. “When we’re by ourselves, that dude makes watching TV static an exciting alternative to his company. He can screw though, so I’m going to keep him around. Um”—Kristy closed her eyes and chewed slowly—“did Marvin cook all of this?”
“Yes.”
Kristy reached into the bag, pulled out a fork and tasted the cabbage. “You might be in trouble, sister. This food is good.”
“Thanks for the confidence vote, and you’re welcome.”
“I was going to thank you. Give me a minute.” Kristy picked up a rib and took a healthy bite. She waved the rib in the air and danced on her bed. “Ooh, girl, go get my mama so I can slap her!”
She wanted to be angry but couldn’t. Marvin’s ribs were really that good.
After finishing half the container, Kristy set it down, wiped her hands, and reached for a drink resting on a side table. “So . . . how’s it going?”
“I’m still in it, so I guess it’s going okay. Every week is only going to get tougher though. Next week we’re doing team challenges and one on our own.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m not talking about the contest. I’m talking about you and Marvin.”
Naomi shrugged. “We’re cool.”
“What does that mean?”
“What I said. We’re cool, friends, that’s it.”
“You know you like that man more than any friend. Why are you acting nonchalant and trying to make what y’all are doing so casual? You haven’t dated anybody seriously since what’s-his-name.”
“Who?”
“Rodney, the psycho.”
“Whew.” Naomi shivered. “Don’t talk him up.”
Both women quieted for a minute remembering Naomi’s longest boyfriend, the one she’d met in middle school and dated until two years ago. He’d gone from goofy and harmless to an obsessive near-stalker. It took Naomi moving back in with her grandmother to finally shake him off her trail.
“Because that’s how the relationship is. I realized that just before coming over here.” She told Kristy about the exchange with Charlotte, and the subsequent conversation with Marvin in the parking lot. “I’ve only known that man a month. Before meeting him, we both had a life. We’re in a competition, and who knows what will happen once it’s over. And just for the record, before you beat me to it, yes, I’ve already imagined happily-ever-after and how it would be with his last name.”
“Which is?”
“Carter.”
“Wow, that’s close. You’d only have to change three letters. Wouldn’t even have to get new documents, just use white-out or an eraser or something.”
“You’re a fool, Tee.”
“You too, Nay.”
Kristy picked up the container of food and resumed eating. “I just want to say this one thing. If you lose, don’t get mad at me, because I’m not going to stop eating at the Soul Spot. And I will be visiting his truck.”
“I’ll probably be with you, cousin. It’s all good.”
* * *
Saturday arrived and with it a new level of anxiety for the remaining contestants. After today, half of those participating will have cooked their last meal. Naomi had overslept and for the first time had arrived at the convention center with only moments to spare. She got a coffee and bagel from the break room and then entered the room where the contestants were prepped before going into the cooking arena. As usual, most of them were clustered in small groups around the room. Many had known each other before the contest. They tended to hang together and not venture too far outside their circle, and also seemed to break down along geographic lines. The Washingtonians and Oregonians and a sprinkling from Colorado and Las Vegas. The Northern Californian Bay Area chefs, the experts in Southern California cuisine and further divided into traditional, modern, those on the cutting edge of molecular gastronomy, and those in the group, like Jeremy, who felt they were in a class all by themselves.
Naomi saw Marvin on the other side of the room, but instead of walking over she joined a group of women sitting near the back row. One of them, a girl named Bridgette, was on last week’s winning team with her and Marvin. Even though they’d had a run-in or two, Naomi liked the cook that Marvin had nicknamed Bridge. She’d worked as a chef for over ten years. Naomi could appreciate Bridgette’s feeling that she shouldn’t have to compete against a non-cook like her. But Bridgette had admitted that someone like Naomi should be easy to beat, and therefore not someone to worry about. Besides, Naomi preferred the enemies who showed their knives, like Bridgette, to the ones who’d offer a compliment while hiding a cleaver, like Abbey. She waved at the women, turned a chair to face them, and sat down.
“Everybody’s so quiet and focused. What’s going on?”
“You didn’t read the board?” one of them asked.
Naomi looked toward the front of the room and a whiteboard where rules, contest changes, and other announcements were posted.
“No. I just got here.”
“Go check it out, rookie,” Bridgette said, with a cocky smile. “No more hiding behind your teammates. We stand on our own two feet today.”
Naomi didn’t make it to the board. One of the producers got everyone’s attention and reiterated what most in the room had already read. Today, there would be two challenges. One involving teams. One individual dish. For the first time since bringing their special containers to that first nerve-racking audition, every cook would have a chance to showcase their talents without having to incorporate the opinions of others. Naomi was both pleased and terrified at the same time.
The producer finished the instructions. Contestants walked into the arena. The usually laid-back Ted, who normally joked with contestants before jumping on stage, was today already standing at the microphone, ready to go, within seconds of the doors being shut. The team challenge was straightforward and much like the others—creative, challenging, and tricky to execute. Four teams of ten were challenged to highlight fried foods and include a dessert. An hour later, one team was eliminated and just like that, ten dreams ended. Those cooks did not get to showcase their individual dishes. Naomi and Marvin weren’t on the same team, but neither of them were on the team that got cut.
Ted then revealed the individual competition. Each cook would have to fix a dish using items found in the pantries of cooks on a budget. Canned food. Pre-seasoned, pre-cooked grains. Frozen vegetables. Dinner in a box. Naomi relaxed. Some people were going home today, but it wouldn’t be her. She’d probably cooked everything the judges had gathered, with a grandmother who could prepare canned food in a way that it almost tasted fresh and fix a boxed mashed potato so well, one would swear that spud came out of the ground. The remaining contestants were told that they’d have two minutes to gather ingredients from the pantry and twenty-five minutes to cook their dish. They were also given a number that corresponded to one of thirty countertop stoves that had been set up for this individual battle. Naomi saw Marvin look over at her with a confident expression. She matched his and raised it ten.
One of the judges raised her hand. “Your time begins . . . right now!”
Thirty determined cooks sprinted toward several pantries. Naomi and Marvin joined the others who pushed, shoved, and grabbed for cans of fruit, vegetables, tomatoes, and soups. Naomi grabbed corn and green beans, hit up two more cabinets and the fridge, then ran to a table filled with cheap dried herbs and spices. Back at her stovetop, she hurriedly placed a pan on the stove, added vegetable oil, and began cubing a less expensive version of a flank steak. She glanced over at Marvin, two stations and one row ahead of her, who had a bag of chicken wings.
&
nbsp; “Marvin!” He looked over. “I see you went the easy route,” she said, for once being the first one to get in a dig.
“What do you have?”
“Steak.”
He chuckled. “Good luck with getting that tender in twenty-five minutes.”
“I won’t need twenty-five,” Naomi confidently responded as she held up a meat mallet. “I can do it in ten and knock some sense into your head.”
Those who heard it laughed at Naomi’s comment, then they all got down to the business of trying to secure their spot on TV. When the dishes were presented, the judges loved Naomi’s hearty beef stew. They raved about Marvin’s inventive chicken wings à la king, a deconstructed version of the classic dish where a creamy, well-seasoned concoction of noodles and veggies was topped with perfectly crisp drumettes.
“I wanted to not like this dish,” one of the fussier, Michelin-starred judges told Marvin. “I found the thought of having to eat the chicken with my hands as opposed to the classical one-dish presentation was off-putting.” He paused, smiled. “But, man, that chicken was so gosh-darn good, I would have eaten it with toes, if necessary.”
Ten cooks were eliminated, including Zen and others who’d become friends. The mood became more somber with each elimination, and this time when Marvin and Naomi headed to the parking lot, there was little joking.
“And then there were twenty,” Marvin quietly said.
“Yep, and after next week there will only be ten.”
“And then it’s showtime.” He put a friendly arm around her. “Good luck.”
Naomi looked over, expecting to see a smirk to show that he was joking. But he wasn’t. He was serious.
“Thanks. Good luck to you, too.”
The two became quiet, as a similar thought ran through each of their minds. By luck, skill, or miracle, perhaps all three, they both were still standing. They both had a shot at winning. But there could only be one. Both could feel the keys to the food truck in their hand, and the money in their pocket.
22
Naomi reached the double doors to the convention center and smoothed a hand over her stomach. She felt flutters and told herself it was nerves from anticipating the final round in the preliminary stage of competition, not from the thought of seeing Marvin again. With Naomi playing nurse to Nana, she hadn’t seen Marvin since last week’s competition. But those nasty text messages they’d exchanged had almost led to pulling out the dildo last night. Naomi had tried not to be bothered by what had happened the week before last at the Soul Spot, but unfortunately Charlotte’s taunting had stayed with her. Who else liked Marvin? Who else might be checking him out? He was a natural flirt, and while he wasn’t an ugly brother, he wasn’t so fine that he was intimidating. An average body, cute face, swagger and charm added up to Marvin being a chick magnet. Which meant that what Charlotte said could be more accurate than Naomi wanted to think. She had confidence, but Naomi was a big girl. She knew there were women who were cuter, slimmer, and more appealing. Did she want to have to constantly compete with that?
