by Zuri Day
“Nobody will take care of you like your own folk. Isn’t that what you used to tell me?”
“Sometimes you can’t believe everything you hear.”
“Nana, you’re a mess.”
“I’m serious, Naomi. I want you to go to that final and I want you to win. That’s what will make me feel better. Knowing that my granddaughter is a business owner. What do you kids say? A boss!”
“There’s plenty of time to get a truck, Nana. I’m still going to reach that goal. It’ll just take a little longer.” Naomi watched her grandmother try to rise from the chair. She hurried over.
“Nana, where are you going?”
“I need to make a call.”
“I’ll bring the phone to you.”
“This is a private matter. I need to pray with someone.”
* * *
On Sunday, Naomi told Nadine she’d go to church with her. When Nadine said she wasn’t going, Naomi’s worry spiked. Nadine Evelyn Alberts Carson did not miss church. For the rest of the day, she was Nana’s shadow—making sure she took her medication, checking for signs of pain. By ten o’clock that night Nadine ordered Naomi out of her bedroom. When Sunday came and Nana wasn’t an angel, Naomi relaxed. A sense of normalcy slowly began to return to the house.
Aside from taking care of her grandmother, Naomi enjoyed being off from work. She saw Kristy more. They talked almost daily, the way it used to be. Even though 75 percent of the conversation was about Kristy’s pregnancy, not telling Gary, and Naomi trying to convince her to tell the baby daddy, she’d missed that closeness. The two women were like sisters. They loved each other to the moon and back. But life had gotten in the way, and without either of them realizing it, they’d drifted apart. Naomi hadn’t realized how she missed Kristy’s daily interaction until now. A couple times, in the quiet moments, she questioned her decision to drop out of the contest. Kristy thought she was crazy, and when she considered how winning might have changed her life, she wasn’t sure Kristy was wrong. She felt disappointment at not finishing what she started, even a little regret. But she wouldn’t allow herself a full-on pity party. She’d made her decision. There was no going back.
On Wednesday morning, Naomi’s relative peace was interrupted by loud knocking on the door. She was in the kitchen, separating eggs for a cheese and vegetable soufflé, and didn’t appreciate whoever it was who’d come unannounced. Grabbing a dish towel, she wiped her hands as, halfway to the door, the insistent banging happened again.
“Hold on!” Naomi yelled, not caring that her anger showed. Whoever was hammering on their door like they were the popo was getting ready to get a piece of her mind. She almost yanked open the door without checking the peephole, but thinking it actually might be the police, decided to check it out. She stepped up and looked through it. Her eyes opened, as her mouth dropped. Sure that she was seeing things, she stepped up and looked again.
“Do you want to take a picture?” a voice bellowed, as loud and demanding as Naomi’s had been. “Or do you want to act like someone with some sense and open this door!”
Naomi turned the knob and opened the door. A crowd of Carters stood just outside the locked screen door. Naomi didn’t recognize all of the faces, but the ones she’d met—Barry, Anita, Cynthia, Marvin of course, and the unforgettable Liz—were all smiling widely, waiting to be let in.
Unlocking the screen door, she again found her voice. “What are all of you doing here?”
“Let us in and we’ll tell you.” Once inside, Liz put her hand on an ample hip. “A little birdie chirped some news in my ear that I could not believe. They said that you dropped out of the food truck contest because you didn’t think there was anybody who could take care of your grandmother better than you.”
Naomi’s eyes narrowed as she honed in on Marvin.
He lifted his hands while shaking his head. “It wasn’t me.”
“Is it true?” Liz asked.
“Yes, ma’am. And I’m sure that little birdie told you why. My grandmother was rushed to the ER last week and underwent surgery.”
“She got a pacemaker implant, not a heart transplant.” Liz relaxed her stance. “Baby, it is admirable that you’d give up everything to take care of your grandmother. In your shoes, I’d hope to do the same thing. But I’ve seen you in the kitchen. I’ve tasted your food. We laughed and partied on the Fourth just like we were family. And what families do, is help each other out. So I told that birdie to not worry about a thing, that I was going to round up some folk to be on twenty-four-seven watch this coming Saturday, while you compete in that contest . . . to take second place,” she finished, laughing. Everyone joined in. “I’m sorry, darling, but my son’s got to win that money!”
As others laughed and high-fived, Naomi let the tears from Liz’s words roll down her face. She’d never felt so much genuine love from so many people in the same room, at the same time. In a moment of spontaneity, she reached over and hugged Liz tightly. They rocked back and forth, kissed, and hugged again.
“I can’t even believe y’all are standing here, let alone that you would volunteer to help me out. But it’s too late. The producers needed an answer so they could replace me, and I’m pretty sure they did.”
“They didn’t,” Marvin said. “And yes, I am the guilty party in that. After you talked to Tracy, she called me, really upset that you were dropping out. I told her not to worry about anything. That I had this situation under control. Carter control, baby.”
He stepped forward, pulled Naomi into his arms. “Didn’t I tell you that I got you?”
Naomi couldn’t answer for crying, just buried her head in his shirt.
“We’ve all got you, baby,” Liz said. The others gathered around.
Naomi regained her composure and lifted her head. “Alright then. I want to thank all of y’all for helping me be able to go and kick Marvin’s behind. Because ain’t nobody driving off with that truck but me!”
“Ah, here we go,” Marvin said, before being drowned out by everybody giving their opinion.
Naomi looked over at Nana, whose eyes were beaming. She walked over and hugged her grandmother.
“Are you the little birdie?” she whispered.
“Maybe.” Nadine smiled. “The main thing to remember is that prayer changes things.”
31
Marvin walked from the living room to the kitchen and back for no reason. A combination of nerves and excitement made it hard to sit still. Today was the culmination of everything that had happened over the past couple months and more. The one for all the marbles. The finals taping, one that came with a twist none of the finalists saw coming. It wouldn’t take place in the cooking arena. The contestants would be challenged to put their skills to the test by cooking in actual food trucks for real-life customers. In a video sent by email three days ago, the cooks had been instructed to recruit and bring up to three assistants to help them shop, prep, and cook for the crowds who’d be in and around LA Live, the sports and entertainment area surrounding the Staples Center. Marvin imagined the event had been marketed, and expected a crush of people in front of his truck. It felt intimidating and empowering all at once. He’d literally be cooking for his life, the kind of life he wanted. One where he took the reins and made the rules.
Because of the limited space, Marvin had decided on having only two assistants and felt good about his menu and the team he’d assembled. Most of the assistance would be prep work anyway, things he could take care of before the crowd arrived. Soul Spot coworker Janet was his first pick. Choosing her was a no-brainer. She wasn’t technically trained as a cook, but she followed directions and was a team player. As for the second assistant he’d selected, well, he’d have to wait and see.
Marvin looked over as his number two came around the corner and into the living room. “It’s about time,” he chided, looking at his watch. “You ready, Mama?”
“I thought I was, but now it looks like I need more time.”
Marvin huffed. “To do what
?”
“Beat your ass for getting smart. It don’t matter what we’re getting ready to do, boy. I’m going to be your mama all day long. Okay?”
“Okay, Mama. Put your gun down.” Marvin walked over and gave her a kiss. They walked out the front door toward Marvin’s freshly washed and shining SUV.
“You look nice,” he said.
“Uh-huh. You’d better try and get back in my good graces. Before I take revenge by sneaking a cup of salt into your cake batter.”
“Ha! With fifty G’s on the line? I don’t think so.”
Liz looked over. “I don’t either.” She pulled her seat belt over and buckled it. “Speaking of, remember what I told you.”
“About what?”
“About what I get when you win.”
He frowned, glanced over at her as he pulled out of the drive. “What do you get?”
“Half.”
“Half of what?”
“Your winnings, boy, what else?”
“How do you figure?”
“By using division and dividing by two.”
“So I work my behind off for weeks, you come in and assist for a day, and you get half?”
“Spent nine hours in labor to bring you here. Hard hours. And four stitches. So yeah, sounds about right.”
Marvin shook his head and turned on the radio. He had no comeback for that.
They arrived at the convention center to organized chaos. Traffic was backed up. Cars were everywhere. Barriers created by orange cones and police cars parked sideways streamlined and forced the traffic into one of two options, to turn right or left. A sign straight ahead read OFFICIAL PARKING ONLY. Marvin inched forward and, after showing the officer the parking label included in the packet he’d received, was directed into the parking structure. He’d arrived early, but still had to go to the third tier before finding a parking space.
He turned off the car and looked at Liz. “You ready, Mama?”
“Are you ready? That’s the real question.”
“I guess so.”
Liz placed a hand on his arm. “You’ve got to know so, son. I tease you a lot and give you a hard time, but this is serious now, all jokes aside. I believe in you, Marvin, always have. You’re a better cook than me—”
“Ah, Mama—”
“You are now. You’re one of the best cooks I know, and have cooked some of the best food I’ve ever eaten. Ain’t nobody down there who can cook better than you can. Remember that, and this competition is yours to lose.”
Marvin cleared his throat, suddenly tight with emotion. “Thank you, Mama. I appreciate it.”
“Win that contest and give me half of the cash. That’ll be all the thanks I need.”
Marvin chuckled and shook his head as he walked around the vehicle to open the passenger door, glad his sassy mama had returned. Her heartfelt words nearly brought him to tears, the last thing he needed. Today he needed to be able to keep his focus on winning, his nerves under control and his emotions in check. Later would be plenty of time for tears . . . happy ones, he hoped.
Marvin and his mom walked to the side of the convention center and the door where he was supposed to check in. Once there, he was greeted by one of the production assistants, who directed them down a hall that led to VIP parking next door to the building. Marvin stepped through the exit and froze, not expecting the scene before him. Ten colorfully decorated food trucks were lined up in a row. His truck, Sweet Cakes, was on the end to the right. He quickly scanned the row and saw that Naomi’s truck, the Savory Slice, was parked next to the last truck on the opposite end. So taken by the trucks he almost missed seeing the large white tent erected just beyond them. Several technicians were laying cable and setting up microphones on the stage while another group set up white wooden chairs.
“You’re not going to get any cooking done on these steps, son,” Liz said softly. “And I need to find some air-conditioning before this chocolate starts melting.”
Her words spurred Marvin down the steps and over to the group of participants already there. Naomi wasn’t one of them, but Marvin introduced Liz and Janet to the other contestants and met their assistants. Naomi finally arrived and introduced her aunt Lisa and a coworker, Shelly, to everyone. Tracy arrived with a group of production assistants, a variety of colored T-shirts for all of the contestants and their guests, and a list of instructions that sent the group into an organized frenzy of slicing, dicing, and other food truck prep. When their hour of prep time was over, the ten contestants were called to the stage. Special guests, including some previous contestants, were among the hundred or so of those seated, with several hundred customers just beyond the cordoned-off area waiting for the trucks to be opened for business. A film crew scurried about, reminding Marvin that the finals would be recorded and aired later in the year on Chow TV. He stopped next to Naomi, whom he’d noticed had been unusually quiet.
“Everything okay, sunshine?”
“What happened to Juicy?”
“They’ve got you in my favorite color, and you’re rocking that yellow, I might add. It reminds me of the first time you came to the Spot.”
Naomi shrugged and looked away.
“You alright?”
“As much as I’m going to be until this is over. I wanted Nana to be here but . . . she’s back home praying for me.”
“So you’re nervous.”
“Yes.”
“Wow, I didn’t expect you to admit it.”
Naomi looked up then, and around her at those listening nearby. “Oh, did you think I meant about beating you? No, I’m nervous because I’ve never held a fifty-thousand-dollar check before.”
Marvin laughed, along with the others. “What are you serving?”
“Five types of slices, including a breakfast slice made on toast and my pork-u-pine original, served on a biscuit-dough crust.”
“No sides?”
Naomi shook her head. “I decided to keep it simple and focus on the name of the dish. What about you?”
“My thinking was along those same lines, and also what would be easy for people to hold and eat. So I came up with a couple different breakfast cupcakes served with jelly . . .” He waited for Naomi’s reaction.
“You stole my idea!”
He wasn’t disappointed. “You inspire me, girl.”
“If you win, I want ten. At least.”
Marvin didn’t get a chance for a comeback. Ted, Da Chen, and a couple other celebrity chefs took the stage. The final ten contestants were introduced, each wearing a different colored T-shirt emblazoned with the name of their truck. The crowd watched Da Chen instruct the cooks, then listened carefully as Ted told them how the winner would be decided.
“Your presence here today is very important,” he said, with a boyish charm. “A third of the vote will come from the judges. A third will be based on the cook’s overall performance during the entire competition. And a third of the deciding vote will come from you, the buying public, based on which truck makes the most money combined with who gets the highest points for having the best food.”
Da continued his instructions. Marvin hardly heard a word. His mind was back in the food truck where Janet and Liz continued to prep. Are they overcooking the sausage? Cutting the slab bacon too thin? And what about the dough for the cinnamon squares? Did Janet remember to punch it down for the second rising? And what should I do about her observation that buyers might think we only have dessert?
When Marvin’s attention returned to what Da was saying, all he heard was, “Your time starts . . . now!”
The contestants ran to their trucks with only thirty minutes of cook time before service began for the large, hungry crowd. They’d only have two hours of service, so Marvin knew he had to sell as much as he could as quickly as possible. The assistants he’d chosen made him feel a little better. Because of Janet and Liz, he could cook twice as fast. His mother had suggested passing out samples. Brilliant idea. Marvin knew his omelet cupcakes would cook
quickly and slid several tins of them into the oven along with the cinnamon roll recipe he’d turned into cinnamon squares. By the time the crowd began milling around them, they had several round platters filled with samples and Liz’s booming voice encouraged them over for a taste. The minutes flew by. The line never stopped. Ted kept them informed of the time remaining.
“One hour left! Down to thirty minutes! Only ten minutes remaining!”
Ted started the countdown and the crowd joined in. “Ten, nine . . . three, two, one. That’s it! No more customers, no more sales. The Food Truck Bucks contest is over!”
Marvin threw up his hands, almost light-headed from the heat, the pressure, the dizzying pace. His mother grabbed him for a bear hug. He and Janet high-fived. All of them were sweaty and giddy with exhaustion. Janet and Liz walked to the tent and took the seats that had been reserved for the participants’ helpers.
Da Chen stepped to the microphone and added his congratulations. “Let’s hear it for the final top ten as they make their way to the stage.”
Marvin exited the truck, grabbing a towel and wiping away sweat. Until seconds ago, his focus was food. But now he looked for Naomi. She looked as tired as he felt, but still offered a quick, dimpled grin that made his heart flip-flop. It was going to really be a shame if he won and broke her heart. He doubted the wound could be healed with a simple sweet treat. Before those thoughts could dampen his spirits, the participants all converged on each other, hugging and high-fiving as they neared the stage. He reached the steps and waited to give Naomi a special hug.
“This is it, Juicy. How do you think you did?”
“We’re getting ready to find out,” she muttered as they continued up the stairs.
The assistants were introduced. They waved from the audience. Marvin was stoked to share the moment with Liz. The celebrity judges came onstage and were interviewed by Myra Montague, a former model who’d turned a popular vlog into one of Chow TV’s top cooking shows. Two of LA’s top food truck chefs shared a story or two from their time on the streets. Marvin understood that along with it being the final competition, they were producing a show. He also knew the producers needed time to tally the results. None of this made him or the other contestants any less anxious for this to be over and the winner announced. All they wanted was to know who won. All Marvin wanted was to hear his name.
