She grinned and wrinkled her nose, then she threw her arms in the air and said, "The Food Network called me last night and I had to pretend I was you! You're a finalist."
He dropped a pie on the floor, stunned. He'd never won a thing in his life.
She handed him a piece of paper and said, "All the information is here. You go on live TV this Saturday night!" She clenched her fists and jumped up and down a few times. She couldn't scream because the old man was still sleeping.
Chance didn't say anything at first, but then he threw his arms around her and they bounced up and down together. One of her slippers came off and she slipped on the pie. She went down, dragging Chance with her, and poor Sarah's ass landed on the pie. Apples and cinnamon shot out and hit the wall, and the back of her robe was a caramel, slushy mess. But they continued to laugh and hug. "I can't believe it," he kept whispering.
Sarah stood up, cleaned apple pie filling off her bathrobe, and said, "He's out there again, you know." She nodded toward the front of the store and sighed.
Chance lowered his eyebrows and tilted his head back. "Who?" As if he didn't know.
"Brody," she said, "He's parked out there right now;,just sitting in that big old car waiting for you to forgive him." She sighed and shook her head a few times.
Chance pressed his lips together and went back to filling pie crust. "He'll get the hint sooner or later. All I want to do is concentrate on winning this competition." He stared at her for a moment, then raised his arms and said, "It's all I have. It's my only way out of this nightmare of a life I'm living."
Brody disappeared Tuesday afternoon and didn't return Wednesday morning. When Chance opened the front door and didn't see Brody's car outside, he slammed the sandwich board sign on the front steps and stomped back to the deli counter. Though he'd gotten what he wanted, Chance felt as if he'd been deserted and discarded and forgotten about, and he banged a few pots and pans louder than usual. While he sliced deli meat for customers, he whispered under his breath, "I'll show him. I'll show them all."
Betty Shack pressed her hand to her throat on Wednesday morning and asked him if he was feeling okay. He didn't smile and joke around like he usually did when he sliced her halfpound of head cheese, and he didn't bother to say thank you when he handed it to her. Mrs. Dolan told Sarah she was worried because Chance hadn't bothered to prepare a special on Thursday. She'd been looking forward to the special of the day, and when she saw the empty wooden bowl she felt compelled to say something to Sarah about this depressing state of affairs. Even the nun noticed that something was wrong with him that week. When he handed her a half-pound of macaroni salad and a quarter-pound of potato salad and forgot to price them, she patted his hand lightly and smiled.
The only one who didn't notice that anything was wrong was Dan Pratta. And that was because he was still so happy that the squirrels hadn't returned from Maryland. He smiled and joked with the customers, and he even told Sarah she looked good in her new white jeans Thursday morning. Of course, Chance had been letting new squirrels go early every morning that week—not because it was funny anymore. He just didn't like to see the squirrels in the cages. Once they submitted to being trapped in cages, they remained perfectly still as if all energy and life had been drained from them. Kind of the way he felt.
On Friday morning when Dan came downstairs, he farted a few times and scratched his ass. Chance took a deep breath and said, "I need to take tomorrow afternoon off. It's something personal that I have to do. I can work until three." This was the first time he'd ever asked for any time off since he'd been there. Maybe he should have approached this differently; begging a little might have helped. But he wasn't in the mood.
Dan poured a cup of coffee, and he stared into the stained mug while he stirred in two packets of sugar. Then he shook his head, and said, "No.
You
can't take off. That's a busy day. If it was something important, like a funeral or even a wedding. But you just can't take off when
you
want." He took a sip and started to walk away.
"This is important, and I'll still be here most of the day," Chance didn't want to go into detail about the recipe contest, but he wanted the old man to see how important this was to him. "I won this recipe contest, with the Food Network. And I have to go to New York tomorrow to compete in the final competition on live TV. The winner receives fifty thousand dollars and a chance to get their own cooking show." When he actually said the words, it began to feel real.
Dan stopped, and then he turned on Chance. His eyes widened and he started laughing as loud as he could. "
You
won't win. That's like gambling on the horses.
You
have a career to think about right here. Cook my specials and stop dreaming about the Food Network. Stick to what you do good: cooking here and showing off that pretty ass." He continued to laugh in Chance's face for a minute, then and laughed all the way out the front door.
On Saturday afternoon, while Dan was talking to Mrs. Dolan about his squirrels, Chance removed his apron and went upstairs to change his clothes. The only good clothes he had were a pair of dressy jeans, a white dress shirt and a black blazer. He was young, with a great body and a handsome face: Anything he wore looked great. It had been raining all day and the market had not been busy. He knew Dan and Sarah could handle things without him for a couple of hours.
But when he went back downstairs with his car keys in his hand, Dan was standing at the end of the deli counter with his arms folded across his chest. The store was empty and Sarah was at the register, pretending not to listen. "Where do
you
think you're going?" He started to tap his foot; he put his hands under his arms and made tight fists.
"I told you, Dan," Chance said. "I'm going to New York. I'll be back tonight." His armpits began to sweat and his hands felt a little shaky. This was the first time he'd ever stood up to Dan about anything.
Dan stared at the wooden floor for a moment, and then looked up at him with fear in his eyes. "If
you
walk out that door now, don't bother to come back,
you.
" His words were clear and cold. He wanted to control Chance completely.
Sarah leaned forward and held the counter for support, as if she hadn't expected the old man to go that far.
"Are you serious?" Chance asked. "I work hard here, and I never complain. I do everything you ask. Not to mention the fact that I've been walking around naked and letting you feel up my ass for the past four years." He wanted Sarah to hear the past part so she could fully comprehend the magnitude of his situation there.
Sarah's mouth fell open and she pressed her hand to her chest.
The old man's face became tight and he squinted. "If
you
walk out that door, don't come back here again." Then he swung his right arm across the top of the deli counter and jars of pickles and horseradish flew across the room. His temper tantrums and scare tactics had always worked well in the past.
But this time, Chance had something better waiting for him. He stepped back, and took a deep breath, turned his back to the old man, crossed the market and walked out the front door. For good.
When he arrived on the set for the final recipe competition at the Food Network, he was glad he'd worn a dark blazer. His armpits were soaked and he had to keep his hands in his pockets so they wouldn't shake. He quietly watched the cameramen prepare for the show, while the director made a few last-minute changes. All of the other contestants were women, and one of the celebrity food judges, Tommy Clay, noticed him immediately. When he saw Chance standing at his cooking station, waiting to prepare his recipe on live TV, he walked over and introduced himself. Of course, Chance was a huge fan and already knew who he was. He reached out to shake his hand as calmly as he could. Tommy Clay looked more like thirty than his real age of forty-five. He was tall and dark and even better-looking in person than he was on television. He had an expensive haircut and a smooth deep voice that was well trained. His eyes were so blue, Chance couldn't help but stare into them. He had to clench his fists to find his voice and speak coherently. It wasn't every day he spoke face to face with the sexiest celebrity chef on TV.
"Are you all set up for the show?" Tommy asked. He stared at him, Chance realized, the way Brody had watched him walk around in the high heels. Tommy's hungry eyes focused on his lips and he kept reaching out and rubbing Chance's arm in a playful way.
"I guess," Chance said. He knew Tommy was flirting. It felt good, too. Especially since he was still so pissed off at Brody for cheating on him.
"I could take you back to my dressing room and give you a few pointers if you like," Tommy said. He smiled and shoved his hands into his pockets. He had a huge bulge in his jeans; Chance could see the outline of his dick, though he tried not to show he saw it. Tommy pushed it forward with his hands in his pockets to show Chance he was well endowed. "We have about an hour before we go on the air."
Chance smiled and stared at him with puppy-dog eyes. Tommy's bulge looked very good, indeed. A few months earlier he probably would have gone back to the dressing room and buried his face between Tommy's legs. But all he said was, "I'd like that very much, Mr. Clay. But I really have to get organized here, and I'm really nervous." He looked down again at Tommy's crotch and wet his lips. It was growing. He would have let Tommy nail him a few months earlier, too. But he couldn't stop thinking about Brody's pitiful, unshaven face, sitting outside in the car. He couldn't stop smelling Brody's unwashed sweatpants. Sometimes, when he swallowed back, he could still taste Brody's balls.
Tommy Clay's eyebrows went up and he stepped back. He wasn't used to being rejected by amateurs. "Ah, well. I'll see you later." He turned his back on Chance and quickly headed back to his dressing room.
As he watched Tommy disappear into the maze of wires and camera equipment, Chance allowed himself a contemptuous whisper ... even though he knew blowing Tommy Clay off like that could have been a huge mistake. Tommy had only been paying him a compliment. But after all the time he'd spent bowing to Dan Pratta's rules, not to mention walking around naked to keep a roof over his head, he was ready to take the lasagna pan and crack it over Tommy Clay's expensive haircut. There he was, preparing a recipe for lasagna that he'd been working to perfect for so long he didn't even
need
a written recipe, and the only thing Tommy Clay cared about was getting into his pants. It occurred to him briefly that he still had time to follow Tommy back to the dressing room and make amends.
But he didn't do that.
Instead, he took a deep breath and smiled at a young woman passing by his cooking station, then he lowered his head to the counter and started to organize his ingredients. As he lined the carrots, celery and onions beside the French knife, his hands were a little shaky and his mouth felt a little dry. He wasn't sure if it was because he was still annoyed at Tommy Clay, or because the magnitude of being on live TV was finally starting to hit him. But when he checked to be sure the pasta machine was attached securely to the counter—he was using his own dough, not store-bought noodles—his hands felt somehow steadier and Tommy Clay quickly began to fade from his thoughts. He took another deep breath and smiled as he double-checked that the beef, pork and veal trio was ready to go into the sautee pan. His hands were perfectly normal now, his heart wasn't racing and his mouth wasn't dry. All the ingredients he needed to prepare his dish, from tomato paste to grated cheese, were lined up in sequential order and ready to be cooked.
And that's when he clenched his fists and told himself that he was going to make this recipe as perfect as humanly possible. And even if he didn't win, his life would still be all about the food.
An hour later, right before they went on the air, Tommy passed by Chance again and Chance said hello. But Tommy turned his head and ignored him this time, and he started talking and flirting with the female contestant to Chance's right. She had long blond hair, huge breasts, and tons of eye makeup that edged her look to very near transvestite. She wore a homespun, fluffy pink dress made of calico, with huge ruffles on the sleeves and around the hem, and an American flag pin on her shoulder. Her recipe was something very sticky and sweet. She was from somewhere in the South and used an extra-thick, forced Southern accent that sounded a bit offensive and fake. She kept saying, "y'all" this, and "y'all that," over and over. Chance took a deep breath and stared down at the oven to be sure it was preheated, and he didn't look up again until Tommy had walked away.
The other contestants were all good, but by the end of the hourlong show, it came down to a decision between Chance and the woman in the pink fluffy dress. Two of the celebrity judges raved about Chance's recipe, and they loved his presentation. They said he was fresh and natural, born to give good, solid cooking instructions, and his family-style approach was very "relevant." The only judge who gave him an unfavorable review was Tommy Clay. He said he thought Chance had a great deal of talent, but that his television persona was "too wooden" and he thought his recipe was too complicated for children. Tommy then gave a rave review to the woman contestant in the pink fluffy dress. He liked the fact that she used a store-bought cake mix, instant pudding and imitation whipped cream. He said her television persona was perfect for the Food Network. He thought she was energetic and perky and adorable. He even complimented her fluffy pink dress and flirted a little. The other judges politely disagreed with him and the show cut to a commercial.
During the commercial, the judges huddled together and spoke quickly. Chance couldn't hear what they were saying, but you could see that fists were pounding and fingers were being pointed. Tommy Clay kept shaking his head no and stepping back. Chance looked across his cooking station and smiled at the woman in the pink dress, just to be a good sport. She gave him a very dirty look and fluffed the ruffles on her sleeves. This girl, he realized, was out to win no matter what it took, and she wasn't there to make friends.
He knew how that felt, really. He was here to win too.
He crossed his fingers and looked up to the ceiling. His entire life was resting on this one decision, a decision that was completely out of his hands. It occurred to him that he probably should have sucked Tommy Clay off in the dressing room after all. But he didn't want to win that way. He wanted to win because he was the best.