Dex (4 page)

“Hi,” Jerry muttered, as Dex ignored him. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know you. But my mom wanted me to ask you something.”

Dex was confused and too busy hating Hunter to say anything. But, Jerry remained a man on a mission.

“Uh, okay,” he said, taking out a slip of paper from his front shirt pocket.

Jerry began to read:

“Could you make her a grilled A-high tuna sandwich with orange and cranberry relish on a bree-o-chee? For tomorrow?”

“Make a what for who?” Dex suddenly realized this was a business transaction.

Jerry handed him the note.

“Oh, Ahi tuna on a brioche. Sure.” Dex typed a reminder on his phone, too engrossed to notice Sarah watching the conversation. “Your mom is Susanne. Tell her I say ‘hi.’ She’s great.”

Jerry blushed, nodded, and left as quickly as his legs would allow. Dex was typing another note on his phone when Sarah appeared.

“You make stuff like that?” she asked.

Dex jumped not expecting Sarah to be right there. He turned toward her and stared for a moment speechless.

“That’s nothing,” Kyle boasted, hoping to help ease the awkwardness of the moment.

“Dex makes the beeeeh-st white chocolate chip cookies on the planet!”

“True. But my favorite is still his chocolate peanut butter brownies.” Liza sighed and licked her lips.

Dex sat there listening to his praises but was once again too love struck to speak.

“Aren’t you in my International Cooking class?” Sarah asked.

“Uh-Yeah.” Dex tried not to sound insulted. “We just made challah together. Remember?”

“Oh right. That was you. We’re for sure getting an ‘A’ on those challahs. I got a ‘D’ on my apple tart in Ms. Hofpoodle’s class. That’s kind of why I transferred out.”

“I think it’s Hofnagel,” Dex said, immediately sorry he corrected her.

“Whatev. We should so be partners again.” Sarah turned and started walking away.

“Yeah definitely,” Dex said, loudly enough to make sure she heard him.

Okay, so she was kind of indifferent, some might even say a little mean. But Dex was hoping that with a little encouragement he wouldn’t be a ‘who-dat’ for very long.

CHAPTER fiv
E

Dex stood in front of the school kicking a rock oddly wedged between two squares of the sidewalk. His grandmother was supposed to pick him up so they could grocery shop for tonight, but she had texted that she was running a little late. It was okay, he was glad to have a few minutes to himself considering how frustrating the day had been. What if Jordy and Liza were right? What if Sarah would always forget that she and Dex were cooking partners? The thought made him cringe. It wasn’t in his nature to give up without trying, but like the dumb rock stuck deep in the sidewalk, no matter how hard he could kick it, some things weren’t worth the effort.

Geema’s car, an aging, blue Honda Accord, pulled up as Dex was about to take another crack at the rock. Just as well, he thought. It probably would have done
nothing but ripped my sneaker.

Geema smiled at him through the window.

“School alright?” she asked as he took the passenger’s seat.

“Yeah. Got an A on my Italian test.”

There was no way he was going to tell his grandmother that he was a loser who had a crush on someone else’s girlfriend.

“Molto bene, ragazzo. Poppy would be so proud!”

For a Jew, Geema could do a surprisingly believable Italian accent.

“Is Alicia home yet?” Dex asked, anxiously.

“No. Your mom is picking her up before the commercial shoot.”

“I’m glad she’s back.” Dex started going through tonight’s menu in his head.

“Yeah, we all are. Three months is a long time to be away.” Geema patted his hand like she was glad he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I can’t believe she got to bring Bobby Flay a latte!”

#

Entrée, the upscale neighborhood supermarket, was less crowded than usual. Dex and Geema breezed through the aisles, consulting the flyer not to miss any specials.

“Ooo-there’s a sale on fresh pickled herring in the appetizing department!” Geema exclaimed as Dex put his finger in his mouth to gag.

“Fine. I’ll go get it,” she said, walking away. “You get the bread.”

Dex agreed but couldn’t resist a quick trip to the ‘taste-testing counter,’ the launching pad for new products the store was adding to their inventory. Sometimes there were only a couple of things to try out, but other times it was possible to make a meal of the choices. Last time he was there he found a French herb goat cheese that he knew would pair beautifully with his baked vegetable loaf, and now the new ‘ParisianVeggie’ panini was on its way to becoming a best seller.

Dex’s thoughts shifted to the time Poppy received a larger shipment of ground lamb than he was expecting. Dex just assumed he would make sausages, a staple at the restaurant, but Poppy suggested they make ground lamb meatballs in a minty béchamel sauce. Without even thinking, Dex had let out a BLECCHH that made Poppy chuckle. There was no way that combination could work. But Poppy insisted that all the flavors would come together over a subtle rice pilaf. “Intuition plus inspiration,” Poppy had told him. “That’s what takes a morsel and makes it a meal.” Of course, as usual, Poppy was right. He had a way of making the impossible delicious.

Dex was getting hungry and wondered what kinds of samples he would find today, but there was nothing but a ‘back next week’ sign on the counter. Great. Dex felt a jolt of panic. It would suck if that’s the way the evening would go. He wanted Alicia’s welcome home party to make her feel happy to be home. Three months was a long time and Dex had missed her more than he had anticipated. It might have been different if they had to share a bathroom, but since they didn’t, he was anxious to have her back where she belonged, helping him make sense out of middle school. A blast from a speaker overhead brought him back.

“Good afternoon shoppers! Our fresh-out-of-the-oven garlic and onion boards are now on sale in the bakery department.”

And suddenly he remembered he had forgotten about the bread.

The bakery counter wasn’t that busy, but the stocky man with blonde spiky hair behind the counter was. He was sorting rolls in big boxes and transferring several at a time into large plastic bags.

“Hey, can I get some service here!” Dex bellowed.

Vince Rossi turned around grinning and tossed Dex a roll.

“And how can I help you, young man?”

“Very funny Dad. I’m here to pick up the bread,” Dex said, taking an approving bite.

“I know. Geema called me.” Vince grabbed a large bag from the corner. “I threw in a couple of boards. Maybe make a nice babaganoush or tapenade to go with ‘em?”

Vince wasn’t a chef but he enjoyed food and usually had creative ideas.

Dex took the bag and was immediately weighed down on one side. He was glad his father didn’t seem to notice.

A lady who looked like a giant pear walked up to the counter.

“I got to get back to work,” Vince said. “Listen, have fun cooking.”

Dex went down a few aisles looking for his grandmother. He found her in the soups, gravies, and sauces aisle and was happy to see room in the wagon for the bread. A jar of PRESTO’S PESTO caught Dex’s eye.

“Geema, we should try this stuff. Preston LeTray is an awesome chef.”

Golda looked at the jar, let out a small sigh, and put the jar back on the shelf. “I think he’s doing fine without our business.”

#

“Where’s Preston?” the director shouted as he nervously paced the floors of the Eatz Network studio. “There’s no time for games. I was just told Paula Deen is on Kosher Cooking with Cassie tonight. We have to shoot this commercial and get out of here.”

“I know,” said one of the cameramen, “Preston should be here by now.”

There were some mumbled complaints from the crew as they mulled about the big studio space making sure everything for the commercial was in place. Marla stood near the end of the large granite counter checking the controls on the microwave as one of the food stylists was prepping a plate of spaghetti. If it weren’t for all the cameras, wires and people, the kitchen, with its white wood cabinets, dark granite counters, and hardwood flooring, looked like it belonged in a house instead of a huge office building.

Alicia pulled a small compact out of her back-pack to check her make-up. Marla had picked her up at the airport over two hours ago and she was sure her blush had faded along with her lip gloss. Not bad, Alicia thought as her magnified image revealed more color than she had anticipated. It had been a while since she had been to the Eatz studio on a shoot with her mother, and even though she didn’t remember a soul, she still wanted to look good. In L.A., there hadn’t been one girl her age who didn’t carry make-up, perfume, and a hair-straightener at all times.

She threw her bag over her shoulder and took a seat away from the action. The last thing she wanted to do was distract her mother, especially since Marla confided that it had been months since she had been on an assignment.

“He’s here,” the sound engineer announced.

Preston LeTray strolled in as if he owned the network and the building. His nose was pointed toward the ceiling and his face was scrunched like he was sniffing sour milk. A production assistant tried to get his attention, but he went unnoticed. Preston’s eyes focused on Marla who was busy setting up the dishes, but as he walked past he disregarded her and gave the director a strong tap on the shoulder.

“Where’s Amber?” Preston demanded.

“Amber’s home with her new puppy. He’s teething,” the director said, stacking the last dish. “Marla, I need you over here.”

“And whhhhyyyy does this concern us?” Preston squawked.

“The dumb dog used Amber’s finger as a chew toy. Luckily, we found Marla.” He checked on the mics. “Listen Preston, we don’t have all night. Just get your juice box or whatever junk you’re drinking and get ready to roll.”

Preston ignored the statement and grabbed a script lying on the counter.

“Nice to see you too, Preston,” Marla said dryly.

“It
is
nice to see you.” Preston’s eyes barely peered out from behind the pages. “I just wasn’t expecting to.” He walked away quickly.

Alicia couldn’t hear what was said from where she was sitting, but for the brief moment her face wasn’t in her iPhone she caught Preston scowling at her mother. "Creep," she said to herself. Marla was one of the easiest people in the world to get along with. If he had a problem with her, it had to be his fault. Alicia was about to investigate further when the director called for everyone to take their places.

Marla was the first one ready neatly tucked behind the counter, the cameras only as high as her waist. It bothered Alicia that her mother never got to have the real spotlight. Every shot in every commercial was always the same; Marla’s beautiful, expressive hands displaying a product. Alicia couldn’t understand how her mother could find satisfaction in a career that focused on having snipped cuticles and freshly polished fingernails. But Marla had reminded her numerous times that she was content with her freelance career and that being a wife and mother was more important to her than any job could ever be.

Marla didn’t like being the center of attention. She enjoyed meeting people on shoots and going places without being recognized. Alicia hadn’t thought about it much, but maybe she wasn’t really that different from her mother that way. She liked the idea of being a film maker, the one behind the camera, choosing what was important. When she was in L.A., Alicia saw on a daily basis how shallow people could be, overly concerned about how they looked instead of passionate about how they felt. At nineteen, she didn’t necessarily want everyone to know it, but she was glad to be home.

Preston paraded back into the studio carrying the script under his left arm and two large bottles of water. He took a long swig from one of the bottles, and put everything on a prop table near the set. Seizing a moment the director was consulting with one of the sound engineers, Preston quickly mopped his sweaty brow with a cloth he retrieved from his pants pocket and took his spot.

The director shouted for silence. “And, action!”

Marla’s hands displayed the “Spaghetti”, “Linguini”, “Bowtie”, and “Elbow” varieties of the product in steam-bag packages as Preston began to narrate.

My grandmother, Nonna Teresa, didn’t just make pasta. She made magic. Now, I’m bringing my family’s special secret recipe to your dinner table. For the first time, you can have Presto’s Pesto, any time, any place, with Presto’s Pesto Dinners, in convenient, microwavable packages.

The whole time Preston spoke Marla’s hands, and only her hands, were busy demonstrating how to prepare his product. First, putting a package in the microwave. Then, closing the oven door and pushing the settings. After, emptying the contents into a bowl and rubbing her satisfied stomach as Preston concluded:

So remember, on your next trip to the market plan your next trip to Italy with Presto’s Pesto Dinners. It’s even better than your Nonna’s!