Kitchen Trouble

Kitchen Trouble

Sara Hooper

Copyright © 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Copyright © 2012

I’ve always had a passion for cooking, ever since my grandmother passed down her knowledge to the only grand child that seemed to have any interest in the complexities of food. My grandmother often said that all food needs that extra little bit to make it stand out. I thought she meant love, but apparently it was various spices and she was the reason why I took up cooking in the first place. Funny, that is how I met Mark my ex boyfriend. We got together through some friends just after high school at a cooking expo.

Mark was the one who encouraged me to go to culinary school. Ironically, it was my long hours in classes and then in my first job as an apprentice that tore us apart. I couldn’t really blame him, because he was right, but he knew that the long hours came with the career. Anyway, that was six months ago and I don’t think I could’ve gotten through it without my best friend Peter.

I still remember the first day I introduced Peter to my grandmother Cecilia. It didn’t go well. She didn’t like white people and she especially didn’t like white people in her kitchen. She tolerated his presence because I asked her to. She was always doing things like that. She lived in the past and couldn’t forget certain horrible memories that highlighted the racial issues her family had to deal with growing up. She would not comprehend how I could actually get along with fair-skinned Peter.

Peter is standing across from me and is waiting for his Spaghetti Bolognese. I have now been the head chef of Frankie’s for the past 3 months, but I’m starting to think that I might want to strike out on my own.

It’s after hours and no one is here, but Peter and me. I asked him to come as I previously mentioned that I needed is advice. I took the plate of food out to him and he immediately started to eat.

“Maria, you make the best spaghetti of all time.” He never orders anything else, no matter how many times I’ve told him about the specials, he would always order the spaghetti.

“Peter, I asked you here to get your opinion on something. I’ve only been a chef here for the last 3 months, but I’m starting to feel restless. I know it’s early in my career, but I’ve been seriously considering taking the next step and opening my own place.” He stops eating and puts down his fork. I can tell that he is about to be brutally honest with me and that’s why I love him. He’s the one person besides my grandmother who would tell me exactly what he thinks.

“First of all, I think you owning your own restaurant is a great idea. I’ve always raved about you to my friends and family. Now, that being said, are you sure this isn’t something that you want to do because of Mark. I know how he hurt you, and this might be your way of showing him he was wrong.”

“I’ve never thought about it like that, but I don’t think about him at all.” He looks at me skeptically and then smiles and puts his hand on mine.

“Ok, if that’s true, then I will support you with whatever you need, besides money that is. You know I haven’t been working much with the economy and all, but I think things might be turning around. I have an interview with a contractor tomorrow, so I’m keeping my fingers crossed that I get hired for the foreman’s position. If I make it, I’ll be locked into a 4 year project, with the possibility of more after.”

“I think that’s great Peter, but can I make a suggestion without you biting my head off?”

“I can’t promise that, you know that Mar, but you know I’ll always listen.” He was right, he does always listen, but more times than not, he usually does his own thing anyway.

“I think it might be time to shave that god awful beard and cut the long hair. I can give you the name of the woman who does my hair and I’m sure that she would fit you in for me.” Peter scratches his beard and seems to be giving it some thought.

“I thought you liked my rough exterior. You said it showed that I wasn’t willing to compromise and went my own way.”

“I’m not saying that you can’t go back to it, but most companies react better to the clean cut look, instead of the hippie wannabe.” I could tell he was put off by my statement, but I think deep down he knew that I was just trying to be a good friend.

“You can make the appointment for me, but I can’t promise that I’ll show up.” I got up and phoned Zee to get him in tomorrow morning before the interview. Her real name is Zelda, but she has always been known as Zee. Her shop was even called Zee Best Hair. I never fully understood why, but it seemed to draw the clientele right into her door.

“Sure boo, I can fit your friend in. Is this the hunky guy that is practically stuck to your hip?” She only said that because Peter would attend all the functions with me. Whether, it was a wedding, or Christmas Party, Peter was always ready with a smile to join me.

“Yeah that’s him.”

“I’ve never understood why you two never got together. I know for a fact that I’ve never heard you mention him ever having a girlfriend. He isn’t your gay friend is he?” Come to think of it, I’ve never seen him with a girl. I’ve always seen him as being a big brother who was always just there when I needed him. I can’t even remember a time when he wasn’t there, providing me a shoulder to lean on.

“No, I don’t think he’s gay and besides we’re just friends.”

“Maybe, while I have him in the chair, I’ll do a little digging and see what his deal is.”

“Don’t go making him uncomfortable. If you do, he’ll never come back.” Zee was pretending that she didn’t hear me and hung up before I could get another sentence out.

I went back to the table and found that Peter had finished off the spaghetti and was now drinking a glass of red wine.

“Zee, will see you tomorrow when she first opens. You’ll recognize her by the bustier tops she wears and her long dreadlocks. Do you think I should get dread locks? They seem to be quite the trend these days.” He put his hand into my hair and ran it through to the other side.

“You already look beautiful, all dreadlocks would do is make it hard to wash your hair and make you look Jamaican. Then you’ll have to start saying ‘Hey Mon’ and no one needs that.” I punched him in the arm and we laughed together. He downed his wine and left, he had to get home to feed his cat Socrates.

Let’s see, he’s good looking in the beat nick way, no girlfriend, lives alone, has a cat and his best friend is a woman whomeets him every Sunday for Mimosas and brunch. Was it possible that he was my gay friend?

I was driving home when fate lent a hand to my decision to open my own place. There was this old restaurant called Mony Mony and there was a ‘For sale’ sign hanging on its dusty showcase window. Apparently, the owner of the place loved the singer Billy Idol and opened the restaurant with only foods that Billy loved. I could’ve told him that it wouldn’t work. People were getting away from kitschy places with motives, and more now into fine dining and fancy plates.

My foot hit the brakes and I rolled into the parking lot. There were plenty of parking spaces in the front. What I could tell, just from looking outside, the building seemed to have a good foundation. I looked through the window and saw that it could comfortably fit up to at least 75 persons. I could see the kitchen from where I was, and it was one of those diner types, so the patrons could see you cook. That would be the first thing I’d change. I’d also changed the name and bring my grandmother’s recipes to the locals. Look at me, already deciding changes when the place wasn’t even mine yet. I found myself skipping back to the car with a little lift in my step.

The next day, I called the realtor for the place and found out that it would cost 300 thousand dollars. I’ve been saving and I have a small inheritance after my father and mother died when I was young. That was when Peter came into my life. However, I just couldn’t picture exactly how we met. I would have to ask him someday. I had a feeling that he would remember all the specific details. It was just the kind of guy he was.

Calculations proved fruitless, since I would need a little more than fifty grand to make it work. I was sure that I could negotiate the price, but it certainly wouldn’t take it down to where I needed it to be. Then I had to think about how much I would need for renovations, marketing and the inventory to start the place. I was looking at a total capital of 325 thousand dollars minimum. All I had was 250 at the most.

Work that day was hell, but I just kept picturing myself owning that restaurant and it brought a smile to my face. Would the previous owner even take me seriously with my petite 5 foot 2, 120 lb body and the fact that I didn’t have experience? I knew I shouldn’t be fretting, since every one knows that cash is king. I’m sure if a Leprechaun came in with the right deal that the owner would snatch it up.

I decided to visit my grandmother. Of course upon reaching her home, she was in the kitchen. I sat down at the table and told her of my recent news. Her expression turned from one of excitement to worry in an instant. She put the tea on and I knew that she could see right through me.

“What is troubling you Maria?” I told her the sad tale and that I might have to get a loan, but wasn’t even sure that I would qualify for one. The banks weren’t handing out loans to just anyone, now they wanted some sort of collateral or solid business plan to back it up. Restaurants were considered a high-risk venture and something that banks frowned upon.

“Listen, don’t fret. My husband left me a tidy nest egg, and I could lend you the money. I’ll be what you young people call a silent partner. I can give you 35 grand, but unfortunately I don’t have any more. I need to keep something for my bills and such.” I couldn’t believe that I was this close to owning the restaurant of my dreams. It was my grandmother who was helping to make my dreams come through.

“I’ll take it.” For a girl who just came over to see her Grandmother for advice, I walked out of there with a partner in business. I had to tell someone and I thought of the only person that came to mind.

I drove to his house and I climbed the stairs to knock on his door. I could see him coming through the window, but he was only wearing a towel around his waist and one over his head drying his hair.

“Keep your shoes on, I’m coming.” As he got closer, I realized that I had never seen him almost nude before. His body was chiseled out of granite and I didn’t even know that having an eight pack was possible. Peter definitely proved me wrong.

Mt best friend opened the door and dropped the towel on his head to give me the shock of my life. His beard was gone and was replaced with a clean-shaven face. That wasn’t the only drastic change in his appearance.  His long brown hair was now cut short and seemed more dirty blonde than brown. Surprisingly, I was starting to feel a little moist under my skirt. His new look was definitely working for him as well as for me.

I bit my lip and just stared at him, “Wow, now that is a transformation. I didn’t think you’d go that far.” Peter stood back and let me get the full view and then he did a turn for me. Coming back around, the towel slipped from around his waist and dropped to the floor. I couldn’t help but stare at his totally naked body. My eyes glanced at his face, then strayed further south. I guess having an audience was having an effect on him, because you could’ve hidden boy scouts under that tent.

His hands didn’t move to cover himself up. I walked in and closed the door behind me. I don’t know what came over me, but I wanted to touch it to make sure what I was seeing was real. My hand came into contact with his hot member which grew steadily in my hand. I gave it a few tentative strokes and found that it continued to be even more responsive.

He jumped back startled. “Maria, what are you doing? We’re just friends!”

“Now, we’ll be friends with benefits, unless you don’t like girls.” I could tell from what was happening that he wasn’t gay, that was for sure.

“I’m definitely not gay. Can’t you tell?” He gripped my waist and pulled me towards him. I felt my nipples get hard under the light shirt I was wearing. I didn’t usually wear a bra, so my nipples were clearly making their presence known against his bare chest. Maybe I was spoiling our friendship, but at that moment lust overtook me. It had been a mighty long time since I had been with a man sexually. All I could think of was what I had in my hand, how it would taste in my mouth and how it would feel in my tight pussy.

His warm hands, which lingered on my hips, began to move down to cup my ass. I could feel him groping and then lifting the material of my skirt, so that my pantied bottom was in his grip. His fingers ran over the fabric, then snuck their way under onto my bare flesh.