Salvation (11 page)

Nana looked from him to the camera, then
exclaimed, “Shit, I just said fuck on TV. Maybe they can edit that out or
something.”

“Yeah, not really,” River said.

“Oh. Well hell, we better get started! I
had this all timed out!” She yelled across the kitchen, “How much time do I
have left, Roger?”

The director looked ill, and pointed to
some kind of prompter to his left. It had minutes counting down on it.

“Shit, that isn’t much time,” Nana
exclaimed, suddenly flustered. She grabbed a huge chef’s hat from under the
counter and stuck it on her head as she told River and me, “I was gonna show
you how to make lasagna, boys. Now, I know what you’re thinking: everyone
already knows how to make lasagna. But everyone keeps fucking it up! I figured
I should explain to America all they’re doing wrong. I’ve had some in
restaurants lately that taste like the chef’s back there doing some kind of
fucking science experiment or something.” She yelled at the camera, “It’s
noodles and cheese, people!”

“How can we help, Nana?” River asked.

“You can get a big pot of water
boiling.” She turned to look at us. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You okay, Trevor?
You’re sweating like a whore in church!”

“Oh God, please kill me now,” I
whispered, feeling a ferocious blush rising in my cheeks as the cameraman swung
the camera toward me.

River dragged me with him as he filled a
big pot of water and set it on the stove. I kept trying to get away, but he was
latched onto my hand like a bear trap. Meanwhile, Nana continued her rant about
lasagna. I missed a lot of it, but we rejoined her in time to hear, “I went to
a new restaurant the other day, and they had deconstructed lasagna on the menu.
You know what that is? Not lasagna, that’s what! It was a bowlful of noodles
and a chunky sauce. That’s failed spaghetti, not deconstructed lasagna! It
looked like a pile of shit. And you know what they were charging for that dung
heap? Twenty-seven dollars! Screw that! I’m gonna show you how to make a real
lasagna at home for a few bucks. I’ll start with the filling. Boys, come help
me, you’ll get some good tips here for your catering business. Lasagna’s always
a crowd pleaser. Long as it isn’t deconstructed!”

“Okay, Nana,” River said.

Someone had taken the time to lay out a
bunch of ingredients on the kitchen counter. Nana grabbed a tub of ricotta
cheese and exclaimed, “Fat free? What the fuck? I didn’t say to get fat free! Who
did this? Sven, was it you?” She looked around the room for her new assistant,
but he was MIA.

“Um, maybe you can use it anyway, Nana,”
River prompted. “What with us being in the middle of the show and all.” He
flashed a huge smile at the camera.

She sighed dramatically and put her
hands on her tiny hips. After a pause, she finally said, “Fine, we got no
choice, we’ll use the fat free crap. But normally, don’t do that! You’ll just
fuck up the lasagna. I mean I know everyone’s watching their figures and all,
but there’s a time and place, know what I’m saying? Just use the regular cheese
and eat the goddamn lasagna. Then later on you can do some jazzercise or
something to burn off the calories. If you ask me, everyone in this country is
too obsessed with their weight anyway. So what if you got a little junk in the
trunk? You know what they say, more cushion for the pushin’.” She thought about
that for a moment, then said, “I actually have no idea what that means. Do you,
River?” He doubled over laughing.

The rest of the half hour proceeded
pretty much exactly like that. When the director finally called, “Okay, we’re
clear!” River let go of me. I exchanged the apron for my discarded sweater with
shaking hands, then crashed so hard from the adrenaline build-up that I laid
down right in the middle of the kitchen floor and just concentrated on
breathing for a while.

“I think that went well,” Nana
exclaimed, taking off her chef’s hat and fixing her hair.

“It was awesome,” River said. “I hope
someone recorded it.”

“God, I don’t,” I murmured.

The crowd snapped into action, many of
them taking down the lights and equipment. The director immediately dialed the
TV station, apologizing profusely over the extensive use of profanity.
Apparently fines were going to be involved.

Meanwhile, Sven wandered in and looked
around at the chaos with a haughty glare. When Mrs. Dombruso spotted him, she
yelled, “Sven! Where you been? You’re supposed to be personally assisting me,
not dicking around on the job! And why did you buy fat free cheese when I sent
you to the market? Why the fuck would I want fat free cheese?”

He held his hand up and said, “Oh no, uh
uh. I am
not
paid enough to take this abuse. I quit! I told my wife
Helen this job was probably a mistake!” He spun on his heel and marched out of
the kitchen.

“Classic,” River said, chuckling as he
sat cross-legged on the floor beside me and pulled off his apron.

It took a while for everyone to clear
out. Once they did, Nana made some tea and loaded up a big tray. River carried
it out to a little sun porch for her, and the three of us sat down around a
white wrought-iron table. “That didn’t go quite how I thought it would,” Nana
said as she splashed a little tea in a delicate china cup. “It looks so easy
when you watch those cooking shows on TV. I always thought I could do better
than that.”

“You did just fine, Nana,” River assured
her.

“You sure? Turns out, I didn’t actually
cook anything.” She’d barely gotten as far as mixing the filling.

“I don’t think anyone noticed,” he said.

“Well, good. You know, this all started
because I wanted to show you boys some recipes to help you get ready to cater
Christopher’s wedding, but I wasn’t much help there.”

“Actually Nana, I have a few ideas for
the menu,” River said. As he pulled a piece of lined notebook paper out of his
pocket and unfolded it, Nana picked up a silver flask from the tray and filled
the remaining three-quarters of her tea cup with what looked like brandy.

He handed her the piece of paper and she
looked it over, then raised her brows at River. “I’m impressed. How’d you come
up with this?”

He looked a little embarrassed. “I went
to culinary school for two semesters, before my savings ran out. Those are some
of the dishes I feel I mastered. I thought, since the wedding’s at the height
of summer, we should keep the food relatively light and not too fussy.” He
turned to me and said, “Obviously you have a say in this too, T. I just jotted
some ideas down last night, but feel free to make any changes or suggestions.”

As Nana handed me the list, I said,
“This catering business is your dream, River. I’m just along for the ride. I
mean, I’m happy that we’re doing this together, but really, it’s your company
and your vision. Whatever you want to do is fine by me.” Nana had actually been
the one to suggest we pair up, when River became overwhelmed during his first
catering gig.

“What’s your dream, Trevor? I never
actually asked you,” River said.

I shrugged and looked down at my cup. “I
don’t really have a dream. I just want to cook. That’s what I’ve always
enjoyed.”

He asked, “You mean you want to be a
head chef?”

“Not really. I don’t think I have it in
me to run a kitchen. I’d never be able to afford culinary school anyway. I just
want to work on a line and cook good food that makes people happy.”

“You don’t need culinary school,” Nana
said before taking a sip of ‘tea.’ She set her cup down and said, “Me? I only
have a ninth grade education, because I had to drop out of school to help my
mother after my father died. But still, I ran a successful restaurant for
almost thirty years. Being able to cook good food comes from the heart, it’s
not something you learn in a classroom.”

“Why don’t you think you could run a
kitchen, T?” River popped a cookie in his mouth from the plate Nana had filled
for us.

“Because it takes a lot of confidence,
and that’s not exactly my strong suit,” I said.

“But you’re still young,” River said.
“Maybe confidence is something you grow into.”

“I don’t know. I kind of think this is
who I am. I can stand up for myself or the people I care about when I need to,
but in general, I can’t imagine running a kitchen and expecting other chefs to
listen to me.”

“Well, not with that attitude,” Nana
said.

“Everyone needs a dream, T. I honestly
believe that,” River said. “Maybe yours really is to become a head chef, but
you just haven’t admitted it to yourself. It could be that you just need to
pursue it and build your belief in yourself as you go.”

As he and Nana started discussing what
it took to become a chef, I happened to glance out the glass wall of the sun
porch. Nana’s house had a surprisingly big backyard, considering it was in the
middle of San Francisco. It was impeccably cared for, a fairytale landscape of
bright flowers and sculpted hedges.

Vincent was working at the far end of
the yard, dressed in a form-fitting black t-shirt and jeans. I totally lost
track of the conversation and just stared at him. God was he gorgeous, his big
biceps flexing as he lifted a heavy bag of topsoil, the sunlight reflecting off
his glossy black hair.

River cut through my thoughts by saying,
“Or maybe you
do
have a dream, and maybe that dream involves a certain
big, ripped Italian guy in a painted on t-shirt. Huh, Trev?”

I glanced up as a blush warmed my
cheeks. “What?”

My friend chuckled at that. “Yup, I
think I hit the nail on the head. I knew you were into that guy when you
couldn’t stop talking about him at the party on Saturday. And now here you are,
drooling over him.”

“Could we not talk about this right now,
River?” I said, staring at him and tilting my head subtly in Nana’s direction.

She saw what I was doing and exclaimed,
“Oh come on! Why does everyone always assume I’m an old prude?”

“I don’t think that, Nana,” I said
quickly.

“Do you like my grandson, Trevor? You
can tell me. I’m perfectly fine with gay homosexuals, ask anybody. Which
shouldn’t be news to you, since you know I’m helping plan a gay homosexual
wedding for my dear, lovely Christopher. It’s the second one I’ve planned, you
know!”

I mumbled, “I do like Vincent, Nana, but
there’s nothing going on.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just wouldn’t work out between
us.” Wow, was this an embarrassing conversation.

Nana stared at me for a long moment,
then finally picked up her teacup. “I know how my grandson is, Trevor,” she
said. “But I also know he’s got a good heart. You should give him a chance.”
She tipped back her cup and drained the contents, then poured herself another
drink, just like the first.

River chimed in, “I hate to cut this
conversation short, but I need to get going. I landed a part-time gig
petsitting Puffy, my buddy Conrad’s evil cat, and he’s expecting me in less
than half an hour. I need to learn about Puffy’s routine before he flies to
Spain on vacation.” River got up and knit his brows, then added, “My buddy,
he’s the one flying to Spain. Not the cat.” When Nana stood up, he picked up
the tray and carried it back to the kitchen for her.

“Actually, I need to get going, too,” I
said as I got up and followed them. “I’m working the lunch shift at the
restaurant. Thank you for having us over, Nana.” I snuck one last look at
Vincent as I left the sun porch.

*****

I got to Nolan’s a little early, but
since they were busy, I traded my sweater for an apron and went right to work.
My friend Hunter was there, having lunch with his boyfriend Brian, Brian’s
brother Kieran, and Kieran’s fiancé Christopher. “Hey Trevor,” Hunter said as I
came over to his table. “How’s it going?”

“It’s been a super weird morning,” I
said. “How are you?”

“Exceptionally well, thanks.” He
squeezed his boyfriend’s hand, which was interlaced with his on the tabletop.

“Trevor!” an excited voice behind me
called out. I turned to look at Skye, who’d just burst through the front door.
He came up to the booth and said, “Oh hi Christopher Robin, and friends of
Christopher Robin.” Then he turned to me and said, “Have you already heard?”

“Heard what?’

“Okay, before I tell you, you have to
promise not to be embarrassed.”

“Oh God, what?” I asked, dread
immediately balling up my stomach.

“Well, someone uploaded your cooking
show to the internet. It’s already gotten over five thousand hits,” he said. I
dragged both hands over my face and moaned.

“What cooking show?” Hunter wanted to
know.

“Do you have a smartphone?” Skye asked,
sliding into the booth beside him. “I’ll show you. I’m Skye, by the way, and
you
are absolutely gorgeous.”

“I’m Hunter, and thanks,” he said with a
grin, handing over his phone.

Skye tapped the screen a few times, then
said, “Actually, now it’s nearly at ten thousand,” and held up the phone so
everyone at the table could see it. I leaned in and cringed when I saw what was
on screen. The video began just as Nana appeared on camera. Within a matter of
seconds, everyone at the table was howling with laughter. This got my
employers’ attention, and Jamie and Dimitri came over to see what was so funny.
Soon they were cracking up, too.