Monster's Chef (10 page)

Was he going to name the boy King Rex? Was he joking?

“I want you to make a cake. A birthday cake.”

“Anything in particular?”

I was sure he was going to ask for a Living Food cake, imagining a mound of uncooked rice flour with a white, sugarless, gelatinous icing.

“Oh, something silly. With balloons, something really sweet and delicious.”

“What kind of frosting would you like?”

“Rita likes chocolate. You can make it chocolate with raspberry filling.”

I wondered if he wanted to lick the bowl. Then he surprised me and took off the sunglasses. He squinted and took his time staring at me, like it was the first time he'd got a good look at me.

The placid smile he wore seemed tattooed onto his face.

“Rita likes you. She gets so lonely. Sometimes I can't get her to get beyond that loneliness. I'm gone so much on business I can't do much to help her. Now that we have the baby, I hope she'll be happier because I don't know how much more I can take of her attitude.”

“That's great,” I said. “How many should the cake serve?”

Monster thought for a minute.

“A small cake. I don't want to get fat,” he said, sliding his hands along the concaveness of his stomach.

“Sure, I'll put something together.”

He looked at me for a moment and took a step back, like he finally saw the roundness of my nose, the shape of my face. Might I actually be a black man?

Then he composed himself, smiled, and turned around to leave.

“Gibson, you're doing a good job,” he said over his shoulder as he vanished into the mansion.

 

CURED FLUKE WITH AVOCADO, CITRUS SUPREMES, AND TOKYO TURNIPS

SERVES 4

   
TOKYO TURNIPS

   
½ cup extra-virgin olive oil (EVOO)

   
¼ teaspoon sugar

   
1 shallot, chopped

   
¼ teaspoon coriander

   
Sea salt and ¼ teaspoon white pepper

   
4 (or more) Tokyo turnips

   
AVOCADO MOSAICS

   
2 ripe Hass avocados

   
3 tablespoons lemon juice

   
FLUKE

   
1 cup sea salt

   
1 cup sugar

   
Zest and juice of 3 limes

   
Zest and juice of 3 Meyer lemons

   
Zest and juice of 2 blood oranges

   
1 fluke fillet, enough for 4 portions

   
FOR PLATING

   
Citrus supremes (wedges with all pith removed)

   
Micro cilantro

   
Jalapeño peppers, sliced into thin rounds

   
Dill sprigs

   
Candied lemon zest

Prepare the Tokyo turnips:
In a bowl, mix the EVOO, sugar, shallot, coriander, and salt and pepper. Put the mixture into a ziplock bag with the turnips, squeezing out as much air as possible. Seal the bag and marinate the turnips for at least 1 hour.

Make the avocado mosaics:
Scoop the avocado flesh out of the rinds. Put it and the lemon juice in a ziplock bag; close the bag; and, using the back of a ladle, crush the mixture until flat. Put it in the freezer for 1 hour. Then use a 3-inch-diameter cookie cutter to make shapes.

Cure the fluke:
Mix the salt, sugar, zests, and juices. Cover the fluke with the mixture and cure for 15 minutes.

To plate:
For each portion, place a slice of fluke and a turnip on an avocado mosaic with citrus supreme. Top with cilantro, jalapeño rounds, dill, and candied lemon zest.

CHAPTER FIVE

I RECEIVED A LETTER FROM ELENA, BUT
happy and excited as I was to receive it, I couldn't open it on a break in the kitchen, or even later in my bungalow. I couldn't bring myself to open it even when I was on a walk around the grounds.

On the beach in Pismo, warming in the sun, stripping off my clothes and plunging into the frigid Pacific and swimming to the buoys, coming back too exhausted to feel bitter disappointment, is where I wanted to be when I opened the letter. I didn't want to rush because I was ecstatic to have a connection with her, and as soon as I opened that envelope and read whatever she had to say, I was fairly sure I'd be back down to earth; below it, even. It couldn't be good news, the news that I wanted to hear, that she wanted me back, wanted to start over. No, it would be fucked-up news, the shit of divorce. More papers to be signed, more money that needed to be paid now that I was working.

I put the letter in my jacket pocket and waited for Friday and my day off. I'd catch a ride down the hill with Manny and put my plan into effect. I'd had a lot to keep me distracted. Monster was entertaining another onslaught of celebrity friends for a political fund-raiser for a Teutonic senatorial candidate. I didn't have much to do with the planning, other than providing meals for Monster and Rita, and anybody else who was interested in the Living Food manifesto. The caterers handled the rest, but it turned out that these caterers were insanely incompetent. I sat down with them and looked at what they intended to do and the prices they wanted to charge and I fired them right there. The man, blond and effeminate, and his partner, a dark-haired, overweight woman, didn't seem angry. I guess they figured Monster would unfire them, and sure enough, they were right. I left a detailed note for Monster about my opinion on the subject of the caterers and went back to my bungalow. It was almost dark, right before the floodlights kicked in and Monster's Lair would get lit up like a used car lot. I had just unlocked my door and stepped into the bungalow, when I heard a noise and quickly found the light switch.

A muscular, dark-skinned man lay stretched out on my bed. I bet it was Thug, Monster's assistant.

“Gibson,” he said without expression. “What's up, dog?”

“I thought I had the only key to my bungalow.”

Thug nodded. “Don't trip. Your door was unlocked and I thought I'd come in and kick it with you.”

I wasn't interested in his explanation. He didn't have a right to break into my room and I was righteously pissed and showed it, but Thug played like he didn't notice.

“I thought we were cool, you and me. I'm the reason you got the job.”

“Really,” I said, with surprise. “You're into this Living Food thing?”

“Naw, I hate that crap. You'd never see me put that bullshit in my mouth.”

“But you hired me, you must know about haute cuisine.”

“Hell, no. I could give a fuck about that. Shit, I wish they had an In-N-Out Burger around here.”

“You'd have to drive to Arroyo Grande,” I said, trying to be helpful.

“I told Monster you were cool because you knew what you were talking about on the phone and Bridget said you had a famous restaurant and all that until you had got into a little drug fiending. But that's the past and I'm not hating. If you had problems, you ain't the first and you won't be the last. You feeling me?”

I shrugged.

“But this ain't about that.”

“What's it about?”

“It's about us.”

My heart stopped beating for a second.

“See, I thought, you know, maybe we'd hook up,” he said, smoothly, almost in a whisper.

I was glad to hear that he was asking me to hook up and not telling me we were hooking up. I'd had some awful jobs in my life and paid my share of dues, but I didn't plan to pay that kind of dues.

“Look, Thug, I'm not into hooking up and all. I'm a married man.”

He kept smiling as though he wasn't listening to me. His hands were huge. I wouldn't want to fight him without a bat in my hands, and even then I'm not sure it would be fair. I crossed the room to where the fireplace tools were. I didn't reach for the poker, but it felt good to have it near at hand.

“I appreciate you doing all that for me. I'll buy you a beer or something.”

Thug laughed boyishly and stretched out on the bed.

“Gibson, you and me, we need to talk.”

“Yeah, well, we're talking now.”

“Yeah, you right. But we need to quit all this bullshit and really just kick back and talk.”

Thug wore this gigantic Joe Montana throwback jersey, as if Joe were big as Shaq. In one quick move he slipped the jersey over his head and tossed it to the floor. He had no flab beneath that jersey, nothing but black buffed muscle.

“Why you gonna be like that?”

Thug's dark skin glistened against the white sheets as if he had oiled himself before this so-called chance encounter.

I panicked as his hands reached for the buttons of his ridiculous Sean John jeans. If he slid his pants down, I'd grab the poker, though grabbing the poker suddenly seemed very embarrassing.

“Don't look so hard like you gonna try to beat me down.”

I nodded silently, praying he would leave.

“I know all about your thing with Rita. I got photographs.”

“Know what? There's nothing to know.”

The big man sat up and leaned forward for a manila envelope and reached inside. In his hand he held grainy blowups of me and Rita.

“That's a nice one of you two kissing. I haven't shown that to Monster. I don't think he needs to know.”

“That was my fault. She didn't want to. I took advantage of her.”

Thug laughed. “What? You supposed to be a hero or something? All kind of shit goes on here. You think she ain't getting paid? That's why we're all here, Monster pays from a big roll of bills and we're all lined up with our hands out, even you, my brother. Rita's getting paid, paid enough so she'll never worry about money even if she lives to be one hundred and fifty.”

“Paid? Isn't she supposed to be his wife?”

Thug laughed again, like he wanted the whole world to know he was amused.

“Do you really think Monster is into women? Shit, he's about as interested in bitches as I am. But that's not true. I've had my share, and I've got a couple kids to prove it, but I'd bet my life that Monster has never been with a woman.”

I sighed, thinking of Rita.

“So, what I'm saying is don't be naive. We're all in this for the same reason.” Then Thug's seriousness faded and the smile returned. He was ready to get down to business.

“It's too bad about you not having an open mind 'cause we could have had us a good time,” he said, with a big countrified grin.

“Sorry, Thug. Look, I'm not putting you down or anything.”

“Cool. Just keep grilling my steaks. Monster wants me to get into that Living Food bullshit. I'd starve first.”

He stood up to leave and laughed when he saw my hand on the poker.

“One thing I need to know before I bail up out of here.”

“Yeah,” I said, waiting for the question, but Thug took his time, crossing and uncrossing his arms.

“So what's with you passing for white? First time I saw you I knew you was a nigga.”

“Who said I was passing?”

“You ain't?”

“No, man. I am what I am.”

“What, you Popeye or something?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Thug shrugged and walked toward me. I stepped aside, and he turned and lingered in the doorway, eyeing me.

“First, Monster thought you were a Jew. He used to like Jews. Now, he has problems with them. I said you were cool, you weren't a Jew. He looked right over the fact that you were black. I mean, you are light, lighter than a lot of white people with tans, but still Monster used to be up on that. He'd say, No way! Don't be hiring black people, I don't care if they look white.”

“Why?”

Thug laughed thunderously.

“Do I look like a psychiatrist? All I know is I'm the only real black man working for that crazy muthafucka. I thought I could slip you in since Monster didn't notice you, or didn't care.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“I thought we had something big in common,” Thug said, and grabbed at his crotch. I took a step backward.

“I don't want to disappoint you, but I'm just average on a good day.”

“Let me be the judge of that,” he said.

I retreated another step. Thug finally gave up on his heavy-handed seduction and stepped outside into the brightly lit night of Monster's Lair.

After Thug left, I put a chair beneath the doorknob and slept in the recliner near the fireplace, leaving pillows under the sheets for Thug to interfere with if he decided to bum-rush the show.

Morning came and I was out of the bungalow with a backpack stuffed with everything I could possibly need for a day away.

Manny blew the horn of his pickup and I hurried outside and hopped in.

“My friend, you stay away from this Thug. He is unnatural. A
pato
.”

“A duck?”

“Yes, a
pato
.”

He dropped me off at the beach and said he'd give me a ride back the next day when he returned from Lompoc. Lompoc was another strange California name that sounded like a disease, a rare form of smallpox or something. Anyway, it was a town I didn't plan to visit, even if it was the Cut Flower Capital of the United States and the vast fields of flowers were supposed to be spectacular.

I arrived at the motel and immediately put on my trunks, grabbed a skinny towel, and ran straight for the ocean. I dived in without hesitation, though it was an overcast day.

Frigid!

I tried swimming out somewhere near the distant buoys, but I didn't get close.

My stroke was fucked up and then the chill got to me, so cold my testicles headed north, lost in the maze of my lower intestines. I turned around and pounded the water until I dragged my sorry ass out of the surf and collapsed onto my towel.