But something was not sitting right.
Though the challenge was accepted. The best position to be in was to be getting paid to do what Alvin loved to do. And for the moment, it felt good to do that as a day off from work.
Before sleep, Alvin decided he would get to his third hustle the next day. It would be good to get back to the activities that would have made Grandma smile. She was not concerned with success as much as with everything else. As long as he was doing what he wanted. That was why they came to America.
He made a few calls and got a special confirmation for food tomorrow.
Alvin woke feeling good about his way. He would eventually tell Matts what happened yesterday evening. It seemed important. But per Coco’s orders, he was going to take the day off. Cooking was still the objective, but he was going to be cooking on his terms.
Alvin stretched out of bed when a phone call snapped him out of his grogginess.
“Teddy, yo. Morning,” the chef yawned.
“What up, Al? You still coming through with lunch?”
“I’ll be showing up just the way you like it. Only, you have to promise you’ll have worked up an appetite by the time I show.”
“Far from a problem. See you in a bit.”
Alvin believed, as much as other like-minded individuals, that people were created to do things. Or at least enjoy doing them, if they had to pay the bills doing something else. His thing was surely cooking.
But the parallel universe version of Alvin wanted to be a rapper.
In reality, he was terrible at it, so he made every effort to contribute, participate and advocate for the culture and community as much as he could. And maybe when the CI business was over, he could be the house call chef to Jay or Nas. Andre 3000 would be crazy, but Drake would make sure he and his crew had Jamaican food on all his tours. And Alvin would never be out of work.
If that did not work, maybe he could maintain a few contacts for catering some recording sessions instead of providing the food for talent riders. Teddy helped Alvin become good at that.
The chef proceeded to get ready with a new pep in his step for the day ahead. He was just happy to be a part of the production of good music. Of music he enjoyed listening to, that made him feel things. If he could, Alvin would drop a bowl of food in any pair of hands who could use it, but food was not quite there yet. Music was invasive. More widespread. So if he could fuel the words, the thinking that was likely the soundtrack to a lot people’s life activities, he would always be delighted and honored to be in on that legacy.
Alvin’s friend was not a mega star, but he worked hard like Alvin did in the kitchen. That was how they met.
Teddy had even more side hustles than the cook. All in order to keep a dream going that was too big to compartmentalize into something he just did after work, until he made it.
Alvin respected the hell out of it. Admired the drive as another artform. But it was more of a pleasure to serve his friend. If Teddy believed the chef’s food made for the optimal experience to record his best, Alvin was committed to doing his part, to making that happen. He also could not let down another notable fan of his food.
Many enjoyed the chef’s manner of putting food and tongue together, but few motivated Alvin’s desire to keep souls going. He loved cooking, and was always willing to provide for any human who needed it to keep that part of their biological imperative going. But those who called late at night, or early in the morning, craving his magic – they were special to him.
Alvin learned a long time ago he wanted to be next to those who saw life differently. That was one thing his grandmother inspired in him. Because of her craziness. She was great. Greater than great. With a capital ‘G’. She was someone who loved someone else into thinking they could move a mountain. Or leap it in a single bound.
In more than a few ways, those special people, who were willing to be so bold as to command their dreams like generals in battle – reminded Alvin of his late guardian. So really, he was just being selfish. He missed her sorely.
Grandma was the gateway to individuals whose realities were ones Alvin thought would truly impact the world around him. Maybe that was why he did care about cooking for Coco. She got distracted in her work the same way his grandparent would have gotten lost in her cooking. Just playing with toys. Messing around with all the points of articulation, trying to figure it out.
Before noon, Alvin was at his friend’s luxury studio apartment, which admittedly, should have just been a one-bedroom unit, at that point. After knocking, he heard his friend’s footfalls towards the door, the two locks coming undone on the other side. Alvin did not hear the latch chain, the “password” lock that allowed residents to test out the prospect of having someone unfamiliar come inside.
The door opened and the fake, gold chain gleamed a harsh glow against an obscure, dark surface. Some sort of picture.
“Stop playing. What is that?”
Teddy was going to have some fun first.
From the other side of the door, “You always read them liner notes, right?”
“Hoping they don’t discontinue them if I keep on. But open the door. You know you don’t want this food to get cold.”
The door busted open and the first two things Alvin saw was his friend’s ear-to-ear grin and some album in his hands.
“Got the test pressing of the album.”
“Dope. Lemme see.”
Teddy evaded Alvin’s reach.
“Wait a second. What you got behind you? Same time.”
“Everything you need to top those
