“Are these ingredients favorites of the…head enchiladas?”
In the three or so months since Alvin started working for Coco, he had not learned much in the way of specifics, as far as who she associated herself with. Just that they dictated a lot of her movements and executive decisions. If she was some sort of figurehead, some service robot, she had gained consciousness long ago, and was letting her superiors think they were the ones in control.
He could relate.
But Alvin would get squashed like a bug if he gave up his position too quickly. Coco seemed to have a little more wiggle room. She was desperate for more.
“You could be less on the nose about using cooking analogies, but yes. They’re the ones we have our eyes on. These are the guys who you truly will be cooking for.”
The personal chef’s element was going to have presence, whether he manipulated it to be or not. People had to eat. He was happy to be just the chef in that instance. He could flex his muscles. Maybe gain a little more trust with Coco. Anything to seem like he was doing only his job. And like the fly on the wall, he was the cook in the kitchen.
“Any special requests for breakfast?”
Chapter 3
“You know what I’m gonna want in exchange for this, right?”
Saturday. But too early to call it Saturday. Someone who honored the unholiest of holy days should have either been getting lucky in that wee hour, or living it up on dream three, of some seven-part dream extravaganza.
It was rock-and-roll o’clock. 3am. Hours before Alvin was supposed to head to Hendrix’s handsome family home and make a fresh, fifteen-year-old girl happy. Hendrix also.
Alvin’s attempt at gently prying open Coco’s plans was an utter failure, but the secret agent cook wanted to keep the head of his boss’ security detail closer than anyone. Hendrix would be the barometer for making another move or easing back. He would win over the bodyguard. By hook, or by hook of fork.
Until then, Alvin’s friend, Danny, was looking for answers himself. Things were not adding up. But the longtime kitchen buddy mostly wanted to know how the man could convince him to help out at a godforsaken hour.
“You’ll have all the breadsticks coming out of all your holes after you help me with this.”
“I better. As much as this client is paying you, you really should have an actual sous chef help with this kind of stuff.”
“This job is off the record. Not work sanctioned. Just working some contacts.”
The coming-of-age celebration was the closest thing Alvin had to regular work in months. A client who just wanted some food. Maybe a specific detail or two to heed, and it was the cook’s job to deliver on the food exceptionally. He could do that. He was going to go above and beyond to do that.
“But you gotta do the cheesy breadsticks – like Pizz—“
“Like Pizza Hut does it, you lovely, fat king. I know.”
“Yes. Since I bail you out all the time. And homemade marinara. I’ll know if you got it from the store. Chef Al.
Danny allowed them to work in a few golden minutes of silence before he pursed his lips as if to say something. The first few times he did it at the culinary institute, Alvin was impressed. He actually thought Danny managed to sneak some snack into class. Then he learned it was his friend’s inner turmoil manifesting. His cooking partner was the type to bite his tongue, but in the worst way. He was the type who did not notice when he was doing such a thing. So Danny tried another way.
“How are you these days?”
Predictable.
“I’m okay. I’ll be better this evening. And I still cannot tell you what I do at the mansion.”
“Wasn’t trying to talk-show-host you or anything. You just – don’t let these clients get the best of you. Even when you sign NDA’s. Even when the money is good.”
More silence.
It was easy to busy themselves with the food and container preparation.
“You know…it actually smells good in here, next to the food. You can afford candles now?”
Alvin smiled, but tried not to let his friend know he was flattered for the acknowledgement.
“I might be able to get a few things of potpourri, instead of letting one purchase go for months on end.”
“You deserve it.”
Danny finished putting plastic wrap over the last of the food and stood akimbo over the portion that covered nearly all of Alvin’s kitchen table.
“Looks good. Even for all-you-can-eat party food.”
Alvin took in the sight for himself.
“Yeah, well, some people remember the little things when it comes time for promotion.”
“You’re looking to get a little mobile where you are? Will your boss be looking to hire for what you’re doing now, because I will quit at Trey’s Kitchen when I clock in later.”
“Relax. The extra mile just keeps people agreeable is all I’m saying,” Alvin replied.
“If your client and his family doesn’t like the food, I’ll come over and shove it in their faces myself.”
“Go get some sleep.”
He did not have to tell Danny twice. He dab-hugged Alvin and was soon out the door and down the hall.
The catering chef did one more check before he was soon making his third trip back upstairs for the rest of the food. It was going to be a long, but gratifying day. Long enough though to struggle to eat properly, for sure.
There were a couple ways to eat when serving. To the catering or pop-up amateur, you just rode the wave of people eating your food and commenting on it. You likely were not on any reality TV show challenge, in which people would eat and
