The Nasty Business of a Bodyguard by Elijah Douresseau (top 10 ebook reader txt) 📗

within Coco’s loose parameters so far as he imposed on his cooking.

“You think they’ll enjoy all that island food?”

“It’ll get them to the next part of the evening. Whatever that is.”

“What does it matter to you what they’re doing?”

“I got the dream job. But I can’t enjoy it because I’m a criminal.”

“Those people at that old school of yours are some criminals, too. Taking all that money from all you cooks. Didn’t stop you from becoming who you wanted to be.”

“This time is different, Grandma.”

“Is it, now?”

Was it?

“As much as I try, I just get blocked. Creatively. I come to work every day, not knowing if I’ll come home. I have to produce something satisfactory every time I’m here. More than that. It’s just a lot.”

“No, you are at something. It is messed up. But how are you taking control?”

“What do you mean, Grandma? I’m lowest on the totem pole around here. I can’t even win a participation ribbon.”

“How is that different from working anywhere else? I know you always showed me stuff on your phone, but who really cares about the cook? And still the question – who will command your ship?”

Alvin was not going to say it.

“Me? Thanks for the offer, but I’m dead. These fools couldn’t handle me anyway.”

“Me.”

“Who?”

Alvin had to let a smile slip to himself and the rest of the empty kitchen. It felt good to hear his grandmother so clearly in his heart.

“Me, Grandma.”

“That’s what I’m talking about.”

“I hear you.”

“Well, listen to this – you never needed anything else to cook for. Except for people who needed to eat. So feed them. Give them the energy to figure it out. Even prisoners have dinnertime.”

The chef had to do his job. The encouragement was what he needed to get to the end of round one. He was a key part of the environment. As natural as the light turning on in the room. He would fill out the background. Whatever was going to happen, no one was going to do it on an empty stomach.

***

Coco wanted the food read by lunchtime. Everything as if it were the real thing. She was even going to dress in something like she was at the Oscars. And Alvin had to bring a tux. No matter.

He was working on two hours of sleep. He teared up once. Cursed his life twice. Danced a few times to stay awake. The night seemed endless, but he had arrived at completion around 11:50am.

The day was a complete simulation. Each dish was to be presented in the dining hall. That was the extent of the directions. Coco never mentioned how the tasting would proceed, outside of her trying every dish. Or what would happen if she did not approve of Alvin made with her ingredient prompts. He merely had to be remarkable. No room for error.

Eight dishes. Coco wanted her dish last. Alvin was not sure how to feel about that, or anything really. Being so inebriated with fatigue, he was almost on autopilot. His will made him the most objective. Get in. Receive feedback. Next plate, and so on. Get out. All there was, was to do it. He still cared about how Coco was going to take everything. He just was not emotionally there for it anymore. Could not spare the neurons.

On the guard’s mark, he was to meet Coco in the dining hall. Alvin had not seen her in days. He still had to prepare her daily meals, in addition to prepping and practicing the party dishes.

The guard near the kitchen signaled the okay to bring the food to Coco. It had to begin. Alvin finished loading the bowls, stacked palettes of colors and viscosities, making the cook some peddler of several galaxies – ready to take his boss on a tour that was out of this world.

Quite close to a space-faring mission, the chef did carry a high dollar amount on his cart. He could probably open a franchise of a mega chain with the going rate of the exotic ingredients.

In a few moments, Alvin was ushered into a very foreign part of the hall. Something akin to an actual banquet hall. Not unusual for the grounds of a literal mansion. There was a richness to the color. To the trimming on the walls. It felt as profuse as store-bought meat sauce for pasta.

“Good afternoon, Al.” The chef had to turn in the direction of the voice. She blended in well. But she was stunning. It was a dressed rehearsal indeed.

Coco as in a gorgeous piece. The cameras would all turn to her on the red carpet. Her plus-one could only stand to the side until the poking wall of light ceased.

“You’re looking tired.”

“But handsome, I hope. Can’t hold a candle to you though.”

“Oh, this old thing?”

She was bubbly. Rested. Anyone was, compared to Alvin. But she seemed to have arrived at whatever she had been striving towards the last few weeks. Her mind was made up about something. It was clarity. It translated well, outwardly.

Hopefully, a good sign for the reception of his food.

“You nervous?”

“Feels like the biggest cooking presentation of my career.”

“You’re still employed here. I’m sure the food will kill.”

That was one way to put it.

Coco was getting ready to do a bad thing. Every one thing in the universe pointed towards her mysterious offensive, but Alvin still wanted his food to do what it should have. To transition the event to the next activity. To put forward the elements into motion. Because their guts and veins had the renewed spirit to do so.

“Just lay them all out here. I can take care of the rest.”

“Would you like to know what I made out of the ingredients you requested?”

“Later. I kind of want to guess myself. We’ll talk about it.”

Alvin did not want to look too happy, getting off the hook so easily. He was exhausted, but he could breathe again. Though he was in the business of explaining food. That part was not the most