Chapter Ten
Madame Queen
Kacie lay in bed frustrated. She hadn’t gotten to cook; the two chefs who had, Alia and Toby, had already begun to establish their credentials in the competition, had gotten a chance to earn respect and to intimidate the other contestants. All she had gotten to do was pick wine, although, having sampled both the options, she now knew she had been right.
Alia was very nice, quiet and polite, and Kacie liked her — she was the only fellow New Yorker in the competition, the head chef and owner of a Bronx family restaurant called Community Kitchen.
Toby was a different situation. She had been immediately drawn to him, had found both fascination and comfort in his intense focus on cooking, and, even worse, had felt small and stupid when he looked at her, like a little girl staring up at her tall daddy. These feelings were useless to her; she had no time to get a crush on a guy, no matter how much her type he was. She was there to build her reputation, to prove herself, to grow her career.
Maryann was on the phone babbling intermittently, always seeming to place a call just as Kacie began nodding off. The last of the women arrived at 7 or 8 PM, a sleek blond named Eloise Alexandra Hamilton, who went around shaking hands and name-dropped some California bigshots Kacie had never heard of. Eloise was courteous but pushy. Within a half-hour of their meeting, Kacie felt like strangling her.
When Eloise had moved her full attention to Alia, who was too polite to shut her up, Kacie took out her phone and positioned it so that she thought the camera could not capture what was on the screen. There she did a web search and found what she could on Toby Brutus. He had a fairly new Facebook page that identified him as a TV personality and paired him in photographs with a gorgeous sister and a well-dressed, mustachioed black man.
“Who’s that?” Eloise asked, sitting on the bed next to her.
It was time to think fast. “Our competition,” she said, and showed the screen. “Based just on tonight’s dinner, he might be the one to beat among the men. Who should I look up next?”
Using their phones, they examined the online profiles of the other three guys. Louie Alpharetto, a Cleveland-based Italian chef, had trained in Rome and Sicily, but had also worked in Cannes and Athens, so he was well-rounded in Mediterranean cuisine. Roderigo “Vegas” Camacho, a Southwestern specialist, had worked in high-pressure casino kitchens in Las Vegas. Robert “Buster” Wayne was a molecular gastronomist who had won at least twenty regional cooking competitions.
Kacie didn’t allow herself to worry about being outclassed. She knew she was on the show for a reason, and being a laughingstock was not that reason. Meanwhile, if the competition worried Eloise, she certainly didn’t show it.
The next morning, Kacie overslept and woke to find the other three women already up and out of the bedroom. She made her bed, not as neatly as Alia had, and went in the shower. Her stomach began growling as she was toweling off, and she considered whether there was any hope of making breakfast for herself with seven other chefs in close proximity.
Along with the hungry came some vague stirrings of horniness. She hadn’t felt that in years, and tried to fight those feelings down. She must not let that gorgeous man distract her.
Emerging into the common room, she saw pretty much what she had predicted: there was Toby, the man she had been thinking about during restless wee hours, memories of whose handsome face and silky hair and solid lanky frame had made her toss and turn before dawn, following Eloise around like a puppy dog. For an odd moment, she sensed him scanning the room as if looking for her, but she pretended not to notice. All the white guys liked the blonds. She resolved that at least she would last longer on this show than Eloise. Maybe she couldn’t beat the blabbering California chef in the love department, but cooking was another matter.
While Toby, Eloise, and Vegas were downstairs, she got a text from Jinwoo that he was on his way for a visit. Jinwoo asked if she had told her parents where she was, because they were worried she had slept over with a secret boyfriend and thereby embarrassed the family. “I’ll take care of it,” she answered.
She dialed her mother. “Oh my God!” Mingyung cried. She sniffed away tears that Kacie suspected were partly put-on. “You didn’t come home last night! We thought you were dead, or worse.”
“Umma, listen carefully, okay? I’m staying in the city for a few weeks.”
“Weeks? But you have your restaurant to run, don’t you?”
“I’ll have to leave it to Clementine to run for that short time. It’s worth it.”
“Worth it? Some boy is worth it? You’re shacked up, aren’t you?” Mingyung continued in Korean, “This is the shame of my family. Your father was right all along. I am such a fool. I was too nice, too indulgent.”
“Shut up, umma! Just listen, will you? I’m not shacked up with anyone. I’m staying at a TV studio. I’m going to film a TV show for The Kitchen Network.”
“A… TV show…? You’re not in an apartment giving your innocence and your future away to a married man? But your aunt said…”
“She’s an idiot, umma. You can ask Jinwoo. He brought me up here. He knows all the people. Or call The Kitchen Network and ask them. I was hired by a guy called Herschel Singer. That’s who you ask for when you call.”
“That’s the man, the older married man. Your aunt said that Jinwoo told her he was at your restaurant.”
“Umma. Umma! He hired me for the TV show is all. And I’m still a virgin. Okay? So just check if you need to. Okay? Goodbye.”
Annoyed with her mother, Kacie put on the pink visor of her restaurant. Everyone had been told to bring gear from the restaurants where they worked, but this one she liked to wear anyway. It was like armor; it reminded her who she was and what her ambitions were.
Headed back out to the common-room, she was expecting to hear the babble of her fellow-chefs, but instead there was only one voice, one that she recognized from TV. Lou Morton – the owner of Kitchen Network.
When she stepped out of the hallway, Morton spotted her, and she saw recognition in his eyes. He crossed the room and shook her hand. “I loved your kimchi.”
Kacie answered, “Thanks. After the show, please consider Koryo Burger for your catering needs.” It was a stupid thing for her to say, since he had dozens of top-flight chefs working for him in the building daily.
Lou Morton gave her a sunny grin. “You know I will.” He leaned in closer, almost touching foreheads. “Listen, I know these guys have more time on the job than you, but don’t count yourself out, huh? There are a lot of intangibles that go into being great. You never know what you can find inside yourself.”
“Why are you telling me in particular? Let them worry.” Kacie hoped he wasn’t flirting. He had gray hair, for God’s sake.
Morton smiled. “I’m telling you because I think, and if you repeat this I’ll deny it, that, win or lose, you can be a member of my network team. All you have to do is keep your cool and last up till the finale, and we’ll take a meeting. How does that sound?”
“If it’s a business meeting. Just business.”
“Just business.”
“Deal.”
Then he broke from her and headed for the elevator, waving once over his shoulder. “So long, everyone.”
With Morton out of the way, Kacie had a chance to survey the room. Most everyone she had met was there, other than Ozzy, but her eye moved to a small group standing behind the sofas. Jinwoo was near Toby Brutus and his sister, whom she recognized from his Facebook page.
The sister looked at her and beamed and whispered something in the brother’s ear. Making fun of her, probably. How annoying.
Kacie circled the mix and climbed up into the kitchen, where Eloise was chopping ingredients. Her knife-work was swift and precise, better than Kacie’s.
“Want to help?” Eloise asked.
“I’m starving,” Kacie admitted. “Anything to get food on the table a little faster.” Morton’s words echoed in her thoughts, but she couldn’t shake the suspicion that the billionaire’s real goal was to seduce an ingenue.
Ten minutes later they had put two cast-iron skillets of mixture into the hot oven. Louie, the young and portly Italian specialist, joined them and began cranking out espressos.
They were just taking the frittatas out of the oven when a commotion arose by the entrance.
“Good day, my friends,” a woman said in an elevated, piercing voice. The Southern accent was undeniable, the words pronounced with care and precision. “I require your attention.”
Kacie set the frittata pan she was holding onto a TKN-logoed trivet on the dining room table and stepped to the edge of the stairs.
The new arrival was a black woman in her fifties, dressed in an immaculate dark business suit accented with a lavender scarf and several gold finger rings. Her makeup was heavy, and her head was crowned with a Betmar Keeley bucket hat accented with a feather. She had deep and wise eyes with something Chinese about the lids, and her carriage was perfectly erect, her shoulders a straight line, her back perfectly aligned with her neck.
“Well then,” she declared, “you are the first set of competitors for my soon-to-be-award-winning series. I am Chef Nina Lestrade. On the set, on-camera, and for the duration of the taping, you shall refer to me as Madame Queen, or if you are in a rush, Madame will do. Please be aware that I can give you a strike any time I like, on or off camera, including even in private, and as with baseball, three strikes and you are most definitely out. Understood?” She surveyed the competitors. “I think you understand. No sass will be tolerated.”
Toby’s sister moved toward Madame Queen with her hand extended. “Good to see you again, Nina.”
“Thank you. Now you may go.”
“Go?” The young woman seemed surprised. “You know, Toby’s going to tell me about it anyway.”
“You are dismissed.”
The sister smiled. “I just wanted to say hello.”
“I doubt that. You are far from the wide-eyed innocent college girl you were when we first met, and what I have to say now is only for the competitors. No one else has an advisor at hand, and Toby will not be telling you a single thing unless he earns that chance in the competition. Now you may leave.”
Lillian shrugged prettily, pecked her brother on the cheek, and headed for the exit. As she did, she locked eyes with Kacie and winked.
Kacie averted her eyes. It was some joke she wasn’t in on; meanwhile, it was Madame Queen she needed to pay attention to.
“First of all, you are facing lengthy and wearying work days. If you are not performing on-camera, you are preparing to perform on-camera. You will be interviewed constantly, at each stage of the day’s shooting, and you had best be cheerful about it. The better you perform in interviews, the more television time you will receive. If you disrespect Madame Queen, however, I will take steps to eliminate you.
“This competition is triple elimination. Three strikes remove you from a win. A win is extremely valuable. Every moment of television time wins you greater recognition and thus greater opportunity. The more impressed I am with your cooking and your personality, the greater the chance that you will be featured in the network’s monthly and holiday special magazines, and the more video clips of you will be made available, and the more original short features you will shoot. At the end of the show, the winner will be assisted to prepare a pitch to our promotional partners for a new restaurant to be operated by you in a major metropolitan center.”
“Rittenhouse Square, here I come,” said Buster.
“Possibly. Now, as to the details of each day’s completion, here is how it will go. You will have interviews in the morning, and cameramen will be with you in this space and wherever else you may go. We assemble in Kitchen One for a Dish Challenge. Each time it will be different. I shall be the judge for the majority of these challenges. I am not a neutral or objective judge. I like what I choose to like, and I answer to no one but my own conscience. You have one goal, and one goal only, and it is to please Madame Queen. Can you remember that?” She stared intently at Alia Kamara.
“Inshallah,” said Alia, and lowered her chin.
“After you have cooked during the dish challenge, there will be interviews. Then comes the judging. The best dish prepared receives a highly desirable prize. Prizes such as these can dramatically affect your chances of winning, or they may be of assistance to your emotional health. Interviews follow once more. The worst two efforts, in my sole opinion, must participate in a cook-off. The loser of the cook-off receives a strike. Again, you will be interviewed. These elements are reviewed and edited to produce each episode. You remain on-camera at all times in this building, except in the lavatory. Any questions so far?”
“Why do you have to take our phones away?” asked Maryann. “I still need to make some calls when I’m not on the camera.”
“You’d better hurry up and win, then, Chef Chen,” answered Madame Queen. “Until then, you’ll follow the rules like everyone else does. Except in case of family emergencies, you and your time belong to us. Believe me, our taking your phone is doing you a favor.”
“That’s not what I think,” Maryann said.
“Think about winning instead. Any more questions? If not, I’ll continue.”
Kacie was glad Maryann was losing her phone, and about as glad Buster was losing his iPad, but she was less glad to lose her own device. She wanted her phone so she could do more research by looking at the social media of her competitors. Well, it was too late now.
“I mentioned that I would be your judge for most of the contests. You may be wondering what that means. The answer is simple. For certain contests, your judges will be colleagues of mine who just happen to be -- Hammer Chefs.”
The Hammer Chefs were specialists in particular cuisines, the best experts in those cuisines whom The Kitchen Network could hire. They appeared alternately on a show called the Hammer Chef Challenge and competed against other top chefs in their fields. They rarely lost. They were tough-minded and focused, at least on-camera. They would make tough judges, and their presence was certain to mean that the competitors would have to cook the cuisines in which they were expert. This carried a heavy risk: no one was trained in every style of cooking, and if caught unprepared, any of them could wind up in an impossible position.
Kacie raised her hand.
“Yes, Miss Lee?”
“Madame Queen, who is Hammer Chef Korean?”
“A fine question, my dear. And the answer is – there isn’t one. And that puts you in a definite bind. No one to impress with your specialty – but on the other hand, no one to disappoint. But not to worry, my fine friends. I have selected Hammer Chefs who will be equally difficult for all of you. Of course, one of you has it worst of all. Chef Brutus.”
Toby had been slouching against the sofa with his hands in his pockets; at her words, he jerked upright.
“Weren’t you listening to me, Chef Brutus?”
“I sure was, Nina.”
“Don’t call me that. If you recall, I am to be called Madame Queen.”
“But I’ve known you for years.”
“And far from helping you,” said Madame Queen, “that will be an extra challenge for you. I know what your best tastes like, and I will expect you to do better than ever before, and if you don’t, you’ll lose.”
Toby took a deep breath, followed by a weak smile.
“I have a question,” said Buster. “If I’m going to cook Modernist cuisine the way you know I can, all sexy for TV, I need special equipment and ingredients. Can I give you a list, and you make sure it’s there when I need it?”
“Our pantry has everything you need. You’ll see. And if anything is missing, you’ll need to inform Shelley.”
“Shelley?”
“He doesn’t listen, does he?” Madame Queen asked, looking at Alia.
“Shelley is the director,” Alia fake-whispered to Buster.
“Yeah, okay, got it.”
“We’ll see,” said Madame Queen. “We’ll see if any of you get it. We’ll see in the morning. I shall be making gumbo for you all for dinner tomorrow night. Be sure to preserve your appetites.”
She whipped around and sauntered out of the room.